Ilana Stranger-Ross [STANGER ROSS - Sima’s Undergarments for Women

First published in the United States in 2009 by

The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc.

New York

NEW YORK:

141 Wooster Street

New York, NY 10012

Copyright 2009 by Ilana Stanger-Ross

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission |in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

978-1-46830-490-9

for my parents

S IMA SURPRISED HERSELF BY BLUSHING AT THE ROUND perfection of the young womans breasts. For thirty-five years, after all, breasts had been her business: she knew the slight curve of the preteen breast, its nipple rigid when unveiled in the cool air of her basement shop; the aching breasts of pregnant women, skin shiny and striped from stretch; the parchment breasts of the elderly, liver-spotted, soft with down; she knew breasts with pink nipples, olive nipples, brown nipples; nipples pushed in and pulled out, tiny as dimes, large as the ringed stain of a coffee cup; she knew heavy breasts on thin women and thin breasts on heavy women; breasts 28-A, 52-K, and breasts with a cup size between them. She even and of course knew the knotted red scar of the breast that was no longer there, the twisting keloid marker of what science had stolen away.

But this young Israeli in tight jeans and platform sandals, slightly worn, revealing fuchsia toenailsin all those years Sima had never seen breasts so beautiful as hers.

Sima thrilled to the swirl of the nipple, the soft shell of the skin. She remembered eighth-grade geometry: planting the sharp point of the compass on a friends notebook and, with the stubbed yellow pencil carefully belted in, tracing perfect circles of friendship. This girls breasts, Sima was sure, would be 360 degrees by the pencils lead trace.

I brought you a few to try, Sima said, approaching the dressing room. The girl stood in the center, the curtainorange cloth, grayed at the edgespulled to one side. It was a large space, big enough for five women at a time to preen, choose: a bench on one side with hooks above, a rectangle of carpet (slightly frayed, lavender wool unraveling) below, a wide mirror angled against the back wall. Sima dangled three bras, each a shade of beige, before her. See which you like.

The girl eyed the bras suspiciously, held one against herselfthick, with a high, wide cutso that her breasts pushed through the satin, frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Do you have anything sexy? she asked.

Sima forced herself to carry on the usual conversation. You like lacy? Demi? She saw herself in the mirror behind the girl, gray hair pulled into a tight bun, rounded body all in black. The old witch in the fairytale, Sima thought, selling apples to a young beauty.

Doesnt matter, just so long as my boyfriend will like it. Not that hed noticemen just like to take them off, no?

Sima smiled. Years in the basement bra shop had taught her the ease of a conversation teasing men. With knowing looks and careful shakes of the head her customers commiserated with one another, complained about them: their stupidity, their cheapness, their emotional distance; their inability to remember birthdays and anniversaries, the location of their own kitchen appliances, the day to pick their suits up from the drycleaner.

My Lev, Sima said, doesnt even know how to tell one bra from another. You think he pays attention?Ive had this business for three decades, and weve been married, what, forty-six years? Ten dollars he couldnt even tell you what underwire does.

The girl laughed, revealing a smile made more beautiful, Sima thought, by the slight gap between her two front teeth. Forty-six years is a long time. Mazel tov.

Sima shrugged. People act like being married a long time is some big accomplishment. Let me tell you, its the easiest thing in the world. We married young, and that was that. She made a brisk motion with her hand, as if smoothing the covers over a bed. Now, Sima said, reaching for the bras shed brought the girl, What did you say your name was?

Timna.

Timna, Ill bring you something special, yeah? To make his jaw drop.

Sima closed the dressing-room curtain and walked behind the counter. Three shelves stretched ten feet across, each shelf filled with boxes, each box filled with bras. Sima never spent a cent on advertising and never had tothough the dressing room rarely filled to capacity, she kept busy enough that her legs ached each evening from too many trips up and down the stepladder, each in pursuit of the perfect fit. Simas regular customers, and almost all her customers became regulars, would enter the store already pulling off their coats, unbuttoning their starched blouses. Something for my cousins wedding, to keep my tummy in and these (a quick shove to the large breasts) up while I dance.

For my daughter, for her bas mitzvah. Can you believe? Seems just yesterday I used to rest her stroller behind the counter.

Something simple. Cotton.

Something lacy. Black.

Something with underwire.

Without underwire.

On sale?

Simas wasnt the only hidden business in the neighborhood: Farrah sold purses and shoes, Shoshana designed stationery and invitations, Gussie carried wigs and head scarves, Bernie and Ida Neumans basement was filled with suits for boys. A secret downtown hidden beneath the red and orange brick two-story homes of Boro Park, Brooklyn.

Those who didnt know Sima stood awkwardly for only a moment. In a glance she could see their size, the back and the cup combined. Thirty-six-D shed say, and, pointing to the dressing-room curtain, Over there. In vain the women protested, But Im a thirty-four. Ive always been Youve always been wearing the wrong size, Sima told them, and when on her advice they slipped back on their shirts to evaluate the shape a new bra gave, they inevitably agreed. Isnt that something? the women said, smiling at the high curve in the mirror, After all these years.

How long have you been in Brooklyn, Timna? Sima called when shed found what she wanted, let the box lids fall to the floor in her eagerness.

Only one week. Im staying with some cousins while I wait for my boyfriend to finish the army, and then were driving to San Francisco.

A beautiful city, Sima told her, though it had been decades since shed been there. As she hopped off the stepladder she felt her ankle curl beneath her: a spot of pain and then gone. She paused a moment, regained her composure. She couldnt help but be excited to fit this girl, she told herself; if she thrilled to imagine the smooth lay of her bras on Timnas skin, it was no more unnatural than a dentist admiring a flawless arch of pearl-white teeth.

Sima handed Timna two bras, the kind she thought of as most wildcrimson lace on one, the other, black, cut low and wide for maximum cleavage. She pulled the curtain closed while Timna tried on the crimson, waited until she heard the usual soundsa step backwards, a turn to the sidethat signaled readiness.