Getting Old is Criminal

by Rita Lakin

  “I resent that remark,” says the bingo maven, Sophie, still simmering.

  “Me, too,” echoes Bella. “Besides, we made big bucks on that bingo cruise.”

  “Nevertheless,” I say, “we have to find out the truth. We have to find a way to take a closer look at this man.”

  I get up and start clearing the remains of the food off Ida’s table, a signal that our meeting is near an end.

  “How will we do that?” Bella gathers up the silverware.

  “I think we have to follow him to Wilmington House in Palm Beach.”

  “But that’s about an hour drive, and an hour back.” Sophie brushes crumbs into the napkin in her hand. “It’s not like it’s around the corner.”

  “And it won’t be so easy to get in.” Evvie is in charge of the cups and saucers. “All those retirement places are enclosed and have very tight security. I can’t see us just waltzing in and out. I agree we need a different approach.”

  “I will just have to move into Wilmington House,” I boldly declare.

  My statement is met by silence.

  Sophie recovers quickly. “Just you?”

  Ida picks up on that. “You’ll need help.”

  Bella next. “Four eyes are better than two.”

  For a moment they are quiet again, absorbing this. Then Bella’s, Sophie’s, and Ida’s hands shoot up. And in unison they say, “Me, pick me.”

  Evvie simply stares at them, eyes narrowing. “First things first,” I say, realizing I am now about to get into deep water. I ignore the raised hands and keep going. “I need to make an appointment with the manager at Wilmington House. I’ll have to make a strong pitch for letting me move in temporarily.”

  “Oh, no,” Evvie says with consternation, thinking back to the relatively polished attire we wore for our first visit to Grecian Villas, “my clothes aren’t fancy enough for Palm Beach. I’ll have to go shopping.”

  “Wait just one minute,” Ida says. “Who voted you in?”

  “Yeah,” says Bella, folding her arms across her chest. “I could go. I have no pressing engagements.”

  “What are we, chopped liver?” Sophie finishes the round. The chorus has spoken.

  Evvie turns to me. “Of course I’m going with you, Glad, isn’t that so?”

  Oh, boy, this is some pickle. I feel my sister Evvie is the right choice for me. We’ve had a lifetime of thinking alike and working so well together, but I look at those three pairs of sad eyes accusing me, correctly, of favoritism. This is a no- win situation. “Let me think about it,” says the coward.

  Ida stomps toward the door. “Don’t bother. We know who you’ll choose, so just do it and get done with it.”

  The others follow her.

  There is a decided chill in the air. But Evvie is grinning.

  And I feel rotten.

  ELEVEN

  WHERE IS JACK?

  Dora Dooley is where she usually is, planted in front of her TV, which is so close to her she can almost touch it. She got up to let me in, then hurried back to her recliner, where she now sits watching her show avidly and ignoring me.

  It is very hot and stuffy in here. Dora is wearing lime green pedal pushers and a matching sweater with a long-sleeved cardigan over it. She’s already informed me she doesn’t like air conditioning and she won’t open windows for fear of a draft. I fan myself as best I can in this stifling room. I intend to get out quickly. Not only because of the heat, but because I’m dying to see Jack.

  “So can you tell me a little more about the Peeping Tom the other night?” I say as loudly as I can.

  “Shah,” Dora says. “Wait for the commercial.” I assume she’s hard of hearing since the sound is turned up very high.

  I sit and stew, fanning hard, as she watches a torrid love scene. The way I’m feeling, that’s the last kind of thing I need to be looking at—all I’m aware of is that Jack lives right above this apartment. From what I can gather, the characters on her soap opera are both married to other people and feeling terribly guilty. However, it doesn’t seem to interfere with their lust.

  Finally the commercials arrive, and the volume rises even higher. One of my pet peeves is that the advertisers do that on purpose.

  Dora cackles. “Won’t take long until Penelope finds out her husband, Percy, is boffing her best friend, Elizabeth.”

  I nod obediently.

