On the drive to Millburn, Frekki chatted about the play they were going to see, an operetta, The Desert Song. She sang a few bars to Miri. “Blue heaven and you and I…” Her voice was low and smoky. On key. “I love musicals,” she told Miri. Frekki might be a regular aunt taking her niece out for the day. Miri pretended that’s what they were. She worried at first about what she would talk about with Frekki, this aunt she didn’t know she had until recently, this aunt whose brother was Mike Monsky, the same Mike Monsky who was her father. Her father. It struck her as such a strange idea she wanted to laugh. And maybe she did, because Frekki looked over at her and Miri pretended the sound was a hiccup. Frekki didn’t say anything about the latest plane crash. It felt good not to talk about it. But it made Miri wonder if people in other towns thought of it at all.
The restaurant across the parking lot from the playhouse had once been a real carriage house. You could still see the stable doors. Inside it was fancy, like Charleston Gardens at B. Altman and Company, where she’d gone last year with Corinne and Natalie. The same white tablecloths and a small flower in a glass vase on each table, lace at the windows. A slice of lemon floated in her water glass. At first Miri thought it was a mistake but then she noticed lemon slices floating in everyone’s water glass. She saw just one man in the restaurant, seated at a table with an elderly woman who looked like she could be his mother. At every other table were mothers and daughters, aunts and nieces, grandmothers and grandchildren. A few of the grandchildren were small boys, fidgeting in their best clothes. All the little girls wore party dresses. At a large table in the corner a group of teenage girls were celebrating someone’s birthday.
A waitress dressed in black with a white apron handed Miri a menu.
CREAMED CHICKEN ON TOAST POINTS WITH BUTTERED PEAS
PORK CHOP WITH CREAMED MUSHROOM SAUCE
CHOPPED STEAK WITH CREAMY MUSHROOM SAUCE
TUNA CASSEROLE WITH CREAMED CORN
Everything was creamy. Ugh! She hated creamy sauces. At the very bottom was a children’s menu.
SPAGHETTI WITH BUTTER
GRILLED CHEESE
HOT DOG
It would be embarrassing to order off the children’s menu but better than ordering creamed something or other and not eating a bite.
Frekki leaned over and whispered, “The menu is so goyish, but they’ll make you grilled cheese if you’d like.”
The waitress gave Miri a look when she ordered grilled cheese but Frekki came to her rescue. “She can have whatever she wants,” Frekki told the waitress. “Just charge me for a second tuna casserole and bring her the grilled cheese.” Miri might like this woman, if only she were allowed to.
Frekki smoked an Old Gold while they were waiting for their food, her diamond ring sparkling in the sunlight, her nails polished dark red to match the color of her lipstick. “Nasty habit,” Frekki said, as she flicked an ash into the glass ashtray on the table. “Take it from me. Don’t start.” Miri had already decided she wouldn’t, even though it looked so sophisticated. All the movie stars smoked. Rusty limited herself to two a day, one after lunch and one after dinner. Henry smoked. Leah didn’t. Corinne didn’t but Dr. O and Daisy did. Irene didn’t. Ben Sapphire smoked a cigar after dinner. Then there was Mason and his Luckies.
Everyone left the restaurant at about the same time and headed across the way to the Paper Mill Playhouse, an old mill turned into a theater, where Frekki snapped a picture of Miri, her coat unbuttoned to show off her birthday sweater and Rusty’s pearls.
Before they were shown to their seats, Frekki bought Miri a souvenir program. At one point during the performance Frekki looked over at her and smiled. They came out humming “The Desert Song,” the most popular song in the operetta. “I’ve always wanted a daughter,” Frekki said. “I have two sons but they wouldn’t be caught dead at an operetta.”
“Maybe they’ll get married and you’ll have daughters-in-law who’ll go with you.”
“That’d be nice, though daughters-in-law don’t always like their husbands’ mothers.”
“But if you’re nice to them…” Miri thought of Irene and Leah, who liked each other.
“Yes, maybe,” Frekki said. “I hope so. But that’s still years away. You’ll have to meet the boys. They’re seventeen and nineteen. It’s good for a girl to have boy cousins.”
Cousins, Miri thought. I have boy cousins.
After the show they stopped for ice cream at Gruning’s on the Hill. There was a line waiting for tables. But Frekki said, “Oh, look…” and she pointed to a table. Miri followed her gaze to a table with a man seated facing them. He waved to Frekki. Was this Frekki’s husband, Dr. J. J. Strasser, who was such a good provider they lived in South Orange, and who had bought Frekki a yellow Cadillac and a big diamond ring?
She followed Frekki to the table. Suddenly, like a cat with its whiskers stiff, she knew this was not Dr. J. J. Strasser. Dr. J. J. Strasser would be older, she thought. He wouldn’t look so much like Frekki, with thick hair and a toothy smile. He stood and helped Miri off with her coat, draping it over the back of her chair. When they were all seated, with their napkins on their laps, Frekki said, “Miri, this is my brother…”
Before Frekki could get out the rest, before she could say his name, Miri said, “I know who you are. You’re Mike Monsky.”
He said, “Yes.”
Frekki added, “Your father.”