Power Play

by Dara Girard

  Her bedroom was twice the size of her old one and painted a soft lavender, Mrs. McQueeth’s favorite. Her furniture was dwarfed by the immense space, but Mary could see that she felt at home.

  Every apartment came equipped with all the latest technology. There was a specialized shower stall with a built-in chair, and recliners and beds that could be raised and lowered for residents with bad knees and backs. Mary moved around the apartment, speechless. She was a bit worried about all the high-tech equipment but couldn’t deny that the place was lovely. This wasn’t what she’d expected.

  “How do you like it?” Edmund said, appearing in the doorway.

  “What have you done?” Mary whispered so that Mrs. McQueeth wouldn’t hear her.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “This isn’t what we agreed to. You said ‘affordable.’”

  “This is affordable or rather it will be.”

  “She can’t stay here.”

  Mrs. McQueeth came up to them with tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Mary, it’s gorgeous.” She hugged her. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Edmund said. “But there’s been a mis—” Mary kicked him before he could finish.

  “You’re welcome,” Mary said. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”

  “I know I will be thanks to you.” She took Edmund’s hand. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Edmund’s face softened. He looked down at the older woman with a tenderness Mary found surprising. Then he lowered his voice and said something Mary couldn’t hear, and she knew she wasn’t meant to. The words were meant for Mrs. McQueeth alone. Whatever he said filled the woman with such joy, tears started to fall down her cheeks and she hugged him. “Bless you. God bless you,” she said.

  Mary expected Edmund to be embarrassed or impatient with Mrs. McQueeth’s exuberant embrace, but he wasn’t. He treated her as though he’d known her for years. Mary felt a little jealous at the ease with which he’d captured Mrs. McQueeth’s affections, but she could see that winning women over was a talent of his.

  “If you have any concerns there’s a list of numbers on the fridge and on the desk,” he said.

  Mrs. McQueeth wiped her tears with a handkerchief.

  “So what are you going to do first?” Mary asked.

  Mrs. McQueeth went over to the large picture window. “I’m going to sit and enjoy the view.”

  Edmund drew Mary away. “Then we won’t bother you.”

  Mary began to protest, but he sent her a look that halted any attempt. “See you later,” she said. Once they closed the door, Mary looked at Edmund, annoyed, “I wanted more time with her.”

  “And she wanted time alone. She needs the space to take it all in.”

  Mary fell silent, then asked, “What did you say to her?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

  She sent him a sly glance. “Which means you’re not going to tell me?”

  The corner of Edmund’s mouth kicked up in a grin. “That’s right.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I do have one concern about the level of technology in her room.”

  “It’s in all of the rooms. The residents like it. Don’t worry.”

  “I am worried about its sophistication. Some of these people remember when there was only radio.”

  “We have found that many of the residents are eager to use the technology and have adapted very quickly. We also have people who train those who feel uneasy, and the software is built to handle human error. Requests can be repeated a number of times to make sure that the computer understands them.”

  “I see. And there’s another thing.”

  “I thought you only had one concern.”

  “Now I have two. I’m worried about the safety issue with regard to your idea of merging seniors with youthful family residents. How rigorous is the screening process?”

  “Very rigorous. All of the family members go through a strict process before they are selected, and we do a background check for each to make sure there are no surprises.”

  “And you have seen seniors improve with this ‘merging’ theory?”

  “In many aging communities, the rate of depression is very high. Not so here. The residents are content and happy. We have people heal faster following bouts of illness, surgeries or hospitalization. In addition, the rate of infections, hip fractures and other debilitating illness are at an all-time low among our residents. Also, their family members feel comfortable, and we have an extra support system just for caregivers so that they don’t feel so overwhelmed and isolated. Take a close look at Gregory’s reports, the evidence is all there.”

  “Hmm. Still, about the technology—do you think it’s wise to have seniors deal with all these gadgets? The one in the shower looked complicated.”

  “Relax, Mary. If they ever have a problem, there’s a person on call twenty-four hours a day.”

  They walked down the hall in silence. Then Mary noticed another wing. “What’s down that hall?”

  “Patients who need extra care.”

  “So you have a medical facility on the premises?”

  “Yes.”

  “Must be costly with the risks and insurance involved.”

  “We manage.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  Edmund glanced at his watch. “And I’d like to show it to you, but it will have to be another time.” He gently took her arm and ushered her forward. Mary got the distinct impression that there was something he didn’t want her to know, and she intended to find out what.

  Chapter 5

  Mary was nervous about her date with Derrick. She had been fine when Larry and Sara had been around, but how would she be when she was alone? She hadn’t been on a date in years. How should the new Mary act? What should she wear? The day of her date, that Friday, Mary called Sara at work and asked her to help her find something for that evening.

  “Sorry,” Sara said. “But I have to work overtime. I’m sure you’ll look great in anything you choose.”

