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?”