Cooper Cheating

1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-0-9837342-0-8
Verlag: First Edition Design Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Wasserzeichen (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 100 Seiten

More than 30 unforgettable, gripping stories that describe an eclectic group of characters of men and women who are concerned with an entire range of problems from sex to marriage to maintaining life itself. Riveting, possessive  and page-turning episodes in the lives of many people.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Cooper, Jay

Leseproben

Chapter 1 - Cheating  
She was nearing a risky age. If her mother were still living, she would probably call it a “dangerous age.”In five months she would be thirty. And single. She was ambitious, smart, hard working and reasonably good-looking. She had a career, a two-story condo, loads of friends. But no husband. She had competed in a man’s world and had won. But just what had she won? Certainly not a mate. Not even a decent lover. She always considered herself a resourceful woman. But this crisis was a little different. It required some special attention. Her name was Sheila Goldstein and she had a straight nose, green eyes and frizzy hair that seemed impossible in rainy weather. She worried about her weight but always managed to remain thin. She had fetching, pointy breasts, a curvy figure, and she flirted endlessly until she was beginning to act like a professional tart. Tonight she had been trying to keep busy by helping the families prepare the tables. It was while she was in the kitchen, washing some of the fruits, that she first saw him. He was wandering through the halls, looking at the announcements on the bulletin board, ducking his head into the kitchen for a moment before returning to the chapel. A newcomer. Tall, well dressed, but unfortunately a little heavy. Or maybe it was fortunate. She assembled the sugar and almond cookies Mrs. Scherzer had made. She cut the bupka the Schneiders had baked into small pieces and placed them on two plates. She put the fruit Nate and Rosyln Ellis had brought onto a large oval plate. She cut the pineapple and cantaloupe into bite-size pieces, sticking each with a different colored toothpick. The strawberries were placed around the fruit to create an enticing decoration. The other women were cutting the pound cake into smaller pieces, preparing coffee, removing juices from the fridge, and carrying the large bottles of soda that were usually difficult to reach. Everything was spread on the table near the window. It was Friday evening. After services, the congregation would enjoy another oneg Shabbat. Eventually all the women left the kitchen for the services. Sheila had a different plan. She waited until five to eight before strolling from the kitchen into the synagogue. She looked around and mercifully spotted him sitting in one of the back rows. She had guessed right. Newcomers usually sat there, unfamiliar with the other congregants. Not wanting to take up space that, like an unwritten rule, was reserved for the members. The chair next to him was empty. Good. She carefully moved down the aisle, waving to Mrs. Zimmerman and Mrs. Pinsky and stepped into the row he occupied. She moved toward him, pointing to the empty seat. “Is this taken?” He looked up and smiled. “No. It’s all yours.” She gracefully sat down next to him, placing her handbag on her lap and picking up the new prayer book. He looked at her more out of curiosity than anything else. She appeared to be busy running her hands over the prayer book, checking the mimeographed information sheet. When she noticed his second glance, she leaned over and held his arm so she could whisper. He brought his head closer to hers. “Sometimes you come too late you can never can enjoy it.” She had practiced the motion and line. Over time she added perfume, thick eyeliner, a bright iridescent lipstick, a new Bali bra with more uplift and a certain inflection to her voice so the words seemed to have a double entendre. “Didn’t I see you before?” he asked. “Weren’t you here earlier?” What bothered her was his nose. It seemed to float down his face blindly, curving off to the left. She remembered what her father would say: “Concentrate on their good points.” He did have nice black hair, a small and neatly groomed black beard and mustache. Sadly a bald spot was just appearing at the crown. He wore a nice suit and a burgundy-colored tallit over his shoulders. It was a style she had never seen before. Something hip. Sheila said “I was helping out in the kitchen for the Oneg.” “Oh. That’ll keep you busy.” The services were about to begin. Rabbi Miller walked down the aisle with the cantor. As always, he would stop along the way and talk to congregants. She could never hear what he said but he always made them