Getting Old is to Die For

by Rita Lakin

  She looks so much like Faye did at her age, he thinks, so beautiful. Same curly blond hair. He remembered how Faye tried so hard to keep her unruly locks in place; today’s women let them fly wildly. Lisa had her mother’s bright, inquisitive green eyes, too, and the same lithe body.

  “I came to see my new grandchild.”

  She tosses him a knowing look. “Come on, Dad.”

  He hesitates. “It’s complicated.”

  “We’ve got nothing else to do. The roast is in the oven. Dan won’t be home for an hour. If I take the boys up now they’ll run around to let off steam and drive us crazy—better to stay outdoors. So talk.”

  “There’s a woman...”

  She grins. “I know. You think my brother doesn’t report to me? Have you a happy announcement to make? Did you come here to get my blessing?”

  “You mean you’re not upset? It’s not like I’m replacing your mother.”

  Lisa snuggles up to him, playfully rubbing her arm along his. “You’re still here, Dad; you’re lucky to find love again.”

  “Her name is Gladys Gold. Gladdy. She lives in Phase Two.”

  “So Morrie says. That’s convenient. You don’t even have to drive.” Lisa smiles.

  “She’s not quite sure she wants to marry again.”

  Lisa leans her shoulder on Jack for a moment. “She must be playing hard to get. What woman could resist you?”

  “This one. Thanks. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “So what’s the problem? Cold feet? I can understand that. At your age change must be difficult.”

  He pretends to look angry. “What about my age...?”

  She punches his shoulder, smiling. The boys run off to play catch with their new baseball gloves. Lisa adjusts her view so she can keep an eye on them.

  “Her husband was murdered. A long time ago.

  She turns again, swiftly, shocked. “No!”

  “Yes. Not far from here. Right near Columbia. He taught there, and on a New Year’s Eve he was shot saving a girl’s life. Never found the killer.”

  “How terrible. That’s a trauma that you never get over.”

  “Precisely. Perhaps if there was closure for her... I’m here to reopen the case.”

  He sees how surprised Lisa is. This is a startling piece of information to have thrown at her cold, like this. After she ponders it for a few moments she looks up at him thoughtfully. “Dad,” she says softly. “Still tilting at windmills?”

  “I doubt I’ll get anywhere, but I feel I have to try.” Lisa places his hand in hers. They sit like that, quietly, lost in their own thoughts, as the boys play and the baby sleeps.

  CONDO DOINGS

  We are in the rec room for our monthly Lanai Gardens Phase Two business meeting where one and all gather to complain about plumbing problems, roof leaks, whatever, so that our condo association might do something about it. Or not. Mostly it is a time to get together and shmooze and exchange gossip.

  We have the meeting at three P.M., the so-called cocktail hour. So-called because only soft drinks are allowed. This was decided years ago by the board, for two reasons: one, no more getting snockered with resulting harsh words said that could never be taken back, and two, so the meeting will be short. Nobody wants to miss the early- bird dinners around town. But there are plenty of things to nosh on to get them through—a dollop of smoked salmon, a smidgen of chopped liver, Chinese egg rolls. Empty stomachs make for grumbling; full ones can suffer a little longer with whatever grievances they have. These treats are contributed by the refreshment committee, which seems to have an unlimited budget. Sometimes I think we get such a big draw for the hors d’oeuvres only.

  Usually, as Phase Two secretary, Evvie runs the meeting, but Ida is taking over for her today. Everybody is aware that Evvie is suffering over a lost love affair. But nobody dares ask questions. Evvie won’t allow it. Which gives the gossipmongers plenty of room to speculate. Meanwhile, my sister is sitting in the very last row in the back and I keep her company.

  Denny Ryan sits in the front row, wielding his notepad. He is our fixer-upper janitor and awaits job orders. Yolie, Millie’s caregiver, is at his side as always. Now that Millie is in the Alzheimer’s hospital, Yolie only takes care of Irving. The rest of the time she’s with her boyfriend, Denny.

  Irving arrives just then. He’s with Mary, who just brought him back from the hospital. They take seats together in one of the rows.