  She cups her left ear at me and shouts, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I’m Gladdy Gold, Phase Two. We’re trying to find the man who is peeking in women’s windows. You were his latest victim.”

  “I didn’t see much. All I saw was a mask and his hand wagging his little peepee at me.”

  That’s that. “Someone told me you might have gotten a good look at him.”

  “With my eyesight?” She indicates the closeness of the TV set.

  “Your neighbor, Jack Langford, didn’t see him either, I suppose.”

  She waves her hand at me. “Shhh, World of Our Dreams is on again. They sure got sexy actors on this show.”

  “Well, thank you anyway.” I move to leave.

  She grasps my sleeve as I pass her chair. “Ask me anything. I’m an expert. This is my favorite show. I’ve been watching it since it came on in 1951. They started in kinescope and went to tape in 1964. Ask me who broke Victoria Ainsworth’s heart in 1972. Errol Forsyth, that’s who. He slept with her sister, Evangeline, and she tried to commit suicide.”

  “Very sad,” I comment.

  “And in 1987, Eugenia Huffington got the first facelift on live TV.” She cackles again. “That was something else. The producers on this show sure likes stuffy character names, though. Evangeline, Eugenia, Moira...”

  Loneliness, I think. Let me count the ways people keep themselves going. Whatever gets you through the night. I should talk. I don’t have anything to help me. My eyes look upward again. How did I let myself care this much? Is the pain worth it?

  I can no longer breathe. I carefully extradite myself. “Gotta go, Dora. Need to check some facts with Jack upstairs.”

  I head down her hallway. “I’ll let myself out.” She calls after me, “Don’t waste your energy climbing the steps. Jack ain’t home.”

  I turn back. “He’s gone out for the day?”

  “No, he’s just plain gone. Took his suitcase this morning and left. Didn’t say a word to nobody.”

  My stomach starts churning. No, it’s not possible.

  “But he did come and say goodbye to me and that he hoped I was okay after my close call with the pervert.”

  Gone. I can’t believe it.

  I walk outside, head down, lost in my troubled thoughts. Where did Jack go? Maybe to finish an unfinished romantic vacation on some other beautiful island with someone else? What was my crime? That I ruined our vacation? Wasn’t I just as frustrated as he was? So I worried about my girls. Thanks a lot, Jack, for being so understanding! I’m so mad I want to spit.

  “Gladdy?”

  Startled, I look up and Jack is standing there. Right in front of me. Dressed for traveling. With a suitcase. For a second I think I’m hallucinating.

  But, no, it is him.

  I try to cover my astonishment. “Coming or going?” I say sarcastically.

  His eyebrows rise and he stares at me for a moment. “I’m going away for a few days. I came back home to pick up a couple of things first.”

  He doesn’t offer to tell me where he’s going and I’ll be damned if I’ll ask. “I was interviewing Dora. About her Peeper.” God forbid he should think I was there looking for him.

  Even though I really was.

  “Come on up,” he tells me. “Let me drop my suitcase and I’ll make us a cup of coffee.”

  I am torn. What should I do? Play hard to get? Indifferent? Show him how upset I am? Or just see what happens?

  He doesn’t wait for my answer. He assumes I’m following him, that egotist! What am I having debates with myself for? I came here to see him and
here he is. Huffing and puffing, I hurry after him up the stairs.

  The few times I’ve been in Jack’s apartment, I’ve never felt at ease. I’m still not comfortable even though it’s a pleasant place, tastefully done, definitely with a woman’s touch. His late wife, Faye’s. And I know he’s uneasy for the same reason. As he makes coffee, I glance yet again at the family pictures of earlier times. Jack and Faye smiling up at each other with Morrie and his sister, Lisa, looking like the happy kids they were. Jack and Faye’s wedding photo. How young and lovely they looked. How adoringly they gaze at each other.

  Jack serves me the coffee just as I like it, one sugar and very little milk.

  I thank him and he says, “You’re welcome.” And here we are. I’m balanced on the very edge of the peach floral couch. He’s perched on the rim of the matching armchair that faces it.

