The complaints had become all too familiar: the closing down of streets and rerouting of buses on the Jewish Sabbath and holidays; the Hasidic anti-crime patrol preying on blacks, checking innocent people for identification when they walked the streets; rumors of attempted blockbusting by offering exorbitant amounts of money to buy out black residences; the Hatzalah Ambulance Service, an emergency medical group started by the Hasidim, denying services to blacks and other non-Jews; and lastly, the disproportionate influence of the Hasidim in the allocation of public funds for housing and other community needs. Joshua couldn't deny that much of it was true. The blacks were by far the majority, at least seventy percent of the community, yet their clout was meager in comparison to the Hasidim. Corrections were due. But the venom disturbed him.

Amid the applause and cheering, he scanned the room for fellow skeptics, and thought he spotted a few. He could tell that Connie was uncomfortable as well. They were on the same page about most things, and equally worried about the future.

The evening was redeemed by the food and music. Lobster bisque followed by a delectable three greens salad, and an entree of Chateaubriand, roasted potatoes, with asparagus and Hollandaise sauce. Joshua had his steak rare, and when dessert came around-a choice of chocolate mousse, New York cheese cake, or a fruit cup-he had all three.

Connie skipped the soup, selected the salmon instead of steak, and stuck with the fruit cup. She watched her partner enviously. "Forget what the speakers have been talking about, what really is unjust in this world is how someone can eat the way you do, and stay thin," she said.

"The benefits of a fast metabolism," he replied.

She just watched in disbelief.

The six-piece band had a nice sound, and things livened up a bit after the speeches. It was time to party and forget the misery, something that seemed to come easily to the crowd.

Because of his leg, Joshua had always been shy about dancing. Connie had never coerced him to try, though they'd attended several dinner-dances together. They usually sat, watched the crowd, drank and joked some, and simply found pleasure in being together away from the office. Their bond was strong, even more so since they'd stopped messing around.

She'd recently been dating a gentleman named Marcus Sterling, a good looking local black lawyer who had been elected to the city council. Joshua was glad, for Marcus was an "up-and-coming," ambitious player who, like himself, rose from the streets and fought hard. The difference between them was that Marcus was a politician, savvy from the get-go, and a mite too radical for Connie's blood. Joshua had been encouraging her to stick with Marcus anyway. "Politics isn't everything," he had told her just a few days earlier.

"Maybe not," she had responded, "but it sure makes for strange bedfellows."

"I wouldn't know."

That had given her a good laugh.

Marcus was at the dinner, and had spent most of the evening smoking stogies and hobn.o.bbing with cronies and const.i.tuents. He had greeted Joshua and Connie earlier, and had promised Connie a dance later in the evening. Now, Joshua saw him approaching their table, and figured the councilman was going to make good on his promise. But Joshua was wrong. Instead of asking for a dance, Marcus took a seat beside Connie, put his arm around her, and started talking with the two of them. He seemed smooth and calculated. Joshua knew something was up.

"So, you folks having a good time?" Marcus asked.

"Real good," Joshua answered.

Connie just smiled. Somehow she sensed, as Joshua had, that this was going to be a conversation between the two men.

"You know, Connie, your partner here seems to be the talk of the town these days," Marcus said.

"Really, what did he do now?"

They all chuckled.

"No, seriously," Marcus said to Joshua, "I've been speaking with people all night, and your name keeps popping up."

"For what?" Joshua asked.

"Well..." Marcus hesitated, looked Joshua in the eye, and said, "There's a vacancy coming up on the community board."

Joshua froze. That wasn't even close to what he'd expected to hear. He had thought Marcus might solicit some pro bono legal work on a lost cause case or something, but never this. Connie looked equally surprised.

"Community Board Nine?" Joshua asked.

"That's the one," Marcus replied.

There was a long moment of silence, which Marcus broke, saying, "Look, I understand you weren't prepared for this. Take some time, think about it. We'll get together in a few days for lunch, the three of us." He looked at Connie, and continued, "We'll talk it over then. For now, I'm going to steal this pretty lady away for a dance." He shook Joshua's hand, stood up, and led Connie from the table.

Joshua sat alone, contemplating what had just transpired. It was a flattering offer, no doubt, and quite perplexing, especially coming from Marcus Sterling. Joshua knew that Sterling was a close a.s.sociate of both Alvin Thompson and Jerome Williams, and figured that Sterling must have been aware of his lack of cooperation with the professor in the past. He wondered why Sterling would be interested in him.

Community Board Nine was a hotbed, and had been since its inception eight years earlier in 1977, when Mayor Abraham Beame, under pressure from the Hasidic community, divided the Crown Heights "community advisory board" into two separate boards. The new districts were separated by Eastern Parkway, with Board Eight representing the north side, and board nine representing the south side. Since community boards were mandated with the allocation and distribution of public funds, the Hasidim sought the redistricting because of demographics. The south side of Eastern Parkway was their stronghold, and by excluding the north side, which was predominantly black, they became less of a minority, gained greater representation and, thus, more resources for themselves. Black leaders had challenged the redistricting in federal court, arguing that it was a political payoff to the Hasidic community for their electoral support of Mayor Beame. The case had been thrown out.

