Housebreaking

by Dan Pope

  “Oh.”

  “What else?”

  “Something to drink.”

  “How about a ginger ale?”

  He was too upset to answer. She ducked into the hallway and almost immediately returned with the nurse.

  “He’s all discombobulated today,” Terri Funkhouser explained.

  The nurse said, “Maybe you’d like your ginger ale in the community room, Mr. Mandelbaum.”

  “I’m fine right where I am.”

  “No, Len. That’s a good idea. A little exercise will do you good.”

  The nurse winked at Terri Funkhouser and went away.

  “What’s that winking business?” said Leonard.

  Terri Funkhouser shrugged. “Sometimes people wink.” She bent and helped him with his slippers.

  “If you’re not here they treat me like an imbecile,” he said, grasping her arm for support.

  She picked up her handbag and shopping bag. “Well, you can’t blame them. I just passed a fellow in the hall dancing with himself.”

  “He should be locked up.”

  “He is locked up, Len.”

  Leonard couldn’t find the word for the way the hallway smelled—a common word, having to do with cleaning. Mr. Clean, Myra always used in the kitchen, with the bald man on the bottle with biceps like a gym coach. That smell—the clean smell—masked another smell, impossible to name but relating to rot and death and wasting away. That smell came from the rooms, from the patients themselves, something the orderlies couldn’t wash away.

  “It’s all old people,” he said.

  “This is the geriatric wing. They put the young people in a different place.”

  “Must be costing a fortune.”

  “Medicare, Len. It’s all taken care of. We talked about this already, remember?”

  “Somebody’s paying for it, I know that much. They’ll want their money back sooner or later.”

  “Stop worrying. Here,” she said, opening the door to the lounge, “let’s go in here and sit down.”

  He stepped inside the room, and there came a burst of voices.

  “Surprise!”

  Too many faces all at once. Who were they? He struggled to understand. These were people he knew. There was Abe Fish coming toward him with his cane, wearing a black-and-white checkered blazer. He held out his hand. “Health, Leonard,” he said. “What else is there? What else matters?”

  Poor Abe Fish. He’d become obsessed with health matters ever since his son dropped dead of a brain aneurysm playing pickup basketball at the Jewish Community Center. Forty-one years old. Never sick a day in his life before then. Looked like Paul Newman.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Fine.”

  “That’s what’s important. Getting back your sense of well-being.”

  Next came Paul Pomerantz, his eyes bulging behind thick glasses. He took Leonard’s hand in both of his, pumping. “Congratulations,” he yelled. Paul Pomerantz was hard of hearing, even with the device in his ear. “You made it! You turned the corner!”

  “Thank you. I appreciate you coming to visit.”

  “What? What was that?”

  “Thank you,” Leonard repeated, turning to Paul’s good ear. “Thank you very much.”

  “It’s my pleasure!” At last he stopped pumping Leonard’s arm. He was two years older than Leonard, but still as strong as a defensive end. Paul Pomerantz had played football for a year at Syracuse University before joining the Marines. A sergeant, he’d fought at Iwo Jima, Okinawa, all the big battles in the Pacific. At parties he used to lower his pants and show off the shrapnel in his buttocks.

  “And look, Len, look at the lovely ladies.”

  Betty Amato had done her hair, curled and set, colored a bright orange. She and Myra used to go to the beauty salon every Friday afternoon. They’d sit with their heads in the dryers, side by side, reading movie magazines.

  “You look wonderful, Leonard. A little rest has done you a world of good.”

  Betty Amato had become something of a worrywart ever since Bob died. Her husband had left a fifty-thousand-dollar MasterCard debt. Where the money went, God only knew. Bob Amato had always been a big spender, like most Italians. Leonard had hired Brendan McGowan to take care of Betty’s legal problems. Send her a bill for a hundred dollars, he’d told McGowan, and charge the rest to me. McGowan had wiped away the credit card debt and got the house deeded over to her free and clear. A wizard, that McGowan. But Betty still agonized about creditors, still thought she was responsible.