  “I could still use your advice. I don’t mind waiting until you get off work. You could help me with my makeup and what I should say.”

  “I wish I could, but I’m busy. I know you’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

  Unfortunately, Mary wasn’t sure being herself was enough and couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed that Sara couldn’t find the time to help her. She sat at her desk, chewing her lip. What would The Black Stockings Society suggest? They had a Web site—perhaps that would offer tips. Mary typed in her special code, but the system wouldn’t allow access. That evening, she went home frustrated. There was no one to help her. She stared at the clothes in her closet, then remembered Rania, the woman who’d helped her select them. She’d given her a card. Mary rifled through her purse until she found it, then called.

  “I was wondering when I would hear from you,” Rania said.

  “You expected me to call?”

  “Of course. Anytime. You’re part of the Society now. It’s like a sisterhood, and I’m your big sister. So how can I help you?”

  “I have a date tonight, but I’m not quite sure what to wear.”

  “I’ll be over in an hour.”

  Rania got there in thirty minutes and helped Mary with her makeup, and what to wear. First, she had Mary put on a full body stocking, which enhanced her form. She loved the feel against her body, and the off-black color made her skin look like sinful dark chocolate, ready for a naughty night.

  Next, Rania selected a fitted knee-length blue wool dress with an attractive V-neck. After doing her makeup, which she decided needed to be soft, but sexy, Rania selected a pair of sterling-silver hoop earrings and a silver necklace. To finish off the outfit, she chose a pair of beige leather sling-back shoes. Mary looked in the mirror and marveled at the woman who stared back at her. She was ready for the night.

  “He won’t be able to take his eyes off you
,” Rania said, admiring the finished product.

  “Thank you.” Mary hesitated. “You’ve been very helpful. This is great. Is there a way to nominate a friend so they could join? I have a friend who would love to be a part of this.”

  Rania’s face became guarded. “The Black Stockings Society is by invitation only.”

  “Is there a way my friend can get one?”

  “Have you told your friend anything?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  “But—”

  “There are no buts, those are the rules. You knew them when you signed the contract.”

  “It just seems unfair. She’s a good friend of mine. When my ex-boyfriend, Curtis, left with all the furniture, she gave me the extras she had in her basement.”

  Rania went into the living room and lifted the covering off the couch. She quickly dropped it. She sent Mary a curious look. “How close a friend is she?”

  “My best friend.”

  “And she gave you her leftovers.”

  “No, she—”

  “These are ugly.” Rania walked over to one of the lamps. “What is this?”

  “An antler lamp.”

  She frowned. “I was afraid of that.” She shook her head in disgust. “Mary, you don’t need to be thankful for anyone’s scraps anymore. Remember the oath?”

  Mary’s heart constricted with panic. “Sorry. I didn’t memorize it. Was I supposed to?” She turned. “Let me go find my folder.”

  Before she could leave, Rania grabbed her arm. “Mary, sit down and listen to me.”

  Mary sat and waited.

  “As a member of The Black Stockings Society I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer settle for less. Now repeat that.”

  Mary did; Rania nodded, pleased.

  “I promise I will follow the oath, but you have to understand that Sara and her husband were being kind when they gave me their furniture. She really is a good person and has been with me through some rough times.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rania said, looking doubtful.

  “So you don’t know how people get nominated?”

  “No, I’m just part of the Society. I don’t run the show. I don’t know how someone is chosen or who will get an invitation. It just happens. If your friend doesn’t get one, then she’s not meant to, and if she’s a real friend she’ll be happy to see your life improve.”

  “Right,” Mary said, although it didn’t feel that way. “How long have you been a member?”

  “A few years.”

  “Do you know who started it?”

  “No one really knows, but from what I’ve heard a rich, reclusive woman only known as Ms. Dorathe started the Society back in the seventies.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  Rania shrugged.

  “Do you know how many members there are?”

  “No one knows that, either. There could be hundreds or thousands.”

  “And members can’t nominate anyone?”

  Rania sighed and shook her head. “One thing you’ll learn, Mary, is the more you help yourself, the better you can help others. Understand?”

  Mary nodded, although she didn’t understand at all.

  That evening Mary made her way through a thick summer heat and arrived early at the restaurant Derrick had selected. She ordered a drink to pass the time, impressed by the extravagant decor. She nursed that drink for a half hour, then an hour. When she’d finally decided that Derrick wasn’t coming, he came through the door and sat at the table. He looked more dressed for a business meeting than a dinner date, and Mary had the sinking suspicion he hadn’t changed since leaving work.

  “Mary, I’m sorry,” he said, then kissed her on the cheek. “I had to get some things done at the office. Hope you’re not mad.”

