The Jewish Lady, The Black Man and The Road Trip

responded. Then he looked at me and said, “You are an oldie, but a goodie.”

We leaned over and kissed gently.

Then he asked, “How old are you anyway?”

I had yet to tell him my age.

 

My son Roger chose to live in the farthest point out in the Hamptons he could fin d in Montauk After renting the house for one season,

he fell in love with the town and swung a sweet deal for himself. He

charmed his elderly landlady into becoming his partner in ownership, paying

her an agreed lump sum and paying her a year-round stable income, knowing

that when she passed on, it would become his home. Apparently, she had no

heirs. Besides, she fell in love with Roger, who charmed her by listening to her

long, endless, boring stories at any given time, while asking his advice on variable subjects.

.

Their house was on two levels. From the second level and deck, there was

a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean. As part of the deal with his landlady,

Goggie, Roger was able to renovate to his taste, as it had not been remodeled in

almost forty-five years. He turned it into a breathtaking beach house.

Xavier and I entered the house on the bedroom level. The entranceway

floors were in bamboo and stone. All rooms opened to

the sea.

 

My daughter in law Daria is one of the world’s great beauties and was in the kitchen when I

introduced her to Xavier. She was happy to meet him and delightful Daria was

delighted we were staying. Alex, my grandaughter, has a free spirit. Somehow, she can be trusted to do the right thing,

knowing instinctively to stay out of trouble, understanding what is right and

what is wrong. She prefers people to toys and loves hanging out with adults, the

elders begging for her company. She doesn’t much care whom she is entertaining.

All people are interesting to her. She likes going from one person to another

when there is company not shedding a tear if someone leaves, certainly not her

parents, moving on to the next, working the room. I would laugh at the truth

in my son’s Eric’s line, “She runs around the house looking for her parents.”

In his own subdued way Xavier was overwhelmed by their home, seeing

yet another side of life unknown to him. He was shy, entertaining himself

by reading the New York Post on the doorstep.  Daria served a

scrumptious lunch of grilled salmon, corn on the cob, shrimp, and scallops

with bread and divine salads.

We sat around their large, wooden, dining table, part of the living expanse

on the upper level overlooking the sea. Later, we climbed down the long

stairway that led us to the beach, watching my granddaughter play in the sand.

Roger was out surfing in the deep, in his wet suit, hoping he could catch a wave.

That didn’t happen, but he looked good trying.

Roger, at one time, wanted to be an architect, so he exercised his creativity

and decorated everything in their new summer home himself. While he isn’t

eccentric, he prides himself on perfection, making sure that each vase faces

the right direction, the drapes open when they should, and the room is lit

accordingly.

My son’s persona is quiet; he doesn’t talk extensively, taking it all in,

rather than letting it out. I told him someday he would burst out and let me

know what he was thinking all those years

“ When Norman and I separated, Roger chose to go to boarding school in

New Jersey rather than live with me. He knew, at fourteen, what would be

best for him, and he was right Guess what happened on Roger’s first day of boarding school?” I said to

Xavier.

“What?”

“It seems that Norman had given him a few joints, or perhaps Roger found

some of Norman’s. In any event, on the second day, we were notified to come

and get Roger. He had hung a pot of marijuana outside of his window and got

caught.”

“Ahem, ahem, ahem, ahem.”

I was absolutely livid about the whole scenario of him entering school with