  “Don’t worry, Betty.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said. “One look at you sets my mind at ease. They must feed you very well, you look so vigorous.”

  Leonard assumed it was a birthday party. His birthday. But was that correct? Was it the right time of year for his birthday? Before he could decide, another woman came forward and wrapped her arms around him. “How are you, Leonard? How are you, really?”

  It was his daughter-in-law, he realized. What was her name? Barbara, he wanted to say, but that was wrong.

  “The kids asked me to give you this. They’re away at college but they told me what to write.” She handed him a bright pink envelope. Leonard opened it with a trembling hand. Get well soon, Grandpa! We love you, Grandpa!

  “They’re fine grandchildren,” said Leonard, wiping away the tears.

  “Cut that out,” said Terri Funkhouser, slapping him on the back as if he had digestion trouble. “We’re here to celebrate, not pout.” She opened her arms wide. “The doctor gave you a release date. Do you hear me, Len? Do you understand? They’re moving you to a rehab clinic tomorrow. You’ll spend a few weeks there to get your strength back. And after that, home sweet home. You’ll be back in your own bed in no time!”

  “Home? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  The tears flowed, distorting his vision.

  * * *

  WHEN HE GOT to the hospital Benjamin found his father’s room empty. Where was he? Was he . . . gone? When he asked the nurse, she grinned and directed him to the lounge at the end of the hall. “Go see for yourself,” the woman told him.

  He could hear voices as he approached, all talking at once. Standing outside the glass partition, he saw Terri Funkhouser and Betty Amato, seated across from two of his father’s cronies from the country club. By the window, startlingly, stood Judy, a paper plate in her hand. She’d straightened her hair and trimmed it to shoulder length, which made her look younger. She had a casual way of standing—one hand on her hip, chest thrust forward—which always turned him on. He stopped short, unsure what to do, and at that moment, Judy looked up and saw him and gestured him into the room.

  “There he is, the prodigal son,” screeched Terri Funkhouser. “Don’t you answer the phone, buster? I called ten times. Ring, ring, ring.”

  He frowned momentarily, then realized she meant his father’s landline. There was no answering machine; his father didn’t like them. Too many buttons, he said.

  “Who’s he?” yelled Paul Pomerantz.

  “The son,” Abe Fish blurted into the other man’s ear.

  Benjamin glanced at Judy. He’d lived with this woman for most of his life, but now he felt nervous being in the same room with her. He hadn’t seen her since the night she’d thrown him out. There had been conference calls with lawyers and legal correspondence, but all the arguing, threats, and negotiations seemed pointless now, somehow. She had come to see Leonard. He didn’t know how she’d found out about his father’s stroke, but she had come to support him, as she always had in the past. Benjamin offered her a smile, but before Judy could react, Betty Amato patted his forearm and said, “Timothy and Albert are coming home for Christmas. Maybe you boys could go for pizza like old times. The boys were always so close
,” she explained to Mr. Pomerantz, who was leaning forward, straining to follow the conversation.

  “Who?” the old man boomed.

  “My Eldorado’s got a rattle in the front end,” announced Abe Fish. “Sounds like a baseball card in the spokes.”

  “Bring it into the shop, Mr. Fish. I’ll make sure they fix it.”

  Mr. Pomerantz leaned forward and bellowed, “He turned the corner!” He shot his hand out like a salute, surprising Betty, who put her hand to her heart. “He’s on the upswing!”

  “Have some pie, handsome,” said Terri, pushing a paper plate toward Benjamin. “Lemon meringue from the Crown Market. You too,” she said to Judy. “You’re so trim. I’d kill for a figure like yours. How do you do it?”

  “I’m on the divorce diet,” said Judy. “Stress and ice cream.”

