The House of Eve (14)

“Ruby?”

Sure enough, it was Shimmy. He stood behind the laminated counter wearing a candy-striped apron and paper folded hat, beckoning me forward with the wave of his hand.

“You came.” His voice wavered.

“Aunt Marie sent me for her provisions.” I lifted up the shopping bag as proof, and then glanced around the store.

It was smaller on the inside then it looked from the street and smelled like cake frosting. Neatly arranged shelves lined the wall filled with glass jars containing wrapped taffy, sugared jellies, bubble gum, licorice sticks, lollipops, malted balls, fudge and things dipped in swirls of marshmallow, peanut butter, toffee, caramel and chocolate. It felt like I had stumbled into a sugarcoated dream, and I wanted to touch and taste everything.

Shimmy picked up the white towel and wiped down the top, though it already gleamed. “What can I get you?”

I pointed to the homemade ice cream that sat in a clear display case.

“What flavors do you have?” It was a dumb question, because each canister was plainly labeled.

“Chocolate, butter pecan, vanilla, cherry vanilla and strawberry. My favorite is the cherry vanilla.”

I nodded toward the cherry vanilla, and he scraped the metal scooper against the creamy goodness.

“I’m just paying for one scoop.” I put up my hand, but he ignored me, and added a second helping to my bowl.

We were alone in the store. There were three silver barstools against the counter, but I didn’t move to sit. A jukebox with shiny metal castings, tubes of cellophane and bright colored lights sat under the window. I had spent very little time with white people growing up. Especially ones my age. There were the sisters that I had played with on Saturdays while Inez cleaned their house, but that was it. Aunt Marie would be fit to be tied if she found out about this foolishness. I was contemplating taking the ice cream to go, but then Shimmy interrupted my thoughts.

“What do you say?” He grinned expectantly.

I put my spoon to my lips and let the coldness dissolve on my tongue. “It’s good.”

“Just good?” He reached into the display and took some for himself.

“You gotta pay for that?”

“Nope, it’s one of the perks of working here.” He dipped his spoon and brought the ice cream to his lips. Some got caught in the crest of his mouth.

“You need a tissue.” I pointed.

He smirked. “You can have a seat.”

“I’m okay.”

“Ruby, relax, this is practically my place.” He gestured to the stool.

“You sure?” I looked around again, so unaccustomed to occupying white folks’ spaces.

“Mr. Greenwald is a nice guy.”

I hesitated and then slid onto the stool. Shimmy leaned across the counter and our silver bowls touched.

“Cheers,” he said, shoveling a big helping into his mouth. A faint mustache stretched across his top lip.

The bell chimed again, and I turned to see a pale lady dressed in a red felt hat enter the shop. Her dark eyes found me sitting at the counter and her thin nose turned up, like she was inhaling milk that had surprised her by going sour.

Shimmy straightened to a stand. “Afternoon. What can I get for you, Mrs. Levy?”

A long silence passed between them, and I didn’t know if I should get up or just leave, so I kept my face in my ice cream bowl. Not wanting to bring attention to myself, I didn’t even lift my spoon.

“I’ll have a half dozen chocolate turtles and a handful of licorice.” Her voice was careful and deliberate.

“Coming right up.” He moved to retrieve the treats.

“How’s your mother, Shimmy?” I could feel the woman shooting daggered looks my way. Beads of sweat broke down my neck.

“She’s fine.” He wrapped her chocolates in wax paper and then wrapped them again in white paper that he sealed with a red Greenwald’s label.

With her goods under her arm, the woman walked past me and stopped at the door, gawking unabashedly at my full bosom. I lifted my shoulders and lowered my head farther into my bowl.

“Be careful of the company you keep, Shimmy. They are a danger to good Jewish boys like you.” She huffed, sweeping the door closed behind her with a loud thud.

Shimmy slipped the money into the register.

“Sorry about that,” he offered, but I was already up out of my seat. The woman’s distaste for me had robbed me of my appetite. What was I doing here anyway? Besides making a fool of myself. I pushed my half-eaten bowl across the counter.

“Don’t go.” Shimmy reached out and grabbed my arm. His touch was both warm and clammy.

“This isn’t my world.” I snatched it away.

“Look, Mrs. Levy is just sore because her husband is cheating on her with the woman who works at the deli.”

I paused. “I just came from there. Which lady?”

“Alma, the one with the big mole on her chin.”

“She always looks so mad. I never let her serve me.”

“That’s because she wants him to get a divorce, but he refuses because they have two boys.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It’s all over the neighborhood, and her oldest son has been acting out in school.”

I shifted on my feet, feeling a bit of pity for the rude woman.