“Crazy! Who ever heard of a chassidishe meidel arranging things with a shadchan by herself? Her parents know nothing — she just goes ahead and meets a boy? And to a what? A moderne lawyer who wears a pink shirt, probably! You can forget it, Rikki. You — can — for — get — it!”
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It was true what they said; she looked good in turquoise — it brought out the indigo of her eyes. She fingered the teal-fringed top and the straight skirt. He hadn’t seen this yet. And straight skirts were always flattering. A Moschino chiffon scarf marbled in teal and turquoise was draped carefully over the hanger.
Always wear your best colors her mother’s voice rang in her head. Makes you look more sophisticated. Although where Shlomo was concerned her parents wouldn’t care whether she looked sophisticated or not. To them Shlomo Frankel was a nonstarter beard notwithstanding. First of all there was the tie. And the short jacket and the bent-down hat — when he wore those. And what… a lawyer? For a Radvitzer einekel? The rebbes would turn in their graves.
Downstairs the front door banged shut. Her mother must have gone to her Bikur Cholim meeting. Good — there would be no awkward questions. Rikki absently rubbed her finger around the beauty spot on the side of her chin and then stopped suddenly. Don’t do that Rikki. It looks weird. Duvid tell her how weird it looks when she does that.
She liked Shlomo. And with him she could actually talk about things that interested her. Books and politics and personnel management. Real estate and writing and why did you have to marry a shtreimel just because your father wore one?
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