Fifty is the New F-Word

by Margaret Lashley

  Milly eyed me with suspicion. “Good morning, Val.”

  “Nice weather we’re having.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s sunny with a high of 76 degrees today,” I said with an air of empty-headed innocence.

  Milly scowled. “Val, don’t be weird.”

  “Talking about the weather is weird?”

  “No. Being normal. For you...well...it’s just weird.”

  I slumped as my lips twisted with sarcasm. “Gee. Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  The really weird thing was, I did. “Huh. I figured that, you know, now that I’m officially old, I’d turn over a new leaf.”

  Milly frowned. “I liked the old leaf.”

  I sneered. “So what? Now, even my leaf is old?”

  Milly laughed, causing her button nose to crinkle. “You’re a nut. You know that, don’t you?”

  I grinned through one side of my mouth. “So are you. Now that we’ve established that, how are the wedding plans going?”

  Milly’s big, green eyes went a bit googly. “Pretty good, actually. We’ve got everything nailed down except the honeymoon.”

  “Nailed down, huh?” I sneered. “Well, if that isn’t the perfect term for matrimony, I don’t know what is.”

  Milly shook her head and grinned. “Incorrigible. Now there’s the old Val I know and love.”

  “Do me a favor. Don’t say ‘old’ and ‘Val’ in the same sentence. Remember, it’ll be your turn soon enough.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  I shot Milly a dirty look.

  “Ooops,” Milly teased. “Did I say ma’am? Well, excuse me! What I meant to say was, ‘Can I take you to lunch today for your birthday, hot stuff?’”

  I grinned. “Now that’s more like it. But nope. Sorry. Tom’s already beat you to it. But you’re coming to the party tomorrow night, right?”

  “Natch!” Milly winked, then wrinkled her brow like a boss. “Now, Ms. Valiant Fremden, I suggest you get to work.”

  “Yes ma’am, Ms. Millicent Halbert.”

  IF I HAD TO PICK A place to spend my last moments of being forty, a sushi lunch at Ming Ming’s with Tom wasn’t a bad call. I sat at a small table by the plate glass window and waited for my buff, blond cop, Lieutenant Thomas Foreman, to make his appearance.

  Then I waited some more.

  I checked my phone. I studied the menu. I drummed my nails on the table. I drank a whole glass of ginger tea. Still, no Tom. According to the clock on the wall, he was fifteen minutes late. That wasn’t like him. Finally, I waived the waiter over and ordered.

  My finger was on the ‘send’ button of a less-than-cordial text to Tom when I looked up and saw his silver 4Runner pull into the parking lot. He jumped out and sprinted to the door, his face one big, handsome apology.

  “I’m sorry I’m late!” he called across the tiny restaurant.

  My lips twisted in doubt. He kissed them anyway.

  “What was the hold up?” I asked.

  “I’m helping Jorge study for his exams,” he said, pulling out a chair.

  “I know. But we had a date.” It’s my last day in my forties, for crying out loud!

  Tom sat down and studied my face. “Val, Jorge’s a complete nervous wreck.”

  I frowned. “I guess that tops being a complete drunken wreck.”

  The hurt and disappointment on Tom’s face made my cheeks flush with heat.

  “Sorry, Tom. Really. I mean...I think it’s great Jorge wants to get his job back on the police force. It’s just...well, lately, he’s been taking a lot more of our time than I thought he would.”

  To my relief, Tom smiled and reached across the table to take my hand. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Did you order for me?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  Tom’s sea-green eyes lost their sparkle. “Really? After two years together, you still have no confidence in me, do you?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t know what you wanted to eat today, okay?”

  “I always get the same thing.”

  “Sure. But the first time I assume that and go ahead and order for you, then you’re stuck with it. I mean...you know, you’re out of options. Your fate is sealed.”

  Tom stared at me blankly.

  I tried to backtrack. “It’s like that old saying, you know? That whole ‘ass outta you and me’ thing.”

  Tom let go of my hand. “Are you feeling trapped, Val?”

  My face went fifty degrees hotter. “No.”