laugh. She often wondered what was so damn funny. “Sheila,” she said, finally introducing herself. “Sheila Goldstein. I’m with Morgan Stanley.” “Oh, nice to meet you. Leonard Zagowsky.” “What?” “Leonard. Just call me Lenny. Everyone does.” “So you’re at the hospital?” “Hospital? No. What made you think that?” “Just a guess.” She gave him her weekend smile. All dimples. She exuded a glow that had lots of warmth, plenty of teeth and a certain look about the eyes that said “fun in the sack.” “So if not at the hospital, what do you do Lenny?” “Claims adjuster for Mutual.” “Claims adjuster?” At that moment, a tall woman with hair coifed like a light brown helmet grabbed Lenny’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late, darling.” The wife looked down at Sheila. “How do they manage that ladies room?” she asked. “It only has two stalls.” Lenny introduced his wife, Madeleine. Sheila managed to hold the smile just in time to hear the Rabbi begin the service. After services the entire congregation split into groups and walked down the hall to the banquet area for the oneg Shabbat. The Oneg was the Friday evening ritual of food, drinks, conversation and friendly greetings. At Bi’Yerushalyim, it was offered in great abundance after evening services. The Oneg was handled by a rotating group of families. They prepared the desserts, making certain everything would be ready after services. Sheila managed to reach Betty Glover so they could walk together into the banquet hall. Betty was the shiksa who had stolen Mel Friedman from right under her nose. Now she was telling Sheila about Mel’s promotion. The bitch was relating all her good news. Betty told Sheila about their new home. She described the layout, inviting Sheila to visit some afternoon. Unbeknown to either woman, Mel had slept with each prior to his marriage. For a while he was uncertain which one he would marry. But when Betty agreed to convert, it sealed Sheila’s doom. Mel always feared the meetings between these two women. They seemed to threaten his sense of tradition. When he returned with food for both, it took all his effort to stand firm and face both women without collapsing. On the other side of the room Lenny was chatting with some other newcomers. A little girl, undoubtedly his daughter, held his hand, looking around the room in bewilderment. This was the adult Shabbat service. Usually the smaller children stayed home on those Friday evenings. Next week was Purim, and children would virtually take over the synagogue for this happy celebration. Mel gave Betty and Sheila some coffee. He would run back to the table after Betty suggested she would like a piece of one of those strudel things someone had made. Sheila could have told the bitch it was Humentashen, the triangular flat pastry filled with poppy seeds, symbolic of the biblical Israelites’ victory over Haman and the Babylonians. Very traditional in the Hebrew month of Adar as the calendar neared Passover. But why bother? Betty was pregnant. And that was the important news. “This calls for some congratulations,” Sheila said. Betty sipped her coffee. “Well, let’s just hope everything turns out well.” “What are you expecting?” “What is something we don’t know yet,” Betty said, laughing as she threw her head back and rearranged her rich blonde hair. Even Sheila had to admit that Betty was a natural blonde. “But when is something I can tell you. The doctor said October 20. But who really knows?” “You look wonderful, Betty.” Sheila looked around the room. She recognized Irv Zimmerman, Mrs. Zimmerman’s eldest son. They had dated off and on for about a year. Some people thought they might marry. But then Rachel, a damn Israeli, came into the picture and within a week—poof! Irv was married. She watched two others she had known when they were single. Albert and Barry were talking about their research. Both of them urologists, talking shop near the coffee table, discussing renal disorders. Their wives were nearby, each wearing a new fur coat. Checking each other out. Mel returned with a plateful of Humentashen for himself and Betty. He stared at Sheila, nervously wondering what to do. “How’s everything going, Sheila?” “Just fine, Mel. Congratulations to both of you.” “Thanks.” There was a big laugh at the other end of the room. It was Norma, her friend the jokester. She probably had just told another funny one. “Do you want more coffee, Sheila?” “No, thanks. Look, folks, I really have to run off. Great to see you, Betty. And Mel, give my regards to your family.” They waved and Sheila left along with several other couples, driving back to her condo. Putting personals in the weekly shopper was one way to catch a husband. Arlene said it was the way she met her Nathan. But this never felt right with Sheila. She had the wrong bait and found herself talking to the wrong guy. He was...