Cohens have the Blues

The Cohens Have The Blues.
(Sequel to "If the Hat fits &;#8230;")

And so now Aunt Sadie is trying to sue an interior design company on
the other side of the Atlantic!

Uncle Louis confided in me for the third time, "If she had not won all
that gelt on the lottery, we would all still be poor and miserable. Now
we are rich and miserable. But at least she is enjoying her
misery&;#8230;" His voice trailed off into incoherent muttering
under his breath, as Sadie barked crisp orders down the phone.

"Of course I'm right. You call yourselves Lawyers? I am paying you to
be right on my behalf, and for this you want to be telling me I should
understand the law!?"

I could not begin to imagine how Yentle and Yentle Law firm of Finchley
were keeping their patience, as Aunt Sadie insisted they bring all the
laws of England to bear on an exclusive interior design and decorating
company, in central New York.

My sister, Sarah, and I had a wager between us, whereby I was confident
that the lawfirm rued the day they had heard of Mrs. Sadie Cohen, far
more than the design and decorating company did. After all, Aunt Sadie
had chosen to ignore Yentle's advice to at least draw up legal
contracts with a company some 5,000 miles away. I remember the
conversation of barely 6 weeks ago as I had sat quietly listening to
Aunt Sadie's instructions to the bespectacled Mr. Yentle Senior. In
truth it was less a conversation and more a monologue on the part of
Aunt Sadie.

"This is the phone number in New York you are to contact them and then
make the arrangements. I have it on good authority they are the very
best. I want them to send their best designers and decorators to
completely renovate my new home while I am away. These are the dates
that I shall depart for Israel and these are the dates I shall be
returning."

I had watched Mr. Yentle as he peered over the half-rimmed glasses,
eyes intently focused as if hanging onto every word pouring from Aunt
Sadie's mouth. I suspected he was actually waiting to see if she would
pause to take breath, in order to again try and persuade her to
reconsider these 'unconventional arrangements', in spite of her new
found multi-millionaire status.

The last time Mr. Yentle had attempted to advise her that wiring
seventy-five thousand pounds to a company, on the basis that their
company's name was a 'good Jewish name', and not a single instruction
or agreement had been written, only verbally communicated, had only
resulted in a severe rebuking.

"When I am paying good gelt for your advice, Mr. Yentle, I expect you
to listen to me! I am not interested in pieces of paper being sent back
and forth between you and them, or their lawyers. It is not a difficult
instruction for you to give them. They are to be here while I am away,
and redesign and redecorate in a 'Jewish Style'. A style that is
befitting a humble Jewish family - That being myself, Louis and my
nephew, David."

With the words 'nephew, David', she waved her cheque book over her
shoulder in my general direction. I sunk lower into the upholstered
leather chair, wondering what on earth had possessed me to accept her
kind, 'insistent' offer (conveyed repeatedly via Uncle Louis in tones
of despair) that I should move out of my rented one-bedroom flat, and
take up residence on the third floor of her eight bedroom 'humble
home'. Uncle Louis' pleas, over several weeks, had worn me down, and as
'favourite nephew' to Aunt Sadie I had capitulated.

At least I could console myself with the knowledge that far more
resilient people than I had acquiesced to Aunt Sadie's 'requests'. Mr.
Yentle Senior being a prime example, when the fateful day arrived, and
a long distant call had been placed on behalf of Aunt Sadie to New
York. But for a clearer phone call - one with less crackles on the line
- such a misunderstanding would never had occurred.

The phone number, passed to my Aunt Sadie from a distant but 'reliable
gentile' cousin in New York, had duly and correctly been passed on to
Mr. Yentle. Yes, distant cousin Michael had found the very best
interior design and decorator's in New York, with what certainly
appeared to him to be a 'good Jewish Name'. The advertisement had
honestly claimed a reputation for designing to any 'theme' the client
cared to name, and their 'portfolio' of clients boasted names of the
rich and famous around the world.

"And what's good enough for a wealthy gentile is good enough for a
Jewish lady of moderate means," Aunt Sadie had huffed at Louis, just
twenty-four hours after taking possession of her two million pound
'modest mansion'. I knew it had been a mistake for Louis to complain,
on first sight, about the wallpaper colour not matching the sunken
Jacuzzi in the master bedroom, or 'madam bedroom' as he referred to it
when out of the earshot of Aunt Sadie.

The day I collected Aunt Sadie and Uncle Louis from the port where the
Cruise-liner had docked, will always remain a memorable day for me.
Starting from the dramatic moment Aunt Sadie staggered down the
walkway, then sank to her knees and kissed the ground. The likelihood
that she was trying to emulate the Pope, whom she had once seen on
television perform a similar maneuver, was highly unlikely. Uncle
Louis' exasperated remark, "God forgive - now I am married to a Muslim
Jew who can't find Mecca," went unheard by Aunt Sadie, as an elderly
nun promptly stumbled over Aunt Sadie's ample posterior, which pointed
heavenwards. As the nun tried to gather her composure, crossing herself
twice, Uncle Louis' exasperation rose to another pitch, "Oi Vey - my
Muslim Jewish wife - Now she is blessed by a sister!"

Hurriedly attempting to haul Aunt Sadie to her feet, before the scene
could degenerate further into a battle of the league of nations and
faiths, I called to Uncle Louis and two other onlookers to help me
assist Aunt Sadie to her feet. Uncle Louis made the wise decision not
to respond to Aunt Sadie's irritated, rhetorical question, "Do you
really think I need four of you to help me?"

There was no lessening of the tension between Aunt Sadie and Uncle
Louis as I drove them to their newly decorated home, and I could only
hope that the Interior designers and decorators had performed a miracle
which would live up to her expectations. As I had been forced to move
out and stay with my sister, while the decorating was being done, I
casually commented, "I am looking forward to seeing home. Are you, Aunt
Sadie?" This simply prompted Aunt Sadie to launch into a second
outburst of how dreadful the six weeks had been.

"A ship - I never want to see again. For six weeks I am surrounded by
nothing but sea!" Wondering exactly what she had expected to see on a
cruise, I chose to not say a word, and silently prayed that Uncle Louis
had exhausted his witticism too.

It went from bad to worse as I carried their suitcases into a hallway,
which resembled the very seas Aunt Sadie had been lamenting. A sea of
seemingly endless navy-blue carpet contrasted against a pale 'bluebell'
shade of wallpaper. The billowing wall curtains of grey and white gave
the impression a thunderstorm was about to erupt. And it did, from Aunt
Sadie's mouth, as she opened the double doors to the ballroom-sized
lounge. From sky-blue to Royal blue, and all the shades between, I
dropped both suitcases in amazement.

Mr. Yentle continued to try explain on the phone to Aunt Sadie that,
had she followed his advice and allowed him to instruct in writing,
Cowens, the Italian interior design and decorating company, they would
have clearly understood the theme was most definitely not
'bluish'.

Copyright David Taub UKpoet@aol.com , 2000

If you enjoyed reading this piece and/or have any comments, you are
welcome to email me at UKpoet@aol.com

David Taub is a member of
The British organisation 'National Union of Journalists' (NUJ);
Columnist for the UK magazine 'Poetry Now';
Freelance writer for various UK and USA magazines;
Co-author of Language of Souls (listed on amazon.com)
Website: www.ukpoet.cjb.net