Alligators May Be Present: A Novel

Are You Talking to Everybody, or Just to a Few People?

181 T he next morning after Glassman returned rain-soaked from the Everglades, he called his Uncle Ben from his office and set a date to deliver a short talk to one of Beth Sholom’s havurah groups. He called his Uncle Ben because of what Shuman had told him the day before; he called because he felt it was partly his responsibility, as Weekly Books Editor for the local Jewish paper, to share his limited expertise with the community; he called because he was still on something of a high from Rebecca’s news and felt that he could face a small group of twenty or so bookworms; and he called because he knew his uncle well enough to know that he wouldn’t stop pestering him to deliver a free talk until he finally acquiesced . (It wasn’t for nothing that the walls of Ben’s study were lined with five outstanding service in fundraising plaques from the Lackawanna chapter of the United Jewish Federation.) “Have sports jacket, will travel,” Glassman announced jokingly to Rebecca as he entered their kitchen on the evening of the presentation . While she waited for him to shower and dress, she busied herself by scrubbing his coffee stain moons off their counters. She had agreed to come along for moral support. She stated her intentions Are You Talking to Everybody, or Just to a Few People? casually the night before in a foamy voice as she brushed her teeth, but Glassman knew that Rebecca would never allow him to speak at such an event, unescorted. He was terribly vulnerable, she knew, especially amid his elders, who didn’t recognize his vulnerability and often failed to treat him with the requisite tenderness. She would offer what protection she could. “You look nice,” she complimented him. “I love your floral tie.” “It’s not . . . you know, too feminine?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rebecca assured him. “You look like someone who doesn’t have any hang-ups about his masculinity.” What her comment said about the tie in question he wasn’t sure. But it was too late to change. Rebecca drove, which was unusual for them as she hated driving. Sitting there in the passenger seat (“Buckle up,” his wife reminded him) somehow gave Glassman the feeling that his wife was taking him to the doctor’s office to undergo a semi-serious procedure, or to the dentist to have his wisdom teeth pulled. After some trouble punching in the correct code at the neighborhood gate (“I can never remember which one’s the pound sign and which one’s the star,” Rebecca explained herself), they reached Dr. and Mrs. Bernard Fein’s home in west Ropa. Ben had arranged for the Feins to host the talk since they lived in a fairly large home, which should have been Glassman’s first warning that Ben had something slightly larger than an intimate gathering in mind. By the look of things—namely the rows of gleaming sedans parked haphazardly up and down the block, most halfway off the road onto the grass sward—one would have guessed there were over a hundred people there. “Did you have any idea it would be this packed?” Rebecca asked. “No idea. I guess I’m more popular than I thought.” He tried to make light of the moment, but he was apprehensive. He hadn’t counted on such a scene, and suddenly felt unprepared. He should have gone over his paper once more, revised the introduction for clarity, nailed down that final sentence that had dogged him rather than just abandon it as he had done. 182 183 “Just relax honey. You’re going to be fine. Remember, you’re the expert. They don’t know anything.” “If only they thought I was the expert,” Glassman answered. Rebecca knew how to interpret the deep, crow’s feet imprints suddenly aside his eyes, his splayed fingers through his hair, once, twice, three times. Poor Matthew, she thought. How did he get himself into these . . . these talks. Her husband really wasn’t cut out for these engagements with his elders. In fact, he would have been much better off had he chosen a separate profession entirely, something less highly charged with familial and communal currents, something suitably subdued like law or accounting. But then, she reconsidered, would that accountant or lawyer have been Matthew? Her Matthew ? Probably...