HOT DOG.

It would be embarra.s.sing 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 ca.s.serole 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 gla.s.s 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 unb.u.t.toned 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. Stra.s.ser, 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. Stra.s.ser. Dr. J. J. Stra.s.ser 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."

He's not my father, Miri thought. He doesn't even know me.

Her body was telling her to flee. "Excuse me," she said, pushing back her chair and running, coming this close to colliding with a waitress delivering ice cream sundaes to some happy family. Another waitress pointed her in the direction of the ladies' room. Inside were little girls, teenage girls, their mothers, their grandmothers. She splashed her face with water at the sink. Someone asked, "Are you all right, dear? Do you need help?"

She waved her away. No, she didn't need help. And no, she wasn't all right. But she was going to pretend she was. She was not going to throw up in a stall in the ladies' room of Gruning's on the Hill, with all these fancy mothers and daughters watching and listening. She breathed through her nose the way Natalie did when she felt nauseous, which was often. That was better. She applied Pixie Pink lipstick. She patted down her hair, then fluffed it back up. She hated her new haircut. She'd already decided to grow it out and Mason hadn't even seen it.

The door to the ladies' room opened. "Hi," Frekki said to her. "Everything okay?"

"You planned this," Miri said. "You tricked me."

Two women blotting their lipstick glanced over at them.

Frekki gave them a weak smile. Miri knew she could make a big scene and embarra.s.s Frekki. Maybe she would.

"I planned the meeting here, yes."

Miri raised her voice. "The whole day was a lie!" What did she care? There was n.o.body here who knew her or her family but there might be somebody who knew the great Frekki Stra.s.ser or her doctor husband.

Frekki shepherded her away from the sinks. "I wish you wouldn't look at it that way."

"How should I look at it?"

"As an opportunity. I thought you should meet your father and that he should meet you."

That stopped Miri for a moment. Then she turned and marched out of the ladies' room, shoulders back, head high, as if she were the Queen of Posture, and back to the table. Back to Mike Monsky. Her so-called father.

She took her seat at the table. The waitress asked what she'd like. "A dish of plain vanilla, please. One scoop."

"Hot fudge, nuts, whipped cream, Maraschino cherry?" The waitress held her pencil at the ready.

"Plain, please."

"Okay, just a single scoop of vanilla in a dish."

Isn't that what I said the first time you asked? Miri thought. But instead of screaming, throwing a temper tantrum, yelling at the waitress, who wore red-framed cat's-eye gla.s.ses turned up at the tops with tiny rhinestones in the corners, Miri said, "Yes, thank you." Saying it like that, with such authority, made her feel calm, in charge of her feelings.

Mike Monsky said, "This is awkward for both of us."

She knew he was looking at her but she refused to meet his gaze. "Maybe for you," she said. "But it's not awkward for me. I couldn't care less."

By the time Frekki came back to the table their ice cream had been served. "Are you two getting to know each other?"

Mike Monsky smiled a small, wry smile. "You might say that." Then he turned to Miri. "How's your ice cream?"

She hadn't tasted it yet. She lifted her spoon, dipped her tongue into it and said, "It's fine."

"How's Rusty?" he asked.

"She's fine." She was wondering if he was going to go through the whole family.

"I'm glad to hear that." He swirled his ice cream around, blending the scoop of chocolate with the scoop of vanilla like a little kid with a Dixie Cup at a birthday party. "So, you're fifteen now?"

"Why, did you forget when you shtupped my mother?"

Frekki sucked in her breath.

Shtupped, a word she'd never said aloud until then. A vulgar word, Irene would say.

"What'd you do for your birthday?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Had a pizza party with my girlfriends. My grandmother baked the birthday cake."

"Aah, Irene," he said. "She was a great baker."

So, he knew Irene well enough to have tasted her cakes?

"My mother gave me this." She held up her wrist to show off her birthstone bracelet.

"Very nice," he said.

"Uncle Henry picked up the pizza at Spirito's. He's a famous reporter now."

"So I've heard."

He better not ask if she had a boyfriend. She'd throw her ice cream at him if he did. Because she had the power, she realized. She could do whatever she d.a.m.n well pleased. And if he thought she couldn't because he was her father-ha!