To Joshua's mind, Board Nine was no different from the streets, just another battleground for conflict between blacks and Jews in Crown Heights, its very existence a thorn in the side of rapprochement. Sadly, he knew it could have been a forum for community leaders to reason and resolve differences, but such dreams rarely prevailed against the opportunity to bicker and divide. Especially in Crown Heights.

And here he was, once again being asked to join the circus, his solicitor none other than a representative of those whom he'd thought had scorned him. His immediate inclination was to decline, of course, but first he needed to learn why they'd chosen him.

Loretta and Connie were ecstatic about the idea, but neither was surprised at Joshua's hesitance. Loretta relished the prospect of her son becoming a community leader, while Connie focused on the positive effect it would have on business. Joshua couldn't deny Connie's point, nor could he deprive his mother of yet another boost of pride. But then there was Rachel. This wasn't going to be an easy decision.

Rachel was cautious. "This would put you right in the middle of things, wouldn't it?" she asked, leaning on the table with both elbows, her face resting in her hands. It was the next evening, and the luncheon with Marcus Sterling was scheduled for the following day.

"It would. It would also give me the chance to do some good." He was trying to convince himself as much as her.

"Possibly. The latest I've been hearing is that the board spends all its time fighting over how many blacks versus how many Jews should be sitting on it. There isn't much good in that."

Joshua nodded.

The waitress brought their orders. Rachel had a large salad. Nuts, raisins, alfalfa sprouts, grated carrots, cherry-tomatoes, and cuc.u.mbers atop a bed of romaine lettuce. Joshua had a veggie-burger, the closest he could get to "real" sustenance.

He was amazed how they'd been coming to the same place, week after week, year after year, ordering the same dishes, and sitting at the same table. He had once joked that the owners should hang a picture of them on the wall above the table, or at least name a sandwich after them.

"You'd have to be famous for that," Rachel had said.

"Even in a place like this?"

"Most certainly."

"Then I guess I'll just have to become famous."

Once in a while they would get together with Esther and Stephen for dinner, both of whom Joshua had come to like over the years. He felt good about going out with another couple; it seemed almost "normal." He also enjoyed watching Rachel with Esther, the way the two women treated one another, and Rachel's implacable trust in Esther's discretion. There was much about their relationship that neither he nor Stephen would ever grasp. One thing he did see, however, was that whenever Esther or Stephen talked about their children, Rachel struggled to conceal her anguish. Joshua, too, had some regrets in this department.

Rachel was comforted that Esther had put on some weight since her pregnancies, and was looking healthy. Esther and Stephen had a seven year old girl and six year old boy. Luckily for them, Stephen's mother was available to watch the children during the days and some nights. Money was tight, and they both had to work to make ends meet. Several years back he had fallen into managing a grocery store owned by a distant relative; Esther was at the check-out counter. They still belonged to a small repertory that put on a few off-beat plays during the year, in a bas.e.m.e.nt firetrap somewhere in the West Village. They rehea.r.s.ed evenings and weekends. So much for dreams.

"I'm sure you've already decided what you're going to do," Rachel said.

"Not really."

"Seems you've got a lot to think about."

"What's your opinion?"

She threw him a serious look.

"I know, you don't want to interfere," he said.

"No, I do," she responded a.s.suredly. "I think you should do it. Whatever Sterling's motivations, maybe you can do some good. G.o.d knows someone has to sooner or later."

"Yeah, but what if I get sucked in."

"Sucked in to what?"

"The prestige, the power."

She laughed. "That'll never happen."

He wasn't so sure.

Mario's was a quiet little Italian place at the far end of Montague Street, just off the Brooklyn Heights promenade, which overlooked Manhattan's downtown skyline. It had been Sterling's choice, an unpopular, out-of-the-way place with decent food and guaranteed privacy. He, Joshua, and Connie were the only customers, and Joshua couldn't help wondering if it had somehow been arranged that way.

Joshua and Connie walked from the courthouse together. They were already sitting at the bar and had just ordered c.o.c.ktails when Marcus arrived. He was wearing a three-piece, navy pinstripe, starched white shirt, the collar of which was pinched by a gold tie-bar, and a solid red silk necktie with matching handkerchief. His cologne, which Connie knew was Aramis, was obvious, though not strong enough to extinguish the smell of tobacco. Connie had complained to Joshua, on more than one occasion, of Marcus' cigar habit.

They exchanged niceties. Marcus looked at his watch, giving the distinct impression that he hadn't much time to waste on chit chat. That was fine with Joshua. They took their table, and got down to business.

"So, have you considered our conversation the other night?" Marcus asked, not even bothering to lift a menu.

"Yes, I've thought a lot about it."

Connie's mind was on the menu. She knew she wasn't going to be partic.i.p.ating much in the discussion, that she had been invited solely because her presence would make Marcus and Joshua more comfortable with one another.

"It's a great opportunity, for you, and for the community," Marcus said.

