Bingoed

by Patricia Rockwell

  “How long is that, Essie?” asked Bev as she wrapped a towel around her head and directed her back to the middle chair.

  “Ten years,” replied Essie. “Doesn’t seem that long.”

  “Nope,” agreed Bev, running a large, thick-toothed comb through Essie’s curls. “Bruno and I’ve been coming here even longer than that. Let’s see. Going on fifteen years; right, Bruno?”

  Bruno barked once in agreement.

  “Wow!” said Essie. “You know everybody here then.”

  “I know pretty much everybody who’s here and everybody who was here. If you know what I mean,” said Bev, laughing.

  “Did you know the person who was the Director before Violet Hendrickson?” asked Essie.

  “Hmmm,” said Bev, thinking to herself, “let’s see. That Violet’s been here a long time. But, no, if I remember correctly there was some guy here before her. Can’t remember his name. I think Violet arrived maybe some few years after I started coming here.”

  “Do you know why her predecessor left?” asked Essie. “Or why they hired Violet?”

  “Heck,” said Bev, “I don’t pay much attention to that kind of stuff. As long as they let me keep my beauty parlor and let me open it on the days that are convenient to me, nothing else really matters. You know, I do remember some weird stuff going on back then.”

  “Like what?” asked Essie.

  “It’s so long ago,” said Bev. “I think there might have been some flack about hiring Violet. I think one of the members of the Board was opposed or something, but I guess in the final count, the Board approved her because—well—she’s here and she’s been here for almost as long as I’ve been here.”

  “What was the Board member worried about?”

  “Gee, Essie,” said Bev, contorting her face, obviously trying to remember. “I can’t remember anything specific. It all blew over anyway. I think one of the Board members was very supportive of her and may have convinced the other Board member that she was the right person for the position.”

  “Do you think she’s a good Director, Bev?” asked Essie.

  “I don’t know,” said Bev. “Personally, I have no real interaction with the woman. I will admit though that I do hear some residents talk about her from time to time in here. Sometimes, what they say isn’t very flattering.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, you know,” said Bev, with a shrug, “she’s a tough bird. She’s a drill sergeant.”

  “And the staff?”

  “Probably more complaints from them,” said Bev, under her breath. “With the exception of the Social Director, that Sue Barber.”

  “You mean, Sue doesn’t complain about Violet as much as the other staff members.”

  “I mean Sue Barber doesn’t complain about her at all. In fact, she’s usually singing her praises. Seems a little strange given that most of the rest of the staff are not that complimentary about Violet.”

  By this point, Bev had managed to whip about a dozen pink foam rollers into Essie’s hair.

  “Ready for the dryer!” she announced. Leading Essie down from the chair, she had her exchange places with Dolores who apparently was now dry. She placed Essie under the dryer and hit the button. Immediately, all Essie could hear was the blasting of hot air. She hoped that Bev wasn’t producing other wonderful tidbits of information about the nefarious Violet Hendrickson. She looked over and noticed that Bev had removed the rollers from Stella Grainger’s hair and had combed out her chin-length, grayish-blonde hair into a flattering style that made her new friend Stella look like she had stepped out of the pages of Vogue. She’s much too glamorous for Happy Haven, thought Essie. Oh well, she’s new. Give her a few years here and she’ll become frumpy just like me. Oh, stop it, Essie! She scolded herself for such self-pity. She had a mystery to solve and she had to get back to work.

  After Bev finished the comb-out on Stella Grainger, she took Stella’s payment, handed her a receipt, and the new resident of Happy Haven left the shop with a friendly wave to her new buddies. Bev then turned her attention to Dolores Morales, removing her rollers and styling Dolores’ thick, pitch black hair in a way that brought out Dolores’ magenta-colored eyes. Bev is truly a miracle worker, thought Essie. After she finished with Dolores, and she and Bev were alone in the shop, Bev brought Essie back to her chair, removed her rollers, and fluffed out her hair.

  “Such gorgeous curls!” she sighed. “You must have all the gentlemen swooning.”

