Free The Queen and I by Russell Andresen

earlier, and Bubbe had immediately taken a dislike to his girlfriend. Part of the reason was that she caught Rachel on her cell phone in the backyard during the Sabbath, and that was a major no-no, especially in an ultra-religious neighborhood like Borough Park where the streets have eyes. When she asked for an apology, Rachel thought the old woman was being ridiculous, and the two of them had not spoken since. It didn’t really bother Bubbe at all; she took more pleasure in watching how uncomfortable it made her grandson whenever her name came up.
    “I wanted to let you know that I am going away for a little while and was wondering if you would like to come with me?” Jeffrey asked.
    “Go? Where are you going?”
    “Upstate, near the Finger Lakes.”
    “Why would I want to go live near a finger?” Bubbe asked, slightly confused.
    “That’s just the name of the lakes, Bubbe; they aren’t real fingers.”
    “Why are you in such a hurry to leave? Is it that goniff girlfriend of yours?”
    Jeffrey had almost forgotten about that. Bubbe had accused Rachel of stealing a single spoon from her silverware set, hence the nickname goniff, or thief.
    “It has nothing to do with Rachel, Bubbe. I’m having some problems with work, and I just need to get away for a little while.”
    Bubbe shook her head disapprovingly and said, “It’s those horrible, disrespectful plays that you write for the goyim. The Gentiles have never appreciated the hard work we Jews do for them, but they have no problem blaming us for everything when something goes wrong.” Not this argument again. One of the great pleasures that Jews, especially older Jews, took out of life was playing the tortured soul card, and Bubbe had been a member since the day she was born. She had her reasons, of course, watching your family get hunted down by the Nazis had that kind of effect on you, but she played the card more often the older she got.
    “I’m not being blamed for anything. I just feel that I could get more work done if I left town for a little while, and I hate the thought of you being here all by yourself.”
    “What by myself? I have friends.”
    Jeffrey stood and said exasperatedly, “Not that crazy Zena Glassman woman.”
    “Zena is not crazy. She is just an old woman with a schmuck for a grandson.” She smiled at Jeffrey, “We have a lot in common.”
    Zena Glassman was an eccentric old woman who lived in Marine Park, who had become friends with Bubbe years ago. In all the years Jeffrey had known her through Bubbe, she had never changed, never aged a day. And her grandson, Izzy was it? He was a nice enough guy, but a bit neurotic. Let’s face it, the man was about Jeffrey’s age and was still living with his grandmother and mother in the same house.
    “Will you at least think about it?” Jeffrey pleaded.
    “Think, think, yes I’ll think. Always thinking with this one,” Bubbe said as she took another sip of her drink. “Are you eating?” she asked.
    Jeffrey smiled and knew that this was bubbe’s way of ending the conversation and changing it in the direction she wanted it to go. “I could eat some of that stew,” he answered.
    “Come, you look terrible,” she said as she led him to the kitchen. This was what the old woman lived for, feeding her beloved grandson. Jeffrey would make arrangements for someone to drop in and check on her a couple of times a week. Maybe before he went back to Manhattan he would stop by Marine Park and ask Mrs. Glassman if she would mind.

Chapter Eleven: Thinking for Two
     
    Jeffrey arrived at Rachel’s Tribeca apartment and let himself in; he knew that she was not home yet and didn’t feel like waiting until later in the evening for her to come to him, so he decided that waiting for her was the optimal way of going about reaching her.
    He called and left a message and then texted her so that she knew he was waiting and made himself comfortable. It was not hard in her apartment. She was a very neat