Page 4 of Analysing Her Assets

The three big square pillows were puffed together and straightened. Their colors, orange, shiny pink, and dark blue, matched her two-seat couch, her mother’s favorite. The sofa’s Italian fabric, blue birds flying amidst green leaves and pastel flowers, was frayed, but the colors were still vibrant.

Her most often-played playlist, titled “Cleaning,” was a mixed list of both Hebrew and foreign songs. Tamar sang “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and wiped the front of her fridge. Then she put back, in its place of honor, her mother’s laminated list of rules. When people asked Tamar if she exercised, she answered, yes, every day. This was her gym routine. Cleaning gave her a dose of endorphins and the strength to face the world the next day.

She had bought groceries on the way home, using her Peaks’ employees’ meal card, because spending good money on pricy meals was sheer waste. She took a break from cleaning and prepared scented geranium tea and a very virtuous sandwich of white cheese, tomatoes, and cucumbers.

It was time to make the call she’d been postponing.

“Hey sis.” Tally picked up immediately. “What are you eating? You’re chewing in my ear.”

“White cheese and vegetables,” Tamar answered, omitting the carbs.

“Abba and Einat are gone to buy her books. If you need them, you’ll have to call tomorrow.”

Her father, two sisters, and her nephew all lived in a two-bedroom apartment, the same one Tamar grew up in. Tamar shed a huge chunk of her salary on renting her apartment, as small as it was, so she could be away and alone.

“I’ll make this short. I just wanted to tell you I’m in second place.”

Plagued again by restless energy, she put her sister on speaker and filled a pail with water, adding in a whole lid of floor cleaner because she liked the pine scent. She used a soaked mop to attack the corners, then dragged the fresh smelling water all the way towards her balcony’s drainage hole.

“Oh?” Tally’s sharp intake of breath travelled down the airwaves.

“Yes, but not by much. There’s still eight weeks to go before the final results. I can return to first place.”

“Who’s leading?”

“Some guy. Gideon.”

“Gideon? The new guy who’s asking really good questions and he’s way too smart for his own good. That Gideon?”

“Yeah, him...”

“Is he handsome, Tamari?”

“Not so much,” Tamar said. He just had a splatter of fine hair on his muscled forearm, which grabbed her elbow strongly, yet gently. She rubbed her elbow to erase Gideon’s imprint.

“Watch yourself. We have a weakness for cute guys in our family. I fell for a good-looking man. You thought he was great, remember? You said Mom’s rules weren’t etched in stone, remember?”

Tally’s jerk of an ex was very easy on the eyes. Tamar had supported the match, had even encouraged it. Tally didn’t have to remind her of that as often as she did.

She sat heavily on one of her two kitchen chairs. Slipping off both clogs, she massaged her tired heels. Her last relationship, was that two years ago already, lasted the longest—almost three months. The guy was a Merger and Acquisitions lawyer, and while he was a total bore, he had a fascination with feet. He would spend long minutes giving her exquisite foot massages, and then, all hot and bothered, he would climb on top of her and finish in less than two minutes. Not a bad exchange, all things considered.

“Yes, I remember.”

“His alimony check didn’t come through. Again. I need to pay for Eyal’s martial arts classes...” her sister’s voice trailed with the unspoken plea.

Eyal was Tally’s son, a precocious child who was shunned by his own father. Rina Feynman’s Rule Number Four was: ‘Get ahead as fast as you can before you give birth because having children freezes you in the same position for years.’

Tally had been married by twenty-two and had ignored Rina Feynman’s rules by having a child at twenty-three before finishing her degree at Shenkar design school. But then again, Tamar was thirty-three years old, single, and no children, yet she wasn’t on the fast track either. She was a senior analyst, but as Gideon Sela had proven, that wasn’t a big deal. With a little luck, you could achieve it within a year.

Tamar bit her lips, miserable on her sister’s behalf—that Tally had to beg for money. Her sister worked as a seamstress in a high-end boutique. It enabled her to work more flexible hours, but she barely made minimum wages. “I’ll help, Tally.”

“Thanks, sis, love you. “

“Right,” she answered stiffly, never acquiring the habit of throwing lighthearted love declarations into the air.

“We’ll win this competition, you’ll see,” Tally said.

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