a wild goose chase."
"It is not a wild goose chase," Sadie in-
terrupted. "And besides, what do you care?
It's my day to have lunch and shop. I'm
paying."
"That's not the point. We're going to go
all the way to New York, and it's tiring for
you, Mama, you know it is, and you're go-
ing to end up disappointed, all for nothing.
Instead, we could stay in town and have
a nice lunch and you could pick out some
nice shoes."
"I have to go to Bloomingdale's anyway.
I need some housedresses."
Marian sighed. "OK, OK, we'll go. You'll
closed her eyes. Marian looked at her for
a moment. Then she shook her head and
tiptoed out of the apartment.
•
The next day Sadie let Marian hail a taxi
cab outside Penn Station and assist her in-
side. "One sixty-three East 54th," Marian
said to the drive. "Fishman's Shoe Store,"
she added with a sideways glance at her
mother. Sadie sat back, her hands clasped
firmly around her purse, and looked at the
blur of buildings and people. The caco-
phony of honking horns, jackhammers,
squealing tires, police whistles, and
machinery blended together like a sym-
around the chin. It was the same chin her
own mother had had, but she hadn't seen
it yet in any of her grandchildren. Maybe
one of the great grandchildren would have
it, she should live so long.
Marian was tapping her fingers on her
purse as if she couldn't wait to say I told
you so. But she wouldn't get to say it,
because Fishman's would be there, of
course it would; now that Sadie was in the
city she felt certain of it. Such an estab-
lished store wouldn't go out of business
just like that. She had been there only
seven months ago, and Mr. Fishman had
looked well, had greeted her with his usual
"Mrs. Bronstein, long time no see."
Sadie thought of the older Mr. Fishman.
He was a thin man with a thick grey
mustache. "You have made a wise choice,
Mrs. Bronstein," he always said as she paid
for the shoes, making her feel that she and
he were in a select company of the most
discriminating consumers. The younger
Mr. Fishman, when he took over the store,
at first tried to talk her into a more modern
style.
"How about these, Mrs. Bronstein?" he
said, showing her a pair of black, pointy-
toed pumps with a more tapered heel.
"Very smart and --;" he leaned forward as
if he were imparting a great secret, "very
comfortable." She shook her head resolute-
ly. Shrugging, he put the pumps back in
their box and fetched the usual shoes, say-
ing in a slightly disapproving tone, "As you
wish." Let him disapprove all he likes, she
thought. He never again offered her a dif-
ferent style; after two years she started
trusting him again.
The cab pulled over and stopped. "Hear
y'ah," said the cabbie, holding out his hand
for the fare. Marian opened her wallet.
Even though these days together were
Sadie's treat, Marian always handled the
money; it took Sadie so long to count out
change, she got flustered. Marian came
around, opened her door and helped her
out of the back seat. The cab sped away.
The number over the door still said 163,
but the windows were full of mannequins
wearing skimpy bras and panties that were
hardly there and lacy outfits that their
brown-painted nipples showed through.
Luv-Lorn Lingerie was painted on the
glass door. Sadie stared at the door, clutch-
ing Marian's arm, then let go and walked
forward to the next store. It was Miller's
Gems & Jewels, just as it was supposed to
be. She turned and waddled back the other
way. The travel agency was in its right
place on the other side.
She walked back to where Marian stood
in front of the lingerie store and turned her
head from side to side, bewildered. "It
must be the wrong street. Are you sure it's
West 54th? Where's the park?" she said,
craning her fat neck upward as if, from her
four-foot-ten vantage point, she could see
,
see — oh, never mind." She put her hand
on her mother's knee. "Ibmorrow?"
Sadie nodded. She pushed the hair off
her forehead. "I'm tired," she said.
"You want to lie down for a while?"
Nodding, Sadie held out her arm. Marian
got up and, supporting her mother under
the arm, helped her stand up. Sadie
smoothed out the wrinkles in her cotton
housedress with her free hand, then started
to walk. She was short and round, had been
getting shorter and rounder for years. Her
legs hardly bent at the knees so that she
waddled from side to side like a sailor on
a heaving boat. Marian guided her to her
bedroom where she unbuckled the black
shoes and set them neatly beside the bed,
toes pointing toward the closet. With dif-
ficulty, she swung her legs onto the bed,
folded her hands on her massive chest, and
phony and carried her along through the
dirty streets.
As always, being in New York gave her
a little thrill, partly of fear and partly of
excitement. lb think that she had been
born and raised here — well, not here up-
town, down in the Lower East Side — and
yet felt such a visitor whenever she came
into the city. Well, she'd lived so many
years in New Jersey, raised the children
there, became a widow there, it wasn't sur-
prising she was a stranger here. And yet,
despite the strangeness, whenever she
came she always had a feeling of home, of
comfort, of childhood remembered. That's
the feeling that Fishman's gave her: home.
She glanced at her daughter. Marian's
lips and chin were set firmly, and Sadie
realized with a shock how much like her
Marian was getting to look, especially
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