Jack wanted to have sex before they started out for home, so they stopped at Boyd’s motel and spent nine dollars on a room. But she was too scared to let go and enjoy it even though he used a rubber. After, they stopped at a diner for lunch. She ordered something called “Wedding Cake” for dessert, a white layer cake with lemon filling. Actually, it was pretty good.
That night she pressed her wedding corsage in her scrapbook, hid her ring under the false bottom of her jewelry box and cried herself to sleep.
A week later she got her period.
Elizabeth Daily Post
NO HOME LIFE FOR FLUET
MARCH 26—Joseph O. Fluet, the government’s chief airline crash investigator for this area, hasn’t been able to spend much time at his home in Great Neck, N.Y. According to his wife, he’s been there for only two hours in the last month. Fluet is staying at the Elizabeth Carteret hotel. The lonesome Mrs. Fluet says she’s weaving a rug to pass the time.
27
Miri
On most days Irene picked up the afternoon mail, but she was away for two weeks in Miami Beach with Ben Sapphire. Rusty tried to get her to promise to call home every night so she’d know Irene was okay, but Irene laughed at the idea. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I’ll look after her like she’s a queen,” Ben promised.
“I’ll send postcards,” Irene sang, looking smart in her new travel suit, and blowing them kisses as she and Ben left for Newark’s Penn Station, where they’d board the Silver Meteor to Miami.
“Postcards,” Rusty mumbled as the car pulled away.
So on this late-March day Miri was the one to pick up the mail. She’d already walked Mason and Fred to Edison Lanes, where a bum came out of nowhere, pulling on Mason’s sleeve, frightening Miri. He was filthy and he reeked of alcohol.
“Get off me,” Mason told him.
“Come on, son. You’re a big shot now, a hero,” the bum said. “People must be throwing money at you. How about something for your dear old dad?”
She could see the anger in Mason’s face, his jaw tightening, his teeth clenched. “I said, get off me!”
The bum looked at Miri. “Who’s this? Your girlfriend?”
“Don’t touch her,” Mason said, shielding Miri with his body.
Fred barked.
“Well, well…it’s Fred, is it?” He tried to pet the dog but Fred growled. Miri had never heard Fred growl.
“If you don’t get out of here I’m calling the police,” Mason said.
“I am the police, son.”
“You were the police, but not anymore. And stop calling me son.”
“Jacky always gives me a fiver.”
“Yeah, to get rid of you.”
“You want to get rid of me, son? Give me some change.”
“Let’s go,” Mason said, grabbing Miri’s hand. He led her inside but turned back to the bum once and called, “You better be gone when I come out. You hear? You better be gone!”
He wouldn’t let Miri leave until the coast was clear. “I’m sorry you had to see that drunken excuse of a father,” he told her.
That was his father? The father who’d chased him with an ax?
Miri was still reeling when she dropped Fred at Mrs. Stein’s house. She walked home looking over her shoulder, making sure the bum who was Mason’s father wasn’t following her. It must be terrible having a father like him, Miri thought, someone you couldn’t trust, someone so unpredictable. Better to have no father or a father in California you never had to see.
She let herself into the house, collected the mail from the floor, where it had come in through the slot in the door, and thumbed through it, separating Irene’s and Henry’s from hers and Rusty’s. There was a postcard for her from Irene, showing a wide white beach with one palm tree leaning toward the blue-green ocean. The third postcard this week. Each one had a message beginning, Darling Miri. Then there would be a one-line message: Wish you were here, or You would love this weather, or Having a wonderful time.
She tucked the postcard into the waistband of her skirt and headed upstairs, where she dropped the mail on the kitchen table. On top was a creamy white envelope addressed to Naomi Ammerman in slanted handwriting that looked vaguely familiar. She turned it over to find an engraved return address.
Mrs. J. J. Strasser
Redmond Road
South Orange, N.J.