  Tom studied me a moment more. I tried not to break under his scrutiny, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Honestly, it’s not that,” I said. “I guess I’m just...geeze, Tom! Today is my last day of being in my forties!”

  Tom’s serious stare evaporated into a grin. “Oh. That’s what this is all about.”

  I managed an apologetic smile. “Sorry for making this all about me.” I sighed and asked, “How’s it going with Jorge, anyway?”

  Tom relaxed and shifted back in his seat. He seemed relieved the conversation was back in familiar territory. “Okay, I suppose. But with his PTSD, Jorge won’t be able to handle a regular beat. I think he’s better suited to an office job now. Clerical stuff. You know, background support for cops on the street. Stuff like that.”

  “Oh. I’m glad to hear that. I was worried about him having to deal with criminals. He’s such a...I dunno...soft touch.”

  Tom took my hand again and squeezed it. “Yeah. Too bad you never knew him before his family got killed in that accident. He was a different guy. I guess his confidence will never be back on par with what it was. But hey, enough about Jorge. How’s my birthday gal doing?”

  I sighed. “Feeling pretty old, actually.”

  “Awe, fifty isn’t so bad, Val. Now, fifty-five? That’s the killer.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s when you’re on the back-slide to sixty. Thankfully, it’s still a long slide away for both of us.”

  I rolled my eyes and sneered. “That makes me feel sooo much better.”

  Tom laughed. “Hey, you’ll always be younger than me.”

  The thought cheered me up a little, even though Tom had less than a year on me. “True enough, old man,” I joked. “So, when are Jorge’s exams again?”

  “On Monday. Goober and Winky are going with him for moral support.”

  “You’re not going?”

  “No. I’ve got other plans.”

  “What plans?”

  Tom shot me his infamous boyish grin. “I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”

  I scowled. “You know I’m lousy at waiting.”

  “Yeah.” Tom winked. “That’s why it’s so much fun to tell you now.”

  I pouted and punched Tom on the arm. “Just for that, you can’t have any of my sea creature roll.”

  Tom flinched in mock pain. “Ouch. Thanks a lot, Miss Meanie.” His playful eyes suddenly switched to seduction mode. “I guess I can live with that – as long as I can have a roll with you later tonight?”

  I stuck my nose in the air and looked at the ceiling to my left. “I guess you’ll have to wait until tonight to find out.”

  Tom snickered. “Double ouch.”

  THAT EVENING, TOM CAME over and helped me set up for the party. Without any needling from me, he got to work and wiped down the lawn furniture, spruced up the tiki hut, and stacked logs in the fire pit he’d built for me. I shook my head in disbelief. A year had already flown by since he’d surprised me on my last birthday. He’d not only built the fire pit – he’d arranged a complete backyard makeover while I was at a spa with Milly. He really is quite the guy....

  As I made potato salad and prepped for the party, the occasional glimpse of Tom working out in the backyard caused a dull, melancholy throbbing
in my heart. Domestic happiness always looked so good on paper...but reality had proven time and again to be so different than what I’d envisioned in my dreams. As a friend of mine used to say, “Nice from afar, but far from nice.”

  “Think you got enough pepper in there?” Tom’s warm, deep voice sounded behind me, startling me out of my daydream.

  “Huh?” I asked as he slipped his strong hands around my waist. I looked down at a bowl of marinade I’d been preparing. I’d absently ground a small mountain of peppercorns into it. “Oh. Crap.” I set the peppermill on the kitchen counter and stared down at the hill of black crumbles floating atop the puddle of Italian salad dressing.

  “What were you thinking about?” Tom asked, and gently twirled me around to face him.

  “Uh...just the idea of turning the big five-oh,” I lied.

  Tom smiled and kissed me. “I know how you hate waiting. How about I give you an early birthday present?” He rubbed his cheek against mine, then nibbled my earlobe.

  “What did...you...have in mind?” I stuttered, as my back arched involuntarily. Neck nuzzling was my Kryptonite, and Tom darn well knew it.

  “I was thinking of something fitting for the occasion,” he whispered, then lightly bit my earlobe again. “How about five ‘O’s’ in a row?”

