Fifty is the New F-Word

by Margaret Lashley

  The three of us stared at the chocolate-smeared nemesis of impeding gastric doom.

  “I don’t think my colon can survive a slice of that,” Winky whined.

  “We’ll have to think of something else,” Goober said. “Shhh. Laverne’s coming back.”

  Laverne ambled through the back sliding glass door and smiled. “Look at you three! Can’t take your eyes off my cake. Well, mitts off! You’ll have to wait ‘til after dinner for a piece!”

  We smiled sheepishly at Laverne. Tom appeared behind her with a hammer in his hand.

  “Where’s the rat?” Tom asked.

  “It was a joke,” Goober said, and pulled the rubber rat out of his jacket pocket.

  Tom shot us a grin. “You guys and your birthday pranks. And that cake...oh my lord! You really got Val good with that one!”

  Winky and Goober forced smiles. I glanced over at Laverne. She was beaming proudly, oblivious to Tom’s remarks. I loved that about her.

  Tom put his arm around my waist and kissed me. “Looks like you’re none the worse for wear. Hey. Where’s your ring?”

  I looked down at my hand. “Oh. I took it off while I was prepping the steaks.”

  Tom’s smile faded slightly. “Oh.”

  “For safekeeping,” I explained. “It’s in the ceramic ring holder on the windowsill.”

  I walked over to the sink and picked up the ring. “See? Here it is.” As I turned back around to face Tom, my hand hit the neck of the faucet. I felt the ring jump from between my fingers. A small, dull, tinny sound echoed in my ears as it hit the stainless steel sink. Time slowed to a snail’s pace as I turned and watched my engagement ring bounce once, then drop into the open maw of the garbage disposal.

  “Oh no!” I said. “It’s gone down the disposal!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Tom said. “Please say it’s another prank.”

  I shook my head. “Not this time. I’m sorry!”

  Tom ran over to the sink. “What can we do to get it out?”

  “Well, now, there’s no need to panic,” Laverne said cheerily. “We’ve got our resident mechanical genius in the house tonight.”

  Everyone turned to Winky.

  “Don’t look at me!” he said, his face twisted with disgust. “I ain’t stickin’ my hand down there. It’s too gaul-dang scary.”

  “Good grief. Let me have a look,” Goober said. He grabbed my steak fork and walked over and poked around at the sink for a moment as we all stood around and stared. “I can’t see anything. Need more light.” Goober looked around and reached a long, lanky arm toward a switch on the wall. My eyes bugged out like a cartoon character.

  “Stop!” I screeched, and took a flying leap at Goober.

  Like a bullfighter in the ring, Goober stepped back and narrowly escaped my clumsy side-tackle. My shoulder barely grazed him as I flew by. Having missed my target, momentum forced me to find a new one. I slammed into the kitchen cabinets and surfed halfway across the counter until something stopped my headlong slide. It was Laverne’s birthday cake. I ricocheted off it like a billiard ball, knocking it onto the floor.

  A cacophony of yelps and profanity filled my tiny kitchen.

  “What in the world is going on?” Goober yelled.

  “Are you all right?” Tom asked anxiously. He and Goober helped me off the counter.

  “Goober...that switch,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “It was for the garbage disposal.”

  “Oh,” Goober said. Then comprehension caused the whites of his eyes to double. “Geeze! Good thing –”

  “Oh my poor cake!” Laverne cried out.

  Our heads turned in unison like a basket of kittens watching a toy. Laverne’s hideous confection lay splattered in a lumpy pile on the floor like the mangled remains of the creature from the black lagoon bakery. The third time had, indeed, been the charm.

  Goober leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Nice work.”

  “Somebody put some duck tape on that switch,” Winky said. “I’ll have a look see at that dang dispose-it-all in the mornin’. Now somebody call Milly. See if she can pick us up a new cake on her way here.”

  We all stared at Winky. We weren’t used to him barking orders.

  “What?” he asked. “I done told y’all. I want me some dad-burned birthday cake!”

  Chapter Four

  “What’s with the duct tape?” Milly said as she set the replacement birthday cake on the kitchen counter next to the sink.

