“The bastard,” he muttered as he took out a pink jar and sniffed at it. Tony Gianfala had brought her that luxurious case two years ago when he’d come to Hollywood for a brief visit with news of the birth of his son, Ned. She’d taken Tony to a restaurant, letting Myron know in advance where they were going to be so he could get a look at her father. But she hadn’t introduced them. “Don’t you know why you didn’t want him to see you with a man?” he’d asked portentously. She affected not to notice his emphasis. But it embarrassed her.

“Every time I look in here, it’s the same stuff. Don’t you ever use it?”

“I smell it,” she said. “I love the smell.”

“It must have cost over a hundred dollars. Do you want another drink?”

She nodded and began to shell peas. He mixed a martini for himself, and handed her bourbon and water. “When are you going to stop drinking this peasant swill?” he asked. She smiled and said, “I have a touch of the peasant.” Then she burst into laughter, and Myron smiled at the sound of it. “Listen! Did I tell you Bea uses a hammer to mash garlic?”

“Swell.”

“No. Really. I just remembered that, thinking about the salad I’m going to fix for us. That time I went to see her last spring, she was sloshed to the gills, tripping over her old black lace peignoir and smashing the life out of a little clove of garlic.”

“There’s nothing funny about it. You were depressed for a month after you saw her.”

“Oh Mike, it doesn’t matter.”

After dinner, they turned out the lamps and sat by the window looking out through the leaves of the eucalyptus tree over the lights of Hollywood. Theda had left her scarred old table for Annie when she’d moved into the San Fernando valley into her own little house. Sometimes, when Annie was alone on a Saturday or a Sunday, when Mike had to be with his wife and children, she sat there just as Theda had, her arm where Theda’s had been, a book open in front of her, looking out as though from a lighthouse.

“It was strange of Tony to come out,” Annie said softly, “just to tell me about the baby, after not bothering all the other years.” They had speculated about her father’s visit often enough. Some of their conversations were old conversations. They had a history now, after two and a half years.