  “So...” I’m the first to break the silence.

  “So, what?”

  Oy, enough already. “Sew buttons.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what my mother used to say when we kept saying ‘so.’ ” At Jack’s puzzled look I bat my hand at him. “Don’t bother trying to get it. It’s a non sequitur.”

  “Oh. So. Sew buttons. I get it.”

  I’m running out of repartee. “Jack. Where are we?”

  “In my apartment.”

  “Funny.”

  He finally smiles. I do, too.

  “I’ve missed you,” I admit.

  He doesn’t comment. I want to reach out and touch his hands, which are folded on his lap. They are only inches away. If I touch them, he’ll touch me and we’ll be all right again. I can’t do it and he won’t. His hands might as well be back in Pago Pago. The chasm between us is too deep.

  As if reading my mind, he moves his hands to the arm of the chair. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking...”

  I don’t like the way that sounds. Come on, let’s kiss and make up. I want to say it, but first I need to know how he feels about me.

  “And...?”

  “I think we need to separate for a while.”

  Separate? I feel my body stiffen and my eyes widen in shock. “Why?” I blurt.

  “Because you’re not ready for me.”

  I stand and pace around the room. “Just because I told Bella where we’d be? I was committed to you. Didn’t I fly for sixteen uncomfortable hours to run away with you? I was as upset as you were that we were... interrupted.”

  He stands, too, looking eager. “All right. I already have a packed suitcase. I’ll just grab my passport. Let’s go back to your apartment and you pack a quick bag and leave a note. We’ll go to the airport and hop onto the first flight going anywhere.”

  I automatically take a step away from him. “Wait. What’s the hurry? We don’t have to rush off.”

  “Why not? What if I say, we’ll find the first judge, or a rabbi, if you insist, and get married.”

  “I don’t understand. Why can’t we tell our families and friends first?”

  “We can inform them afterward, when we get back, and then we’ll have a big party.”

  I don’t know how to respond. My mind is running in a dozen directions.

  “Glad. Do you see what you’re doing? You keep stepping backward. Not forward. Not to me.”

  I stop in my tracks. I suddenly realize that I’ve moved halfway across the living room away from him. “You’re confusing me. First you’re angry and you are ready to leave without telling me where you’re going. You don’t call. I worry myself sick wondering where you are. Or if you’ll ever talk to me again. Now I accidentally run into you, and you’re racing me out the door to the nearest altar.”

  “And what’s so bad about that?”

  “I need to think.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. This is too fast.”

  “What are you waiting for? When we get to be ninety?”

  I find myself shouting. “I don’t know!”

  He’s shouting, too. “Gladdy. What will it take for you to be ready? What will it take to make you sure? What do I have to do?”

  I keep shaking my head as if to clear the cobwebs. Why can’t he understand?

  Now his voice gets lower. And he is shaking his head, too. “I’m sorry. I can’t make us work. To paraphrase the poet, ‘she who hesitates is lost.’ ” He strides out the door and leaves me standing there.

  A moment lately he sheepishly walks back in. “I forgot. I live here.”

  With that I race past him and slam the door behind me.

  TWELVE

  RAIN AND PAIN

  I hurry back to Phase Two. I walk fast and I talk out loud to myself. I feel crazed. What did I do? I’ve lost Jack again. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with him? What was so terrible if I didn’t want to run away with him and elope that very second? Wet, sloppy tears run down my face. Huge wet tears. Then I realize it’s raining. That’s rain pouring down my face. Big sloppy tears of rain. The rain is crying with me. It’s a typical Florida instant downpour. It feels like tons of water drowning me. Drowning me and my sorrow. Why did I think I could ever find love again? It’s too hard. It’s too much... what? Pressure? Is that what I feel? Why can’t Jack understand how much my girls mean to me? How much we’ve all needed one another and helped one another through the years? I just can’t abandon them. He acts as if it’s so simple. Let’s just run off. But life is more complex than that.

