At 6 o’clock Frannie was pulling on a pink angora sweater that made her look like a fuzzy yardstick when the doorbell rang, and her mom called from the kitchen for her to get it. She was still staring through the pink when she got to the bottom of the stairs. She pulled it down and opened the door to find Uncle Saul.
Saul had brought a bottle of wine and some books for the parentals, and he looked around expectantly. “So where’s the hunk?”
“My pop sent for the hunk,” Frannie said, taking the wine as Saul set the books on the dining table. “So don’t get your hopes up. I’m not.”
“It’s just as well,” Saul said. “You’re too good for him.”
“We don’t know him.”
“I figure if you can see people’s future, you’re too good for anyone.”
“Uncle Saul!” she whispered. Because they didn’t discuss the Blanks. “Pop’s in his study. Why don’t you go bug him?”
Doorbell again. “That must be David,” Mom said.
Frannie went to the door and she knew it somehow before she had the door open.
Newp, who was born David Barlowe apparently, stood in the door in a blazer exactly the color of the bottle of wine he carried, which was classy, but Frannie hadn’t really taken that in yet. She stood with her mouth open as her mom wandered by.
“Ask him to come in,” whispered Mom.
“Come in,” Frannie found herself saying, lifting her left arm and letting it drift into the house indicating where in was.
Newp handed Mom the wine and shook her hand. Mom took the wine and suggested that Newp and Frannie sit with some nice cucumber sandwiches—Frannie had made them herself, Mom emphasized.
This news had the troublesome quality of being both belittling and untrue, because Frannie had taken so little interest in the evening that she’d spent the last three hours talking on the phone to Newp’s sister Betty and listening to the Big Bopper, and her mom had been making the sandwiches. Frannie just shrugged. “Yes. It took hours.”
They sat on a loveseat next to the polished little table, and as Mom disappeared Frannie hissed at Newp, “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know, Fran, what’re you doing here?”
“I live here. I thought you were going to the movies?”
“Okay, well, my father called and wanted me to go to dinner at one of the professor’s houses. Had a daughter he said.”
“You’re here to meet a girl?” Frannie frowned. “How could you go on a date?”
“It’s a family thing, and it turns out it’s you either way, so bag it, beachcomber,” Newp said.
“So you didn’t tell me because it was no big deal?”
“Well, I mean, I didn’t want to make you jealous.”
She put up her hands. “Okay, what was this girl’s name you were gonna meet?”
“It was Fran... ces.”
“God.” She shook her head. “You couldn’t even tell you were two-timing me with me.”
“In all fairness, we’re not—”
“We’re not what, Newp?” She stared. “I mean, what are we? Are we pals, am I someone you teach to surf, like one of the college girls the guys bring down?”
“No way, you’re a natural on the waves.”
“So I’m your surf pal, one of the Legionnaires?”
“Frannie,” Newp scowled. “Come on. I thought you liked Hooky. You know?”
“Ugh.” Although he had a point.
“You can’t give me a hard time,” Newp said.
“Why not?”
“First of all,” he whispered, “because that ‘ugh’ was pretty noncommittal, and second, I’m actually here, so if you want to leave—look, start over. If I asked you out, would you go?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, good, then here we are. You don’t have to answer. Let’s pretend you said yes and hey look, you made cucumber sandwiches.”
She leaned in. “Actually, my mom made those.”
“My god, you lie when you fall out of bed.”
“Newpup!” Saul called. The two men were coming out of Pop’s study.
“Newpup?” Pop asked.
“It’s the kid’s name,” Saul said. “They give each other nicknames. This kid, he works for me.”
“Right, he’s Tommy Barlowe’s son,” Mom said as she entered with more snacks. “He works with Frannie, of course.”
“Wait,” Frannie said, “you knew I knew him? Why didn’t you tell me—”
“Well, I didn’t know you call him Newp, which is passing strange,” Mom said. “But I knew he was the boy you spend so much time with. So fancy that.”
“You get all this without leaving the neighborhood?” Frannie said. “You’re like the Nero Wolfe of Laguna Beach.”
“Thank you; now if you’ll all join me in the dining room, we’re going to have the liveliest salmon crunch you’ve ever seen, if I do say so myself.”
Everyone was on their best behavior. Uncle Saul and Pop entertained everyone mainly with war stories. Frannie had no memory of the war, of course, though she was born while it was going on. Pop didn’t fight—he was a refugee most of the time, first in Sweden, then Switzerland, finally across the Atlantic. By the time they had come to the United States, Pop’s brother Saul was out of the Navy and they were all crowded into Saul’s little three-room bungalow in the Catskills where he was an emcee and sometimes a comedian.
“Wait,” Frannie said, “I remember the place in the Catskills.” She had a forkful of turkey and she put it down.
“Oh, dear, I doubt it,” Mom said. “You wouldn’t have been five.”
“It’s possible,” Pop said.
Saul said, “You came to the show, once, Frannie. Those days they didn’t let kids in the nightclub, but one time your Mom brought you in and stood in the back with you on her hip.”
Frannie’s mind was tripping back to a dark, smoky room, and her uncle skipping from one end of the stage to the other, stopping to patter with the patrons. Suddenly she could see it, he’d bring ladies up and have them do a dance, he’d turn to their date and insult his jacket. Some of this she remembered and some of it, some of it was beginning to soak in, because the Blanks had either unlocked something or had rubbed off on her.
“Better rugs.” Frannie snapped her fingers. “I’ve seen better rugs...” she snapped again. “Oh, what was it.”
“My God,” Mom said.
“I’ve seen better rugs at a flea market,” Saul said. He laughed. “That’s a toupee joke.”
“That’s not a fantastic joke,” Pop said.
“What do you want from me?” Saul turned back to Frannie. “Are you kiddin’? You remember that?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
“So,” Mom changed the subject. “What’s this business I hear about the… Decency Committee?”
“League of Decency,” Saul said.
“We got a flier,” Pop said. He took out a pipe and busied himself with filling it. “Apparently a complaint is going to be reviewed by the Town Council at the July meeting about the crucifix sculpture.”