Significant Others

by Baron, Marilyn

  “Look, I’d better be going,” Daniel said awkwardly, putting a possessive hand on my mother’s shoulder.

  Oh, yes, I noticed the way he was touching her.

  “I’m going to play golf with my son tomorrow,” he said, looking at his watch. “Actually it’s already tomorrow, and then I’m on the hook for dinner, but I’d like to see you the following morning, for breakfast, if you’re free. Although I don’t know how I can wait that long.”

  “No, I don’t think...” Dee Dee objected.

  “I make a mean omelet.” Daniel laughed. “Hey, I’m offering to cook for you. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

  I looked at my mother. She hadn’t looked this happy since, well she’d never looked this happy that I could recall.

  “Go ahead, Mom,” I said. And her face lit up because I had given my permission for the breakfast, and maybe for the rest of it.

  “Well, okay,” she agreed.

  “I’ll be by to pick you up at nine,” Daniel promised, and he was acting as giddy as a schoolboy with his first crush. He looked like he wanted to kiss my mother but thought better of it because I was in the room. And she looked like she wanted him to. Instead, he touched her hand and gazed at her with those gorgeous green eyes. Oh, he was a hunk all right. The Incredible Hunk.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” he said wistfully to my mother. She nodded. She was walking on air.

  “Honey, you’re invited to come if you’d like,” Daniel offered, rather halfheartedly, I thought.

  Oh, yeah, the last thing these two needed was a middle-aged chaperone. A third wheel. Then again, maybe that was exactly what they needed.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to be packing,” I replied.

  Jeesh. My mother was dating. It was beyond weird.

  “Honey, it was nice meeting you,” Daniel said before he walked out the door.

  “Mom, is this guy Jewish?” I asked, after I was sure he was gone.

  She tilted her head and considered the question. “You know something? I don’t even know.” My mother laughed at the absurdity of the question that a Jewish mother would typically ask her daughter. “Your father wasn’t Jewish. And at my age, what difference could it possibly make?”

  “Well, then, I hope you didn’t tell him about your Jesus tree. I don’t want him to think you’re crazy, at least not until the second date.”

  My mother laughed again. She’d laughed more in the last few minutes than I’d seen her laugh in the past year.

  “Actually, we never got around to talking about that.”

  “Probably would have been inappropriate under the circumstances,” I said, gesturing to her bedroom. “You two obviously had other things on the brain. I wasn’t wild about the idea of Max, but I have a nice feeling about this guy, Mom. I like him. He seems familiar somehow. He’s substantial. He could be a linebacker. He’s in pretty good shape for an old guy. And those eyes, wow!”

  My mother blushed.

  “Meeting him tonight is a sign,” Dee Dee said wistfully, looking like she had a secret she wasn’t prepared to share.

  “A sign?” I asked, confused. Was she talking about her tree again? What should it matter if she saw Jesus in a tree if it could bring her some comfort? Make her feel less alone in the world.

  Chapter Nine: The Q-Tip Brigade

  One by one, my mother’s friends were “dropping like flies.” Her words, not mine. Mom’s intimate group of girlfriends, “The Awesome Eight,” had been decimated to “The Fabulous Four,” much like the demise of the Big Eight accounting firms. Mom’s friends used to run in a pack. They were as close as sardines. There was hardly room to maneuver between them. And I was a part of that. I thought my mother’s friends would always be there, for her and for me. But sometimes, as Donny liked to say, life throws you a curve ball.

  One of the last friends to go had been Maxine. We called Maxine the Black Widow because she’d already outlived two husbands and was afraid of marrying a third time. She’d been going with Harry, her significant other, for fifteen years. The way Maxine figured, she was keeping Harry alive by not marrying him.

  I was sure Maxine, who had been in the synagogue choir with my mother, was now in heaven singing soprano with the angels.