  “Long story,” I said. “You see...hey! Why are there Smurfs on my cake?”

  Milly shrugged. “It was either that or cowboys and Indians. Last minute beggars can’t be choosers, you know.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks.”

  “Natch’. So, what happened to Laverne’s cake?”

  “Unfortunate accident. It’s resting peacefully in the garbage can in the backyard.”

  “My congratulations...I mean, condolences.”

  Milly shot me a wink and a smile, and I wrapped my arms around her. “Thanks for saving the day, Mil. Could you do me one more favor?”

  “What?”

  “Go tell Laverne how disappointed you are at not being able to try her cake. She’s pretty bummed about the whole thing.”

  “Sure. That’s what best friends are for, right? We lie to cover each other’s backsides.”

  I grinned. “Exactly. And given the size of our backsides, we should be best friends forever.”

  Milly smirked and headed off to find Laverne. I stared down at six blue Smurfs grinning manically and dancing around a red toadstool dotted with white stars.

  Well, at least they spelled “birthday” right.

  “OH, YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE, Laverne!” I said and held up a shiny, gold, thong bikini.

  Laverne grinned and relaxed into the couch cushions. Two gin cocktails had softened the blow of her cake’s spectacular demise. “I think it’ll come in handy soon,” she said with an air of mystery. Tom, who was sitting next to her, nudged the old woman on the shoulder and laughed.

  I dropped the bikini back into the gift bag and reached for a yellow envelope wedged between two other gifts laid out on the coffee table in front of me. “From Milly and Vance,” I read aloud. I looked up at the two love birds. Milly was nestled like a kitten in Vance’s lap in my easy chair.

  “To my best friend,” Milly said and raised a glass of white wine. Vance pouted at her words and pulled her closer. Milly giggled and kissed him.

  The sight sent a twinge through my heart. My ‘best friends forever’ plan with Milly could face some tough competition in the months ahead. I opened the envelope and pulled out a hand-written note. “Good for one massage at Massage-O-Matic.” I forced a grin at the lovey-dovey pair. “Thanks, you two!”

  “I called and made a reservation for you, Val,” Milly smirked. “Given your unfortunate history with coupons, I figured it was best.” Vance laughed knowingly, and I suddenly realized he had become her confidant. That strange twinge shot through my heart again. I thought I’d sworn Milly to secrecy over that incident at the spa where a hot masseuse had pulled a coupon for hemorrhoid cream from the back of my naked thigh....

  “That sounds like a story worth hearing,” Tom said, interrupting my thoughts. I realized he was staring at me.

  “Not on your life,” I sneered. “Who’s next?”

  “We didn’t get you anything tangible, per se,” Goober said from his perch on a kitchen barstool. “But Jorge and I have agreed to hang your Christmas lights this year – on the house.”

  “And in the bushes, too,” Jorge joked from an adjacent stool. His once sallow, alcoholic face now had a healthy glow about it. His brown doe eyes were clear, but still bashful. After locking onto mine for a millisecond, they quickly looked away. “That is, if you want,” he added.

  “Aww,” I cooed. “You two don’t have to do that!”

  “It was either the lights or a pair of bedroom slippers I found in the dumpster last week,”
Goober deadpanned. “And I have to say, I’ve gotten quite attached to the slippers. They’re pretty comfy.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, guys. I’ll take the lights. And Jorge?”

  I waited for Jorge to look up at me. “Good luck on your tests on Monday. We’re all rooting for you.”

  “Here here!” Goober and Tom said.

  “We know you’ll do great,” I said. “Good luck to our friend Jorge!”

  A round of cheers and cat calls broke out. The warm smile on Jorge’s face could have melted a glacier. Then Jorge lowered his eyes again. “Thanks, everybody. I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all anybody can do,” Laverne said.

  “Absolutely,” Cold Cuts agreed, then turned to me. “Well, like the guys, I’m sort of short on cash, too.” The cute, bohemian young woman sat cross-legged on the floor beside me, dressed in a pair of leggings and a flowy top that looked as if it had been made from a dozen old scarves. “But I can give you a free makeover for your birthday. How’s that?”

  “The sooner the better!” Winky cackled.

