The Last Jewish Virgin

Chapter 17

102 17 A ll afternoon, after Colin left, I tried to draw. In my head, I envisioned a mini-dress the golden color of champagne, and composed of equal parts silk brocade and nylon mesh. But my fingers wouldn’t cooperate, and I finally gave up and watched some Fashion Week videos on the Internet. After a while, all the outfits, designers, and models blurred together. At bedtime, still restless, I threw on a nightgown and placed Mr. Rock’s necklace gently beneath my pillow, and then lit the three tall, vanilla-scented candles that Tante Molly had given me the year before for Hanukkah. I wasn’t much into candles, always worried that I might fall asleep while they were still burning. However, in my chronic jumpy, insomniac state, I knew I wasn’t likely to fall asleep quickly, and the candles might be a nice indulgence . For once, my downstairs neighbor wasn’t playing any music, and I lay in bed in the unfamiliar silence, inhaling the candles’ strong fragrance, and watching their dancing orange flames cast shadows around my room, while trying, unsuccessfully as always, not to think about Mr. Rock. Eventually, I slept, and in the morning the delicious scent of the candles still lingered. In the old days, when I’d had an appetite , the aroma probably would have made me yearn for a big breakfast of French toast laced with vanilla and nutmeg, but not Janice Eidus 103 now. The sun shone brightly into my room with the intensity of a flashlight, and I heard the sounds of airy, chirping birds, which was ironic, considering how dark and gloomy I felt. I finally felt ready to have it out with my mother. Now that I had witnessed for myself the full extent of Mr. Rock’s powers—or at least what I hoped were their full extent—I needed to find out what really was going on between them. I also needed to warn her. But to warn her of what? That he was a mind reader? A hypnotist ? A vampire fetishist? A vampire? She’d think I was crazy, and maybe I was. Besides, I knew that I wouldn’t be warning her away from him just to protect her, but also because I wanted to keep him for myself. I reminded myself that they’d had just one phone conversation so far. That was all. Or at least all that I knew about. I rose and slipped my robe on. In the living room, she was curled up on the sagging sofa beneath Frida Kahlo’s self-portrait, reading the newspaper in a pair of faded brown jeans and an equally faded yellow sweatshirt. On her feet, she wore her beat up, unlaced high-top sneakers. She looked appealingly casual, I supposed—but not to me, at least not then. Steam from her coffee framed her face, and her girlish curls fell in front of her eyes. Not looking up, she mumbled a sleepy hello. I felt embarrassed by the rage boiling inside me, since she seemed so unaware, and since it was based on nothing concrete. I sat across from her in the plump easy chair. Tucking my legs under me, I took a deep breath and asked, “Why do you think that women throughout the ages have been so attracted to vampires?” Stone-faced, I revealed nothing, waiting to see if she tensed up at my seemingly out-of the blue mention of vampires. Instead she took a sip of the dark coffee, and her face relaxed as if caffeine were a tranquilizer instead of a stimulant. No longer did she seem to be pining over Mike. She stroked her Star of David, and said, “Vampires? Why do you ask? Oh,” she quickly answered her own question, “because of that vampire outfit of yours you like so much.” Was she deliberately avoiding mentioning Mr. Rock, perhaps sensing where my not-so-innocent question would lead us? 104 The Last Jewish Virgin She folded the newspaper neatly and placed it beside her, giving me her full attention. “At its heart, the vampire fantasy is your basic misogynist’s fantasy.” That’s right, I thought, your basic misogynist, just like Mr. Rock. I chewed my lip to prevent myself from speaking. She sat up straighter and continued. “The idea is that any woman, no matter how strong and assertive, when...