  “I tried Atkins once,” said Terri Funkhouser. “I like a steak as much as anyone, but who could eat meat ten times a day? And then they tell you it’s no good for you. First it is, then it’s not.”

  “Moderation,” said Mr. Fish in a lowered voice, as if divulging a secret.

  “Margarine?” yelled Mr. Pomerantz.

  Betty Amato smiled helplessly. “The rest has done you wonders, Leonard. You’ve got such lovely color in your cheeks.”

  “That’s the medication,” said Terri Funkhouser. “The first week he was as red as a lobster.”

  “How’s your health, young man?”

  “Good, Mr. Fish,” said Benjamin. He glanced at Judy and found her studying him with a calm, unhurried gaze. He couldn’t tell what, exactly, but something had changed. She looked disinterested, as impassive as a judge. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at him like that. With Judy, there was anger and passion, delight and disgust, but rarely, if ever, indifference. It confused him.

  “Because that’s what’s important. That’s what matters. Look at your father.”

  They all turned toward Leonard, who said, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  “Take Manny Silverman,” Mr. Fish continued. “Lovely wife. Fourteen grandchildren, one of them a judge. One day his neck puffs up like a pelican. Doctor says pancreatic cancer, you have three months to live.”

  “Poor Manny,” said Leonard.

  “Manny Silverman chased everything in a skirt,” said Terri Funkhouser. “He gave me gas once for an abscessed molar and I had body pains for three days afterward. He was like an octopus with those hands.”

  “He certainly had a twinkle in his eye,” said Betty Amato.

  “The man was a pervert, plain and simple.”

  “I always liked Manny,” said Leonard. “A fine dentist.”

  “The cancer spread through his body like wildfire,” said Abe Fish. “They had to amputate both legs. Two weeks later he died. What’s the point of amputating a man’s legs who has two weeks to live?”

  “I’d rather die than have no legs,” said Terri Funkhouser.

  “You say that now,” said Mr. Fish, shrugging, “but when the time comes?”

  “A lot of young men are coming home from Iraq without legs,” said Betty Amato. “It’s enough to break your heart.”

  “Lambs to the slaughter,” said Judy. “But we voted for him. This great country of ours.”

  “I didn’t vote for him,” said Terri Funkhouser. “I haven’t voted for thirty years, not since Jimmy Carter. They’re all a bunch of charlatans.”

  “Joe Lieberman is a fine man. I’ve known him since high school,” said Mr. Fish.

  “He’s Jewish, Abe, is why you like him,” said Terri Funkhouser.

  “Should I not like him because he’s Jewish?”

  “He’s a millionaire,” said Judy, “like everybody else in the Senate.”

  “Do you hold that against him? A man who made a success of himself?”

  “I like this new fellow, Barack Obama,” said Betty Amato.

  “Back problems?” yelled Paul Pomeranz.

  “Politics, schmolitics,” said Terri Funkhouser. “We’re here to celebrate Leonard’s good news. Let’s not argue.”

  “Who’s arguing?” said Mr. Fish, holding up his enormous, liver-spotted hands. “This isn’t arguing. This is intelligent discussion.”

  “What news?” said Benjamin.

  “Haven’t you heard? Your father got his walking papers. Tomorrow they’re sending him to the rehab center.”

  “Really? They’re letting you go, Dad?”

  “Allegedly,” said Leonard, frowning.

  Benjamin excused himself and went down the hallway, looking for a doctor. There was no one at the nurses’ station. He rang the bell, without result. A moment later he turned to see Judy approaching.

  “How can they let him go? He can’t even walk. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “You know how it is with insurance companies,” she said. “Anything to save a buck.”

  “Who’s going to take care of him? I have to be at the dealership—”

  “He’s going to a rehab center. It’s an inpatient facility.”

  “Yeah, but for how long?”

  “A couple of weeks, probably. In the meantime, you hire a home aide. Remember that Polish woman I hired when my mother broke her hip? She’ll bathe him, clean, cook. Everything.”

