She picked up the copy of From Here to Eternity she’d checked out of the penny library at the confectionery on Morris Avenue. It was a thick book. She’d better get in more reading time. At the rate she was going, she might as well have bought it.
Miri
It snowed again overnight on Friday, so Miri awoke to more fresh snow on the day of her slumber party, a birthday celebration planned with her girlfriends before she’d met Mason. That afternoon she went sledding on Wyoming Avenue with Suzanne, Robo and Eleanor, while Natalie was in New York at dance class. Donny Kellen and his brothers were their usual obnoxious selves, steering their sleds into the girls, trying to knock them to the ground, where they would wash their faces with snow if they got the chance. Miri hated the Kellen boys. She hated them even more since she’d read Ethan Frome in English class. Suppose they forced her to crash her sled into a tree and she wound up like Mattie Silver in the book? What would Rusty do then? Quit her job and spend the rest of her life taking care of Miri, or would Irene have to “step up to the plate” again? Both scenarios filled her with dread.
But Miri and her friends survived and arrived cold, wet and happy at Miri’s house, where Natalie joined them. They changed into their nightgowns, leaving on their underwear since they weren’t going to sleep for hours, and enjoyed pizza from Spirito’s, thanks to Uncle Henry, who brought three large pies home for them. Only Natalie resisted. She’d given up sweets and bread for dancing. “Something every dancer has to do,” she told them. “And I don’t mind. I’ve never had a sweet tooth and bread just leaves me feeling bloated.”
Robo told them her mother goes to a diet doctor every week, Dr. Kalb, who gives her pills. “It’s like a candy shop at his office. Except instead of candy the bins are filled with different-colored pills. He scoops them into a brown paper bag and tells my mother how many she should take a day, and what colors. Some of them give her diarrhea.”
“Ew…” Suzanne said. “Not while we’re eating.”
“I don’t need pills,” Natalie said. “I have willpower.”
“Too bad you can’t bottle that,” Eleanor said. “You could make a fortune.”
“Mmm…” Natalie said, concentrating on her salad of iceberg lettuce and green grapes. Miri prayed Natalie wouldn’t act weird tonight, and she didn’t, except for not even tasting Irene’s delicious birthday cake, Miri’s favorite, dark chocolate with mocha frosting. Miri wrapped a piece for Mason. She would bring it to him Monday after school.
Later, they went down to Irene’s to watch Your Hit Parade. Eddie Howard sang the number three song, “It’s No Sin.”
“Now, that’s a beautiful song,” Natalie said. “If we’re lucky we won’t have to hear ‘Slow Poke’ or ‘Shrimp Boats’ again.”
Miri agreed. She imagined dancing with Mason to “It’s No Sin.” The thought was enough to give her shivers.
Back upstairs in Miri’s room, the girls gave her their present. Her first cashmere sweater from the cashmere sweater lady, in a beautiful shade of aqua.
“It’s from my mom, too,” Natalie said.
Miri understood. Corinne had shelled out whatever extra the sweater cost after the girls had pooled their money.
“Try it on,” Robo told her.
“Now?” Miri asked.
“Yes, now!” the other girls sang.
She stepped behind her closet door, let her nightgown drop from her shoulders, pulled the sweater on, then gathered the nightgown around her waist so she could model the sweater for them. They whooped and cheered. Robo and Suzanne whistled. She couldn’t wait to wear it for Mason.
“Wait until Mason feels how soft it is!” Robo said, as if she knew what Miri was thinking. It used to be Natalie who knew what Miri was thinking, but not anymore. Natalie was distant now, living in her own world. The other girls laughed until Robo switched gears. “I have something to tell you.”
They could see from the look on her face it was serious. Miri pulled off the sweater, rebuttoned her nightgown, and sat on the floor with her friends, waiting for Robo’s news. She hoped it wasn’t serious, as in someone was going to die. She didn’t want to hear anything bad on her birthday.
“We’re moving,” Robo said. “To Millburn.”
They gasped.
“But why?” Suzanne asked. “You already live in a beautiful house.”
