Moments later she found herself in front of a hair salon. She peered in through the window and noticed that some of the chairs were vacant. It was one of those sleek salons where all the kids went. At first she was hesitant about walking in; the place seemed quite intimidating with all the attractive young people milling about. But she took a deep breath and seized the moment.
“Hello,” she greeted the woman behind the counter. “I was wondering if any of your hairdressers might be free today for a shampoo and blow-dry.”
“I think Szechuan is free right now,” the receptionist answered warmly, looking into her book. “Yep, he’s free,” she said, getting up. “Let’s get you into a robe. Fabulous necklaces, by the way,” she added.
“Oh, thank you.” Frida blushed.
Forty-five minutes later, Frida’s hair had been washed and combed and blown straight. She would think about Szechuan’s suggestion of lightening up her grays, but that would be something to do another day. She would definitely be back. The hair salon was much livelier than her normal salon. She liked the way they treated her. She seemed special in their eyes. Evidently they didn’t get many seventy-five-year-old women, and that made her feel unique. Szechuan had straightened her normal curled updo into a free-flowing bob. She agreed with Szechuan when he told her she looked five years younger.
She strutted down Chestnut Street with a skip in her step, glancing at her reflection in each storefront window. It hadn’t occurred to her at all that day that her heartburn wasn’t acting up, that her arthritis seemed to be gone. The sneakers did hurt a bit, but she figured they’d get more comfortable as she broke them in.
As she strolled back to her apartment building, she wondered if she should have had her makeup done, too, but then she thought she’d save that for another day.
She was ready to do the one thing she’d wanted to do for years. If she didn’t have the guts to do it today, she’d never do it.
“Nice coif, Mrs. F.,” Ken greeted her as she entered the building.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Frida giggled. “I just thought it was time for a nice change.”
“Change is always good,” he said.
“It is, isn’t it?”
She pressed the up elevator button. She thought she might check on Ellie once again, show her the new hairdo and phone, but she was on a mission, and there was no stopping her now. There had been many times before that she had thought about doing it, but her nerves had gotten to her. What if it didn’t turn out the way she wanted it? What if she was laughed at? Today, though, she decided there was no time like the present.
She entered the elevator and pressed the correct floor. Maybe she could be an example to Ellie and stir her from the depression that seemed to have taken her over. She was, after all, still worried about her friend. Whatever had happened to Ellie the day before, she would come out of it. Ellie was strong, much stronger than Frida ever was. She knew Ellie. She knew she’d snap out of it eventually. Just thank goodness she was okay. It was hard not to worry about Ellie, but Frida knew she just couldn’t anymore. She hoped that Ellie had answered the question that had been bothering her for years. She needed to trust that her friend was fine. And she would be.
Frida walked down the hallway, approached the apartment door, and gave it a knock.
“Just a second,” the voice inside called out.
Frida’s immediate instinct was to run (or at least walk swiftly because of the pain from the sneakers). Maybe she was making a mistake. What made her think that she could actually go through with this?
“Who is it?” the voice asked.
“It’s Frida Freedberg,” she answered with a tinge of nervousness in her voice.
“Frida!” the voice answered warmly as Frida heard the locks being turned.
The door opened. There he was, handsome Hershel Neal, in one of his handsome argyle sweaters.
“Well, this is a nice surprise. Frida, you look lovely today.”
“Thank you, Hershel,” she answered, patting her head. “I had my hair done this morning.”
“Well, it’s very becoming.” He smiled. “Would you like to come in?” He motioned as he opened the door wider. “I was just preparing myself a cup of coffee.”
“Actually,” she said nervously, clearing her throat. “Actually, I was just going to the coffee shop around the corner. You know, the one with the nice tables and chairs set up outside? I thought it was such a nice day that it would be lovely to sit out there and do some people-watching.”
“Oh, I see,” he said.
“Well,” she said, then paused. “I was wondering if you were free. You might want to come with me. It’s a beautiful day, and they have those tables where you can sit outside. Did I say that already?” She realized she had just repeated herself and knew she was red in the face, which made her giggle like a schoolgirl.
Hershel hesitated for a moment. Frida tensed up. How stupid she suddenly felt. Of course he wouldn’t want to go with her. He only had the hots for Ellie. What was she thinking? How could she get out of there? Alternative plans went through her head. She’d go back to her apartment. She’d read the full instruction manual to her new cellular phone. She’d make a brisket for Ellie.
“You know what?” he said.
“No, that’s fine, if you’re already making coffee . . .” she mumbled as she took a step to walk away.
“No, actually, it would be good to get outside instead of being cooped up inside all day. I’d love to go with you.” He smiled.
“Oh!” She smiled back at him.
“Let me just get my sportcoat.”
“I’ll wait here,” she said, not knowing what else to do.
“Come on in,” he said. “I’ll only be a second.”
Frida felt absolutely exhilarated.
