The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [132]
Grabbing Azaylee’s hand, she said, “Come on, baby, let’s go invite Zev to our party.”
They ran hand in hand through the streets as if they were both children, tumbling, laughing through the pawnshop’s shabby door.
Zev glanced up from his accounts in surprise.
“Hello, Mr. Abramski,” Azaylee said, still giggling, “We’ve come to invite you to our party.”
He glanced quickly at Missie and she nodded, beaming.
“It’s a celebration,” she said. “Seven o’clock at my apartment.”
“What are we celebrating, matiushka?” Azaylee demanded, tugging at her skirt.
“I’ll tell you later,” she promised. She remembered suddenly that she had not seen Zev to apologize and she said contritely, “I’m sorry, Zev, about Sunday. I just hated to miss our date but I was kept late at the fashion parade out on Long Island and I couldn’t get back in time. I meant to come around tonight to apologize. But now it’s a celebration instead.”
She beamed at him and he stared back at her with black inscrutable eyes. He said stiffly, “You are under no obligation to see me. I understand if you are too busy.”
“Oh, Zev!” She slid her hand into the little groove under the brass cage where the money was passed back and forth, touching his. “You know how much I was looking forward to seeing you. Please? Say you forgive me? And please, will you come to my celebration party?”
She cocked her head to one side, gazing at him beseechingly, and he felt himself weakening. He had sat at their special table as first the minutes passed and then the hours, aware of the waiter’s sympathetic glances, and when by eleven o’clock she still hadn’t come he had thought it was all over, that the romance that never was had disappeared forever. And now there she was again, charming him with her smile, softening him with her eyes, and he was happy again.
“I accept,” he said, nodding.
Missie breathed a sigh of relief. “Then it’s all set,” she cried, grabbing Azaylee and whizzing to the door as Viktor barked excitedly. “See you at seven,” she called, slamming the door behind her.
Zev closed early that night. He dressed meticulously in a clean white shirt and his best black jacket, smoothing his thick dark hair and fixing his blue tie just so. At five minutes to seven he locked his door and set off for Rivington Street. He had never been to a party in his life before, or to a “celebration.”
Rosa Perelman opened the door, inspecting him up and down and shaking his hand pleasantly. “Come in, Mr. Abramski, we are all here,” she said, smiling, “though Missie has enough food for fifty.”
He stared in amazement at the table laden with good things, the colorful sweet-smelling fruits, the enormous pink-and-white lobsters, the turkey, the chocolates, and the bottle of champagne, and then he looked at Missie, puzzled.
“Quickly, Zev,” she called, “open the champagne, we must drink a toast.”
“I want some turkey,” Azaylee demanded imperiously.
“I want never gets,” Rosa said automatically. “I would like some turkey.”
“So would I,” Azaylee said, puzzled.
Missie sighed. “This child used to have good manners,” she said, “and maybe she will again soon.”
Zev pulled the cork clumsily and the children shrieked with delight as the wine fizzed onto the floor.
“Quick,” Rosa cried, “the glasses.”
They filled the tea glasses, allowing each child a little, then they held them solemnly in the air, looking expectantly at Missie.
She glanced around her audience, enjoying the moment. “All right,” she said, “prepare yourselves for a big surprise. Two big surprises … no, three. Our first toast is to Mr. Florenz Ziegfeld, who so kindly provided this delicious hamper and this wonderful champagne.”
“Ziegfeld!” Rosa exclaimed. “The Ziegfeld? He sent you this?”
“He sent Azaylee this,” she corrected. “Here is his note, see for yourself.”
They crowded around to look and Rosa said reverently to Azaylee, “You must keep this note for always because it’s from a very famous man and it’s written to you, ‘to Azaylee.’”
“But what does he say?” she demanded, peering at it.
Missie laughed.