  “I wish I could have told her to give my love to your father,” my mother had said last week, after we’d had a good cry over the phone when we learned about Maxine’s death. We didn’t even have the finality of a funeral. Maxine had requested that her ashes be scattered over the Pacific Ocean off Hawaii. Although I didn’t think my mother could have survived another funeral.

  With my father gone, all the husbands of the Fabulous Four were dead, and friendships had become even more important.

  My aunt knew my mother was missing Maxine, so she invited some friends over to her place and arranged for us to drop by. Donny had left Jackson with us so he and his girls could finish their holiday shopping. Jackson was cute, but he was also boisterous—in my brother’s words, “all boy”—and my mother and I had him by the hand so our little whirling dervish couldn’t get into any serious trouble.

  My aunt set out a platter of homemade chopped liver and crackers, a vegetable tray and dip, a fruit plate, some home-baked sweets, and diet sodas.

  “I’m going to wreck this joint,” Jackson said, pulling away from me.

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” I countered, shaking my head. Jackson was big, as big as Donny had been when he was a boy, and honestly I thought he could wreck the place if given half a chance.

  “Would you like something to eat?” I asked, trying to get my nephew’s mind off thoughts of havoc and pandemonium.

  “It’s all rabbit food,” Jackson frowned, eyeing the table suspiciously.

  “No, it’s just healthy food. But I do see a brownie over there. Why don’t you go over and get one, but just one, or your mother will kill me.”

  I released Jackson’s hand and he lumbered over to the table, under my watchful eye.

  “Wait, let me take your backpack,” I called, afraid of what he might put into it.

  Jackson turned at the table and greeted me with a full-face scowl.

  “Okay,” I said, backing off, remembering what my sister-in-law had said about Jackson’s separation issues.

  I turned my attention to my aunt.

  “We’ve got a roomful of Q-Tips here,” Aunt Helene confided to me.

  “Q-Tips?” I wondered.

  “Gray hairs,” my aunt explained, as she took me by the hand to make the introductions. “And most of them are paired up.”

  My mother did not belong in this place, with these people. She was still young and beautiful.

  “Honey, I’d like you to meet Carol and Hank,” Aunt Helene said before I could get my mother out of there. “Honey is Dee Dee’s daughter. And that adorable little boy over there”—Jackson smiled and shot us an angelic look—“is Dee Dee’s grandson.” Then she leaned over and whispered, “Carol and Hank are significant others.” In her normal voice she continued, “Hank is the vice president of the Millennium Gardens Boca Raton Community Center.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” I said, offering my hand.

  “Carol and Hank just returned from a romantic trip on the French Riviera,” Aunt Helene remarked.

  “It’s a convenient arrangement, going together on our vacations,” said Hank. “We’ve each got a ready-made roommate for double occupancy reservations.”

  “It’s been so great since we found each other,” Carol admitted. “Isn’t he the handsomest man in sight? And add to the bargain, he drives at night.”

  “I think Carol’s really good-looking,” Hank echoed.

  “I think he’s blinded by my good cooking,” answered Carol, “or maybe he’s just blind.”

  “It’s good to know, when we’re dating, I don’t have to worry...she’s right there waiting,” Hank said, taking hold of Carol’s hand.

  “We’ve got a great understanding; we’re content with
out wedding banding,” Carol quipped.

  “I heard you two are going to take a trip out to Vegas soon,” Aunt Helene said to Hank.

  “Yes, we both like to gamble,” Hank said.

  Maybe I should take a gamble on life. Here I was with this cute couple, who weren’t officially a couple, laughing, rhyming, bantering like seasoned vaudevillians with their routines, teasing and enjoying each other’s company, and just being together and alive. It didn’t matter that they were in their seventies or older. Watching Carol and Hank, I realized there is no limit on happiness or second chances. They were in the ecstatic throes of their new romance. It was selfish of me, I realized, but I was jealous of their obvious show of affection.

  “Being alone was very lonely,” observed Hank, “after I lost my dear one and only. Then I met this lovely charmer.”

  “And I met my knight in shining armor,” Carol agreed.

