August 31, 2012--Chapter 5: The Siegel Twins

Every time there was a Siegel family gathering, the Siegel Twins’ cousin Yetta would take them aside to tell them that they needed to do something about their breasts. 

Yetta was something of an authority on the subject, reportedly having a fully developed pair of her own by the time she was just twelve. And though when she served as the Twins breast advisor she was thirty-five and the mother of three, hers were still her best assets.

She would whisper to Rochelle and Rachel that unless they did something to improve them they would wind up marrying bus drivers and living in adjoining basement apartments just down the street from their parents.  Breasts were that important to their future.

Unfortunately I did not come by this knowledge firsthand.  

What I am reporting is from Mel Lipsky, the star of our school’s basketball team.  Though not much of a scholar (he never managed to master the 8-times table), Mel had an undefendable jump shot, an attribute that made him desirable, especially to girls, on more than the basketball court.  So desirable that the Twins invited him to spend afternoons with them pressed together in the confines of the classroom coat closet.   Since they too were not known for their academic prowess, Mel and the Twins were soul mates—well suited to spending flesh-filled time together squeezed in among the camphor-scented coats.

Though my classmates and I were eager to learn about what went on in the closet, Mel was sworn to secrecy and thus reluctant to share the physical details.  He was, though, willing to talk sympathetically about what cousin Yetta perceived to be the Twins’ anatomical problem. While in the closet, they confessed to him that they did not want to endure the same fate as their bust-deprived mother, who in fact was married to a bus driver.

And so, Mel reported, the Twins were desperate to do something about their situation.  He told us they had selected him to be of assistance, even though he was not showing any signs of interest or aptitude in either science or the medical arts.  Mel, however, did what he could to be helpful to Rochelle and Rachel.

Mel had a sister, Marcy, who herself was a prodigy in the bust department and advised Mel that the best thing the twins could do, besides spending afternoons in the closet with him, would be to brush their hair at least a half dozen times a day, stroking each side exactly one hundred times, while chanting, “I must, I must, I must improve my bust.”  This Marcy assured him would increase blood flow and thereby build needed muscle in the deficient areas. 

Mel duly passed this along and reported back to us that Rochelle and Rachel had already worn out two brushes each and that they, and he, were feeling optimistic—something measurable seemed to be happening.

Some weeks later, Mel told us that Marcy learned about a product called Bust Cream.  She saw an add for it on the back cover of True Romance magazine, ordered some via the mail-in coupon, had tried some--not because she needed it but in the interest of science--and could give it her enthusiastic endorsement.

The Siegel Twins, Mel said, secured some and, in his first slip into indiscretion (we were hoping for many more), told us that he himself was helping to administer it each afternoon in the closet. 

“So that was what I smelled,” said Herbie Fleishman, “And all along I thought it was moth balls.”

“You moron,” we chorused.

Shrugging, he said, “But I never smelled Bust Cream before.” 

“With a beak like yours you should be a specialist in smells.  You should know the difference between moth balls and Bust Cream,” Mel chided him, which elicited mocking guffaws from the frustrated rest of us. 

And as it turned out, Herbie Fleishman, who later to become Dr. J. Herbert Franklin, not only had that beak of his surgically straightened, but also became a famous ear, nose, and throat man.  As my mother said about him years later, “The biggest nose man on Park Avenue.”

Mel had so befriended and served the Siegel Twins that they invited him to accompany them to their second cousin Sarah’s Sweet Sixteen.  It was to be at the Club Elegante on Ocean Parkway.  A fancy place, which meant that Mel needed to get a suit because his parents wouldn’t be buying him one for six more months when he would be Bar Mitzvahed since by then he would likely be four inches taller at it wouldn’t fit. 

Fortunately, Mel was the same size as Heshy Perlmutter who offered to lend him his blue serge Bar Mitzvah suit, which, Mel said would be perfect since the Siegel Twins told him blue would go well with their gowns.  And don’t forget, Heshy reminded him, to buy two wristlet corsages.  Cymbidium Orchids were Heshy’s recommendation, implying that if he showed up with these, later in the evening the Twins would give him a full, up close update about the latest results of the brushing and creaming.

Mel said he would give us our own update about that update if we would chip in to help with the cost of the orchids. Which we eagerly did.  Since this made us parties to the affair, he promised to deliver that report first thing Sunday morning.  We made plans to meet at Krinsky’s Candy Store at 9:00 AM so we could learn the results of our investment. 

He was ten minutes late on Sunday morning but showed up, looking somewhat bleary eyed though still with the familiar athlete’s hop in his step.  Perhaps, we noticed, there was even more hop than usual, which suggested we would be getting our money’s worth.  

We ordered four Egg Creams and retreated to a private booth in the back of the store, leaning toward Mel who had set himself up in the middle of the banquette on one side of the table so the three of us had to squeeze into the bench facing him.  I could feel Heshy on my right and Herbie on my left trembling in anticipation—or was I, I wondered, the one causing all the vibrations?

Mel began with a detailed description of the nightclub.  He was awestruck, “You should see the mirrors and chandeliers. Rachel said they were made of real crystal. The chandeliers, I mean. Rochelle said they were just as big as the ones in French palaces.”

I snapped at him, “Who cares about the decorations. Get on, already, with what happened with the Siegel Twins and the you-know-what.”