Why was Frekki writing to Rusty? She didn’t like this. She sat at the kitchen table for a while, considering her options. Maybe she should steam the envelope open, read the letter, then reglue the envelope. Suzanne had done that once with a letter to her parents from her sister, Dorrie, the one who’d been expelled by Mr. Royer. She’d run off with a guy her parents didn’t approve of, before she’d graduated from high school. Another option—she could open it, read it, then burn it, or hide it in her sock drawer the way she’d hidden the letter from Mike Monsky. But she wouldn’t want Rusty to do that to her. Rusty, who said trust was the single most important part of a relationship. “Remember that, Miri. If you can’t trust, you can’t love.” It was bad enough she’d hidden Mike Monsky’s letter. But that was, at least, addressed to her. This was different.
Rusty would be home soon enough. Without Irene to cook for them, they’d been eating pizza, deli sandwiches or scrambled eggs for supper, but tonight they were going to have a roast chicken. Rusty had left instructions from Irene. Miri was to light the oven, season the chicken and put it in to roast. “You can’t go wrong with a roast chicken, baked potatoes and fresh carrots,” Irene told her before she’d left. She’d never tell Irene that Rusty had picked up Birds Eye frozen carrots instead of fresh.
At six o’clock Miri heard the front door open and Rusty sang, “I’m home…” She came up the stairs and into the kitchen, where Miri was basting the chicken, per Irene’s instructions.
“It smells good in here,” Rusty said, kicking off her shoes and getting out of her coat. She bent over and dropped a kiss on top of Miri’s head. Then she picked up the mail and riffled through it. Miri was almost afraid to watch. She opened Frekki’s note first. Her breathing changed as she read it. “What the hell is this?”
“What?” Miri asked. “Did somebody die?”
Rusty waved the note in front of Miri’s face. “You met him? You met Mike Monsky and you never told me.”
“Mom, I—”
“How could you keep such a secret from me? I’m your mother, for god’s sake. How could you betray me this way?”
“Mom, I’d never—”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not lying. What does it say?”
Rusty shoved the note at Miri, and she grabbed it, reading quickly. It said that Mike Monsky was in town and wanted to make a plan regarding their daughter, a plan that would include financial support and visiting rights. It said ever since Mike met Miri he’d been thinking about her. Frekki suggested they meet in the study of Rabbi Beiderman, who counsels many families in difficult situations. Rusty should also feel free to consult a lawyer. “ ‘Feel free to consult a lawyer?’ ” Miri asked.
“Feel free!” Rusty repeated. “Who does that bitch think she is?” Rusty went crazy, throwing her shoes against the wall. “He thinks he can walk into my life and destroy everything just like he did sixteen years ago? I’ll kill him first.”
Miri was sure that at that moment, Rusty meant it. Her ferocity scared Miri. “Did you think I’d never find out?” she asked Miri.
“Frekki fooled me. She never said he’d be at Gruning’s.”
“Gruning’s! My god—you had ice cream with him?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You should have told me the minute you got home. I’d have stopped this immediately. I’d have warned Frekki and her brother, if they ever, ever contacted you again, I’d have them arrested. That’s what you should have done. You can’t trust him, Miri. Don’t let that smile foo
l you, those eyes…”
“I don’t trust him. I don’t even like him. I never want to see him again!” This wasn’t completely true. She was curious about her mother and him.
“What bothers me is you didn’t tell me. You kept it a secret and now Frekki is asking for a meeting. I trusted you to go to the Paper Mill Playhouse with Frekki. I trusted you, Miri.”
“But, Mom, I didn’t know he’d be there.”
“What’s going on?” Henry called from the foyer. They hadn’t heard him come in.
“A situation,” Rusty called back.
Henry ran up the stairs two at a time and burst into the kitchen. “Mama?” he asked Rusty, and Miri could read the fear in his eyes.
“No,” Rusty told him. “Mike Monsky has surfaced.”
“Mike Monsky?” Henry said this as if they were talking about Frankenstein.
“And guess what?” Rusty said. “Miri’s met him but didn’t think she needed to tell me.”
Henry gave Miri a questioning look but Miri didn’t say anything.
“And now Frekki’s cooked up some mishegoss about getting together with a Rabbi Beiderman,” Rusty said. “To make a plan.”