  “No disrespect was intended, when my new honey picked up where my dear wife ended,” Hank explained.

  “Now, we’re significantly blended,” Carol said.

  I wanted to learn more about this significant-other business. Before I knew it I would be approaching the Big 5-0. My empty, loveless life had turned out like Y2K—absolutely nothing was happening. Marc had Trisha. Who did I have? Where could I sign up for my significant other?

  “So, Dee Dee, you and Daniel looked really good on the dance floor last night,” Carol commented. “The whole condo is talking about it. We noticed he didn’t get home till the wee hours of the morning.”

  My mother blushed.

  “I thought you and Max were an item,” she pressed.

  “Max is just a friend,” my mother explained.

  “When am I going to meet this Max person?” I wondered.

  “I’ve invited him to drop by,” Aunt Helene said. “And Daniel, too.”

  “Helene, you didn’t,” my mother protested.

  “It will do Mr. Big and Bulky Gorgeous Green Eyes good to know he’s not the only man in the picture.”

  The doorbell rang as if on cue, and an elderly gentleman shuffled in behind my aunt. She spoke loudly into what was apparently his good ear before she introduced me to the infamous Max.

  “So you’re Dee Dee’s daughter.” Max smiled, extending his free hand and displaying some missing teeth. “What a beauty. It’s easy to see where you get your good looks. You and your mother could be twins, except for your nose. It’s so nice to meet the daughter of my lady.”

  “Your lady?” I said, flabbergasted, giving my mother a questioning look. My mother raised her shoulders, perplexed.

  “She’s the most appealing woman in my life,” Max said proudly.

  I couldn’t believe this. I examined Max from the top of his frayed white hair and his hearing aid to his shiny oxfords and mismatched socks. With the Coke-bottle lenses Max was sporting, I was surprised he could even see me. Well, he certainly didn’t have any problem spotting my nose. The Palladino nose had struck again.

  There was no cause for concern about my mother sharing a stateroom with this man. As he leaned precariously on his cane, Max looked like he had one foot in the grave and no important equipment in working order. That was it. My mother felt sorry for him. She needed someone to take care of again. She was a born nurturer. At his stage in life, Max would be fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. But he was kind of cute. I wondered if he had a son, a much younger son.

  At this point, Jackson came up to me, his hands and face smudged with brownie goop, and announced, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  I wondered how many brownies he had eaten. I walked him over to the guest bathroom, washed and dried his face and hands, and told him I’d be waiting right outside the door.

  After a few minutes Jackson’s voice boomed out of the bathroom, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Aunt Honey, I can’t poop.”

  “I know what you mean, kid,” Max answered jovially.

  Sighing, I said, “Okay, then we’ll try again later.”

  I hoped Aunt Helene would stop talking long enough to let Max sit down. He looked like he might not make it to the chair. My suspicions were confirmed when he told me he takes ninety-eight different medications a week. I guess that’s the new pick-up line among septuagenarians and octogenarians.

  “My wife was the first Jewish Rockette,” Max announced proudly.

  Jeesh.

  “You weren’t really planning to go on that cruise with him, were you?” I whispered to my mother when Aunt Helene settled Max into an easy chair on the other side of the room. And not a moment too soon. “He can barely walk. I don’t think his heart could take that much excitement.”

  “Probably not,” she admitted. “But Christmas is right around the corner. He’ll be so disappointed if he can’t use those tickets. He’s such a nice man.”

  “I’m sure he is,” I answered, “but still.”

  “He’s just a companion, someone to go out with occasionally. I’m hoping some woman will come along between now and then and snatch him up,” my mother said. “You know, defrost a chicken. What about Shirley Weinstock?”

  “She’s sort of seeing Paul Sellers,” said Aunt Helene, coming in at the tail end of the conversation.

  “I thought Paul was married,” Dee Dee said.

