Sugar

We were greeted at the door by Aunt Hester, a short, stout woman with steel-gray hair. She first hugged Amanda and greeted her as Mandy. She next turned to me and gave me a very long once-over and pronounced me, "Not bad at all; a fine-looking young man."

"Oh, I think he's rather handsome," said Aunt Sofie, who appeared from further within the house.

Sofie was a tall, dark-haired woman. The two sisters seemed a mismatched pair.

Sofie gave Amanda her own hug, and the two aunts led us into the kitchen, where they were preparing the evening meal. A large cake sat on the kitchen counter. The kitchen smelled of the roast cooking in the oven and the sweet odor of vanilla.

"Can you peel us some potatoes, Mandy?" Sofie asked, handing her a peeler and a colander filled with newly washed potatoes.

"I'll take your man to help set the table," Hester said, taking me by the arm and leading me through a swinging door into a wainscoted dining room. The room was a long, wide rectangle. A thick, burgundy carpet covered the hardwood floor. Dark oak paneling ascended from the floor to halfway up the wall, where elaborate rose-embossed paper pulled your eye upward. The ceiling was an intricate lattice of mahogany and oak. The modest chandelier hung down from a medallion of ornate carved mahogany flowers.

Hester led me to a set of china cabinets along the near wall. The cabinets took up most of the wall on the room's short side. Multiple sets of porcelain plates filled the cabinet shelves. She led us to the far cabinet and said, "We'll use these plates today."

As she said this, she smiled at me and said, "It's not easy being Jewish. You need all these dishes."

I had then only a vague idea that one set was for meat and another for dairy. Hester handed me a stack of plates and we began setting the massive, claw-footed table. It was covered in a pristine, white linen tablecloth. I couldn't help myself, and surreptitiously examined the plate backs and the tags on the linen. The china came from England and the linen from Ireland. The real thing, I thought, like the people—genuine.

As Hester set the table and I carried the dinnerware, she carried on a seemingly aimless little inquisition of me. I assumed this was the purpose of separating me from her niece. In short order, she had my personal history; except for my aborted marriage.

As we placed the last silver fork by the last plate, she said ever so casually, "It doesn't hurt, you know. It's just a little snip. Most babies don't even cry."

The meaning of this escaped me. However, before I could ask for an explanation, we heard a clamor in the hallway. A commanding woman's voice called, "I'm here, and I brought the birthday boy!"

Thus entered Rebecca Moskowitz, otherwise known as Judge Levine of the U.S. District Court. This, it turned out, was Amanda Moskowitz's mother. Her father was Leonard Moskowitz, Professor of Economics at New York University. It was Leonard's birthday celebration that I had been invited to.

Hester pushed me into the kitchen as she went to greet her brother and sister-in-law. Amanda had peeled a pot of potatoes and set them on the stove as I entered the kitchen. She turned to me and said, "We should wait here while my aunts break the news that you're here as their guest."

"Am I going to be a problem for you?" I asked, suddenly feeling protective of her.

"No, but perhaps a bit of a shock. I never brought a man home before. Mom can be a bit critical, so be prepared."

It was an awkward situation, and only got worse when we were called into the living room so I could be introduced to her parents. The living room was a large, comfortable room furnished in the décor of the first half of the twentieth century. It was a room to be at ease in, but I could feel the tension.

On the way in, Amanda had taken a small box from the light jacket she had hung in the hall as we arrived that day. The box was clearly wrapped as a birthday present. There was an uneasy silence as we entered the living room. Sugar's father broke the silence with a smile and a joke.

"Is this young man my birthday present, Mandy?" he asked.

"No, Papa," Sugar said quietly. "I brought you this."

She walked us over to hand her father the present she had brought. She never let go of my hand, and I realized she had been holding it tightly for some time.

"Well," her father said, "I was hoping for a son-in-law, but I'm sure I'll like this."

He smiled at his daughter as he said this. Opening the package he withdrew a baseball, clearly used.

His smile widened as the others looked on, confused. Leonard said, "Thank you," and then held up the ball.

"It's a game ball signed by the Mets!" he said, then stood to hug his daughter.

I heard him whisper in Sugar's ear, "I'd still prefer a son-in-law."

Sugar whispered something back, but I didn't hear it. Her father gave a chuckle, but as I looked over, her mother was giving me a hard stare.

Just then, Sonia arrived with her husband and three kids. The youngsters rushed into the living room to occupy the center of all attention.

"Oh good, you came," Sonia said to me, giving me a brief hug.

Introducing me to her husband, Jerry, a tall, thin fellow whom a good wind might blow over, Sonia said, "This is Sugar's new love. As you can see, at least she got the gender right this time."

Jerry shook my hand and said, "Don't mind Sonia. She just likes to needle her older sister."

