In the Unlikely Event

Steve agreed. Nice-looking coeds. But none so nice as Kathy Stein.

He knew it had been very different for his father, who had grown up poor but strong-willed, working his way through college, then dental school. He knew he was supposed to feel grateful that life was easier for him, though sometimes he wasn’t so sure it was. Sometimes he felt he was carrying a heavy load, that he’d never be able to be a good enough person. His parents’ expectations for him were too great.

Is that why he’d shouted at Mason McKittrick the night of his sister’s party? Phil wanted to know what had gotten into him. He remembered only that he’d been filled with rage when he saw Mason dancing with Miri. He would have killed Mason if he could have, but he didn’t know why. What made him feel that way?

By midafternoon it was snowing pretty hard. At the airport they learned their plane back to Newark had been canceled due to the weather. “This isn’t good,” his father said. “I have to get back. I have a full day tomorrow.”

“And I have a test in chemistry,” Steve told him.

“Let me see what I can do,” his father said. “Wait here and watch our stuff.”

What stuff? Steve wondered. They had no bags, except for one with college scarves for Natalie, who collected them, and another with a little wool hat in Tufts colors, blue and brown, for Fern.

His father was gone for half an hour and came back looking pleased, waving around two boarding passes. “Snagged two tickets,” he said. “We board in fifteen minutes.”

It wasn’t until they’d taken off and reached their cruising altitude that his father leaned close and said, “You can never tell your mother we flew on a non-sked.”

Steve looked at him. Was he kidding?

“She’d never forgive me,” his father said.

“We’re on a non-sked?” Steve asked.

“You didn’t know?” his father said.

Steve shook his head.

“It’s not a C-46,” his father said. “I’d never fly with you on a C-46.”

Was that supposed to be reassuring?

“Even so, you know how your mother is, so this has to be our secret.”

When Steve didn’t say anything, his father gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Man to man. Agreed?”

“Sure,” Steve said. “Agreed.” But he couldn’t believe his father had risked his life, the life of his only son, because he had to get back to the office, back to his precious patients. You’d think, after spending night after night trying to identify burned and dismembered corpses, his father would never fly again, let alone take a non-sked.

Newark Sunday News

INSIDE HOLLYWOOD

By Virginia McPherson

JAN. 20—Hollywood is still digging itself out of the muck and mud from the latest West Coast storm disaster—and some marooned movie stars haven’t scooped out yet.

Humphrey Bogart waded hip-deep into muddy water on Sunset Boulevard to direct traffic. Hasn’t had so much fun in years. “Couldn’t get home for three days,” he grinned. “Just holed up in the Beverly Hills Hotel bar and stayed spiffed for 72 hours.”

Until his spouse Lauren Bacall phoned irately, “You get home tonight, with milk and orange juice for your son…or else!”

Bogie got.

12

Miri

Miri was on her bed, reading her favorite columns in the Sunday paper, when the doorbell rang. She ran down the stairs to answer it. She was in a sour mood because Rusty wouldn’t let her invite Mason to dinner at The Tavern, where they were going to celebrate Henry’s engagement to Leah.

“It’s not appropriate,” Rusty told her. “This is just for the immediate family.”

“Nana is bringing Ben Sapphire,” Miri reminded her.

“Yes, but she’s hosting this party, so if she wants to bring Mr. Sapphire, she can.”

“He’s not immediate family.”

“He’s picking up the bill.”

“So you’re saying I should ask Mr. Sapphire about inviting Mason?”

“Damn it, Miri! Don’t push me. And don’t you dare ask Nana or anyone else about inviting Mason.”

So when the doorbell rang, Miri was more than glad to get away from Rusty. She wasn’t sure who she expected to find on the other side of the front door, but certainly not this woman in slacks and a matching wool coat with a big fox collar. A yellow Cadillac was parked in front of the house. Miri had never seen a yellow Cadillac on her street. The only yellow Cadillac she knew of belonged to one of the Levy brothers, who owned the department store on Broad Street.

“Are you Miriam?” the woman asked. Her voice was smoky, her lipstick red, not a strand of her dark hair moved in the wind.

