“He was worried about you.”
“He could have told me that.”
In response, his father lit a cigarette.
“You can’t keep interfering like this,” said Stuart.
“Since when did extending sympathy to one’s son become interfering?”
“I must have missed that part.”
“What part?”
“The part where you offered your sympathy,” said Stuart, pocketing the candy wrapper and reaching for a glass paperweight that sat on the corner of the desk.
“I’m very sorry, Stuart. I am.”
“Perhaps you should have led with that.”
“Stuart, really. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous? I’m being ridiculous? I’m not the one who’s so intent on keeping tabs on my twenty-four-year-old son that I paid off his boss to get him reassigned to my beach.”
“So that’s what this is really about?”
“You had no right to get me reassigned to the Kentucky Avenue stand. And you have no right to pretend to care about how Florence’s death is affecting me. You had no use for her when she was alive.”
“She was a perfectly fine girl. I just thought you would have been better off lavishing your limited attention elsewhere.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stuart realized he was squeezing the paperweight so tightly that his hand had begun to sweat.
His father didn’t say anything, just tapped the end of his cigarette against an ashtray that was very much in need of being emptied.
“What you meant to say,” said Stuart, “was that I would have been better off lavishing my attention on someone who wasn’t Jewish.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, well, you might as well have.”
“Do you know what I think?” his father asked.
Stuart didn’t answer, just replaced the paperweight on the desk and stood to go.
“I think it suits your purposes to think of me as a villain. As long as you do, you feel justified spending your days in the sun and your nights at the club.”
“What would you know about my purposes?”
“I know one thing,” said his father as Stuart walked toward the door. “There may be plenty of men around here who make a career out of serving on the Atlantic City Beach Patrol but you’re not one of them.”
Stuart opened the door of his father’s office and walked through it as his father barked, “It’s high time you got off the beach.”
Anna
When Anna arrived at the Knife and Fork Inn, the restaurant was already crowded with businessmen sipping cocktails and dining on thick, red lobster tails. She’d been surprised when she arrived at the intersection of Atlantic and Pacific avenues, having carefully followed the directions Joseph had given her that morning, to find a building that looked as if it belonged in Belgium or the Netherlands, with its stepped gables and terra-cotta roof. The stucco exterior was dotted with little knives and forks, and she had stood for a moment, admiring the detail before reaching for the handle of the big brass door. The restaurant was dark, with thick, leaded windows that sparkled in the sunlight but let in very little light. The windows had been cracked open but there was no breeze, and the heat from the kitchen made the summer feel inescapable.
The maître d’ led Anna upstairs, to a larger room, lined with leather-tufted banquets. Linen-covered tables dotted the center of the room, and at one of them, Joseph and Mr. Hirsch, of the Atlantic City chapter of the American Jewish Committee, had already taken their seats. Joseph gestured toward her and said something to Mr. Hirsch and both men stood as she approached.
“Anna, Eli Hirsch,” said Joseph, pulling out a chair for Anna before the maître d’ could do so.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Hirsch.”
“Likewise. Joseph’s told me nothing but good things.”
“He’s very kind to me,” she said as she took a good look at Joseph. Anna had worried all morning about whether this lunch meeting would be too much for him.
A waiter filled Anna’s water glass and asked if she’d like a cocktail. She hesitated, tempted to order one but unsure what to ask for.
“She’ll have an old-fashioned,” said Joseph, raising his own glass, and Anna gratefully agreed. The Adlers had told her that, until just a few years ago, alcohol consumption was prohibited here and everywhere in the U.S. Looking around Atlantic City, and certainly this dining room, it was hard to believe such a thing could be true.
Mr. Hirsch touched the rim of his already empty glass, indicating to the waiter that he’d like another.
“So, Joseph tells me you arrived in March?”
“Yes.”
“On a student visa?”
Anna nodded her head affirmatively.
“You’re a lucky girl to have had your paperwork sail through the consulate so quickly. Every Jew in Germany wants to get out, and U.S. officials are worried they’re going to be overrun.”
“I applied last fall, after I was admitted to New Jersey State Teachers College.”
“That’s a funny school for you to have found all the way from Berlin.”
“I may have had something to do with it,” said Joseph. “Sherm Leeman sits on the board of governors.”
“Is this guy telling me you couldn’t have gotten in on your own?”
“Oh, I don’t—”
Joseph interrupted. “She’s a very smart girl. Her parents just asked me to do what I could.”
“You wouldn’t have thought I was so smart if you’d seen me in Berlin. I was denied admission to every single university I applied to.”
“I have to assume it had nothing to do with your grades,” said Mr. Hirsch.
Anna could feel her face go crimson.
“The university admissions committees are controlled by the Nazis. You didn’t consider going to school in France? Or Belgium?”
“I don’t speak French. Just German, Hungarian, English, and a little Yiddish.” She looked over at Joseph. “My father studied English literature at the University of Vienna, and my mother knew Mr. Adler, so—”
The waiter returned, placing an amber-colored cocktail, garnished with a bright red cherry, in front of Anna. She took a small sip and tried not to wince as the whiskey hit the back of
