Gingerbread by Rachel Cohn Page B

Dallas-Fort Worth. She made the gingerbread!" This was like the most exciting thing ever but Frank cast his eyes down, ashamed.
    "Well, yes," he stammered, "if I was carrying gingerbread she had probably made it. Loretta's an amazing cook." Frank was clearly embarrassed and I could feel Gingerbread's annoyance vibes psychically floating back from the living room where she was presiding over the knocked-over Scrabble board. "What would you like to eat?"
    "Can we go eat there? At Miss Loretta's restaurant?"
    "No," Frank said hurriedly. When he saw how disappointed my face was, he added, "Well, maybe sometime soon. Not tonight."
    Gingerbread and I had had it. 1 crossed my arms across my chest and said, "You mean not until you've told Miss Loretta that I'm not your niece and that I'm really your biological daughter from when you were cheating on your wife?"
    "You don't mince words, do you, Cyd Charisse?" Frank asked. He was uncomfortable but I think he was a little impressed, too.
    I jumped up to sit on the bar ledge. "Let's be real, Frank," I said, knocking my boots against the backboard. In the Alcatraz days before I left for New York, I had imagined that Frank and I would form an instant father-daughter connection that I would call him "Daddy" and he would call
    85
    86
    me "Princess" or some such, but that was obviously not going to happen and anyway, now that I was seeing what he was like, I didn't think he was the type of person I would feel comfortable calling "Dad."
    "Frank, I am not your niece. I am your biological daughter. Deal with it. If you are embarrassed by me, say so right now and I will go somewhere else." I don't know what I was thinking because really I had nowhere else to go and I wanted more than anything in the whole stupid world to get to know this strange person standing in front of me, but at the same time, I didn't want to be in a place where I was not welcome.
    Frank hopped up onto the bar next to me. "Ouch," he said. "That hurt." I didn't know whether he meant the pain from heaving his old guy body up onto the bar or from what I had said. He paused and then turned sideways to look at me. "You're right, kiddo--I mean, Cyd. This whole situation is very awkward and new to me. I'm a sixty-year-old man with two adult children and now a new sixteen-year-old daughter. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life and not always comported myself in a manner I'm proud of. I'm new to all this--will you help me out here?"
    I was still mad and for sure had never heard the word "comported" before but I said, "Okay," because what if he was a sixty-year-old man who had made a lot of mistakes but then all of a sudden dropped dead from a heart attack after the smothered chicken with cornbread, mashed potatoes, and apple pie dinner I was intending to order, and I hadn't said I would try? I don't think I could have lived with that.
    "You're pretty together, you know that, Cyd Charisse?"
    87
    Frank said. "To hear your mother and Sid tell it, you're hell on wheels."
    Like that made sense.
    "I think it's time to order, Frank. I'm not letting you off about meeting Miss Loretta, but let's just order in tonight. Anyways, I think there are some girl witch shows we need to watch on TV tonight."
    Frank real-dad smiled. If I ever smiled, I'd say my smile looks just like his.
    88
    Twenty-two
    So maybe Frank and I had near-bonded over a girl witch show and Miss Loretta's amazing chicken dinner, but when I woke up at noon the next day (which Nancy would never have let happen, even if I had been kept awake all night by Chinese water torture or something), Frank was gone. There was a note on the fridge that said, "Luis will be by after lunchtime to show you around. I'll be home by ten tonight-- business dinner. The doorman downstairs has the apartment keys for you. Have fun, Cyd Charisse. --F." There was a $50 bill attached to the note which I ripped off the fridge, stuffed down the garbage disposal, and obliterated to shreds.
    Then I