  Needless to say, newlywed Tessie is there showing off her husband, Sol. She is seen everywhere with him these days. In Publix Market, she walks proudly behind as he pushes the shopping cart. At the beauty shop Sol is dutifully seated, waiting for his wife to get prettied up—not an easy task, that.

  They’re at the bank, her arm holding his tightly. And just as tightly, holding his bank account book. Tessie is making sure the universe knows she finally nabbed a man, even though he’s as old as dirt. Is that what’s putting the rosy cheeks on her these days?

  The young cousins, Barbi and Casey—who have been very helpful to us with their business, a computer research service they call Gossip— attend dutifully, but they don’t speak up. Sometimes I think they watch us old folks like anthropologists doing research on a strange and bizarre species.

  I notice Joe Markowitz has turned up, even though he’s not in our Phase. He keeps trying to get Evvie’s attention, but she ignores him. Is this a new Joe—a glutton for punishment?

  The remaining few men of our condo are off to one side, shooting pool, their macho way of showing uninterest in anything women will run. The clicking of the balls emphasizes their arrogance. Anything to be annoying. Hy, the ringleader, tries to smack the balls the hardest. Naturally Lola is standing nearby, waiting with the little cube of chalk, telling him what a wonderful player he is.

  Voices drone on. I find myself drifting off, glancing at the walls filled with photos celebrating the last twenty-five years or so of Phase Two activities. I spot a picture of a New Year’s Eve event about fifteen years ago. I’m in it along with

  Evvie and Sophie and Bella; Francie, may she rest in peace; Millie, now as good as gone forever; and others, also gone. I sigh. I know. I know how old I am. But still, it seems like time has moved too fast.

  At that moment, Sophie and Bella hurry to my side.

  “We gotta talk,” Sophie says with urgency. “As soon as this is over.” The girls sit down alongside Evvie and me.

  Ida finishes reading the minutes of the last meeting. And announces some upcoming events such as the big Halloween bash next month. Everyone enjoys dressing up and allowing their inner child to play. She looks up. “Any new business?”

  Ruth Novak’s hand shoots up. She’s in S311. “I have a question for the medications committee.” She is a sweet, quiet lady and she says fearfully, “Every day I put out my medications and I get so confused sometimes which day it is and I forget which pills I already took.” She stops, showing the confusion she feels.

  Mary, head of the committee, stands up. “We suggest you buy those one-week traveling plastic pill containers, maybe get two or three for that many weeks. Then sit down when you feel clear in your mind, or call one of us on the committee and we’ll do it with you, and fill all of them up at one time. That way, we’ll also figure out when you need to reorder, so you won’t feel muddled every day.”

  There is a smattering of applause, but I hear from the whispers in the row in front of me that the gossip has already started. How come Mary drives Irving to the hospital all the time? How come as soon as Millie is not around, Irving is already with another woman? No, no, Irving, he’s a saint. What’s the matter with you? Mary’s a nurse. She’s taking care of him. Yeah, maybe too much care. Remember her husband dumped her—the speaker’s voice drops—for another man? She’s still a young woman with needs—wink, wink.

  Another hand is raised. Sandy Sechrest, a schoolteacher from R115, says, “I just read an article that said that a car company can move its factories to Mexico
and claim it’s a free market. A bank can incorporate in Bermuda and claim it’s a free market. We buy massive amounts of American products made in China, India, and a very large number of different countries, all considered free markets. Then how come senior citizens who dare buy their prescription drugs from a Canadian pharmacy are called un-American!”

  Len Riegert, one of the pool players, waves his cue stick up in the air. “Right on, Sandy!”

  Others mumble to themselves in agreement. Some call out. It’s a hot issue.

  “Write to AARP.”

  “Call our congressmen.”

  “Down with the drug company lobbyists!”

  Ida knocks on her table with her fist. “Okay, everybody calm down. Maybe it’s time we started a political action committee.”

  Hands shoot up at that. Len, still excited, says, “I’ll start it. Sandy, you join us. Anyone else interested, meet me after the meeting. Just remember, folks, seniors are now getting to be nearly forty-eight percent of the population. Our votes count!”