“Something is different about you, Frida,” he said as he shut the door. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Oh, it’s just the hair,” she said dismissively. “That’s all.”
“Well, the new hairstyle is doing wonders for you.” He smiled as he closed the door.
barbara’s day after
Everything was different that morning.
Barbara had never seen her husband, Larry Sustamorn, as happy as he was cuddling with her in bed.
To think, all it took to excite Larry Sustamorn after all these years was the one thing she had refused to give him since the early days of their marriage. She had seen a magazine article about it a few months back. She had taken only a glance at it at the time, deciding her marriage was fine and didn’t need any help.
Now she knew better.
Barbara hadn’t gotten home until four in the morning. All she could think about was having a snack and then getting into bed. She threw her purse and keys on the wooden bench by the front door and headed to the kitchen. Once there, she grabbed her secret stash of jalapeño poppers from the back of the freezer and threw them in the microwave. Five minutes later she had a plate full of enough steaming poppers to satiate the appetite of a family of four.
Figuring she’d eat her poppers in front of some late-night television, she picked up her plate and left the kitchen, crossing through the front hallway again on her way to the den. It was then that she saw the figure sitting on the couch that faced the door.
He looked like a pathetically thin old dog—her pathetically thin old dog.
“Larry?” she spoke softly, resting her free hand on his shoulder.
Larry opened his eyes.
“Oh, hi, Barb.” He exhaled groggily. “I was waiting for you to come in, and I guess I fell asleep. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. Well, today was crazy, but I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Were you waiting here all night?”
“Yeah.” He yawned as she helped him up from the couch. “I tried calling your cell phone a bunch of times, but I didn’t get any answer.”
She sighed and set the plate of poppers on the side table and took her
husband’s hand.
“I’m sorry if I worried you, Larry.”
“It’s okay,” he answered indifferently. “Just as long as you’re home safely.”
As they walked up the stairs toward their bedroom, it dawned on her. That fateful day, and then coming home to Larry, had taught her something. As she rested her head on her pillow next to her husband, she wondered, had she ever taken a step back and looked at her life?
Barbara Sustamorn never had a job after she married Larry. Money was just this thing she went to the bank for. It never ran out, and it never once occurred to her that it might run out. She never saw a credit card bill, or even an electric bill. Her closets were full of whatever she wanted to buy.
There was one person who was responsible for this.
One person who never criticized her weight or told her to exercise more. One person who never asked her to stop agonizing over the most trivial things. One person who always called three times a day to see how her day was going. There was never a question that he might be cheating or doing something else behind her back. He was always home at six-thirty on the dot. He had joined her in bringing up the most perfect daughter. Had she ever thanked him? Had she ever once truly showed her appreciation? And most of all, how had he put up with her all those years?
She looked over at Larry, who had already fallen back to sleep. She caressed his receding hairline. What the heck had she been doing spending her life in a constant state of anger and frustration? It was time to stop worrying about her mother. It was time to stop worrying about Lucy. They had their own lives to live.
The bottom line? It took that one day away from her normal life for her to realize what was truly important. What seemed like a day from hell was really a gift to help her see her life for what it was. What did she realize? Her life was glorious. It was a life that the majority of the world could only dream about living.
Who made it possible for her to have such a carefree life?
One person.
Larry Sustamorn.
Of all the people in her life, Larry Sustamorn was the one person she should have put first, before anyone. By the grace of God he was still there for her. For that, Barbara Sustamorn vowed to herself that she would spend the rest of her days thanking him.
And as a result, the following years would be the happiest of her life.
Hours later, Larry awoke to a new a sensation. It was a sensation so stimulating he thought he was dreaming. He opened his eyes and drew back the covers to find his wife in a position so exciting to him he was positive he had to be dreaming.
As Barbara looked up at Larry, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him with a bigger smile.
And by the by, who knew that Larry Sustamorn still remembered how to return such gratifying sexual favors?
Later that afternoon they were still lying in bed.
“It’s fun to take the day off, isn’t it?” He smiled.
“You bet it is.” She smiled back. “Mrs. Rovner can wait to have her cavity filled tomorrow.”
“You ready for another round soon?” he inquired, playfully tapping her on the arm.
“Larry, you’re crazy!” she cackled as she kissed him back.
“Oh, am I?” He kissed her lips. “And maybe later we’ll go to the jewelry store and replace the stolen jewelry. My poor little Barbie, being held up at gunpoint. I think you also deserve an extra little trinket for being so brave.”
“Oh, Larry!” she shouted with delight in her thick nasal accent. “Oh, Larry, Larry, Larry!”
seventy-five years and
one week later
I was tired and I needed to sleep. I slept for a week. I don’t think what I was feeling was depression; I was simply tired of thinking about everything. Only I couldn’t stop. In between thinking about my question and what the answer could have been, I slept.
Sometimes I dreamed that I was young again. That I was with Zachary and we were living that life I had imagined earlier.