  I shot Winky a sneer, then reached over and hugged the oddball friend I’d made last year while searching for the lost ashes of my biological mom, Glad Goldrich. “Sounds great, Cold Cuts. That would be awesome. Geeze, it seems like ages since I’ve seen you.”

  “Been busy with some movie projects,” she said, and ran a hand through her carefree, short brown hair. “It’s kept me on the road a lot.”

  “Well, I guess that’s good, business wise. So, how’s the old RV doing?”

  “Actually, she’s running like a charm.”

  “Enough of your gabbing!” Winky hollered from across my small living room. “Open our present next.” He leaned over in the lawn chair he’d confiscated from the backyard and smiled at his girlfriend, Winnie. When he squeezed Winnie’s hand, her soft, chubby face glowed with a simple contentedness that made me envious.

  “Okay, already,” I said. “Pass it over.”

  Tom handed me a package the size of a deck of cards. It was wrapped in Sunday comics and duct tape. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly pricked up. I shot Winky a wary glare. “What is it?” I asked.

  “Well, open the darn thing and find out,” Winky said.

  I looked over at Winnie. Her expectant face read more like Mother Teresa than the Unabomber, so I tore open the wrapping paper. Inside was a pair of earrings made from fishing tackle. A delighted smile surprised my lips. “Wow!” I held the earrings up for everyone to see. “These are really cool!”

  “I thought you might like ‘em,” Winnie beamed proudly. “We’re making them and selling them at flea markets now.”

  “And our fine merchandise can be found in such establishments as Old Joe’s Bait and Tackle Shack down by Caddy’s,” Winky added.

  “We call them our ‘Playing Hooky’ line,” Winnie said.

  “Playing Hooky. Get it?” Winky asked.

  “Yes,” I said dryly. “I get it. Thanks.”

  “Let me see them,” Cold Cuts said, and took the earrings from my hand. “You’re right, Val. These are seriously cool. In fact, I might be able to use these in an upcoming photo shoot.” She turned to Winky and Winnie. “That could get you guys some exposure.”

  Winky turned to Winnie. “Do we want to be exposed?”

  Winnie smiled and nodded her head. “Yes. That’s a good thing.”

  “Well then,” Winky said to Cold Cuts, “we’ll take us some of that exposure stuff. I got a tackle box full o’ earrings in the van. Wanna see?”

  “Sure, I’d –”

  “Ahem!” Tom said, clearing his throat. “Before you all run off to rifle through fishing tackle, there’s one more present I’d like to give Val.” Everybody settled back into place as Tom reached in his jacket pocket and handed me an envelope. I opened it, read the card and nearly fell on the floor.

  “What? A week at Sunset Sail-Away Beach Resort?”

  “Yep,” Tom said proudly. “And it starts tomorrow!”

  “Oh my lord!” I leaned over and kissed Tom. “This is awesome! But, Tom...I’ve got to work.”

  “No you don’t,” Milly piped up coyly. “The paperwork’s already done. You’ve got the week off.”

  “All right!” I yelled, a little too enthusiastically for Milly’s taste. She eyed me dubiously as I scrambled to my feet and practically jumped in Tom’s arms. “I...I don’t know what to say! This is gonna be fantastic!”

  Tom kissed me and smiled in his charming, boyish way. “Thanks,” he said aloud, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “LOOKS LIKE THE WHOLE gang made it for your birthday,” Tom said as we sorted through the after-party mess in the kitchen.

  “Not quite. Mr. Fellows didn’t make it.”

  “You invited your dead parents’ attorney?”

  I swatted Tom playfully on the butt with a dishtowel. “You know he’s more than that. Even though we haven’t seen him in a while, he’s still my friend. Actually, I’m kind of worried about him. I wonder why he didn’t show up.”

  “Maybe he got a better offer,” Tom joked.

  I sneered. “Maybe I’ll get a better offer.”

  “Not likely,” Tom said. He wrapped his strong hands gently around my waist. “At least not in the next thirty minutes.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I teased. “So what’s your offer?”

