When writing my May 1, 2025 historical fiction, “Go On Pretending,” I needed some feedback from my teen-aged daughter. I told her, “Can you pretend to be the child of a Russian-Jewish soap-opera writer and a highly educated Black man who grew up in Harlem?”
She scrunched her forehead, pressed her fingers to her temples, then opened her eyes and announced, “I think I can do that.”
With my last two books, “The Nesting Dolls” and “My Mother’s Secret: A Novel of the Jewish Autonomous Region,” whenever readers asked, “How much of the story is based on your real-life?” I could shrug and plead innocence.
That’s not so easy this time around. I was born in Odessa, Ukraine, in what was then the Soviet Union. I have worked for soap-operas like “All My Children,” “One Life to Live,” “As the World Turns” and “Guiding Light.” My husband grew up in Harlem and attended the highly selective Stuyvesant High School, followed by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
I would like to say at this time that “Go On Pretending’s” Rose and Jonas are not based on my husband and I – completely.
For one thing, the story is set in 1950s America, before Loving v. Virginia, the ruling which legalized interracial marriage, became the law of the land. For another, Jonas went to Columbia University, and is an actor. My husband is a teacher. Finally, Rose is the writer of a “Guiding Light” radio spin-off, “Find Your Light.” I wrote the “Guiding Light” tie-in novel, “Jonathan’s Story.” So, you see, we are totally different!
“Go On Pretending” is currently available for pre-order. In this excerpt exclusive to Bookishly Jewish, Rose and Jonas are both looking for work, having been fired from “The Guiding Light” for reasons you’ll need to read the book to find out (yes, those reason are pretty much what you think they are). But that isn’t their only problem….
The author, Alina Adams, and her family.
Meanwhile, Rose and Jonas were facing a struggle of a different kind. Her going into WEVD every day and his continuing to audition for both radio and television roles had kept them busy enough that when they met up at either his apartment or hers at the end of the day it was still possible to pretend they were living separate lives. They’d stopped trying to find a spot they could go out to in the evening where they weren’t unwelcome or too slavishly welcomed in favor of nights spent at home. But now that Rose’s office was her dining room table and Jonas stopped by several times a day in between appointments, then often spent the night before heading out again, it was growing difficult to pretend that they weren’t, in fact, cohabitating – while continuing to pay rent on two separate domiciles. A situation neither was comfortable with. Not due to living in sin. Due to wasting money. Something two currently unemployed people should be attempting to do less of.
“The practical thing to do,” Rose said, “would be to give up one of our apartments, or both, and find a new place.”
“The practical thing to do,” Jonas said, “would be to get married.”
“Well, yes, obviously,” Rose dismissed and attempted to hurry onto the next topic, as if a proposal – unconventional; then again, what about her and Jonas was conventional save for everything… and nothing? – was just another item on a list of viable suggestions. “But, as my mother loves to say, a fish may fall in love with a bird, except where would they live? Especially in New York City.”
Jonas wouldn’t let her get away with it. She could pretend that being fired from a job she loved didn’t bother her by diving immediately into the next project. She could pretend that having a script she’d labored over for close to a year dismissed didn’t bother her by instantly deciding to rewrite it as a play. But she was not going to pretend that what he’d asked her didn’t matter by jabbering about the state of Manhattan real estate. Though, yes, he did see how it was relevant to their discussion. Manhattan real estate was relevant to any discussion. Even to people who didn’t live in Manhattan.
“Rose.” He grabbed her hand as she was turning away, forcing her to look at him. “Are you in love with me?”
“Like a fish loves a bird,” she all but twittered.
“Rose.” Jonas refused to let go of her hand. He cupped it between his palms, brought it to his mouth and kissed each knuckle, refusing to break eye contact as he repeated, “Are… you… in… love… with… me?”
The voice that had snared her, the gaze that compelled her, the question that broke her. Rose couldn’t speak. She could only nod in reply.
And then that smile. If she’d been weak before, she was helpless now.
“Do you want to marry me?”
Another nod. Because ‘yes’ was too feeble a word to encompass everything Rose longed to convey.