“Do I know you?” Miri asked. No one called her Miriam.

“I’m Frekki Strasser but my maiden name was Monsky. I believe I’m your aunt.”

Miri grabbed hold of the door to steady herself.

Rusty called from the upstairs window, “Who is it, Miri?” Jazzy music floated down from Rusty’s radio.

When Miri didn’t answer, the woman called, “A voice from your past.”

Miri didn’t turn, didn’t take her eyes off the woman, but she could hear her mother’s footsteps on the stairs. Rusty had been vacuuming. Her hair was carelessly tied back. She was in an old shirt with the flaps hanging out, worn slacks and beat-up moccasins.

The woman held out her gloved hand. “Hello, Rusty. It’s Frekki Monsky Strasser.”

“Frekki?” Rusty went pale. She made no move to shake Frekki’s hand, which floated in midair, until Frekki shoved it into her coat pocket.

Rusty stood in front of Miri as if to protect her from this stranger. “What are you doing here?”

“Unexpected events…” Now she used the same gloved hand to gesture toward the sky, and Miri knew it wasn’t God she was talking about. “Well, it made me stop and think, I have a niece, I should know her.”

Rusty turned to Miri. “Go upstairs.”

“But I—”

“Right now.”

Miri moved toward the vestibule as Rusty said, “How did you know I have a daughter?”

“It’s not a secret, is it?”

“Fifteen years later you decide you want to know my daughter?”

“Better late than never,” Frekki said.

“I’m not sure that’s always the case.” Rusty turned back to Miri. “I said go upstairs. Now.”

Irene appeared at the door wrapped in a shawl. “What’s all this?”

“Hello, Mrs. Ammerman.” The woman held out her hand again. “Frekki Monsky.”

Irene’s hand went to her chest. “You have the nerve to show up here, at my house?”

“Now, Mrs. Ammerman—”

“Don’t you now, Mrs. Ammerman me!”

Miri had never heard such anger in her grandmother’s voice.

This time Rusty shouted, “Go upstairs, Miri!”

“I’m going to get Nana a pill.”

“I don’t need a pill,” Irene said.

“Yes, you do,” Miri told her. “I can tell.”

“Why don’t you invite me in?” Frekki said. “I mean no harm and it’s freezing out here.”

“That looks like a warm coat to me,” Rusty said, hugging herself.

Miri came back with Irene’s pill, but Irene waved her away.

“All right,” Frekki said. “If that’s how it’s going to be…” She pulled a creamy envelope out of her purse. “This is for Miriam. An invitation to lunch and a show at the Paper Mill Playhouse. I hope you’ll be reasonable about this, Rusty. I live in South Orange now. I’m married to a doctor. I’m in a position to be a positive influence in Miriam’s life.”

Miri felt sick to her stomach. But at the same time, excited.

Frekki

Frekki’s husband, J.J., had a cousin in Elizabeth who owned Strasser Sports. How many times had she brought the boys to their store for their team uniforms, for the expert in athletic shoes, said to be the best in the state, to fit them properly? More than ten years of shopping trips for summer camp, and to make sure they had the best equipment for baseball, basketball, football, never mind the hockey skates, the cleats. They’d built a special closet in the finished basement just for the boys’ athletic equipment.

In September, during the annual trek to Elizabeth, Sherry Strasser, the cousin’s wife, invited Frekki to lunch. “Leave the boys at the store and come out with me.”

The boys, who were now seventeen and nineteen, were capable of looking after themselves, so she’d accepted Sherry’s invitation to lunch at Dorothy Dennis, a ladies’ tearoom. “We don’t get to see you often enough,” Sherry said.

“I know. J.J. and I were just saying the same thing.”

After their sandwich plates had been cleared and the tea served, Sherry said, “The store is so busy this time of year I help out as much as I can, and last week I saw a young girl, maybe fifteen, with eyes exactly like your brother’s.”

Frekki wasn’t sure how to respond.

“She’s friends with the Osner girl. You know the Osners, don’t you? He’s a dentist.”