So my writing teacher asked me how did I know that I had low social status in Jewish life.
I met Bella* at a Shabbat dinner in March of 1998. It was set up by **** but was at the home of a ****** couple. My life was bare during the week, just blogging lukeford.com, so on Friday night I was a tad exuberant, charming the woman of the house and offending the man of the house (by sitting in his seat).
Sitting across from Bella, I asked her, even though I could tell she was in her late 20s, “Where do you go to high school?” She smiled. She blushed. She confessed she was a nutritionist, a common profession for a Jewish woman, like speech pathologist. You can usually do it part-time if need be while raising kids.
A week or so later, I ran into Bella on Purim at my Reform temple *** *******. She was happy to see me. I got her phone number and took her to a Torah class a few days later in my old bomb. Then we hit a Shabbat dinner in Venice for our second date, ending up all cuddly in my hovel.
The next week, I parted company with my Orthodox shul ****, choosing my forbidden blogging over the new life that I had promised the rabbi, and I took Bella on our third date — dinner and a movie. Due to time constraints, dinner became the Ralphs salad bar (eaten in my old car) and the movie was Wag the Dog, which she had already seen.
We went back to her place. I wasn’t fully comfortable and her jaw got tired after a few minutes, so there was no Hollywood ending. I left before 6 a.m. to make early minyan and daf yomi at my new Orthodox shul.
She liked that I was so dedicated.
She said that her previous boyfriend had taught her that if you give your man a blowjob in the morning, he’s happy all day.
A day or two later, I called. It turned out that our third date had not been spectacular for her (I think it was eating Ralphs salad in my bombed out van before the movie she’d already seen). She was headed to Europe for a few weeks of vacation. “Don’t wait for me,” she said. “We’re not going anywhere.”
And that’s where things would’ve ended if I hadn’t fractured my wrist a month later playing football at my Reform temple Sunday picnic. Feeling bereft, I called Bella. She said she was strangely stirred by my vulnerability. She came over that Shabbos afternoon and very awkwardly, my left arm in a cast, we consummated our friendship on the floor of my hovel, shortly before bringing in Shuvuot at Adat Shalom, a Conservative synagogue in Westwood.
Over the next year, we went out about once a month. We never talked about having a relationship and never talked about a future together. I was getting a lot of media attention in those days, and whenever I got on TV, Bella rewarded me with sex.
I think the last time we hooked up was after a screening of the Holocaust movie Life is Beautiful. We both felt queasy. She said she’d just finished her period, which I took as a cue to lay out towels in case things got messy. She threw the towels away. I understand now that she meant we could go unprotected.
A year went by. She came to my Reform temple one Shabbos morning. She didn’t seem that thrilled to see me. She might’ve been avoiding me but I didn’t get the hint. There was a vibe in the air at my temple that I was not cool and I remember worrying that Bella was picking up on it. I felt like a pariah in my own shul. If Bella hadn’t been there, it would not have been so bad, but I felt the rejection and got all reactive and trying too hard and then giving up and ignoring the ostracism and trying to connect to God.
I guess I was very glad to see Bella and desperate to connect, so desperate that I ignored her signals.
I was happy when she stayed for lunch. I might’ve even paid for it. We sat together with a group of friends. When she stood up to go, I said I’d walk her out. She told me not to worry. I said it was no worry.
I followed her out. Strangely, she barreled ahead, trying to ignore me. I struggled to keep up and to simultaneously initiate conversation. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t get the hint until she stopped, turned to me, and said, “I don’t want you to walk me out because I don’t want people to think we’re together.”
She had no problem detecting the stench of my low social status and she didn’t want to be contaminated.
A couple of days later, she called and apologized.
It reminded me of our bitter-sweet conversation a few months before when we realized we were going our separate ways. I might’ve shared I was seeing someone. And Bella said, “And I never even got to show you off.”
A few years later, I ran into her at Friday Night Live at Sinai Temple in Westwood. I called her a few days later and asked if we could try again. She said no.
