The Third Person

by David Frankel

Overview

Andy Randolph and Rebekah Morris found love at an early age. Andy also found tragedy. Losing Rebekah left Andy an empty shell and nothing could fill that place in his heart and soul.

Alexandra Barnett went through her teen years mostly alone although she was a star athlete in high school. She competed against and beat the boys in some events. When that ability led to a savage beating by a male competitor, Alexandra lost her ability to bear children and nearly her life.

The Higher Power sent Rebekah to Alexandra and the two formed a bond that only became stronger when Andy and Alexandra met. Rebekah never thought she'd be the third person, but someone else had other plans.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781452018256
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	12/27/2010
Pages:	336
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.75(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Third Person

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By David Frankel

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 David Frankel
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-1825-6

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Chapter One

New York City, October 1965

The assembly room in the Educational Alliance Building was crowded with children and adults. This was the reunion for those of us who had attended the three-week trip to camp last July. In a way, it was a sad day for me. That was my last trip to camp and this was my last reunion. Next summer I would be too old to go to camp. Well, technically, I had been too old to go this summer but there was an open spot and my father paid a little extra so I could go.

I was 14 but did not look my age. I was tall and slender, just barely into a training bra. I did not know it then but I would not grow any taller than my five-foot- one inch height. My red hair was very short, like a cap on my head. My hair was red not that orangey stuff that is also called red. I had thick eyebrows over my deep-set green eyes. My nose was straight and not too long. In time, Andy called my lips sensuous and he had reason to know. In fact, I was about to meet him.

He was walking across the floor with another boy I would just as soon not have met. I remembered seeing him at camp and I knew the living unit he was in there. This was to be his final reunion too. I was about to engineer a chance meeting, and I was going to use the boy I did not want to meet to do it. I was a cheeky little witch was I not?

So I called out "Hey, Mitch, how're ya doin'?"

Mitch was somewhat pompous and thought it mattered because he lived on Ocean Parkway. That is in Brooklyn for those of you unfamiliar with New York City. I lived in Astoria, which is in Queens and was not in the same income bracket as Ocean Parkway. Despite that I'd bet you my family was better off than Mitch's, which was also way off the point, the point being the guy who was walking with Mitch.

Two things drew me to him; he had a shock of jet-black hair and two of the bluest eyes I had ever seen. He had heavy brows as I did and lashes that some women would have died for. He looked to be about five feet six inches tall and he may have carried few extra pounds. I could tell that he already needed to shave. He wore a Navy pea jacket over a light blue denim shirt and jeans. I was hoping he had a brain to go with those good looks. I was sure Mitch would not develop a brain.

"Hey, Rebekah!" Mitch cried, as he diverted in my direction. "I didn't think I'd see you here. How ya doin' ya self?"

I told him I was doing fine and then I asked the guy with him "Weren't you in bunk 40 at camp?"

His voice was deeper than I expected when he replied "Yes, and weren't you in bunk 36?"

He surprised me with both his voice and his memory. He said, "Wish we'd spent some time together back in camp."

I told him it was not too late to correct that error. Mitch was trying to get back into the conversation. He had always thought I had a thing for him, but then he thought that about anybody who paid any attention to him.

The reunion was ending and we decided to leave together and walk to the subway. At the station we were going to separate. Mitch would take the train towards Brooklyn and I would take the train uptown, changing trains twice to get home. I did not know which way the guy would be going.

To my delight at the station, the boy separated from Mitch and looked like he was coming with me. Mitch protested "Hey Andy, don't you have to go home this way?" He did not like it that Andy would go with me.

Andy replied. "Normally I would buddy but we moved since the summer, and I'm meeting my brothers at our uncle's place on 35th street. Let's try to stay in touch, man. Won't be any camp next year."

"We'll do that." Mitch said as he disappeared down the steps that would take him to his train.

Andy and I walked across to another set of steps to the uptown train. Andy dropped a piece of paper in the trashcan as he went by it.

"Mitch's telephone number?" I asked with a smile. "Yeah" he said with an answering smile. "He's a little hard to take in large doses."

"To me, he's plain hard to take. Do you really have to go this way?" I asked him.

He stopped and looked at me "I do need to go this way to start but I'll go all the way home with you if you meant what you said about camp. I'm Andrew Randolph."

"Andrew, I rarely say anything I don't mean except to guys like Mitch. I'm Rebekah Morris."

He offered me his hand and we shook. Then he kept my hand in his as we walked down the stairs.

Chapter Two

Talking on the subway can be difficult. It's noisy and it can be very crowded. I am sure you have heard people talk about how tightly packed like sardines, a New York City subway car can be. But, it was Sunday though and there was plenty of space. We took a seat side by side and Andy had not released my hand. I'm not complaining. My hand fits well in his.

Really, I was annoyed but not with Andy. I wanted this trip to take longer than it does but each time we changed trains the next train was coming right along. We were at Grand Central Station, 42nd street. This was not the stop we needed, but Andy got up and we exited the train. We took a few steps away from the train; I looked at him, the question in my eyes.