  Geeze. How could a girl argue with that?

  Chapter Three

  “Where’s your birthday cake?” tall, lanky Goober asked as he bent over and scrounged a beer from my fridge. I was in the kitchen spearing steaks with a long serving fork. I lifted a slab of meat from the peppery marinade and laid it on a platter. Winky watched dreamily from his perch on a stool at the counter, drooling like a ginger-haired hound dog.

  “I bet the dang fire department done confiscated it,” Winky squawked at Goober, his eyes never leaving the steaks. “Fire hazard with all them candles, you know.” The freckle-faced redneck looked up at me. “What you up to now, Val? Fifty thousand?” He winked, then laughed at his own joke like a deranged woodpecker.

  “Ha ha,” I said.

  “So where is it?” Goober asked, and popped the top on a can of Fosters.

  “Uh...what?” I asked.

  “The cake,” Goober said. He took a long slug of beer.

  I bit my lip and muttered, “Laverne hasn’t brought it over yet.”

  Both guys froze in place, mouths full of beer, like those wooly mammoths found in the arctic ice with green grass in their maws. They swallowed hard, then their jaws fell open like a pair of busted tailgates.

  “Oh no,” Goober said. He shook his bald head and blew out a low whistle. “Come on, now, Val. Don’t tell me Laverne’s making your cake?”

  I flinched and turned my face away. “I’m afraid so....”

  “Gaul dang it!” Winky spat. “I was lookin’ forward to havin’ me some birthday cake!”

  “I know, I know!” I said. “But what could I say? She’s taking this class at the senior citizens center and I just couldn’t –”

  “Pull yourself together, Val!” Goober barked. “Winky, you too.” He spoke like a drill sergeant trying to keep his troops from losing it under enemy fire. “Listen up! If we’re gonna survive this, we need a plan.”

  The three of us formed a loose huddle with our commanding officer, Sergeant Peanut Head. “Someone’s got to sneak in next door and apprehend that cake before lamebrain Laverne does us all in again with another round of WMDs.”

  “WMDs?” Winky asked.

  “Weapons of mass diarrhea,” Goober said. Winky nodded solemnly.

  “Look, Goober. We can’t,” I argued. “If we go sneaking into her house like a SWAT team, we might give her a heart attack. She’s an old lady.”

  Goober snickered. “You should know.”

  “What?” I said, and whacked him with a dishtowel.

  “Stop it, you two!” Winky whined. “We got to do something!” He rubbed his substantial beer belly. “My gut’s startin’ to boil just thinkin’ ‘bout her Thanksgivin’ crapperoni casserole.”

  “Right,” Goober said. He glanced around the room, then smoothed his bushy moustache with a thumb and forefinger. “If abscondination is off the table, we’re left with only one viable option.”

  “Abscondination?” I asked Goober.

  “This is not the time to be questioning my authority to employ poetic license, Val.”

  Desperation wracked Winky’s face. “I don’t care what kind a scondinaiton stuff you use, as long as that gaul-dang killer cake stays off the table, too.”

  “So what’s our other option?” I asked, not at all sure I wanted to know.

  “An unfortunate accident,” Goober said matter-of-factly.

  The left side of my mouth jerked up like it was caught on a fishhook. “You’re talking about the cake, right?”

  Goober’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “Of course! We’re not animals, Val!”

  Winky shamed me with pursed lips and a head wag.

  “Okay,” I caved. “All right. I’m in. But I don’t want to know the details.”

  “Mum’s the word,” Goober said. Winky nodded and put a pudgy finger to his lips.

  As if on cue, the front doorbell rang. I opened it to find Laverne standing there holding what could have possibly been mistaken for a cake – if I’d recently taken a large swig of Nyquil.

  “Hiya, birthday girl!” Laverne beamed. “Surprise!”

  Against my will, my leery eyes returned to the cake. Nope. Nyquil had nothing to do with this fiasco. Laverne’s culinary catastrophe on a platter was roundish and lumpy – about the size and shape of a half-deflated volleyball drop-kicked from an airplane. It was smeared in what I hoped with every fiber of my being was chocolate icing. Piped onto it in a melty, urine-colored substance were the words, Happy Birtday Val. I would have mentioned the missing H to Laverne, but given how wrong the rest of the cake was, it didn’t really seem to matter.