The living room conversation soon became all about the children's most recent adventures and what presents they had brought their grandfather. It was a relief to be off center stage, but I could feel the eyes of Amanda's mother on me.

The dinner was plain food but delicious nonetheless. The conversation around the table was laced with the underlying joy these people took from being together. Now and then, some question would be cast my way. If it was something Amanda could answer, she jumped right in and answered for me. The more personal ones, I answered simply or deflected.

"Yes, my parents are dead." "A farm in Iowa." "I have one sister." I deflected all the questions about my sister in part because I had no good idea how to answer them. However, the knives came out over coffee and the birthday cake. Judge Levine had been observing, and while the children were occupied eating the gooey cake, she struck.

"Tell me, Walter, are you related to the Stillman who is marrying Eloise Shaffer tomorrow?"

I paused before I answered that, but I spoke before Amanda, sitting opposite me, could make the sharp reply I saw coming.

"Yes, and no," I said. "I was scheduled to marry Eloise, but that ended. And before you ask, your daughter had nothing to do with the cancellation of my marriage."

"Really," Amanda's mother said as she turned to her daughter.

"Yes, really, if it's any of your business," Amanda said, her hostility showing. "Truth is, I didn't want to bring Walter here, but he was invited and was nice enough to come."

I could see that the mother was about to say more, but Leonard Moskowitz spoke and silenced his wife.

"Rebecca, be quiet," he said, and before his wife could reply, "Obviously, the young man found out about Mr. Kaufman. I've been observing Walter all evening, and he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would put up with that."

It was as if he had thrown cold water in his wife's face. The judge was suddenly at a loss for words. Looking around the table, it was clear that while Amanda's parents were aware of the situation, the other diners were not. It was Amanda who stepped in.

"I've known Walter for some time and admired him from afar. When I found him the other evening, lost and alone, I saw my chance to get to know him. He had been hurt by a truly wicked woman, and yes, Mother, I love him. He's too good a man not to be in love with."

As she said this, Amanda had come around the table to hug me from behind.

"Well good for my niece," Uncle Morty said, ending the conversation on the subject of Amanda and me.

I have little recollection of what happened after that, other than there being a general air of satisfaction around the table.

As we left in a yellow cab, I turned to Amanda.

"Did you mean it?" I asked.

"What?" she said, trying to avoid the question.

I was not having this and demanded, "When you said you loved me, did you mean it?"

It seemed to become very quiet in the taxi, and then slowly she raised her head and said, "Yes, I love you. When I first saw you many months ago, I wanted you, but it's more than just attraction now. I love you, Walter Stillman."

****

Thirty minutes later, I was arrested. Eloise apparently sat in our apartment all Friday night, waiting for me to come back. Where, she figured, could I go? However, when I did not return by the following morning, she had become desperate. The wedding was set for Monday, and she suddenly feared I might not show up. In a panic, she called the one person she felt had more to lose than she did.

Rodrigo Ruis, aka Rodney Kaufman, started the police in a search for me immediately. It had taken them a day questioning every bartender along Court Street to determine that I had left a bar called the Shady Lady in the company of a short brunette woman. As Amanda and I had taken a cab the twelve blocks to her apartment in Cobble Hill, the police set out to question all the cabbies that operated in the area that night. It was not until late Sunday that they determined that the taxi had discharged us at the corner of Clinton and Congress. They quickly determined that the basement corner apartment belonged to Amanda Moskowitz, a woman who fit the description of my Friday evening companion.

The police found only a dark and empty apartment, but undaunted, they set a pair of patrol cars to await the occupant's return. It was an impatient quartet of officers whom Amanda and I found on our arrival. They quickly hauled me off, despite Amanda's objections.

I found myself at midnight in a small room that was badly in need of a cleaning and a new coat of paint. I was seated and chained at a table. No one had explained what crime I was accused of. Someone opened the door, and Eloise came in. She looked as beautiful as ever.

"Are you responsible for this!" I demanded.

My tone was harsh, and my anger and frustration were apparent. She seemed a little taken aback as she stood on the other side of the table. There were two chairs on her side, but she didn't try to sit down.

"Walter, please try to understand. When you didn't come home, I was worried that something had happened to you."

"So you had me arrested. For what?"

"You're not under arrest, but in protective custody prior to a possible mental health commitment," said a tall, exceeding good-looking man. He was actually more impressive than his pictures.

He had entered quietly, and as he spoke, he moved next to Eloise. He was over twenty years older than me. All his efforts could not hide his middle age, and I could tell he made a great effort to hold back the effects of time.

"Rodney Kaufman, I presume." I said this with all the venom I could put into my voice.