  “Well, he is,” Aunt Helene admitted. “But he has Alzheimer’s and sometimes he forgets he has a wife. When that happens, he comes into Shirley’s bed and lies down next to her. I think she has her hands full.”

  “I guess we can always call Merle. She’s dating someone, but she doesn’t take him seriously. She thinks he’s looking for a nurse with a purse.”

  When I looked puzzled, my aunt explained.

  “It means he’s looking for a woman who can take care of him and also support him financially. But Merle is just looking for excuses to move on to the next guy.”

  “Well, she doesn’t sound nice enough for Max,” Dee Dee pointed out.

  “You’re probably right,” Aunt Helene agreed. “There’s always Cher. Sonny and Cher have broken up again.”

  “Sonny and Cher?” I asked.

  “Yes, Sam Wexler’s nickname is Sonny, and he’s been dating Charlotte Simms—we call her Cher—for years. But Cher dumped him. They had just returned from a cruise and she traded him in for a new model, complained he fell asleep at the Black Jack table. And that he spent too much time in Phoenix taking care of his sick daughter. He was gone for weeks at a time. She was very lonely. So she took up with some new guy. Left town with him for a while. That was before you got here, Dee Dee. But she kept her place at Millennium Gardens. Now she’s back and determined to get together with Sonny again. But Sonny’s moved on. He’s with a new significant other—a woman named Rose Blanco. Cher is furious. There was quite a scene at the clubhouse last night after you and Daniel left the dance. It got pretty ugly. I thought she was going to pull Rose’s hair out. Except that Rose doesn’t have much hair left to pull.

  “She and Sonny break up and make up on a regular basis,” Aunt Helene continued. “But the word is that he’s not giving in to her this time. So she’s available now. And Max is on her radar screen. You should have seen her sniffing around him at the dance, after she woke him up. You’d better watch out.”

  “I don’t have designs on Max,” my mother said. “If she’s free and he’s free, then—”

  Aunt Helene shook her head. “We call Cher ‘Mattress Back.’ She has a reputation of going from one man to another. She’s like a doorknob—everybody’s had their hands on her.”

  “I think Max deserves someone more loyal than Mattress Back,” Dee Dee reconsidered.

  “Unfortunately, Max is ripe for the picking. He’s lonely and rich and he’s got an unused cruise ticket. That’s an appealing combination. There aren’t many single men left around here. Uh-oh, here she comes now, dressed to kill. None of the other women will give her the time of day. She’s such a vamp.”

  “Well, then why
did you invite her?” I asked.

  “I didn’t. She heard I was having a get-together and she invited herself.”

  Mattress Back came on into the room and headed straight for my mother. Dressed in a tight V-necked red sweater and winter white slacks, she was pretty well preserved for a senior. Still rosy and plump in all the right places. A little too made up and trashy-looking for my taste. The blood red lipstick was a little over the top. And the high-heeled sandals were a bit much. Judging from the way she was put together and her provocative walk, her spindly heels click-clacking against the ceramic tiles, it was obvious she was trolling for fresh meat. And my mother was an obstacle she wanted to eliminate. She would have been funny if she weren’t so pitiful. But at the same time, there was something decidedly sinister about that woman.

  “You’re Helene’s sister Dee Dee, right?” Cher grumbled, eyes flashing, mouth turned down in an unattractive frown. “Rumor has it you and Max are going on a Caribbean cruise.”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” my mother said, inching away from Cher. “He had an extra ticket, and I—”

  “Well, don’t count on going,” Cher interrupted viciously. “Charlotte’s back, and I don’t think Maxie is going to have any time for you anymore.”

  My mother’s mouth fell open, and Cher strutted off in Max’s direction.

  “She’s all wrong for Max,” my mother managed when she finally recovered. “She’ll eat him alive.”

  “That’s the plan,” my aunt acknowledged. “Just look at her. She’s moving in for the kill.”

  “We can’t let her get her hands on Max,” Dee Dee said, alarmed. “What about Birdie Rosen, the woman who just lost her significant other?”