  “Wow!” I said, and smiled up at Laverne. “You really outdid yourself with this one! Here, let me take it.”

  My fingers wrapped around the cake plate and I tugged it out of Laverne’s hands. As I turned toward the right, I caught a glimpse of something red and splotchy in the corner of my eye. Before my brain could make the connection, Winky ran me over like a Black Friday bargain hunter. I stumbled, head first, into the wall. Knocked senseless, I took a fumbling step backward, tripped on the living room rug and landed flat on my butt in the middle of the living room floor. Against all odds, I still had a-grip on the platter. As my butt hit the floor, the cake, which apparently went airborne, flopped back onto the platter in my lap with a squishy thud.

  “Oh my lord!” Laverne cried out. “Are you alright, sugar?”

  “I...think so.” I looked down. The cake leered back at me between a swirl of white stars. Like a nuclear-war-proof cockroach, the hideous thing had survived intact. I, on the other hand, had a knot on my forehead the size of a half a lemon.

  “Sorry. I musta tripped,” Winky said. “Let me help you up.” He held out a pudgy hand and stared me in the eye. Even his freckles looked disappointed. He whispered from the side of his mouth, “It’s time for Plan B.”

  “Get away from me,” I snapped. I set the cake on the floor, hauled myself to standing and hoisted up the chocolate-covered monstrosity. Fuming, I marched toward the kitchen, Laverne on my heels. As I rounded the countertop bar, a dark object shot out from under the cabinets and darted across the floor. My mind turned to mush.

  “Aaaarrhhhggg!” I shrieked.

  Laverne’s birthday cake flew up and out of my hands as if someone had mashed my ejector button.

  “Rat! Rat!” I screamed and made a frantic dash for the back door, nearly mowing poor Laverne down in my path. If she hadn’t grabbed a hold of my arm for support, I probably would have knocked her off her feet like a bowling pin.

  “What’s wrong, sugar?” Laverne asked, clutching at me as if I was the last life boat on the Titanic.

  “Wher
e’s Tom?” I cried out, wild-eyed. “There’s a rat in the kitchen!”

  “Oh my word!” Laverne said. “Is that all? I’ll go get him. Now you go sit on the couch and calm down.”

  “I...uh.... Oh no! Your cake, Laverne!”

  “It’s okay, sugar. Look,” she let go of my arm and pointed toward the kitchen counter.

  Still in shock, I turned back toward the kitchen and could scarcely believe my eyes. The dark, hulking glob of a cake had crash-landed, right-side-up, on the counter, none the worse for wear. Like all the hideous buildings constructed in the 1960’s, that dang thing was indestructible. As stumbled over to it and stared at it in disbelief, Goober and Winky walked up and stood on either side of me.

  “Unbelievable,” Goober said. “Dang thing looks like an asteroid.”

  “It looks like it came from someone’s nether regions, all right,” Winky sneered.

  “Look,” I said, my back squirming at the thought of a rodent in my kitchen. “We’ve got bigger problems. I can’t do anything until we find that rat!”

  Goober nudged shoulders with me. “Look here.” He fished around inside his sport jacket and pulled out a rubber rat tied to a ball of string.

  “What?” I shrieked and nearly fell over. “Are you kidding me? Why did you...I mean...What the hell were you doing with that thing in your jacket, anyway?”

  Goober shrugged. “Hey. It comes in handy more than you’d think.”

  “Great going, Val,” Winky said. He looked as if he’d been stewed in country gravy. “You done blowed two perfectly good tactical ops to H-E-double-toothpicks.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said you wanted to remain unapprised of tactical details,” Goober said.

  “Okay. That’s true,” I said angrily. “But do all of your plans have to involve my imminent demise?”

  The guys shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measurements,” Winky said.

  “Thanks for letting me know where I stand,” I said. “Geeze! Just look at that thing. I don’t think a stick of dynamite could get rid of it.”