Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 91.1: 1968, Georgina

Chapter 91.1: 1968, Georgina

The sound of familiar boots were thumping up the hallway on the other side of the wall. I wasn’t ready, but these were comforting to me nonetheless. With one hand, I took my Pall Mall out of my mouth and rested it on my armrest. Before me on the stove were bubbling latkes. I’d wanted them done before he came home. They were my apology. It had been hard to make them from a sitting position, but I was surprised how easily I’d adjusted.

Paulie’s key bit into the lock, and immediately my head whipped to the door in fear. But I swallowed, trying to make the fear go down. I knew it was just him. I’d known from his boots, the way he walked on the other side of the wall. But still, this fearful feeling…

The door swung open and my heart eased, seeing his large charming smile going my way.

“Smells like my grandma’s in here. What is that? Do I smell matzo? Potato? Is it Passover?”

“I couldn’t reach the flour. But you had matzo flour under your sink.” My body was easing. He was taking off his trench coat, hanging it on the hook. It looked a little wet. Was it raining?

He paused in an obvious way, which made me wonder. But he started moving again quickly.

“That matzo flour is old. Should still be okay, though.” He made his way to the stove, looking at the pan. There were four latkes simmering. “Can you even see what you’re cooking? Want me to take over?”

“Okay. I was making them for you, anyway.”

He broke into a smile at this. “For me?” He took the metal spatula off the counter and teased one of the latkes with it. I could see it over the lip of the pan, ready to be flipped over for the last time, all browned on the bottom.

“Yeah.”

He looked so pleased. I couldn’t help but smile. My plan was working. But with his expression, guilt bloomed in my stomach. It was making me remember the reason for making these latkes. I knew he liked them, and with the ingredients I could see in his kitchen they were the easiest Jewish thing I knew how to make.

But I was sorry. So sorry, for my behavior last night. Even these cigarettes, the last of which were on the table, were a regrettable decision. He’d left the apartment again when we’d gotten back from the laundry place. I had to have been asleep when he’d gotten back, because when I woke up these Pall Malls were on my bedside table. The cellophane had crinkled in my hand when I’d picked them up. The package had made my hand tingle, my very skin too excited for them. But the guilt had come up immediately after.

I wasn’t supposed to be smoking. Paulie had told me that last night in the laundry place, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. All day I’d been trying to avoid my feelings, trying to make myself numb as I smoked cigarette after cigarette. But each one compounded the grief, each one making me further from my dream. Damaging my body further, in untold ways. But what was the point if my body was already damaged-

“Fuck! That’s hot!”

My head whipped up again. I’d been lost in my thoughts. The very tip of Paulie’s tongue was squeezed between his lips and he was shaking his head. The pink tip disappeared into his mouth and he took a harsh breath in between his teeth. I could see now that the fresh latkes were on a plate next to the pan, the oil still bubbling on them. And on one of them was a small bite.

I didn’t know what to say to this, my sadness returning in my brief thoughts. But he was too quick for me to speak anyway. He turned, picking up the plate. “Let’s eat, okay? Two for me, two for you. But be careful, they’re really hot. I just burned myself.”