Other times I dreamed of Howard. Howard was here, he didn’t have the heart attack that day, and we were in the old house, going about our lives. Then I’d wake up and be back to this reality.
I don’t know how many times Barbara has called me already. I just tell her I’m tired, but I’m not ready to talk yet. I know I should, I know she’s waiting for me, but I’m tired. She tells me she’s coming down, but I insist she doesn’t. The odd thing is that she actually listens to me. The talk we all had that night really got to her in some way. That and, I suppose, getting mugged.
I don’t know how many times Frida has come down here with food and more food, but I tell her I’m not hungry. At least she never mentions what happened. She’s gone on two dates with Hershel Neal, and if there’s anything to be happy about, that’s it. I don’t know why she never mentioned her feelings for Hershel. She never said a word. Oh, I hope it lasts, I really do. She seems different. She got her hair done in a different style, and she’s wearing a little more makeup. Lucy seems to have given her a complete clothing makeover. I guess that’s what happens to you when you get locked out of your apartment for a day and you see your oldest friend lose fifty years overnight.
And as for Lucy . . .
Lucy comes in every night and does her laundry or putters around while I’m in my room under my covers. I hear her walking around the apartment, turning on the television set, opening the fridge. She stays for a couple of hours and then comes to my bedroom, cracks open the door, and tells me she’ll be back tomorrow.
She’s the only person who doesn’t tell me to get out of bed already. She’s just there, and while I appreciate it, I’m not ready to talk about anything yet.
As a matter of fact, she’s here now. I hear her outside the door, walking back and forth. God knows what she’s doing.
“Gram?” I hear her whisper as the door to my bedroom opens just slightly, letting the light from the living room flow in.
I spoke too soon.
“I’m resting, sweetie,” I tell her.
“Gram?” she says in her normal voice this time.
“Lucy, another time,” I mumble to her.
“Gram,” she repeats, opening the door wide, letting all the light in as I bury my eyes in the pillow. She walks over to my bed, and now she’s standing in front of me.
“Gram, it’s time. It’s enough already.”
“Lucy, I just need my rest.”
She gets on the bed and lies down next to me and puts her arm around me.
“Gram, this can’t go on anymore.”
“I told you,” I say, turning my head away from her, “I just need to be left alone.”
“Not you. I know that you’re confused right now, but don’t forget there’s someone else who’s hurting, too.”
“Lucy, you got what you wanted,” I cynically tell her, turning back toward her. “You wanted to spend the day with your grandmother when she was twenty-nine, and you did. And what did I get out of it?”
“I’ll tell you what you got!” she cries out. “You got a guy so distraught and brokenhearted that he’s holed himself up in his place just like you have!”
“He is?” I ask her, surprised.
“Jesus, Gram. Zach keeps saying he fell in love with you and going on and on about how he’s never felt anything like that so quickly, and why did you run away? He’s called all three Ellie Jeromes in the Chicago area. He’s thinking about heading there. He’s pissed off at me because I won’t give him your number . . . or her number . . . I don’t even know at this point. You have to talk to him.”
I pause, then answer, “No way, Lucy. I can’t do it. You must be out of your mind if you think I’m going to talk to him. Do you know what it would be like to talk to him when I look like this?” I ask her, throwing off the covers and exposing my seventy-five-year-old body.
“Yes, like a grandmother. Like Ellie Michele’s grandmother, or whatever we said her name was. I can’t get through to the guy.”
I think about it for a second as we lie there. There’s no way I could see him again. I couldn’t look into his blue eyes and know that I could never be with him. To think that I couldn’t run my hands through that gorgeous head of hair, to explain to him what I knew. Maybe I am depressed.
“Lucy, I . . . I just can’t.” I lay my head on the pillow and turn away from her again.
“Jesus, Gram, what are you so upset about? What is it that was so bad that it’s made you become a recluse? You say I got what I wanted? Well, damn straight. You got what you wanted, too!”
Now I’m angry with her. “What the hell did I get out of this whole thing? I want to know, Lucy—what did I get? You got what you wanted, but you know what I got?” I sit up in bed and stare right into her eyes. “I got nothing but heartache. I got to see what it was like to be young again? Big deal. My daughter learned from her mistakes and moved on. Frida turned a corner with all her anxieties. But me? I never got to know why all this happened. I never got an answer to my question. I was supposed to be selfish. I was supposed to be doing this for myself, and not for anyone else, and I got nothing in the end. And you know what? That pisses me off.”
I punch the pillow and lay my head on it again.
Lucy is now fuming at me. I can see she is, but frankly, I don’t care.
“Well, Gram, guess what?”
I don’t answer her.
“Boo-hoo.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean boo-hoo that you didn’t get the answer to your question. Boo-hoo to all of it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea what it’s like to live as many years as I have. When you get to be my age, then we can talk. Until then, Lucy, you have nothing to say on the subject.”
“You think you’re so old? What do you think? Do you think your life is over before you find that answer?” she asks me.
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