  Sophie can’t resist asking, “So how come if we’re almost half of all the people in America, the TV shows are only about young people? A lot of dumb young people!”

  Cheers for Sophie. “You tell ’em Soph,” someone in the back yells.

  “Dump the TV,” says another. “Go back to reading books.”

  Hy is annoyed. “Enough with the politics,” he says to Len. “Let’s get back to the game.”

  Another hand frantically goes up. Polly Hessel from apartment Q411, dressed as usual in tank top, shorts, and sweatband, no matter the weather, stands up and faces the group. “I saw a spider in my apartment.”

  This brings on worried groans. Can roaches be far behind? If there is one topic that unites them all, it’s the terror of infestation.

  “Was it big?” Pat Steiner from T1l6 asks breathlessly.

  “Big, very big. And hairy.”

  A shiver of fear can be felt round the room.

  Hy calls out, “Stop talking about my private parts.” He laughs raucously.

  He gets his usual response—a lot of boos, and someone throws peanuts at him. The other men laugh to show solidarity for their comrade.

  The women go back to the business at hand. “Did you see any more of them?” Vicki Goff from R414 asks.

  “No,” says Polly, “just one, but maybe Denny can come up and look around. And maybe spray a little bit.”

  Denny nods and makes a notation in his notepad.

  “So what did you do?” Margaret Ramona, one of the Canadian renters, asks. Heavy drama is building up here.

  “First I climbed on the sofa.” Polly pauses for dramatic effect.

  “Then?” the women ask in unison. Eyes are big and round and captivated.

  “Then I said, Who’s afraid of an itty-bitty spider?”

  “I thought you said it was big,” Pat, a stickler for accuracy, accuses.

  “And hairy,” dittos Vicki.

  Polly ignores the question. “I took my can of Mace and blasted him to hell!”

  Lots of oohs and ahhs at that.

  “Where did you get Mace?” Lola calls from next to Hy.

  “My wonderful son got it for me to keep me out of danger.”

  “What danger? You never go out anywhere.” Ida can’t resist. This woman is taking up all their time.

  “I might. Someday.”

  Hy, pulling Lola, starts for the door. He’s had it. “Enough about bugs. If there’s nothing more important, can we get out of here?”

  That’s all it takes. One person heading out for dinner—can the others be far behind? The exodus begins. Leon Uris, where are you when we need you?

  But that doesn’t stop a number of them from cornering Denny with their apartment complaints. They set up appointments with him.

  Ida shrugs, and then calls the meeting to an end. She joins us at the back as the room empties out.

  “Now?” asks Sophie.

  “Go ahead. Tell them,” Ida says.

  Bella looks forlorn. “We already failed on our new case.”

  Sophie agrees. “We called and called Dr. Silverstone’s daughter, Linda, so we could tell her how much her parents wanted her to come visit, and all we ever get is the machine.”

  Ida continues. “We even got Denny to drive us to her house, but it’s a great big place behind a huge gate. We didn’t dare ring the bell.”

  “We wanted to look in the windows but there was no way, and from a distance it looked like all the drapes were drawn,” says Sophie.

  “But we think we could hear music or the TV playing,” Bella adds.

  This surprises me. “But she has to go out sometime. Did you hang around awhile?”

  “We only stayed about an hour. Denny had to get back to unclog a toilet in the Rose building. Nothing.”

  They look to me for guidance. I guess I have to get involved. “All right, time for a longer stakeout. Don’t you agree, Ev?”

  But Evvie ignores my pathetic attempt to engage her. She sees Joe bearing down on her and quickly rises. “I have a headache. I’m going home.” With that she leaves us.

  Joe sees the rebuff, and does a hard about-face. Sophie jumps ahead. “There’s a nice mall real close to where Linda Silverstone lives. We could take turns sitting in the car while the rest of us shop. Or take turns having lunch at the deli.”

  Ida shakes her head. “A two-track mind, as usual. Shopping and food.”

  Bella applauds Sophie. “A great plan.”

  Yeah, great, I think.

