“It’s an intangible.”
“Like a woman’s intuition?”
“More like a cop’s intuition.”
“Being as you are a woman and a cop, does the intuition level double?”
“On good days, it probably quadruples.” By golly, we were flirting. Silence… but we maintained eye contact for much longer than was socially acceptable. I finally broke it. “It’s late. I should be going.”
To get to the door, I had to reach around him. I waited a moment, but he made no effort to move.
“May I ask your name?”
“My name?”
“Please.”
“Cindy.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Cindy.” Again he smiled. This time, I noticed how his big, straight white teeth contrasted with his dark skin. “I am Yaakov.”
“I know. I read your badge.” Then I realized howthatsounded. I wanted to crawl into a hole. It had been eons since I had allowed myself to be alone with a man. I had forgotten what sparks felt like and how to handle them. “I noticed your name because it’s the same name as my stepbrother.”
His smile gained wattage. “So you are Jewish?”
“Yes, I am Jewish.”
He pointed to himself. “Already we have something in common.”
It was my turn to laugh. “You’reJewish?”
“I keep forgetting that Americans find this unusual. In Israel, it is nothing because there are many of us. I’m an Ethiopian Jew. As a matter of fact, I am not only Jewish, but also aqes. That is Kohen in English. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes. It’s a Jewish priest. My stepfamily is very religious.”
“Stepfamily?”
“My father’s family. I don’t want to keep you from your duties. We really should go.”
“Yes, we should. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“You’re very forward.”
“I say curious. Still, you don’t have to answer.”
I didn’t. He gave me a closed-mouth smile. “I am taking a break as soon as I drop off the tray. Would you like to join me in some hospital cafeteria coffee?”
It was an innocent enough request. Much easier than an actual date.
And then I realized how long it had been since I actually had a real date. Trust was a problem for me in general. Trusting men was the impossible dream, but who could blame me after such a horrendous experience. Ironically, because Yaakov was black, it made things easier. All the dudes that I loathed and feared had been white. I said, “Depends on how long a break you have.”
“Usually five to ten minutes.”
How much trouble could I get into in ten minutes? I shrugged. “Okay.”
The man’s grin was abundant. Since he was carrying a tray, I opened the door for him. But he used his shoulder to keep it open for me. Standing next to him, he appeared a half foot taller than I was, about six-one or -two.
“After you,” he insisted.
I walked out first. “Just being polite or don’t you trust me out of your sight?”
“I work on my manners.” He let the door close behind us. “Israelis have a reputation of being rude. It is not unfounded, but only because we are too honest.” He smiled. “More like blunt.” He spoke as we ambled down the hallway. “You can call me Koby, by the way… as in Kobe Bryant. Although I spell it with ayand not ane.”
“You know, you look a little like Kobe Bryant.” I frowned.Jeez, what is wrong with me?I felt as stupid as a schoolgirl. “You’ve probably heard that before.”
“Yes. But it is strange. People tell me, but only after I mention my name. Especially in L.A., they hear the name Koby, see a tall black man, and automatically make this weird connection. Really, I don’t look like him.”
His words gave me an opportunity to regard him in earnest. I said, “I think it’s the cheekbones… maybe the nose.”
“The famous Haile Selassie nose.”
“You’re both tall, thin, and black. But that’s it. It is bizarre how people make an association to what’s familiar.” I smiled. “Besides, you don’t have that little tuft of chin hair.”
He laughed. “It is funny you say that. Last year, I got it in my head to grow facial hair. I get about three weeks’ worth of beard, then change my mind and shave it off-too hot under the face mask. But I shave it off in stages and I wind up with a half beard… some chin hair. So one afternoon I get off shift and meet a friend who works in Hem-Onc-oncology is cancer. I usually don’t rotate through that wing, so the kids don’t know my face so good. Plus, I was in my regular clothes and wearing boots with big heels, so especially to the children, I must have appeared very tall. I think I have on sunglasses, too.”
“Big diamond earring?”
“No, no diamond earring.” His smile was soft. “They wear on one ear a down payment for apartment in Israel.”
“No justice in this world.”
“That is true. But at least they entertain.” He looked at me. “Where was I?”
“You’re tall and have sunglasses on.”
“Ah, yes.” He broke into a grin. “So I hear my name, Koby, and I turn around. It is this boy, maybe twelve-bald from chemotherapy. He has an eye patch, probably lost an eye from his disease, so maybe he doesn’t see so good. And this is when the Lakers were doing their three champions… third champion…” He made a face. “What is the noun?”
“Championship.”
“Yes, third championship, so everyone is thinking basketball.” He led me to the bank of elevators. “You want the basement.”
I punched the down button.
“So I hear my name, look at the little boy, and smile.” He chuckled. “In thirty seconds, I have twenty children wanting my autograph. My one time with fame.”
“Were the kids disappointed when they found out you were the wrong Koby?”
He let out a soft laugh. “No one say a word! Everybody on staff-doctors, nurses, orderlies, techs-they all knowexactlywhat is going on. Plus, Oncology often get celebrities visiting the kids.” He raised his eyebrows. “This little boy… he just saw what he wanted, and the rest of the kids are also willing to believe. I sign a bad handwriting starting with aKand they were happy. Absolutely thrilled.”
The elevator dinged.
Abruptly, his expression turned pensive. “Such sick children, Cindy. So weak… knocked out. It’s all so unfair.”
The doors opened.
He shrugged himself out of it. “If I can bring a bit of joy to them, I say, why not?”
Koby carried the coffeeas we walked to an orange plastic table sided by four blue molded chairs. Because of the late hour, the kitchen was closed, but there were still some prepackaged cold sandwiches-slices of something pink covered by wilted green stuff-for the truly famished. Drinks were also available. We sat across from one another. He had taken off his head covering, exposing a close cut of tight black curls.
“When I came to America from Israel, I was lucky because I came with a skill.” Large, thin fingers wrapped around a paper cup. “Otherwise I end up taking parking tickets at the booths at LAX.”
I nodded.
He sipped black coffee, then said, “You see, many of the ticket takers at the airport are Ethiopian.”
“Oh.”
“So I was making a joke.” A pause with a raise of an eyebrow. “Not so good one.”
I felt myself smiling and quashed it by drinking my coffee. It was very acrid. “So how long have you lived here… in the U.S.?”
“Eight years. First I moved from Ethiopia to Israel in 1983 before Operation Moses. I was eleven. Things were very bad for my people after Haile Selassie was deposed. Ethiopia became Marxist country and not friendly to Beta Yisrael. They outlaw our practices. Sometimes they torture our elders. Then came the drought. My mother died shortly after childbirth with my sister. Then we begin our trek through the Sudan. By then, we were all sick with starvation. I lost another younger sister, but four of us siblings survived-my two older brothers, Yaphet and Yoseph, my younger sister, Naomi, and me. In Ethiopia, my father was very respectedqes-a priest. He knewOrit,of course, which is our Torah, but that is in Geez or Amharic. But my father also knew HebrewChumash,and this is very, very unusual. He only knew because his grandfather was Yemenite Jew who came to Ethiopia in 1900 and brought with him Hebrew books includingChumash.So I have a littleMizrachiin my blood. My father tells me it is from my great-grandfather where I get my light eyes.”