  “Hardly,” laughed Essie. “My swoon-producing days are over.”

  “Now, Essie,” said Bev, “you’re never too old for romance. My goodness, there are couples here older than you!”

  “Really, who?” asked Essie, incredulous.

  Bev bent close to Essie’s ear and whispered, “Jasper Pettridge and Molly McMasters.”

  “No!” cried Essie. “He must be 86 if he’s a day!”

  “I know,” agreed Bev, “and that Clarence Bellows is always flirting with little Emily Simpson and her friend Gertrude Jeter. And you know, Bob Weiderley was wining and dining Evelyn Cudahy—before he got sick.”

  “What?”

  “I saw them together all the time. I think they used to meet in the chapel. I believe she’s been getting chemotherapy for breast cancer,” added Bev.

  “You mean Bob and Evelyn were more than just—friends?” asked Essie.

  “Of course, I can’t prove anything, but I’d see them get on the elevator together. He’s on the second floor and I believe she’s on the first floor, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Essie, now totally befuddled.

  “Anyway,” continued Bev, putting the finishing touches on Essie’s do, “if there was hanky-panky going on, it might explain why he collapsed. I mean, all that—activity—can be hard on an old guy’s heart.”

  “I guess it can. Thanks, Bev. I mean, thanks for doing my hair at the last minute.”

  “No problem, sweetie!” chirped Bev and, giving Essie a hug, she helped her down from the chair. “Don’t forget to say good-bye to Bruno.”

  Essie grabbed her walker and rolled over to the big sleeping dog. She patted his head gently and then turned and headed out of the shop and back to her room. She had a lot to think about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I don’t know how you feel about old age . . . but in my case I didn’t even see it coming. It hit me from the rear.”

  —Phyllis Diller

  Essie pushed her walker slowly into the family room. She was lost in thought as she contemplated the few pieces of juicy gossip—or she hoped, genuine information—that Bev had supplied her. Violet got the Director position at Happy Haven after an apparent disagreement among several Board members. She wondered which Board members were involved and if they were still on the Board today. Violet obviously had a champion on the Board. Who was it and why?

  Then there was the totally unexpected news that Bob Weiderley and Evelyn Cudahy were an item. Of course, Bev could be wrong. Evelyn could have been seen getting in the elevator with Bob for some totally innocent reason. After all, the woman was seriously ill. It hardly seemed likely that she’d be having some torrid affair (or as torrid as anyone could have at age 86) with sweet Bob Weiderley. Stranger things, Essie reminded herself.

  As she glanced up towards the front desk, she noticed a man standing there talking to Phyllis. He was wearing a well-tailored brown suit. At first, she thought he was probably just one of numerous salesmen that made the rounds, trying to sell some new geriatric service or product to Violet (who was the person who dealt with these individuals, and usually, so she heard, rather curtly). However, as she looked at the man and moved her walker a bit closer so she could get a better look at his face, she realized that he was not a salesperson, but Ben Jericho. She thought she recognized him from the photograph he’d included in the envelope. Quickly, Essie plopped down on the nearest armchair and reached into the compartment under her walker’s seat and brought out the envelope
she’d stolen—or rather borrowed—from Bob Weiderley’s apartment. She opened it and surreptitiously removed the photograph of Ben Jericho.

  Bringing the picture close to her eyes and then peeking over the top at the man at the counter—then back again at the photograph—then back again to the man at the counter, Essie realized that it was the man that she and Marjorie and Opal had been discussing ever since finding the infamous letter. Ben Jericho, scam artist! There he was trying to bamboozle poor Phyllis. Oh, leaping Lucifer! She hoped that Phyllis remembered to divert his attention and not let him know where Bob was—or even that Bob was a resident at Happy Haven.

  As Essie watched from the safety of her chair in the family room, the discussion between Phyllis and Ben Jericho appeared to be getting more heated. The man was waving a paper in front of Phyllis and pointing to something on it. Phyllis was smiling politely but shrugging. Go, Phyllis! said Essie silently to the front desk clerk. Finally, the man heaved his shoulders, turned, and headed out the front entrance.

