sister certainly didn’t have a wonderful husband. Ben was all right in his way, amiable and undemanding, but Frankie had never forgiven him his allegiances. His sister had married a Communist, been corrupted by him, made foolish decision after foolish decision. Protest meetings, picketing, petitions! This was the United States, for Christ’s sake, and Frankie had served his country proudly. He’d had a quiet war, never seen action – which he did not admit publicly – served his time as a naval dentist at various postings, come home entirely unscathed, having seen no more blood than that produced by a root canal.
But he was a patriot still, living in the greatest country on earth, and he resented his superior brother-in-law with his theories and hoity-toity arguments. After a few early skirmishes they had decided to banish politics from their conversation and soon found they got on fine, playing tennis and pinochle, going out with the children, schmoozing at the bungalow. He was all right, Ben was, just misguided. For a time Frankie called him ‘the Red’ but Michelle hushed him up. ‘Next thing you know,’ she admonished, ‘one of the children will repeat it, and the next thing you know there will be a scene!’
She was a sensible woman, he could count on her. He rose to come behind her as she worked, pressed himself against her.
‘I have a good idea,’ he said.
She laughed, and pressed back gently, rolled her hips. ‘Later maybe, after they leave. The kids aren’t due home till after lunch. But now I have to make some coffee cake, there’s just time before they come.’
He wet the tip of his index finger and put it in her right ear, rotated it suavely. She was more sensitive on her right side, ear, throat, breast, big toe. He’d never encountered that before, not that he had a lot of experience, a few rolls in the hay when he was in the navy, nothing really. And he would never have noticed it in Michelle until she showed him early on in their lovemaking. It was odd, and oddly exciting, like playing some sort of organic instrument.
She looked at the magazine spread open on the counter, bent over unnecessarily to peer at the page, shuddered a little, gave a tiny moan.
‘Stop it now, there’s plenty of time, and what I’m really excited about now is this new Betty Crocker recipe. I had it at Irene’s last week. It’s yummy!’
Frankie withdrew his finger, unsurprised by her reaction, anticipating the pleasure to come, his head filled with delicious images. Coffee cake? Phooey!
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Why bother? They’re just coming for a quick coffee and a look round number 42. I can pop out to the bakery and get some rugelach.’
She paused for a moment to consider.
‘No, I’d rather make something welcoming, make the apartment smell nice when they arrive. Maybe you could straighten the living room?’
He was quite prepared to take a sexual rain-check, happy to go out to the shops if necessary, would have chopped nuts manfully for the coffee cake, but the idea of making his apartment sparkle for his sister’s visit was unsupportable.
‘Come on, honey,’ he said. ‘The place is already neater than hers ever is. They live in a complete pig sty, toys all over the place, beds unmade, dishes in the sink . . . It’s disgusting. If she notices our apartment at all, it’ll just be to mock us. Petit bourgeoisie! The hell with her! I’d prefer to make it messy.’
Michelle laughed, measured a quantity of flour, put it aside.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘just leave it. I don’t mind, and you’re right, she wouldn’t notice, and Ben doesn’t care. We’ll just have coffee and eat this lovely cake, then mooch round to the Silbers’ for them to have a look . . .’
‘My fear is that they’ll like it.’
‘They don’t have much choice, do they? They’ll have to move, they’ll have to live somewhere, it’s cheap enough, we’re here . . .’
‘That’s what I want to avoid. They could live in Huntington Station, there’s new apartments going up there, not very expensive, near the railroad station.’
Michelle paused, unwilling to be too explicit. ‘Not a very nice neighbourhood,’ she said. ‘Maybe it isn’t too safe, you know, for the children, or going out at night . . .’
‘So it has to be here, then?’
Michelle nodded firmly, unusually decisive.
‘It does. Get used to it. You and Ben can play tennis and pinochle, Addie and I can do things with the kids, it’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to it! And we’ll have a free lawyer!’
Frankie laughed humourlessly. ‘And they’ll have a free dentist. Who gets the better deal? And who’s paying for it when he has to study to pass the goddamn Bar? Paying for months and months. My father, that’s who!’
‘It’s very generous of him. I don’t know how he does it . . .’
‘Don’t ask! I don’t either. But he won’t be helping us when we have to move to the new office.’
The doorbell rang at precisely eleven, as they knew it would. Addie was casual about time-keeping, as befits a left-wing social worker, but Ben was lawyerly in his habits and already counted the minutes as assiduously as he would soon need to when he set up his private practice. Time is money.
Michelle answered the door, leaving Frankie still reading the Times, beckoning him with a bent finger at least to get up.
‘Good morning! I’m so glad you could come, this is so exciting!’
She gave Addie a brief hug, and could sense the recoil, and Ben a peck on the cheek. Frankie stood up and waved hello, limply.
‘Come in, come in!’ Michelle was aware that she was being hearty, talking too loud, could sense Frankie disapproving behind her back, tried to relax, took a deep breath.
Ben came in first, gave his brother-in-law a firm handshake and a slight smile that acknowledged many things, looked round the immaculate room approvingly. There was a comfortable sofa with a chintz cover that hadn’t been there last summer. He sat down on it, sighed, sunk into the feather cushions, adjusted his position, crossed his legs, took a deep whiff of fresh cake smell. He’d had only a light breakfast, knowing Michelle would rise to the occasion, would need to.
Addie was embracing Frankie gingerly, the distance between their bodies measured in inches, then stopped starkly still in the middle of the room, as if unsure where she was, and what was expected of her.
‘Nice of you to have us,’ she said, looked round, joined Ben on the couch, unaware of anything delicious in the air.
Frankie resumed slouching in his chair, ignored the sharp desire to return to reading his newspaper – that’d show her! – and asked neutrally, without any warmth, if they’d had a good trip up to Huntington. Ever the naval officer, he always referred to North as up and the South as down, as if they were port and starboard, and if you confused them you’d be irredeemably lost, torpedoed.
‘It was fine,’ said Addie, ending the conversation. There was a further pause, which Michelle soon filled with coffee cake and a pot of weak coffee, and desultory conversation.
Plates and cups were