  He felt a rush of affection for Judy. She could always ease his anxiety. He’d nearly forgotten that. At night, when some worry kept him from sleep, she used to go down to the kitchen and make him an amaretto with milk.

  “Right. Good idea.” He smiled, but she stared back with that same impassive expression. “What’s going on with you?”

  She wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “You look, I don’t know, unconcerned.”

  “Unconcerned? Why would you say that? I’m very concerned about Leonard.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I came here because of your father, Benjamin.”

  “Right, right,” he said quickly. He tried another approach. “Judy, about Thanksgiving—”

  “I don’t want to fight about that. You can come. It’ll be good for the kids.”

  “Really?”

  She sighed. “Seeing Leonard like this, it puts things into perspective. You know how much I respect your father. He’s the man you could have been. Still could be, if you could ever get your shit together.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Is this your idea of payback? Keeping me out of the picture? You know how much I care for Leonard—”

  He held up his hands defensively. “I tried, Judy, about ten times. It’s not exactly easy getting you on the phone lately, you know.”

  “You could have tried a little harder.”

  “If you say so.”

  Judy smiled mysteriously. “So, how long has this little love affair been going on?”

  “What affair?” He wondered how Judy could possibly know about Audrey. Had she followed him? Had she hired a private eye to investigate him? That was the kind of thing divorce lawyers did—

  “Terri what’s-her-name,” Judy explained.

  “Oh that,” Benjamin said, breathing easier. “Pretty funny, eh?”

  “She’s not exactly Leonard’s type, if you ask me.”

  “She grows on you. She visits every day, watches over him like a hawk.”

  “Well, there’s something to be said for loyalty.”

  He looked down. The words stung, even if she hadn’t meant to dig at him. You’re just not equipped, Benjamin. Had he been a better man, she was saying, a man like his father, they would still be together. Leonard was loyal above all else. For him, there was family, friends, and his people (the Jews of the world). He would never betray those close to him or speak poorly of others, not even when he felt wronged.

  �
��She called the house, looking for you,” said Judy. “That’s how I found out.”

  “Well, I’m glad she told you. Did you tell the kids?”

  “No. I figured you would want to do that.”

  Benjamin nodded. “I’ll tell them at Thanksgiving.”

  Judy looked at her watch. “I have to get going.”

  “Yeah. I should get back to the party.”

  “Don’t you want to talk to the nurse?”

  “No. You’re right,” said Benjamin. “I’ll hire a Polish girl.”

  “Don’t forget to ask for one over eighteen.”

  He frowned.

  “I’m joking,” said Judy quickly. “Don’t make that face. You’re too old for au pairs anyway.”

  “What face?”

  “You look like the Italian soccer players when they hold their arms out after a penalty flag. Why me?”

  She was right; he’d seen himself with that very look in photographs. She’d spent more time looking at him than anyone else. Who else knew him as well as Judy?

  She went off toward the elevator. He waited for her to turn and wave. But the bell rang, the doors opened, and she was gone.

  * * *

  BENJAMIN HEADED HOME with the taste of lemon meringue pie on his lips. Turning in to his driveway, he noticed Franky DiLorenzo coming toward him, waving to get his attention.

  Benjamin rolled down the window.

  “Did you hear about Juniper Lane?”

  “No,” said Benjamin. “What happened?”

  Franky DiLorenzo was what the salesmen called a space invader; he got very close to you in conversation. “Somebody broke into half the cars and garages on the street. Took everything that wasn’t nailed down. They kicked in Syd Goldman’s back door and set off his alarm.”

  “Did they catch him?”

  Franky shook his head. “You gotta keep everything locked up around here, ever since that Stacks kid moved into the neighborhood.”

  “You really think he’s the one?”

  “I got no proof. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. I hope he tries something at my house. I really do.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “How’s your dad?”