He pulled her closer to him, so that not only their hands but their noses and foreheads were touching. She breathed in when he breathed out, his lips were close, so tantalizingly close, but he was still talking. Which he was also quite good at. “Then we’ll get married.” Rose opened her mouth to protest. Jonas cut her off. “And we’ll find a place to rent, and we’ll find a place to eat dinner, and we’ll find a place to stage your play – “
“Our play.” Jonas could render her speechless on a personal basis. She always knew what to say when it came to the professional.
“Our play,” he agreed. “We’ll find a place to live happily ever after. You wouldn’t write it any other way.”
While they were pretending they were living separate lives, it was easy to pretend their relationship was nobody’s business. But now that Rose was wearing a ring Jonas bought her and they were searching The New York Times daily to see if they could read between the lines and identify a building open to renting to an unorthodox couple, it was growing more difficult to pretend they could keep their secret indefinitely. A situation neither was comfortable with.
“I suppose we’ll have to tell our parents,” Rose said. Which was ridiculous when you thought about it. She and Jonas weren’t children, they were in their thirties. They didn’t need their parents’ permission, or their blessing, or their financial support. But they also hated lying.
It was easier for Rose. Now that she’d reached official spinster age, Mama has stopped asking about romantic prospects, and dedicated herself to worrying that, after foolishly quitting her job at Find Your Light and obviously doing something equally foolish to lose her position at WEVD, Rose was going to become destitute and die alone in a flop-house.
Jonas’ parents, on the other hand, continued introducing him to admittedly beautiful, admittedly accomplished, admittedly available young women. The way Jonas described them, Rose could see why his family couldn’t understand his lack of interest.
“They’re all so… perfect,” Jonas said.
“Unlike me?” Rose wasn’t sure if she was fishing for compliments.
“Unlike you,” he agreed. And the way he said it made it clear he was giving her one.
“I suppose we’ll have to tell our parents,” Rose sighed.
They decided to start with his. They decided Geoffrey and Annabelle Moore – Jonas had changed his last name professionally so as not to embarrass the family, and chosen Cain as a sly biblical reference, the sign of God’s protection – were less likely to grow hysterical at the news. It would be good practice for facing Rose’s mother, who she feared would.
Rose and Jonas spent a delightful evening at his parents’ Hamilton Heights townhouse. The Moores took her on a tour, highlighting the individual rooms done in baroque, romantic, and neoclassical styles; wingback chairs, chesterfield sofas, carved bookshelves, ornate drapes, Westwood lamps, artwork by Romaere Bearden and Horace Pippin. Over dinner, Jonas’ father talked about authors he’d edited. His mother spoke about working as a translator at the United Nations – French to English. They asked Rose about her days at Find Your Light and seemed genuinely curious about her ideas for modernizing Othello, even making a small pun about their last name and the title character.
At the end of the night, Geoffrey and Annabelle walked Jonas and Rose to the door. His father shook her hand. His mother kissed her on the cheek.
“You are absolutely delightful,” his father said.
“So intelligent,” his mother said.
“So talented.”
“So elegant.”
“No,” his father said.
“Absolutely not,” his mother reiterated.
Rose’s mother did not grow hysterical when she met Jonas. There was no lovely town- house to give him a tour of, but Mama made up for it with the dinner she served. Chicken soup, potato kugel, beef brisket and rugelach for dessert. She explained to Jonas, in detail, how each dish was made, how her grandmother made it in the old country, including the substitutions they were forced to go with here since food just didn’t taste the same, she didn’t know why. Jonas complimented Mama on every course and agreed it was a mystery about the different tastes in America. He told stories about traveling to Chicago, to Atlanta, to San Francisco, to Houston and, wouldn’t you know it, foods with the same ingredients did have different flavors! Baffling!
At the end of the night, Mama walked Jonas and Rose to the door. She gave him a hug.
“Such a gentleman,” Mama said. “So well-read, so well-raised.” She turned to Rose and told her, “Absolutely not.”
“That went very well,” Jonas strove for the joke when Rose, for the first time since he’d met her, seemed unable to summon up the energy to deal with setbacks by bolting towards the next plan of attack.
“Absolutely not,” Rose said.
And burst into tears.