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he was eighteen. In high school and even in college, he had eschewed any sort of physical activity. At least now he jogged twice a week—three times a week when it was possible. He had even gone to health clubs from time to time and worked out on weight-training machines. They had a rowing machine, a stationary bike, and a trampoline in the basement, and Clara was into aerobics.
    Sid had always been an enthusiastic student and an avid reader. In fact, he would read anything in sight, especially if he had to wait in airports or in waiting rooms. At the breakfast table he would read the backs of all the cereal boxes, if there wasn’t anything else available. His studious demeanor, his air of seriousness, his intensity of thought made him appear quite introverted and withdrawn, when actually he was very curious and outgoing. It was never difficult for him to strike up conversations with new people.
    He was just a shade under six feet tall and when he took his thick-rimmed reading glasses off, he had a Henry Fonda fatherly look, even when he was only in his early twenties. Perhaps his strong appearance of maturity was the best thing he had going for him.
    Women and other men recognized it immediately. Sid Kaufman was not someone who would waste time or do meaningless things. He was purposeful, goal-oriented, ambitious, and confident.
    For Clara Weintraub, he was the ideal man. Both of them were only children, but she had leaned strongly on her father and looked for that image in any man she dated. She wanted someone who was secure enough about himself to be able to devote a great deal of energy and time to taking care of her. She didn’t like making decisions; she didn’t like having major responsibilties. She wanted a world for herself in which everything was clearly delineated. There was no confusion about who would do what and when. She had thought about pursuing a career in child psychology, but she had put off getting her master’s degree until after she had raised the children, and now she questioned whether or not she would ever do it. It didn’t seem to matter as much as she thought it would.
    Sid was working. They were doing well. She enjoyed taking care of the house and the children. She enjoyed her leisure time. She liked caring for her body, reading her books, spending time with her friends, and visiting with her parents. Life seemed enough as it was. She had no regrets and no anxieties about her self-image. In fact, she found other women, women who were constantly moaning and groaning about their failure to do more, curious. Some of them had so much and yet seemed so unhappy.
    She regretted the fact that Sid’s job took him away from the house and family for days at a time and occasionally for weeks, but she accepted it. She had complete faith in him. It wasn’t as though she were married to some traveling salesman who had to seek out erotic adventures to compensate for an otherwise drab existence. Sid had his feet solidly planted in their life together. He knew what he wanted and he communicatedthat organization and strength so well that she was unafraid.
    Her friends thought she was naive. She knew that in their eyes, every man was deceitful. These friends measured their lives against the fictional lives of prime-time soap opera characters. Some even behaved as though they were moving in front of cameras and audiences. But she could tolerate them because they amused her.
    All in all, she felt that she and Sid had created a good life for themselves and she was about as happy and as satisfied with what they had as she possibly could be. She loved living in the Catskills, the place where she had grown up, and she thought they had bought a house in one of the most ideal locations in the area. They had privacy and yet they had neighbors within a reasonable distance. It was just a short ride to town to shop, yet they were out of the traffic and the hustle and bustle of the summer resort season when it came.
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