by Rita Lakin
Seymour climbs into his moldy-looking recliner chair, the one in front of the TV set.
I sit gingerly on a scratchy, ratty-looking couch.
Jack takes the one plain wooden chair from the kitchen. Morrie stands.
This house reminds me of Seymour’s apartment, only worse.
Which finally helps me remember what I was trying to recall a few days ago. Except for a few clothes, Joyce had nothing. Even her purse had been emptied. Kenneth’s office was cleared out as well. They wanted to leave nothing behind. The two of them knew they were going away, permanently. How ironic. They both moved on to a place from which they can never return!
Seymour looks at Morrie. “You look familiar. Were you on one of the shows? Maybe the bachelor one where you got to pick a wife?”
Morrie says no.
Jack smirks at his still-unmarried son. “Don’t I wish.”
Morrie throws him a dirty look.
“Then are you another producer of our show?” Seymour asks Morrie.
“What show is that?” Morrie asks, feeling his way.
“Why, our new reality show.”
Now it all clicks into place. Seymour’s scrapbook in his apartment. All those DVDs. They lured him in with his passion.
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” Jack asks Seymour. “I have to make an important call.”
Seymour is magnanimous. “Go ahead. You showbiz people are always busy.”
I grin at him, knowing what my kind husband is going to do. Attaboy, Jack, call Leah and tell her her brother has been found.
Jack nods and walks back outside with his cellphone.
I ask, “Tell us, how did you meet Joyce?”
He brightens. “I was taking my usual walk in Lauderdale Park and this very nice lady comes up to me and hands me her card. I still have it here.” He reaches into the pocket of his shorts and hands me a crumpled business card.
I read it aloud for Morrie. “ ‘Joyce Smith.’ ” Smith? Well, that would work for a made-up name. I continue to read. “ ‘Producer Survivor Productions. Hollywood, California.’ ” No address listed. No email. No phone number. They had him at Survivor.
Seymour is animated. “My very, very favorite show! Do you know it? These lucky people get to travel all over the world and have adventures!”
I remember turning it on once for thirty seconds where some grungy-looking people dressed like bad Tarzan imitations were eating fried ants. That was enough for me.
Seymour continues, wringing his hands in excitement, “She wanted me to try out as a contestant for her new show. Me, Seymour, going on TV!”
Morrie moves it along. “So she brought you here …?”
“Yes. It was Kenny who picked me up that night. Kenny Jones.” He grins, proudly. “In his fancy Jaguar.”
They sure did choose original names. Smith and Jones. Poor Seymour. Because it was an expensive car, he got in with a stranger. The joke was on him and he didn’t get it.
Seymour rhapsodizes on. “He’s the other producer. It was so exciting. I was told that I had to keep everything a secret. Not tell anybody I know or else I was gonna be”—here he stumbles on the big words—“instantly disqualified.”
“And what were you doing here?” I ask.
“Well, it’s very complicated. They had to take pictures of me in different places to let the studio people see if I was photo—If I looked good in pictures. So they dressed me up and had those things on the wall. They didn’t have the money to send me to those expensive places, so this was how they did it.”
Little did he know Kenny was living his fantasy for him. Too bad they didn’t let Seymour make those four expensive trips to four faraway places, just to make sure a postcard was stamped!
“Seymour, dear,” I say to him, “why couldn’t you share your secret with your sister, so she wouldn’t worry about you?”
Suddenly, here’s a different Seymour. Agitated. “Why should I? She would have said no. She always said no to anything I wanted. I was going to tell her after my audition was over. After I got the part.”
“So your producers let you hide here, away from Leah,” says Morrie. And that’s why he stayed.
Jack has returned and is smiling. I can’t wait to hear what Leah said. Later.
Seymour is animated once again. “Yes, wasn’t that nice of them? And they were willing to cover my rent till we were done with my screen test.
“When are they coming back? I want to know if I made the cut. That’s what they called it—making the cut. I want to know if I’m starring on their big new show, Death Defiers.”
The three of us exchange glances. Who was going to break the news to Seymour that a Hollywood contract was not in his future? I didn’t envy that person.
Seymour searches our faces eagerly.
I nod to Jack. You do it. I don’t want to be the one. Jack nods to Morrie. He’s not the authority figure here. His son is. Morrie shrugs. He has no choice. He takes the responsibility. He’s works up his courage to give Seymour the bad news.
But Seymour beats us to it. He’s been staring at each of us as we look unhappy. He jumps out of the recliner. He is near tears. “I get it. Joyce and Kenny sent you to do their dirty work, didn’t they? I didn’t make the cut. I’m not going to be in Death Defiers.”
He scrabbles for his DVDs, grabbing for all of them, dropping some of them. “Get me out of here. Take me home!”
Showbiz is a cruel mistress.
Evvie and I are invited to the big event. We are seated in the front row on folding chairs with a few strangers sitting next to us. Rico sits there, grinning like a proud relative.
It’s graduation day at the Mike Gatkes Private Eye Academy.
We were told by the girls not to say a word, no matter what we saw, so I’m predicting some kind of entertainment.