"Rodrigo Ruis, but, Walt, you may call me Rod, as I hope we will be friends."

"It's Mr. Stillman to you, and I have no wish to be friends."

"That's a pity, as I believe you are in a predicament and could use my friendship."

I raised my hands several inches, causing the chains to pull against the table.

"You can keep me here, but not for long," I said with more confidence than I felt.

"Hopefully long enough for you to hear Eloise out."

She had been standing there not saying a word, but now she spoke. "Walter, you are acting under a misimpression. Rod and I are merely friends. Whatever relationship we had is over. If you had stayed long enough on Friday, I would have told you."

"We have a saying in Iowa. 'I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night.' I caught you in his hotel room!" I rejoined.

"Be that as it may. You two have a date to wed later today, and it is in everyone's interest that you keep that date."

"Sorry, but I refuse to marry this slut," I said.

Eloise gave a little cry of pain, but Rod merely smiled and said, "Language, language, please. Let's keep our tempers."

"Would you prefer I call her a whore? Because that's what she is, a rich man's whore."

I could tell I had gotten to Rodney just a little, yet he continued to smile. Eloise turned away, crying.

"That attitude will cause a great deal of trouble. You are being a very foolish young man. Eloise is a beautiful woman who will make an excellent wife. If you do not wed, there will be a terrible scandal. There are reporters expected at this wedding. It is a society event. Eloise's reputation will be ruined, as will mine, for surely, the reason will get out. People love to gossip, and this will make for splendid gossip.

"I'm told you have a promising career at a prestigious firm. Should you fail to marry Ms. Shaffer today, your career will evaporate, and I doubt you will find any employment elsewhere," he threatened.

Now it was my turn to smile. "I wouldn't marry this skank for a senior partnership, and I certainly won't to stay a junior associate in the bankruptcy department."

"I told you he would be unreasonable," Eloise interjected with her back still to me, and definitely crying.

Rod just gave a sigh and said, "Okay, Mr. Stillman, what will it cost me to make Eloise Mrs. Stillman?"

"Trust me, you haven't got enough money."

"It doesn't have to be forever. A year or two, and then a discreet divorce."

"Won't people ask why then?" I challenged him.

He didn't flinch, and something told me he had more than one iron in this fire.

"The situation at the time of the divorce will be my problem. Name your price for a two-year marriage."

"How pregnant is she?" I said, finally catching on.

Eloise turned to me. "It could be yours, you know," she hissed.

"Yeah," I said. "But I think I'll wait for the DNA test."

All Rodney said was, "How much?"

"Not a chance in hell," I all but spat at him.

Further conversation was cut off by the entry of a short, fat, bald-headed man who looked to be in his sixties. He was followed by two uniformed officers.

Entering, he said, "Hello, Rod, Ms. Shaffer. And you must be Walter Stillman," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'm your attorney, Cy Lebowitz. And this," he said, handing a paper to Rodney, "is a copy of the writ of habeas corpus I just filed at the front desk."

"Up rather late, aren't you, Cy?" Rod said.

"Well, you know how it is. Business has been a bit slow."

"Ms. Shaffer has been acting in her fiancé's best interests. You're forcing us to seek an involuntary commitment," Rodney threatened.

"Hardly see how you can do that, since the writ was issued on behalf of his sister, his only living relative and next of kin."

"Wake her up, did you, Cy?"

"Actually, no. It's much earlier on the West Coast."

Commissioner Rodrigo Ruis, aka Rodney Kaufman, shrugged his shoulders. He was beaten.

***

Cy got me out, and Amanda was waiting for me. Her mother, the judge, had woken up Cy and the judge who signed the writ to get me released. That was the last time I saw Eloise. There never was a baby. I'm not sure of the reason. I know her biological clock was running, and I know she wanted his kid instead of mine. Still, I'm sure if the choice was a scandal that hurt her lover or an abortion, she chose the latter.

Regarding his threat to destroy my career, I am under no doubt that Commissioner and gubernatorial hopeful Rodrigo Ruis tried his best to ruin me, but circumstances intervened. I had a vacation September 2--14, 2008, for my honeymoon that never happened. The day I returned to work, September 15, Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy and the financial world turned upside down. Eric Ericson became the most important partner in the firm, and I was the most important associate.

It was six months of ninety-hour weeks for both Amanda and me before we could marry. We had to make time then, as she was pregnant and clearly showing. Amanda didn't think to use any precautions, since she hadn't been sleeping with a man for some time before that first weekend we'd spent together. Our oldest was a girl, as were the next three. However, four was enough.

Amanda made judge, following in her mother's footsteps, and I have my own firm. When people ask me the secret of my successful career and marriage, I tell them I owe it all to a judge's day at the racetrack, one broken heart, and a girl they called Sugar.