Read The Matzo Ball Heiress for Free Online Page B

scratch behind his black ears, and then eye the factory-office walls. The framed letters to my forbearers from former NYC Mayor LaGuardia and President Eisenhower would be choice archives. But for what? The right corner of my mouth turns up in amusement. A treatise on dysfunction? My mind wanders back to the impending interview. I call in the matzo foreman to ask him to change the salsa tape to our Jewish folk-song tape. Jake’s purchase—he pulls out all the stops for media.
    In the middle of “Zum Gali Gali” there is a knock on the door, from an extremely good-looking man with wavy dirty-blond hair. My interest is immediately piqued. I am jonesing for a boyfriend lately, and making a film about older women isn’t too good for on-the-job prospects.
    “I’m here for an interview with Jake Greenblotz,” the man says with a confident manner that gets my pulse going.
    “Are you Steve Meyers from the Food Channel?” I ask hopefully. He nods. At closer range he’s even better-looking. He’s tall, about thirty-five, with cat-green eyes that sear.
    “I’m Heather Greenblotz. My cousin Jake asked me to take you around.”
    “Do you know enough about matzo?” Steve Meyers sizes me up with a critical squint.
    “Beyond expert,” I assure him.
    “Okay then. We’re up against the clock. You mind if I get my crew stationed in here? There’s three of us. I double as producer and host. I’m rather excited about today. I don’t usually go on camera, but every once in a while, for a special program, I get the chance.”
    “Not a problem. You can rest some cases on the couch if you like.”
    Steve returns with a strapping cameraman in faded Wrangler’s who sports a neat brown beard, big brown eyes and an attractive aquiline nose. He’s holding a very expensive and huge Beta camera under his arm. Vondra and I are all for the husky cameraman when we organize a shoot. I’m a proud feminist most of the time, but bottom line, men are much more willing to carry their equipment than women DPs—directors of photography—who divvy up the backbreaking camera packs like they’re handing out squares of fudge at a pajama party.
    The soundman turns out to be a soundwoman, who’s also a gaffer, i.e., the lighting expert. She’s Britney-blond with a perfectly symmetrical face and light brown eyes, and is painfully thin. I instantly assume the worst, that Steve and Skinny Minnie are hot and heavy.
    “This is Jared and Tonia,” Steve says with a wave to his crew.
    Husky Jared is cleaning his lens with a cloth. He stops and extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.” Jared’s grip is tight and warm, like the assured squeeze my favorite manicurist gives me after finishing with my last cuticle.
    Tonia gives me a small harried smile.
    “While they unpack I can get us started,” Steve says. “Your cousin probably told you that we’re doing a one-off special on American Food Pioneers and we’d like to include a ten-minute segment on Israel Greenblotz.”
    “Change that to Izzy Greenblotz. Everyone called him Izzy.”
    “You’d like to use that name for broadcast?” Steve checks.
    “Definitely. Who have you already covered?”
    “Well, Ray Kroc from McDonald’s of course.”
    I nod. “Of course. Frank Perdue?”
    “Frank Perdue,” he says with a nod. “And Clarence Birdseye.”
    “Izzy Greenblotz in that company? Wow. Those are the really big boys.”
    “We thought your product history might add a little old-world flavor. One of our interns clipped an article from the Daily News about your family’s factory. She was intrigued that your Izzy invented machine-made matzo.”
    “To be fair, he perfected matzo machines, not invented them. I don’t want to misrepresent Izzy. I have to watch what goes into the media, or vitriolic letters can fly from the Streit and Manischewitz families.”
    “Who are they?” Tonia asks. As Jake says of non-Jewish blondes, including his own girlfriend: Shiksa -city. If you have to ask who