Ida pokes Bella and Sophie to straighten their backs as they stand at attention in front of the chalkboard. They smile at us.
Mike Gatkes, in speech mode, emotes as he holds their three certificates aloft. “Congratulations on completing your Mike Gatkes Private Eye Course with flying colors.”
We politely applaud. This is the first time we meet Gatkes. What a character, what a phony. But if he made the girls happy and didn’t soak them too much for his “expertise,” it was harmless. Gatkes is a most unfortunate name. It means men’s winter underwear with a back flap. In Yiddish.
Gatkes drones on pompously. “Go bravely out into the world of crime, knowing you are well equipped to stop any abomination, any abuse, any corruption, any evil, any felony, any illegality, any transgression, any wrongdoing wherever and whenever you come upon it. I salute you.”
Which he does with a clicking of his heels. The girls are handed their certificates. And a huge print of the three of them holding what looks like a stuffed squirrel.
Happily, they thank their teacher.
Evvie and I are about to get up, but there’s more going on. So we watch and listen. It’s a bit puzzling. Evvie shrugs. Whatever.
Sophie mumbles, gazing at her certificate. “He spelled my name wrong. What’s so hard about Meyerbeer?”
Ida shushes her. “Never mind.”
For refreshment, there’s cookies and punch.
As they imbibe, Ida corners Gatkes. “Mike, about the reward you got from Fleigel …”
“A mere pittance …”
“Not so. Harvey found three hundred dollars in quarters up on his roof. I suspect he was very grateful.”
“You would deny a man his living wages?”
“We solved the case.”
Mike grumbles, “A lucky happenstance. Whadda you want?”
“How about you cancel our credit card purchases and we’ll call it even.”
He sighs. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”
Just as we’re about to stand up, thinking the show had actually ended, the door to the office suddenly flies open with a slam bang against the inside wall.
We sit back
down again.
Everyone turns to look. A very skinny guy who seems like he doesn’t eat much fairly leaps into the room. He wears a gray sweatshirt with a hood that covers much of his face. There is fire in his eyes, a determination in his stride. He reminds me of that actor who always plays great slimeballs, Steve Buscemi.
“I’ve got you, Gatkes,” he cries out in an unfortunately squeaky voice.
Mike throws up his arms as if to protect himself and backs farther into his room, trying to get away. “No, no,” he gasps.
The intruder reaches into his jacket.
Sophie panics. “He’s got a gun!”
Bella seems to faint, daintily, falling onto Mike’s faded brown horsehair sofa.
Ida keeps her cool. She knocks the guy down.
A finger could knock that guy down.
Rico jumps off his chair, going immediately to her side. They turn him over. Rico holds him down. Ida whips out the handcuffs. Sophie positions herself in front of him, legs and arms akimbo, brandishing a lipstick. A lipstick?
“Drop your gun!” Ida the “bad cop” snarls.
“You really ought to do as she says,” “good cop” Sophie pipes up.
Rico is busy getting the cuffs on the squirming man.
“I got no gun. Get offa me,” the intruder cries.
“Oh, yeah,” Rico sneers.
“Take it out of my pocket and look, you idiots.”
Rico reaches around and removes what’s in the guy’s sweatshirt pocket. He retrieves a narrow folder.
“Oops,” Rico says, holding it high for all to see.
“It’s a summons,” the Buscemi double shrieks. “I work for a lawyer whose client is his wife and these are papers summoning Gatkes to divorce court. I’ve been chasing after this flake all week.”
Embarrassed, they remove the handcuffs and help him up. Sophie attempts to brush him off. That rug really is dirty.
He pulls away from them and pushes the papers into Mike’s unwilling large paws.
With that, the process server heads out the door. “I oughta sue,” he growls.
Bella comes to. She stares at the quiet group. “What did I miss?”
Evvie and I applaud as we get off our chairs.
The girls turn to look at us as if we are nuts.
“Nice play,” I murmur as I grab a chocolate chip cookie.
“Good theater,” says Evvie, grabbing a Fig Newton. “Polish it up a bit and you could take it to Off Broadway.”
We leave, giggling all the way down the long, dark staircase.
A week later Ida comes to us, the girls trailing behind her. “Too much paperwork,” she says. “I’m willing to give up Ida Franz and Associates and return to the Gladdy Gold agency.”
The girls are happy. Evvie and I are happy. I’ll break the news to Jack later. After he’s had a good dinner. We are a family again.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, thanks to Lois Leonard, my mechutainista. She knows why.
Thanks to Betty & Roger Eggleston of Florida, yet again. Squirrels, indeed!
And to round up all the usual suspects:
Caitlin and “good” Nancy again and again and again
My sons, Gavin & Howard or Howard & Gavin. Get it? And Alison, of course
Camille, Peg, Jonnie, who help me get it right every time
Sister Judy and the Tucson Voyager fans
And all the great “sisters” in SinC and the pals in MWA
To Margaret and the Women Who (still) Walk on Water in Wisconsin
And lots and lots of friends and readers giving continuous support. Thank you all!