  A few people run past me hurrying for shelter. I don’t want shelter. I want to drown standing up. I want to keep running in this downpour forever.

  “That’s it!” I scream to the skies. “I’ve had it! How dare he tell me I’m not ready? How dare he make me move to his time clock? And what about all those beautiful words he said to me that first night in the Greek restaurant? It doesn’t matter how much time we have left. A year. A month. As long as we’re together. What happened to those sentiments? He’s dumped me again!”

  Someone passes me, looks at this crazy, drenched woman screaming to the skies. She pauses. Thinks maybe I need help, and then another cloud bursts and she runs to the nearest sheltered area.

  “That’s it, Jack Langford. Forget it. I’m done. Not one more tear will I shed for you. Not one more thought will I give this stupid relationship. I’m through! I’m going to get on with my life. I was fine before I met you, Jack Langford, and I’ll do very well without you, again!”

  The first thing I hear when I reach our club room is Tessie saying, “Let’s kill all the doctors.”

  Ida says, “That’s supposed to be lawyers.”

  “Them, too.” Tessie sees me before the others do. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

  I am totally soaked and my teeth are chattering.

  The room is filled with women now staring at me. They are seated in a huge circle, sewing. Then I realize, it’s the monthly Hadassah meeting.

  Lola jumps right on me. “You’re too dumb to come in out of the rain?” She takes after her husband, Hy, quick with the unkind cuts.

  I see my girls and instantly realize that Bella, Ida, and Sophie are sitting next to one another as usual, and Evvie is seated as far away from them as possible. I guess the feud is still going strong.

  Evvie jumps up and runs over to me. She takes her sweater and wraps it around me.

  “Florence Nightingale, she thinks she is,” says Sophie snidely. Evvie shoots her a dirty look. The girls won’t be quick to forgive Evvie for grabbing the plum role of being my partner when and if we go to Wilmington House. More aggravation. Just what I need.

  Ida yells, “Someone turn the air down or she’ll get pneumonia.” Nobody moves quickly enough, so she turns the thermostat up herself.

  I am still shaking. But I don’t know if it’s from the rain or shock or just plain rage. I try to calm myself. Sophie hurries over and offers me some hot tea. She avoids looking at Evvie.

  “We got caught in the rain, too,” Irving says. He’s with Millie in her wheelchair,
seated near the door. Of course, Yolie is there with them, holding Millie’s hand. All three look bedraggled. Irving waves to me.

  “Come see how we’re doing,” Mary suggests, holding up the square she’s working on. Their Hadassah chapter’s good works project is making quilts for underprivileged children. The colors are bright and the patterns cheerful. This was Ida’s idea.

  Someone pulls a chair over for me, and one of the members who had come in to the meeting directly from swimming offers me her towels to dry myself.

  Sophie informs me that they were in the middle of an important discussion. Doctors. “Of course, I was bragging about my darling Dr. Friendly.”

  Ida shoots me a look of resignation. “As if we could shut her up.”

  I think dismally to myself, it was Sophie’s “condition” that brought me to my current misery. But I can’t blame sweet Sophie; I can only blame myself for causing it to happen. If only I could have... I stop myself. Woulda coulda shoulda... Sophie has a real problem and my feeling sorry for myself won’t help her. I think about Sophie and her pills and wonder if Esther Ferguson took pills, too. Maybe too many? Or maybe Romeo fed her pills along with romance. But I can’t think now. My brain feels too fuzzy.

  “We were also sharing war stories. Of some of the terrible experiences people have had with doctors and hospitals,” Mary informs me as she offers me a cookie. Mary used to be a nurse and she ought to know. “My poor cousin went to Mexico for a cure for her MS. I warned her not to go. They injected her with bee venom and charged her twenty thousand dollars. They almost killed her down there.”

  Tessie says, “I was telling them about my niece who went into the hospital for a knee replacement and they replaced the wrong one.”

  The women continue sewing while they talk. From what I can tell, they are already at the piecing process where they sew all their small cotton fabric patches together to create the pattern of the top half of the quilt.