  Quickly, Essie rose and guided her walker over to the front desk.

  “Phyllis,” she whispered to the clerk, who had turned back to return to the room behind her desk.

  “Oh, Essie,” said Phyllis, returning to the counter. “You’ll never believe it. That man—that scam artist you warned me about—he was just here—looking for Bob Weiderley!”

  “Yes,” said Essie, “I saw him! Goodness gratefulness, Phyllis, you handled him well! He seemed really mad!”

  “He was,” agreed Phyllis, “and he really wanted to see Bob. He told me his name was Jericho like you said and he said he knew Bob was a resident here. I gave him the runaround and said a person had to be on an approved visitor list before we could let them in to see a resident.”

  “You didn’t tell him that Bob was in the hospital, did you?” asked Essie.

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, clutching the lapels of her pink work jacket together. “I would never do that! But, Essie, I really have to tell Violet about this. It was one thing when this Jericho’s arrival was a possibility, but now that he’s actually shown up, Violet has to be told. This could escalate, possibly into something very dangerous for Bob or some of our other residents.”

  Essie clutched the handles of her walker as she thought about the wisdom of revealing any information to Phyllis about the letter, Ben Jericho, and his possible relationship to Bob. Was it best to fill her in on the truth? Or should she maintain her cover story? If Phyllis told Violet about her confrontation with Ben Jericho, things could quickly get out of hand. Of course, no one had to know about the letter, she realized. She could just return it to Bob’s apartment and no one would be the wiser (except for herself, Opal, Marjorie, and Fay). Maybe it would be better in the long run for Violet to be warned about Ben Jericho so she could protect Bob and the other residents if—probably when—he returned.

  In the end, she decided to keep quiet about the letter and let Phyllis tell Violet about Jericho’s recent appearance. If necessary, she could return the letter. If she told Phyllis about the letter, then she’d have to explain how she got the letter and then Violet would no doubt be told that Essie Cobb was a thief. Not a reputation she wanted to cultivate at Happy Haven. She’d probably lose any friends she had because they’d worry that she’d break into their apartments the minute their backs were turned.

  “Yes,” said Essie to the clerk. “You’d probably better tell Violet about this Jericho fellow. Then she can keep an eye out for him and handle him herself if he shows up again.”

  “Oh, he’ll show up again,” said Phyllis, her short pony tail swinging in punctuation as she spoke, “he made that very clear when he left. And my guess is that it won’t be long. I’m going to call for Violet now.” She moved over to the intercom system against the wall.

  “I’d better get going,” said Essie as she turned her walker.

  “Oh, no, Essie!” cried Phyllis from the intercom. “Wait here! I’m sure Violet will want to ask you about this man. You’re the one who knows the most about him.”

  Yikes and dikes, thought Essie. Just what I need. Essie could hear Violet’s voice responding to Phyllis’s call on the intercom. She said she would be right there.

  Essie twitched nervously as she stood by the front counter. She hoped that Mother Nature didn’t send her a call just now because she needed to be able to concentrate on dealing with Violet—not on her bladder. Almost at once, Violet, wearing a striking black suit with a red silk blouse and sling back leather heels, appeared from the office wing off the side of the dining hall. She walked purposefully to the front desk towards Phyllis, ignoring Essie who was standing there watching her arrival.

  “What is this, Phyllis?” asked the Director of Happy Haven, pen tapping on the counter.

  “Miss Violet,” said Phyllis, “a man was just here demanding to visit Bob Weiderley.”

  “I assume you told him that Mr. Weiderley is in the hospital?” asked Violet, head tipped expectantly.

  “Uh, no,” continued Phyllis, “I didn’t. You see, Essie here . . .” She motioned towards Essie standing beside Violet. “had warned me the other day that this same man—his name is Ben Jericho—had tried to scam her out of some money. Essie was worried that he’d be back here to try the same ploy on other residents. When he showed up asking to see Bob Weiderley, I—uh—I was worried that he intended to do the same thing to Bob, so I made up something.”