“A plan?” Henry asked.
Miri handed him Frekki’s note.
Henry read it. “I know a good lawyer,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll advise us as a family friend.”
The lawyer, Gregg Bender, came over after dinner. He and Henry were old friends. They used to play basketball together at the Y. Rusty made coffee.
“She doesn’t want to see him,” Rusty told Gregg Bender, offering cream and sugar for his coffee and a plate of store-bought cookies. “Isn’t that right, Miri? Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I did say that.”
“There!” Rusty said. “You see? If she never wants to see him again why should we agree to have this meeting? Can someone please explain that to me?”
“Did you mean it?” Henry asked Miri. “Are you afraid of him?”
“No, I’m not afraid of him.” And no, I didn’t really mean it but how am I supposed to let you know that without Rusty going crazy?
“I understand how you feel, Rusty,” Gregg Bender said. “But this is about Miri’s future. As I see it, this could be an opportunity. Let’s say Mr. Monsky puts away a nest egg for her education—”
“I’ve already started a savings account for her education,” Rusty said. “Every week since I started working I’ve put something into it.”
“So have I,” Henry said, surprising Miri. “It’s not a lot but it’ll help pay for her tuition.”
“Thank you, Uncle Henry,” Miri whispered, afraid if she said anything more she’d start bawling.
“You see?” Rusty said to Gregg. “We have it all worked out. So why should we say yes to Frekki and her brother?”
“For one thing, to avoid this matter going to court,” Gregg said. “To keep it friendly.”
“Friendly?” Rusty gave a false laugh. “That’s a good one!”
“For another…” And now Gregg looked at Miri. “Because she has a right to know her father.”
“He is no father!” Rusty turned on her heel and headed for her bedroom. She slammed the door like a frustrated, angry teenager.
“This is very hard for Rusty,” Henry said.
Gregg nodded. “I imagine so.”
Miri wanted to say, What about me? Don’t you think it’s hard for me? But she didn’t.
—
RABBI BEIDERMAN’S HOUSE was on a quiet street in Maplewood in a neighborhood of pretty old houses with flowering trees and lawns that would soon be green. Daffodils and tulips were sprouting. Miri might have sat in the rumble seat today if Henry still had his old coupe. But he’d given that to Leah so she no longer had to take the bus to work and he drove a new Chevy. He’d gotten a good deal on last year’s model. Nobody wanted a maroon car. They passed a church as they turned onto the rabbi’s street. Wasn’t it strange for a rabbi to live near a church? The lawyer, Gregg Bender, was already there, parked in his car, waiting for them.
The rabbi was clean-shaven, dressed in weekend clothes, a tweed jacket over a blue oxford cloth shirt, no tie. She’d never seen a rabbi out of his robes. She’d never thought of a rabbi having a nice house on a nice street in a good neighborhood, wearing regular clothes, having a wife and kids. He welcomed them into a book-lined room with a sofa and four club chairs around a coffee table. Photos of his children at different ages were scattered around the room.
Henry made the introductions. “Glad to meet you, Rabbi,” he said, shaking hands. “I’m Henry Ammerman, this is my sister, Rusty Ammerman, my niece, Miri Ammerman, and Gregg Bender, our lawyer, who is here as a family friend.”
“Welcome to all of you,” the rabbi said. “I admire your work, Mr. Ammerman. Please, make yourselves comfortable. We have coffee and Danish. Miri, would you like a glass of milk or orange juice?”
“No thank you.”
Gregg Bender helped himself to a cheese Danish and a cup of coffee. Henry did the coffee thing, too. Rusty fidgeted with her pocketbook, pulling out a linen handkerchief, embroidered on one corner. She was probably hoping Frekki and Mike Monsky wouldn’t show up.
But as the church bells chimed ten times, Frekki strutted in arm and arm with Mike Monsky, and another man behind them. Frekki said, “Hello, Rabbi. I’m Frekki Strasser and this is my brother, Mike Monsky, and my husband, Dr. J. J. Strasser.”