  Hope you’re not mad. How familiar that sounded. In different forms so many people had said that to her—James, Dianne, Curtis, now Derrick. The horrible thing was they didn’t expect her to be. But this time she was mad. She was mad that he’d kept her waiting and had walked into the restaurant expecting her to be there, when he could have had the decency to call and tell her about his delay. Curtis had done the same thing. He’d always had something more important he had to do. Even though she looked like the new Mary, Derrick was treating her like the old one. Safe, dependable Mary who wouldn’t get upset no matter how badly she was treated. That Mary was gone, and the new Mary was leaving.

  She stood.

  “Do you have to go to the ladies’ room?” Derrick asked.

  Mary pushed in her chair. “No.”

  “Then where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  Derrick stared at her in shock. “But I told you I had to work.”

  “Yes, and I believe you, but I’ve been down this road before and I don’t like the journey.” She turned on her heel and marched away.

  Mary didn’t go home. That would be too depressing—she’d just be reminded that her new look and stockings had been wasted, but she didn’t know where else to go. She kept driving aimlessly around and before she knew it she was near The New Day Senior Living Community. She decided to visit Mrs. McQueeth and see how she was settling in. She soon discovered that Mrs. McQueeth was settling in quite well.

  “I have a date,” she said when Mary asked her why she was all dressed up.

  “A date?”

  “Yes, they’re having a party in the main hall. You could come along if you want.”

  “No, I’d better go home.”

  “At least stay awhile for the food. The meals here are sinful and you could stuff yourself until your buttons pop. Besides, I would like you to meet some of my new friends. Mary, you look so beautiful I want to show you off.”

  It would be better than sitting home alone. “Okay.”

  Mary helped Mrs. McQueeth put on her double-strand pearl necklace and wrapped her in a white woolen shawl, then they headed out. The large meeting hall burst with color, displaying large pots of flowing plumage. Miniature white lights framed the windows, and large burgundy, velvet curtains draped the windows. Over to one side of the hall stood a long table laden with an assortment of food as a live band played music from the forties and fifties. An unusual assortment of couples crowded the dance floor: women dancing with women, male and female residents dancing with well-dressed college-aged students, and a sprinkling of children under the age of ten practicing their latest dance steps.

  It was obvious that Mrs. McQueeth was very popular, and she proudly introduced Mary to all of her friends. After several dances, everyone piled their plates with food and chatted about how much they enjoyed the community. Some of the men asked Mary to dance. She obliged and soon the disappointment of her date with Derrick faded away.

  “Aren’t you a little young for this crowd?” a familiar voice asked.

  Mary slowly turned to see Edmund, who looked stunning in a dark blue-gray suit. She tried to ignore a shiver of delight. “Not at all. I turned sixty-seven Tuesday.”

  He smiled. “Happy belated birthday. May I have this dance?” He pulled her into his arms before she could reply.

  There was nothing obscene about the way he held her, but her traitorous body was enjoying it in a way that was far from decent. “You know it’s customary to wait for an answer.”

  “I don’t wait when the answer is ‘yes.’”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Did it take you long to grow this arrogant?”

  “Did it take you long to grow this beautiful?”

  She tilted her head. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  He drew her closer. “I’m already where I want to be.”

  She lowered her head, embarrassed.

  He lifted her chin, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “It’s not like you to have nothing to say.”

  “I don’t know how to respond to a pass.”

  “It was a compliment. I’ve been watching you for some time. I w
asn’t sure when to approach you. At my age you become cautious.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “And just how old would you be?”

  “Seventy-three.”

  “And you still have all your hair.”

  “And teeth.”

  “Quite a catch.”

  “Thank you.” He slid his hand down her backside.

  She returned his hand to her waist. “You’re welcome.”

  “Yes, my grandkids worry about me. They’re afraid women will be after me for my money.”

  “Do you have a lot of it?”

  “Enough to garner interest. My wife Martha and I—”

  “Martha? Your wife’s name is Martha? Who are you, George Washington?”

  “I’m Eugene Stokes.” He gently squeezed her. “And careful, I get upset when people make fun of my wife’s name.”

  Mary smothered a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

  “It might sound plain and ordinary to you, but she was the most loyal, stable, kind woman I knew, and I cherished every day I was with her.”

  To her annoyance Mary found herself envious of this mythical Martha, then realized this was all make-believe. “That’s wonderful.”

  “She helped me with my work. We owned a couple of businesses that we later divided between our two sons.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Thirty-five years. I didn’t marry until my thirties. What about you?”

  “I never married. I’m independently wealthy.”

  He frowned. “You never married?”

  “No, but I’ve had quite a few lovers in my day.”

  His gaze melted into hers. “You’re not too old to have many more.”

  She felt her mouth go dry.

  “Or, perhaps, one in particular.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I have a theory that you should never stop living until you’re dead.” His hand skimmed down to her hip, and she felt a thrill tremble through her, escalating as his hand descended. She felt as though he’d removed her dress to reveal the stockings she wore underneath. “And you’re certainly not dead.”