  “What did you make up, Phyllis?” asked Violet Hendrickson, scowling and tapping the toe of her elegant heel.

  “I—uh, said he wasn’t on an approved visitors’ list, so I couldn’t let him in,” replied the clerk.

  Violet scratched her ear and tucked her shiny black hair behind it. She took several intentionally deep breaths.

  “I wish you’d called me,” she said to Phyllis. “Now, where is this man?”

  “He left, Miss Violet,” said Phyllis, “but he was mad. I really think he’ll be back.”

  “When he does come back, contact me right away,” said a curt Violet Hendrickson. Then, she turned abruptly on her high heels and walked at a fast clip out of the lobby.

  “Wowsy dowsy!” whispered Essie to Phyllis when Violet had disappeared into her office. “What does that mean?”

  “Who knows?” said Phyllis. “But it’s out of our hands, Essie. I have to report to Violet if this Jericho guy shows up again.”

  “Sure,” agreed Essie, nodding. “I understand.” She didn’t understand. She actually had no idea what Violet intended to do if and when Ben Jericho returned. Would he be able to sweet talk Violet? Or would Violet let him have it with both barrels as she was capable of doing—and as Essie had just seen her do? Yes, Violet was cultured and sophisticated, but it was clear that Phyllis had been scolded and knew it. And Essie was the reason for the scolding. She felt really bad for Phyllis—she was only trying to help. Essie turned tail and, after waving farewell to the desk clerk, headed back to her room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The best thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”

  —Madeleine L’Engle

  She had barely entered her apartment when the phone rang. Essie sighed, rolled over to her chair, and lowered herself into the cushion, and then reached over for her telephone.

  “Hello,” she announced into the receiver.

  “Essie,” said a voice at the other end, “this is Phyllis at the front desk. You need to come back to the lobby right away. Bye.” Then the frazzled-sounding clerk hung up. Essie sat there in her comfortable chair, longing to remain there for at least a brief while. Instead, she got up, zipped as quickly as she could into her bathroom for a quick emptying and then as fast as her thin legs were capable, she rolled out again and back to the front counter.

  As she got closer, she saw not only Phyllis behind the counter, but Violet also there holding a folder and looking grim. Beside her, Ben Jericho stood, arms folded. As Violet and Phyllis watched Essi
e’s arrival, Ben Jericho also looked in her direction. Essie moved closer, hesitantly, three sets of eyes glaring at her.

  “Let’s sit down,” said Violet Hendrickson to Ben Jericho and Essie, motioning the two of them to the arm chairs arranged in a square directly in front of the desk. Phyllis remained at the front desk, smiling. It was obvious that Violet no longer had need of her input. Violet positioned herself between Essie and Ben Jericho, sitting on the very edge of a paisley hard back cane chair. Essie slouched into the softest armchair in the grouping. Jericho chose the end of a rose velvet sofa. Violet held her folder like a sword, tapping it against her other palm menacingly. “Now,” began Violet, nodding from Jericho to Essie. “Let’s get to the bottom of this. Mr. Jericho, you tell me that you are here to visit Bob Weiderley.”

  “Yes, I was here earlier,” said Jericho, “but your desk clerk told me I couldn’t see him because I wasn’t on an approved visitors’ list.”

  “Umm,” noted Violet, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “And your reason for visiting Mr. Weiderley?”

  “Is personal,” responded Jericho succinctly.

  “Hummph!” snorted Essie to the man.

  “Who is this woman?” demanded Jericho.

  Violet held up her palm to the visitor.

  “Essie,” she said, turning to her, “you told us that this man attempted to scam you out of a lot of money recently.”

  “What?” shouted Jericho.

  “I . . . I . . .—” sputtered Essie.

  “Did this man attempt to take your money, Essie?” asked Violet, looking unwaveringly into Essie’s eyes. Essie withdrew her eyes from Violet’s glare and peered at the face of Ben Jericho. Of course, she recognized the man as the face in the photograph inside the envelope that now was hidden in the compartment in her walker, but she obviously couldn’t reveal that.

  “Essie?” pressured Violet.