Her husband, not her lawyer. Miri was surprised. She was sure Frekki would bring a lawyer. Miri tried not to look at Mike Monsky who was focused on Rusty, who was picking nonexistent lint off her skirt. Only then did Miri notice that Rusty was wearing her new peep-toe pumps and the pale-green sweater dress that made her eyes look even more green. Her hair was loose, down to her shoulders. She looked especially pretty, though tense and unsmiling, twisting the linen handkerchief in her hands. Frekki wore a stylish wool skirt and matching sweater set in spring colors—navy and white. Miri was almost sure it was cashmere. A matching silk scarf was draped around her neck. Miri wondered how she got the scarf to stay in place. Her doctor husband checked his watch, explaining he was on call and might have to leave early. He hoped they would understand if he did.
“Let me begin by stating the obvious,” Rabbi Beiderman said. “This isn’t an easy situation for any of you. Miri, you’re the one caught in the middle…”
Frekki interrupted. “She’s not caught in the middle, Rabbi. She’s the one who will benefit most from this arrangement.”
The rabbi said, “Emotionally, Miri is in the middle.”
Maybe this rabbi was smarter than she’d thought.
“Can we cut to the chase, please?” Rusty said.
“Rabbi, if I may…” Mike Monsky looked to the rabbi for permission to continue.
“Please…” the rabbi said, signaling for Mike Monsky to speak.
“We made a mistake sixteen years ago,” he began, looking directly at Rusty.
He was calling her a mistake? Did she really have to sit here and listen to this?
“But the result of that mistake,” he continued, “is a wonderful young girl who nobody in their right mind would ever call a mistake. I’m proud to call her my daughter.”
“She’s no more your daughter than I’m the Queen of Sheba,” Rusty said.
“She’s entitled to have a relationship with her father,” Mike said.
“You call yourself a father?” Rusty asked. “I can show you fathers—responsible, loving men who are there for their families.”
Henry leaned over and whispered something to Rusty. Rusty blew her nose in the linen handerchief.
Frekki said, “Nobody doubts you’ve done a wonderful job, Rusty. You’ve raised a lovely daughter. But you can’t deny her a father.”
Rusty’s face turned red. “I’ve never denied her anything.”
But the truth, Miri thought. She wished she could shout at them to stop, but then everyone in the room would look at
her.
As if reading her mind, the rabbi said, “Miriam, would you like to speak?”
She shook her head no. But there was plenty she might have said, if she’d had the courage. I have a father, she’d say to Rusty. You might not like him but you can’t pretend he doesn’t exist. If you don’t like him you should have thought of that before you got into his Nash with the seat that turned into a bed.
Next, she’d look directly at Mike Monsky. You think you can waltz into my life now and everything will be okay? You expect me to trust you just because you and my mother shtupped a couple of times? Trust has to be earned. You know who taught me that? My mother! You’ve never taught me anything, not anything good, anyway.
Then, back to Rusty. Stop arguing. Let him put money away for college. You know you worry about how you’re going to pay. You think I don’t know that for fifteen years you’ve done everything? You and Nana and Uncle Henry. You think I don’t know what a family I have? A family I can count on. I don’t need him. That’s true. But if it turns out I want to know him, if it turns out I want to meet his other kids—so what? That doesn’t change anything between us. I love you, Mom. Don’t worry. You’re not going to lose me. Ever.
Henry gave her a little nudge and she came back from her fantasy in time to hear Rusty say, “I don’t want his money, Rabbi. I’ve managed all these years on my own.”
“But the child is entitled, Mrs. Ammerman. I’m suggesting Mr. Monsky set up a fund for Miri,” the rabbi said, “to help with college expenses. Perhaps the amount can be decided by your lawyers. You are entitled to nothing, Mr. Monsky. It will be up to Miri if she wants to see you or not. At fifteen, she can make that decision herself.”
Her feelings for this rabbi just went from cool to warm.
“That sounds fair,” Mike Monsky said.
Gregg looked at Henry, who nodded, and at Rusty, who shrugged.
Then the rabbi asked, “Do you want to see your father again?”
“I don’t know,” Miri answered.