“It was elegant, and,” he snorted, “that’s why they named it Club Elegante.  With an ‘e.’  Rochelle told me that’s French for elegant.”  Ignoring our desperately wanting to get to the real issues, he told us the chandeliers reminded him of the ones in Larry Ruby’s mother’s old dining room before they ran off to Florida.  “And instead of electric bulbs, the whole club,” he reported, “was lit by giant candles which where on top of what reminded me of huge Hanukkah Menorahs.  Even though, Rachel said, the place was owned by Italians.  And they had a live band which included four guys in tuxes, including one who could play the saxophone, clarinet, and trumpet.”

Heshy was confused, “All three at once?”

Mel ignored Heshy’s lack of musical knowledge and worldliness.

“But what about the Twins?” I asked, “Can we please get to them?”

“Hold your horses. I’m getting to that. But also there was their cousin Yetta. I’ve told you about her.”

“And?” we asked in chorus.

“Everyone was wearing gowns, like at a wedding.  I’m glad I had a nice suit.”

“And?”

“There was a long table where they had little meat balls and tiny stuffed cabbages and there were waiters walking around with silver trays with Pigs In Blankets.  You know, those little hot dogs.  You could eat whatever you wanted.”

“And?”

“The band played all night and everyone was dancing.”

“And?”

He leaned forward, “The girls’ dresses were all strapless.”

We were at last getting closer to what we had anteed up to hear, “And the Siegel Twins, what about theirs?” 

“I think they were baby blue.  I’m a little color blind, but I think that’s why they wanted those orchids.”

“And did they like the flowers enough to . . . you know?  Let you see?”

Mel leaned further across the table so that our heads were inches apart.  “Let me put it to you this way—they were the only girls there who didn’t have to constantly pull up the tops of their dresses.”  He winked.  That was something else at which he excelled—winking.  Though we all practiced that art none of us could yet do more than look as if we were squinting myopically when attempting to emulate him.

“And?”

He moved even closer toward us and lowered his voice another octave.  Here too he had advanced far beyond any of us—his voice had already changed and his whispering, like his winking, was yet another art form.  “I really need to tell you about the Twin’s cousin.  Yetta.”  

Again all at once, we said, “We forgot.  Who’s she again?”

“Their older cousin. You know, the one who told them about the brushing. She’s a woman.  With three kids.  He seemed distracted by thoughts of her.

“So what’s the big deal with her?  She sounds old.”

“She is but she still looks good.  In fact, very good.  Even better than the Twins.”  He shot us another movie star wink.

“Why are you spending so much time telling us about her?”   Avoiding sharing the details about his time with the Siegel Twins was making us edgy, causing us to feel we were not getting what we paid good money for.

Ignoring us again, he continued to tell the story his way. “Well, it got to be about 11:00 and the Twins had not yet let me check about their progress.  I was beginning to feel frustrated since I knew the band had been hired to play only until 11:30 and the party would be ending soon.  But just as I was about to give up on the Twins, Yetta came over and asked if I’d like to go out to the terrace with her for a smoke.  Now you know I don’t smoke because I have to stay in shape for basketball, but no girl or woman who looked like Yetta ever invited me for a cigarette on a nightclub terrace before so I went with her and let her light up one for each of us since I told her, yes, I’d like a smoke.  Inhaling it made me choke and cough but to cover up I told her I had a cold.   I don’t think she believed me.”

Mel had recaptured our interest.  We were thinking maybe we would finally hear something good.  “And?”

“She asked me what I thought about Rachel and Rochelle.  I told her I liked them.  She said, ‘That’s not what I‘m talking about.  You know what I mean.  They told me all about you and that coat closet and the cream your sister told them about.’  I couldn’t believe what she was saying, thinking she was going to get me into trouble for what I was doing to them.  Get me suspended from school or switched to another class.  I tried to tell Yetta that it wasn’t my fault; that the Twins were the ones who came up with the idea to meet in the closet every afternoon. 

“But Yetta stopped me before I could get any words out and said, ‘I know all about what they are up to and how they have been using you.’  I was stunned, though I must admit I didn’t mind being used by them in that way!” He grinned.

“’And how do you think they are doing?’ Yetta asked with a smile.  ‘What do you mean doing?’  I was so nervous that I wasn’t understanding her.  ‘You know, with my idea about their busts?’  ‘Your idea?’ ‘Yes, I’m the one who told them they needed to do something about them.  So what do you think?’ she winked, ‘You know more about them than I do.  Have they gotten any bigger?’  ‘Uh, I’m not sure,’ I stammered not knowing what to say. ‘To tell you the truth I was supposed to find out tonight.’ 

“Yetta laughed at that one, saying, ‘Forget about that.  In fact, forget about them.  They’ve moved on.’  ‘Moved on?’ I asked, becoming very confused.  Was she talking about their busts?

“‘Yes, thanks to me, and of course you, they told me they are now ready for Italians.’ 

“I was now totally puzzled, ‘Italians?’  ‘Yes, Italians,’ Yetta said.  ‘For boyfriends.’  I was speechless. 

“Yetta then moved closer to me, took my hand, and guided it to her waist.  I could feel her hip beneath the satin of her gown. 

“She whispered, close to my ear, ‘And it’s also time for you to move on.’  She was smiling at me.  I could taste her perfume and inhaled the cigarette smoke she blew toward me.  ‘The Twins are ready for Italians.  And you, you Mel, are ready for a woman.’”

That was all he had to report. Mel, no longer making eye contact, sagged in his seat, looking as if his animal vitality, which was so characteristic of him, had vanished. We couldn’t think of anything else to say or ask. 
After a moment, with no further explanation, he slipped out of the booth and left Krinsky's. Through
the front window we saw him, head down, as if into the wind, turn the corner onto East 56th Street.