Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Annabelle Fisher was delighted when Selma Rosencranz called to invite her over Friday afternoon. It was so like Selma, to call up and have some friends on the spur of the moment, without planning, without preparation.

"I'll bake some brownies." said Annabelle Fisher.

Selma's home was modem, inside and out. Built of concrete with panels of black plate-glass set in chrome, it had been designed by an architect and even had been written up in a magazine— a fact Selma would casually mention to first-time visitors. "His idea is functional design for living,” she would say, searching for the article. "But here, read it for yourself, he says it a lot better than I can explain it."

Annabelle pushed the button and the chimes responded with the first four notes of "How Dry I am." She giggled as always when she heard it; Selma went in for the craziest things. Selma herself, elegant in lounging pajamas and silver slippers, opened the door for her, and then called back inside: "It's Annabelle Fisher, and she's brought brownies, any of you gals who haven't tasted Annabelle's brownies have a treat coming."

Annabelle gave Selma her coat and the box of brownies and went into the vast sunken living room. Flossie Bloom was there along with several others, all of whom Annabelle knew or had at least met. When Selma reappeared, Annabelle asked whether she was planning on two tables.

"If we get around to playing." said Selma. "We've just been gabbing, waiting for you, and we thought it might be fun if we all went to the service tonight. You've been, haven't you? What's it like?"

"To the Friday evening service? Oh sure I've been— once or twice— with Joe. Why, it's like, you know, like a Friday evening service, the cantor sings and you pray, and then the rabbi gives a sermon."

"He gives a sermon?" asked Selma. "You're sure? Every Friday night?"

"Well, every time I’ve been. I'm sure he gives a sermon every Friday. Why?"

"Oh, we wouldn't want to go if the rabbi weren't going to give a sermon." said Selma. Flossie Bloom giggled. "No point in going."

"How long does it last, the sermon. I mean?" asked Natalie Wolf. "Why, I never actually timed him." said Annabelle, pleased to be the center of attention, "but I'd say anywhere from twenty minutes to maybe as much as a half-hour."

"Then say we figure on ten minutes." said Flossie Bloom, her eyes glittering at the others, "or even fifteen minutes. What happens next, Annabelle?"

"Next. I guess the cantor sings again and there's another prayer or two and then everybody goes down to the vestry for tea and cake."

"I think it would be better at the very beginning," said Selma. "You're right." said Natalie Wolf, "then it wouldn't look as though it had anything to do with what he was saying at the time."

Annabelle looked from one to the other uncertainly; her friendly little smile frozen on her face. "Were you all planning to go together? It's really quite interesting, and it doesn't last too long. I mean. I don't think you'll be bored." She saw their smiles and wondered if she had said something silly. Of course she knew all these girls, but some of them she didn't know awfully well. Natalie she knew was divorced and there were rumors that she was kind of fast. Of course, if she was a friend of Selma's she must be all right, and Genevieve Fox and Clara Nieman, well, she'd met them, any number of times, but they were really in a different circle altogether. Genevieve drove a white Jaguar, and Clara was single and had a studio apartment downtown right on the water.

"Yes, that was the general idea." said Selma. "We all thought we'd go together in a body. Would you like to come?"

"Oh wonderful! I'd like to. Of course, I'll have to ask Joe, he may have been planning to go tonight, and then of course, I'd really have to go with him."