"I should have asked you first." He said. "Do you have a little time or do you need to get back on the train?" The train was still waiting, probably for the next uptown express to come in. I could hear it coming.

"I've got about an hour, Andy. What do you want to do?" I asked.

"Not much. Rebekah, this is a beautiful old station. There are some nice things up in the waiting room. I thought we could go up there, see a little of it and maybe find a place to sit and talk some more."

"That sounds nice." He took my hand again as we walked up the stairs.

Grand Central is a huge and beautiful place. Besides being a major stop for the city subway system, it was also the main terminal for the New York Central railroad. Lines that run to the rest of New York and New England started and ended there. During the rush hours Monday to Friday, mornings and evenings many thousands of people pass through there. Although I had passed underneath the terminal, many times, I had never come up here. Andy and I stood in the huge arched entrance way and I was struck by the grandeur of the place. The ceiling, supported by many marble columns, rose high over our heads There were many windows all around, enough so that the electric lights would not be necessary on sunny days. The electric lights enhanced the beauty of the place, so much beauty.

"My Dad used to bring us here to take the train up state. It never seems to change." Andy told me as we walked slowly through the room. It was quiet that day, but still many people, mostly families, moved in a multitude of directions, toward the numbered arches that led to the train platforms or to the windows to buy tickets. We found a bench near the center and sat facing each other. He had to release my hand to do that.

"I was a lot younger," Andy continued, "It looked so much bigger then. It's still big but do you see what I mean? Kind of like camp, didn't it seem like a much larger place when you were a junior?"

It was a good comparison and I told him so. I asked, "Does your Dad still take you here?"

"He can't any more, Rebekah. Dad passed away just before I turned seven. Cancer."

"I can see that you miss him, Andy."

"I do. He was sick a lot the last 2 years, so my memories of him are a little confused. He was a lawyer and very busy man, but he made as much time for us as he could. I was a surprise. My brothers are almost 6 years older than me."

"Do they spend time with you?" I asked him.

"Not really. We don't have a lot in common. I'm too young to go many of the places they go when they're home, and they're gone to college much of the time."

"And your Mom?"

"She has been busy, too. After Dad died, Mom went back to school to finish her law degree. While Dad was alive, she worked as his legal aide. The money he left us was enough for years but not forever, so Mom finished her degree. She's good with money; we are not rich, but we can do what we want when we want. I guess she and I have drifted a little apart lately.

It was a sad admission for him, and this time I took his hand. As I said, our hands fit well together. He smiled at me and asked me to talk about my family.

"I have an older brother. There are 6 years between us. He's in a rabbinical college. Dad came here from Germany. He escaped the week Hitler became Chancellor. He begged his family to come with him but they would not leave. Later, before the start of the war, a brother and a cousin got out too. We know of no one else who survived the war. He fought in the war but only in the Pacific; he met and married my Mom in 1941. After the war, he went back to Europe to try to find any family he could, but as I said, he could not. Isaac was just a baby when Dad went back; Mom stayed here. He doesn't speak often of what he saw there. Now he is a professor of philosophy at Queens College. Mom has mostly stayed home to raise us but she managed to get her own PhD in history. She's my best friend."

"Your mother must be beautiful if you look like her." Andy told me.

"I don't exactly look like her but she is beautiful. I'm more of a cross between my parents. Dad is tall and slim. I get the hair and eyes from Mom." I told him. "Who do you look like, Andrew?"

"I look more like my Dad. You make my name sound like nobody else does, Rebekah. Do your parents only call you that?" he asked.

"About half the time, the other half they use the Hebrew equivalent."

"Rivka, which do you like?" and I saw the smile in his eyes as he said this.

"Stay with Rebekah." I told him. "Maybe someday you will find something to use that will just be between us."

"I'd like that Rebekah.

That never happened, but it never mattered. He had a way of saying my name that sounded to me like nobody else's did. It was time for us to go. Before we left, I reached into my purse for a pen and paper, wrote my telephone number and handed the paper to him. He looked at the number for a moment, and I saw his head nod. He folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket. We walked back to the subway and finished my journey home.

My subway line became elevated in Queens. Andy stayed with me almost to the corner of the block where I lived. He had continued to hold my hand most of the way from Grand Central. I stopped walking before my family could see us from my home.

"Andrew, please don't be upset but I want you to let me go on from here alone. It's not you or my parents, but if my brother is home and sees us, he will be a real pain for the rest of the family. He is so conservative; he does not think boys should talk to me until I am 18. He would have locked me in my room today if he had had his way. If he's not home, he might be coming up the street behind us." Andy did not let go of my hand; instead, he stood closer to me. His free hand brushed my cheek.

"I won't cause you any problems, Rebekah. Will you be able to see me again? Will your parents allow that?"

"I think they will if they can meet you away from Isaac. Do you want to see me again?"