"I'm definitely flattered."

"You seem hesitant."

"Well, to be honest, I practice law, not politics."

"And you'll still be able to practice law. That's the great thing. The community board doesn't really require a tremendous time commitment. They meet once a month, and, of course, there are those annoying social affairs that you have to attend. Otherwise, your life is as it was. You conduct your business as usual, though you might pick up some new high-powered clients here and there."

Connie looked eagerly at Joshua, making her position clear once again. But Joshua was still reticent. It all reminded him of a psychology experiment he'd read about in college involving a rat and a piece of cheese. The rat and the cheese were in the same box, only the floor between them was electrified. Poor rat, Joshua thought, nearly died just for a bite. "Sounds tempting," he said.

"All you have to do is say the word, and the job is yours. You don't have to worry about any compet.i.tion, you'll be unopposed."

"The Jews don't plan on putting anyone up for it?"

"A deal's been worked out. They realize that they're already 'over-represented,' so to speak. They don't want to make waves, times being what they are and all."

Joshua wondered what kind of deal had been struck, but it wasn't his place to ask, at least not until he decided to accept the offer. "There is one thing," he said, faltering, "that I have to know."

Marcus waited, his eyes saying, Go ahead, ask anything, we have nothing to hide.

"Why me?"

Marcus had antic.i.p.ated the question, of course, but feigned surprise. He paused for a second, mulling over his prepared answer one last time, then said, "Well, for starters, your reputation in the community is solid."

"With some."

"Yes, with some," Marcus conceded. "Look, Joshua, you and I are a lot alike. You're from Lewis Avenue; I'm from Bedford Avenue. Your mother worked her bones as a maid; mine washed dishes at Dubrows. We both came up from the gutter and made something of ourselves, so I respect you."

Joshua was discomfited by how much Marcus knew about him, but realized he'd been foolish to have expected otherwise. Men like Marcus always did their homework.

Marcus continued, "Now, I know that you have your ways, that you haven't always seen eye to eye with some of my, let's say, 'a.s.sociates,' but that doesn't mean s.h.i.t in the scheme of things. Thompson and Williams are essential for what they do: making noise and making the people aware of what's happening. If you don't agree with their methods, so be it, but at least they're exposing the problem."

Joshua nodded.

"The community board is something different," Marcus continued, "or at least it should be. It needs to become a forum for discussion and negotiation, and that's where you come in. You have connections in the Hasidic community; you know those people and how to deal with them. That's why you."

"You give me too much credit. I only worked in the synagogue for a while as a kid."

"You underestimate yourself. I understand you single-handedly saved two Hasidic girls by fighting off a gang of Micks."

"That was a long time ago, and your account is a bit exaggerated," Joshua said, looking down at his leg, then across at Connie. She was also surprised at how much information Marcus had.

"Exaggerated or not, that's the perception. And I don't need to tell you how important perception is in Crown Heights."

Joshua agreed. In fact, he was starting to think that he might have rushed to judgment about Marcus. In public, Marcus seemed to be just another rabble-rouser, but in truth he was simply a politician. It was all part of the game, and Joshua was hesitant to become a player.

The waiter came and took their orders. Connie went for a salad, as usual. Joshua had been noticing how wonderfully she'd been doing on her diet, looking better and better each day. He figured she must have liked Marcus more than she let on.

Marcus went for veal scaloppini, and Joshua got the calamari. And another scotch on ice. He needed the drink, and didn't mind working up the tab for Marcus. It was the least he could do.

The waiter left, and Marcus took Connie's hand, thanking her for her "patience." She simply smiled. Joshua smiled too; there was much Marcus had to learn about his partner.

"So," Marcus said to Joshua, "you will at least think about it, won't you?"

"No," Joshua said. "I'll do it."

CHAPTER 55.

Rachel Weissman stood in the shower, hot water raining down and easing her body's tensions. She closed her eyes, capturing the tranquility, escaping the sight of her nakedness and its subtle reminders of age and time. At thirty-five, she had a handsome and shapely figure, yet she couldn't see it. She focused on petty, inconsequential changes, her reality marred by disappointment, and loneliness.

Her life had amounted to selling dresses, living with her mother, and spending a few evenings each week with a man she loved but would never have. Both she and G.o.d had made quite a mess of things, she reflected.

In the beginning, just after her divorce from Binny, there had been a few suitors. Older divorcees or widowers, leftovers who had already fulfilled their obligations of having children. She had tried, but her manner had often been unpleasant. She couldn't stand them, or herself for being where she was. Soon, the shodchin stopped calling.

Rachel thought about her father. It had been a few years since his death, and at times like this, she thought it was just as well that he not see her this way.

Yet, despite everything, she had remained a "religious" woman. She still prayed daily, and continued to cover her hair although she was no longer married. And while the latter may have been anathema to her, it was a dictate of the community in which she had chosen to continue living, the very community from which she had so often felt rejected.

She attended the synagogue every Sabbath with her mother, and showed strength in facing the hordes of married young women with their strollers. This, despite the fact that her childlessness would always haunt her.