  Bella tugs at Sophie. “Come on, we’re late. It’s bingo and pizza night at Phase Five. Ida, you coming? Glad?”

  “Why not?” Ida says. I shake my head no.

  The girls take off. I realize I’m the only one left in the rec room. I shut the lights, close the door, and make my way down the bridge path toward my apartment.

  There is a sound somewhere off to one side of the bridge. Then I see them, standing half hidden by a palm tree. Irving and Mary are whispering. A moment later they lean toward one another, kissing gently.

  Oh, my, I think. This will cause an uproar around here; sparks will fly. They look so sweet together. Poor Irving. Millie’s been sick so long. He deserves a little happiness. And so does Mary for that matter.

  I think sadly, Don’t I deserve a little happiness, too?

  COLD CASE

  As Jack, holding his cell phone, walks to the window of his small, generic hotel room, he assesses its few amenities: an ancient TV that’s bolted to the wall, ditto the tarnished mirror. A rickety lamp with a lightbulb so low, it’s impossible to read at night. Glancing into the bathroom, he notes the one threadbare towel and one washcloth. Good thing he doesn’t intend to bring anyone to this pathetic excuse for a hotel accommodation. He looks down below.

  “Yeah,” he says on his cell phone to Morrie. “Got a great view of an air shaft, and the noise of the air conditioner unit down below could deafen a person.”

  “Why don’t you go somewhere else?” Morrie comments.

  Behind Jack, spread out on his bed, are dozens of folders. They look as old and faded as the shabby bedspread. “As long as it’s clean, it suits my purpose.”

  He pictures his son leaning back in his office chair, with his feet propped up on his desk, prepared to listen to his dad’s adventures in the Big Apple. “And here I was expecting you to be getting ready for a night on the town.”

  “Dinner at your sister’s was excitement enough. By the way, the boys said to say hello to Uncle Morrie and not to forget their birthdays are coming up. And your sister and brother-in-law send regards, too.”

  “Thanks. Bet those kids wore you out.”

  “Never, never take eleven- and thirteen-year- olds to FAO Schwarz unless you’ve gone into heavy training in advance. Frankly, I hate to admit it, I’m glad to be staying in this dump for the peace and quiet.”

  Jack walks back to the bed, moves papers around to make room for himself, and stretches out. He occ
asionally glances over at the files next to him.

  “Any luck on the case?” Morrie asks.

  “Tim Reilly is fantastic. I guess he called in a lot of markers for this information. I pulled everything I could out of the old files, but it’s one of those no-win situations. Nobody saw anything or heard anything. The guys canvassed the entire neighborhood.” Jack tries to downplay his frustration. He props the pillows behind his head, trying to get comfortable.

  “What about the girl? His student. What did she say about the attack? How did she come to be in the alley? Did she recognize the guy?”

  The pillows are too large and stiff. He pushes them off to one side and gets up.

  “Apparently Patty Dennison was a fragile young woman who went to pieces because her favorite teacher died saving her. She was hospitalized, severely traumatized. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t remember anything. Her family took her out of school and left the city. Never came back.”

  “Pretty much a dead end?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “What’s your next step?”

  “I was thinking about going to see Gladdy’s daughter, Emily. She was only eleven at the time. Ironic, she has a daughter that same age now. And the same age as our Jeremy. In fact, Lisa found out the two kids go to the same school and are in the same class.”

  “Hey, what a coincidence.” He pauses. “Pretty awful, Dad, to think of a kid that age going through what Gladdy’s little girl did.”

  As Jack paces his small room, he stops to pick up a dropped piece of paper and adds it to the pile on his bed.

  Morrie goes on. “Interesting dilemma you have there. Wanting to visit the daughter of the lady you hope to marry without said lady even knowing about your intentions.”

  “It will be quite a surprise for Emily. I have no idea what Glad’s told her about me. If anything. In fact, get this: Lisa is taking me to Welcome Back to School Night. Kind of a transition event to take the kids from summer fun to schoolwork again. Maybe I’ll get a chance to meet Emily there. Funny, our daughters live only a few blocks from one another.”