The Dollhouse Lodge and Restaurant featured a collection of dolls from most of the countries of the world, as well as French cuisine from a couple named Paul and Maggie Charles. Paul was from Paris, Maggie from Kingston. They had met in Paris at a school of culinary arts and had operated a restaurant in San Francisco for many years before Paul became obsessed with the fear of earthquakes. They had chosen to relocate in the Catskills. Sammy and Lila—especially Lila—knew them well. In the Dollhouse restaurant, I saw in Lila a new person, someone zestfully young and happy. She and Sammy were warmly embraced by Maggie, who then called in a bright voice for Paul to come from the kitchen. Paul took Lila’s hand dramatically and kissed it and spoke to her in French. To my surprise, and delight, she answered him fluently. I was introduced with the explanation of my occasional trips to visit Avrum, and then we were led to a table beside a bay window.

“You do not order,” declared Paul, pulling the menus away from Maggie. “Tonight, I will decide, in honor of your guest.” He rushed away, giving Maggie instructions about wine.

“That man’s a work of art, Bobo,” Sammy said giddily. “If I could sculpt like he can cook, I’d be in the Louvre. God, I love coming here.”

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” I said to Lila.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she answered in mock haughtiness. “But I did go to college, Bobo, and French was my major.”

“How could I know you all these years and not know that?” I said.

“Never any occasion to use it,” she replied. “But that’s one of the reasons I come here—the three Fs: French, friendship, and food. You’re going to want to blow up our kitchen after this meal, Bobo.”

“Damn right,” Sammy agreed. “Maybe I’ll help you.”

Lila was right about the food. We had a small bowl of aux chous soup, then broiled trout with asparagus tips and marble-size new potatoes, and, afterward, a Caesar salad, then coffee and a dish of cut strawberries in cream. Maggie and Paul fluttered about us, perfecting each serving with excited consultation between them. It was a joyful experience and I regretted that, in the years of knowing Sammy and Lila, we had never been to the Dollhouse Lodge and Restaurant. I toasted them with the select chardonnay that Paul had insisted on serving and told them they had failed our friendship by keeping the restaurant a secret.

“And risk losing you?” Lila said. “My God, Bobo, you’re our summer business. Anyway, you were always busy. But, to make you feel better, we did talk about asking you to come here with us. We just never knew when you’d be with your friend, and we didn’t want to intrude.”