“My parents say it’s because of my father’s job. He’s building one of those new shopping centers nearby…but I think it’s because of…” She trailed off.
“Let me guess,” Eleanor said. “The crash.”
“Well, yes, even though they won’t admit it. Instead they say things like the schools in Millburn are really good.” Then, embarrassed, she added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with the schools here.”
“But the crash is over,” Suzanne argued.
“I know, but what can I do?” Robo wouldn’t look at them. Her friends. They’d been together for almost three years. At Battin they’d have three more.
“I thought you have to be really rich to live there,” Suzanne said.
“Only on some streets,” Robo said, growing defensive. “You’ll come visit. It’s not that far away. Just twenty minutes or so by car.”
“Only another planet,” Eleanor said.
“There’s a Lord & Taylor,” Robo said, trying to find something positive to say. “We can go shopping.”
“You can go shopping.” Eleanor didn’t add that Natalie was the only one of their crowd who could afford to shop at Lord & Taylor. Until now. Who knew Robo’s parents—Milton and Pamela Boros—were rich enough to move to Millburn?
“You sound angry,” Robo said to Eleanor. “Are you angry?”
“No. Yes.” Eleanor shook her head and shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Because it’s not my fault.”
“I know it’s not your fault,” Eleanor said. “I’m just…I don’t know…disappointed because I always thought the five of us would be together all through high school.”
Miri never would have guessed Eleanor cared so much. She had her whole life planned out, including winning the Nobel Prize in math or science.
“I can’t control my parents,” Robo said. “If you want the truth, they didn’t even ask me. They took me and my sister for a ride last week and pointed to a house. ‘This is our new house,’ my father said. We’re moving before Lincoln’s birthday.”
“Now?” Suzanne said. “You’re moving in the middle of the school year?”
Robo flushed. “I have no choice.”
Natalie said only, “We’ll miss you.” Just that. Just the perfect thing to say.
“Thank you, Nat.”
They set their hair in pin curls, or socks, depending on the length, spread out their sleeping bags on the floor of Miri’s room and turned out the lights. Then, on cue, her four friends serenaded her in the dark.
They try to tell us we’re too young.
Too young to really be in love…
Something about that song, something about the tender way they sang it to her, made Miri tear up. She loved her friends. She loved her family. She loved Mason. She couldn’t bear the idea of losing any of them. Ever.
Elizabeth Daily Post
TRUCE TEAMS STILL WRANGLE OVER KOREA
TAX INCREASES LOOM
MUSAN, KOREA, JAN. 16—Truce negotiators kept tempers in check today as they wrangled fruitlessly over terms of a Korean armistice. The only outburst came from a Chinese delegate who referred scornfully to America’s allies as “running dogs.” U.S. casualties to date total 104,084, with 15,950 killed, 75,374 wounded and 12,760 missing or held as prisoners.
On the home front, facing a budget deficit because of the Korean War, President Truman has again proposed increasing taxes, the fourth time since the hostilities began. “We have to be fiscally responsible,” a presidential spokesman explained. But Congress seems more intent on finding ways to cut spending, especially in an election year.
11
&nbs
p; Steve
On Thursday, January 17, Steve Osner and his father flew to Boston for college interviews at Brandeis and Tufts. Steve had been to Syracuse with Phil Stein and his father, a Syracuse alum, a fraternity man, who was treated like the BMOC he must have been. Steve already knew Syracuse was his first choice but his father insisted he look at other schools, too. “Keep your options open, son.”
He’d applied to the two Boston-area schools and he liked what he saw, but not enough to change his mind. His father took him to lunch between interviews at a Harvard Square restaurant. It was good to be alone with his father when he wasn’t on, singing to his patients or telling jokes. Even at home his father was always performing for Fern and Natalie, making them laugh at the dinner table. His mother was more proper, more concerned with doing things the right way, which was her way. Deep down he knew he was more like his mother, even though there were times when he wished he could be more like his father.
“Nice-looking coeds,” his father said of the college girls at the restaurant.
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 p
ill.”
“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.”