"I live in California," he said, tapping out an Old Gold cigarette. Same brand as his sister, she noticed. Or maybe Frekki had bought the carton and he'd filched a pack. "Los Altos." She must have given him a blank look because he added, "San Francis...o...b..y Area. This is my first trip back since I enlisted." He fumbled around in his wallet and pulled out a picture. "My wife and sons," he said. "Your half brothers."

She didn't want to look but she couldn't help herself. The boys were little, maybe four and six. The wife was blond, pretty, not put-together-pretty like Corinne, but casual pretty. She was younger, with chubby cheeks, wearing Capri pants and a shirt. Posed like a movie star-leaning back against a tree with one foot on the ground and the other leg bent at the knee, her foot up against the tree, making it look as if the bottom half of that leg were missing. Miri pa.s.sed the photo back without commenting.

"Jeffrey and Josh," Frekki said. "Those are your brothers' names."

"What's your wife's name?" Miri asked Mike Monsky.

"Adela."

"Adela. What kind of name is that?"

"It's an old family name."

"Is she Jewish?"

"That's a personal question, Miri," Frekki said.

"I thought we were getting personal."

"She's half, but we're raising the boys Jewish," Mike Monsky said. "I work in my father-in-law's business."

As if she cared enough to ask, What business?

He told her anyway. She knew he would. "Shoe stores," he said. "He's got a chain of shoe stores."

Did that mean Mike Monsky was rich?

As if he could read her mind he added, "He's got two sons working in the business, besides me. We were all in the Pacific together."

"Uncle Henry was in the war. He got shot in the leg."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mike Monsky said.

"How about you?" Miri asked. "Did you get shot?"

"No, I was lucky."

"Rusty says they used to call you 'Lucky.'" This was a complete lie. She didn't know why she said it.

"Really? I never heard that."

"Neither did I," Frekki said.

"Lucky you didn't get caught getting someone pregnant before Rusty." She was getting in too deep now.

"That's a joke, right?" Mike Monsky asked.

She shrugged. "If you say so."

"My daughter's got a great sense of humor," Mike said to Frekki, who just shook her head.

Then he turned back to Miri and smiled. She didn't want to like his smile but she did.

"Please stop calling me your daughter," she told him. "You don't know me."

"You're right. But I hope I'll have the chance to remedy that."

Frekki looked at her watch. "I don't want to break this up but I've got to get home. We have company coming for dinner. Don't forget," she reminded Mike, "seven-thirty, in a tie and jacket."

"Go ahead," Mike Monsky told Frekki. "I'll make sure Miri gets home safe and sound and I'll see you later."

"Take the Cadillac." Frekki pa.s.sed her car keys to him. "I'll take the Buick."

In the car, he turned on the radio. Pete Seeger and the Weavers were singing "So Long, It's Been Good to Know You"-a song that perfectly described her feelings about today. She bet he was sorry he'd turned to that station. Maybe he did it so he wouldn't have to talk to her on the drive home. Maybe it was to save her from having to talk to him.

When they got close to Sayre Street she told him to drop her off two blocks away, where there was less danger of Rusty or Irene seeing her in the car with him. He turned off the ignition and faced her. "You should know," he said, "I changed my last name to 'Monk' when I married Adela. My sister doesn't know and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her. I'd like to be the one to break the news."

"Why are you telling me?"

"You know why. Because you're my daughter."

She bristled.

"It would be your last name, too."

"My last name is Ammerman."

"You know what I mean." He reached for her hand. For one second she looked into his eyes and saw her own. Then she pulled her hand away, jumped out of the car and ran for home.

Later, she remembered the way his hand had felt, warm and strong. My father, she thought. That a.s.shole was my father. She reminded herself not to like him. Reminded herself he'd abandoned Rusty before she was even born. She didn't know if it happened that way, but she a.s.sumed it had. He planted the seed, then he flew the coop. She vaguely remembered Rusty telling her that when she was small and asking about her daddy. She had no idea what it meant at the time. She'd imagined a chicken sitting on an egg. Now she heard Irene's voice in her head. You can't trust the Monskys. And it was true, wasn't it? Frekki had tricked her. And who was this guy who called himself her "father," really? He could be anybody. His stories could all be invented. No, she would not allow herself to like him.

- RUSTY AND IRENE WANTED to hear about her day with Frekki. She told them about the restaurant, the show, ice cream at Gruning's. But she didn't mention Mike Monsky. Seeing him was her latest secret.

Elizabeth Daily Post