  Tom brushed his cheek next to mine and whispered words that set my ears and a few other strategic places pulsing with heat. He made good on his offer, too. Let me put it this way; my first unofficial night of being fifty years old was put to good use. In fact, it might have been one for the record books....

  I’D SURVIVED TURNING fifty. But not everybody had. When I went out to get the Sunday paper the following morning, there was a dead possum splayed out in the yard like a drunk party guest. Its belly was bloated to the size of a cantaloupe, and its face was smeared with what I hoped was chocolate icing....

  Poor old thing, I thought. Done in by Laverne’s cake. Still, better you than me, buddy. Better you than me.

  Chapter Five

  A poisoned possum wasn’t the only unexpected visitor I discovered in my front yard the morning after my birthday party. Parked at the end of the driveway like a lost wagon from a traveling carny show was a rough-around-the-edges old RV. Cold Cuts had camped out in my driveway overnight.

  “Hiya, Val,” Cold Cuts called out as I bent over in my nightgown to pick up the Sunday paper. Her unexpected greeting startled me so badly I nearly toppled over head first.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked after making a less-than-graceful recovery.

  “Sleeping it off,” she called back. She stuck her pretty, youthful face out the driver’s side window of the old Minnie Winnie. “Had a couple too many beers last night. But I’m good now. Getting ready to take off.”

  “Oh. Well...wait. Come in and have a coffee.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Tom’s up. And I want to find out what you’ve been doing since I last saw you. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk last night.”

  “But you’ve got your beach resort thing...”

  “We’re not in any hurry. We can’t check in until after 2 p.m., anyway. And the place is just an hour drive from here.”

  Cold Cuts clicked open the RV door, then hesitated. “Are you sure you’re sure?”

  “Yes. Why? You don’t want to?”

  “It’s just that...well, in my line of work I’m not used to nude scenes before breakfast.” Cold Cuts directed her eyes from my face to my chest, then back.

  I looked down. My left boob was hanging out of my nightgown for the whole neighborhood to see. “Arrghh! Why didn’t you tell me?” I groaned, and put an end to my public display of indecency.

  “I thought you’d figure it out soon enough. But thanks for the morning peep show,” Cold Cuts grinned.

  I shook my hea
d. “Get inside or get going.”

  Cold Cuts laughed and climbed out of the RV. “You’re in a good mood for turning fifty,” she said as she followed me into the house.

  She was right. I felt great. Tom and I had a whole week of vacation ahead of us. And we’d started it with two of my favorite things – sleeping in and cappuccinos in bed. “I guess I’ve got no complaints,” I said.

  As I led Cold Cuts through the living room to the kitchen, I could see Tom through the sliding glass door. He was in the backyard, shirtless, wiping down the tiki hut bar and talking on his cellphone.

  “That’s some hot cabana boy you got there,” Cold Cuts quipped.

  “Yeah. Not bad for an old fart.” I pulled a can of coffee from the kitchen cupboard.

  “Old fart my boney behind! You two are ageless, I’m telling you.”

  I shot her an unconvinced sneer. “Uh huh. The coffee’s free. You don’t need to butter me up.”

  Cold Cuts smirked. “Well, since you’re on to my game, I was aiming for a Pop-Tart.”

  I laughed and clicked the coffee on to perk. I grabbed two cartons of Pop-Tarts out of the cabinet. “Pick your poison. Strawberry or blueberry?”

  “Ooooh. Blueberry, please!”

  Cold Cuts’ open enthusiasm was so childlike, I almost felt like her mother. “Coming right up, then.” I reached to plug the toaster into its usual socket, but my efforts were thwarted by a strip of duct tape. “Oh yeah,” I muttered.

  “Too bad about your ring,” Cold Cuts said. “I wanted to see it.”

  I shrugged. “You will, soon enough.” I found another outlet and plugged the toaster in. “Have a seat.”

  Cold Cuts climbed onto a barstool at the kitchen counter.

  “So, how’s the disguise biz going?” I asked as I popped two tarts into the toaster.

  “Slow, but steady. Not complaining. You know, I still think about our Date Busters days.”

  “Oh geeze. Don’t remind me. You in that dumb clown getup...and the rainbow Mohawk chick. Who could forget that?” I pushed down the toaster lever.