“Relax, Mama,” Rusty said. “They’re just kids.”
“I remember when I thought you were just a kid, Naomi.”
Irene used Rusty’s real name only when she was dead serious. And it always shut Rusty up. She turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Miri felt bad for Rusty that night and went to her room, where she sat on the edge of the bed and held Rusty’s hand. No words were necessary. They both knew what Irene meant even if she hadn’t spelled it out, as if what happened with Mike Monsky was Rusty’s fault. Well, in a way Miri supposed it was. She’d let Mike Monsky trick her into going all the way, hadn’t she? Getting into that Nash with him, a car where the seat actually turned into a bed. She would never go out with a boy who drove a Nash. No boy was going to trick her into doing anything she didn’t want to do. Which made her think, maybe Rusty wanted to do it. Maybe he didn’t have to trick her at all.
She’d learned about the Nash a few years ago when Rusty was teasing Henry about his car. They thought she was asleep. “It’s so old,” Rusty had said. “And that rumble seat! You can’t make love in a rumble seat.”
“I suppose you think I should get a Nash,” Henry said. “One with a seat that turns into a bed.”
At which point Rusty threw her shoe at Henry. But Henry ducked and laughed.
“I will never get into another Nash as long as I live,” Rusty said. “And neither will my daughter.”
Miri kissed Rusty goodnight, something she didn’t automatically do these days. Rusty gave her such an appreciative look she vowed to be kinder to her mother.
On her way out of Rusty’s room, Miri spied part of a white box tied with a red ribbon, sticking out from under Rusty’s bed. Could it be a gift from Longy? That would be disgusting! Or from Natalie’s cousin Tewky? Even worse. Or wait, maybe it was for her. Rusty might have bought her something for Valentine’s Day. Maybe pajamas with hearts, or a set of day-of-the-week underpants. She knew she was way too old for day-of-the-week underpants but she’d always wanted them. Natalie said when she was young she’d never worn hers on the right days. Too much trouble. But Fern was obsessive about getting the days of the week right.
—
ON VALENTINE’S DAY the Other Naomi came home from the office with Rusty to join the family for dinner. Miri thought of the Other Naomi as “Miss Rheingold” because she’d been a finalist in the national contest. She lived in a studio apartment in Greenwich Village, a fourth-floor walk-up opening into a tiny kitchenette. Miri and Rusty once spent the night when Miss Rheingold got them tickets to see a production of Peter Pan. Miss Rheingold knew the guy who wrote the music and lyrics, Lenny Bernstein. She showed Miri his photo. He was sitting at a piano. Good-looking, isn’t he? Miss Rheingold had asked Miri. The photo was signed To Naomi, Best wishes, Lenny. Now Miss Rheingold was thirty-one and single. Miri didn’t know about Lenny. But she knew Miss Rheingold’s fiancé had been killed in the war and she swore she’d never fall in love again, though she wouldn’t mind marrying somebody rich. Miri didn’t understand why Rusty enjoyed spending time with Miss Rheingold, except they were close to the same age and single. All of Rusty’s old friends from Battin High were married and didn’t include her when they threw parties or went out with their husbands on Saturday nights. She was a double threat—too good-looking, and with a reputation for being loose, which she wasn’t. As far as Miri knew she’d never had another boyfriend—not since Mike Monsky got her in trouble. Once a month Rusty spent the night at Miss Rheingold’s apartment and always brought the Playbill and theater ticket stub home to Miri.
Rusty could have entered beauty contests when she was younger and she’d probably have won first prize. She could have been Miss Rheingold for real, not some runner-up, except you weren’t allowed to enter unless you were single and certainly not if you were a mother. Well, too bad. Miri never liked the way Miss Rheingold talked to her, using the same tone she used to talk to her cat, as if she were the cat’s mother. Miri found that people without children either did that or they acted like you were the same age as them, which at this point, would have been better.
—
LEAH AND UNCLE HENRY WERE already there, making small talk with Rusty and Miss Rheingold, when Ben Sapphire came in carrying a box from Nia’s Lingerie tied with a fancy red bow.
“For me?” Irene asked when Ben presented it to her. “Should I open it in public?”
“Why not?” Ben said.