"Yes, Rebekah," He said. "I'll call you soon, and we'll try to get something worked out."

I reached over and tapped his pocket where my telephone number was. "You won't throw my number away?"

His eyes laughed at me but his hand covered mine, which had remained on his pocket. "Not until I've memorized your number which is AS 4- 1583. When is a good time to call you?"

"Any time after 3:30 on school days, Andy. Isaac doesn't get home until 5:30," I told him.

He took another step closer to me and lifted the hand he was holding to his lips and kissed my hand. Then he bent his head and kissed my cheek. I returned his kiss and hugged him hard then turned and walked the rest of the way home.

Chapter Three

My brother practically leapt at me when I came in the door, demanding to know where I had been. It wasn't even 5o'clock yet, and I knew Mom and Dad were not expecting me for another half an hour. I told him that when he became either of my parents he could question me like that. He looked like he wanted to strike me for my insolence, but Dad's voice stopped him in his tracks. Isaac stormed off to his room and I asked Dad to come to the kitchen with me for a moment.

In the kitchen, I told them about meeting Andy at the reunion and his escorting me home including the stop at Grand Central station.

"You didn't invite him in, Rivka?" Mom asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. "It's not you or Dad, you know that." I pointed out the room. "He would have been terrible to him!"

Dad sadly nodded his head and hugged me. "So we should meet this young man, your mother and I?"

"Soon, Dad, let's see if he calls me first." I told him as I hugged him back. Dad excused himself back to the living room, and Mom and I smiled at each other.

"You like him, Rebekah?" she asked.

I nodded my head. "I think you will too, both of you. He looks older than he is and he acts it too."

"You're getting a crush." Mom stated.

"I've had them before, Mom. He's different. I can't quite put it into words yet. You'll have to see for yourself."

"You are more mature than your years too, Rebekah. You have a lot on your plate already. Can you fit a boy into your life?"

"Mom, he may be what you've told me to look for in a boy, but there is so much I don't know yet. See what you and Dad think once you have met him. You made room in your life for Dad when you were sure he was what you wanted. I could do the same."

"Your dancing, the career you've wanted since you were a little girl?"

"If Andy were the right one, he'd support me because he would know how important it is to me. Besides, I've always said that if I can't reach the goals I've set by the time I was 30, I'd walk away from it to find what will make me happy for the rest of my life. The right boy will accept that."

Mom hugged me to her. "Yes, sweetheart, he will."

Chapter Four

I got home from school a little after three on Monday afternoon. I was doing my homework within a foot of the telephone, and I remained there until 5 o'clock, but it never rang. I went into the kitchen to help Mom with dinner. I was down and she could see it.

"He'll call you Rivka. It's barely been a day since you met him." She told me.

"I wanted him to call me last night!" I wailed. She came to me and squeezed my shoulder.

"You know you don't want Isaac listening in on your conversation." That was the gospel truth.

The next day at 3:32PM, yes, I noted the time and wrote it in my journal; he called. We spoke for more than an hour and a half. Most of what we said was lost as I heard only the sound the sound of his voice. Yes, I had it bad, but you did not have his face in your mind. You could not picture the way his hands might move or his eyes as he looked at me. You could not remember the feel of my hand in his. When we hung up, Mom just shook her head in amazement. Andy called again on Thursday, and it was the same all over again.

That became our regular pattern, talking on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My oblivion led to a serious problem. On the second Thursday we spoke, Mom was out and I did not hear Isaac come in. He must have listened for a bit, but our words were innocent enough. I was sitting on a high stool when he slipped behind me and grabbed the receiver. As he did, he dug his elbow into my kidney. It was a punishing, paralyzing blow, and I slid to the floor gasping in pain. I could not speak. Isaac let the receiver dangle. He yelled, "You will not do this again!" and walked off. I could hear Andy calling my name, but I could not answer him. He stayed on the line for a long time trying to get me to talk. For a long part of that time I couldn't and when I could I was , I don't know what I was. So many emotions flashed through me. I was embarrassed, and I was incensed. I heard Andy say he would call on Tuesday, and then I heard the soft click of him hanging up.

My mother was just coming in the door when the scream of pain and rage that I had held in until Andy was off the telephone shattered the silence of the apartment. In seconds, she was beside me on the floor her arms cradling me as she tried to get me to tell her what had happened. I did not want to. I knew it would lead to a major explosion, knew it for sure when I saw Dad standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

He came to kneel beside me, his hand gentle on my cheek. He commanded, "Answer her Rebekah, this instant." You did not do other than as he said when that tone was in his voice. As quietly as I could, I told them what happened. As I did, I watched their faces transform. My mother's face turned red with rage, and she nearly leapt to her feet, but Dad's strong hand on her forearm stopped her. In a voice that I thankfully never heard again, he told Mom to stay with me. He strode into the hallway and said one word "Isaac!" When my brother appeared, Dad added one more thing. "Living room."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Third Person by David Frankel Copyright © 2010 by David Frankel. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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