Getting Old is a Disaster

by Rita Lakin

  We are at an impasse.

  Jack says, “Son, why don’t you and I grab a cup of coffee and let the girls do what they are so good at—finding out anything and everything they set their minds to.”

  With a last glance at me, he winks and the two men take off. That is, as soon as Jack can get Sophie and Bella to let go of his arms.

  I call after him, “Jack, you have an announce-ment to make. Remember?”

  He grins. “Enough excitement for one morning. Later.”

  I laugh. The girls want to know what’s so funny. I give them the same answer: “Later.”

  Early Birds

  The girls are not happy. They’re dressed for going out but so far they are getting nowhere. We stand in front of my building waiting for Jack to pick us up. It rained all day and there are puddles everywhere, so we are grouped in a tight circle under the eaves, where the ground is dry. Sophie’s pantsuit is a study in peach. From top to toes, she is every shade imaginable. Even to her latest hair dye, sort of peachy brown. Bella is also monochromatic—all in pale gray, which matches her hair as well. The two of them color coordinate whenever we go out. Evvie, on the other hand, is in one of her many flamboyant caftans—a riot of colors no pastels for her. Her hair is still red, but the gray is coming back slowly. Ida—well, Ida dresses as if she’s standing under a thundercloud. Very dark. Plain. No frills, no jewelry for our Ida. I’m in my usual beiges, tans, and whites, with a coral blouse and silk scarf.

  We are already late. Bella couldn’t find her glasses. Sophie couldn’t decide between her beige flats or her peach sandals. It’s already four-thirty, and I told Jack to be here by four. It’s our first outing as a couple with the girls and I’m nervous enough about the outcome. The girls are already grumpy, not a good sign.

  Much tapping of feet and glancing at watches. Finally Jack’s vintage Cadillac casually pulls over to pick us up, just before five.

  “Hi, ladies,” he says, getting out and opening all the car doors. The girls climb in, not looking at him. Ida mumbles, “It’s about time.”

  Jack looks at me and I shrug and say, “Go ahead, ask it. I know you’re dying to.”

  “Why does anyone want to eat at four-thirty?”

  “You’ll see.” I realize that Sophie and Bella have already scrunched their way into the front seat, so I don’t get to sit next to my “date.” I struggle to fit myself in back with Evvie and Ida. Thank goodness the Caddie is large and roomy.

  We stand on the long, long, long, long line snaked around the strip mall parking lot adjacent to our favorite deli, the Continental, and apparently everyone’s else’s, too. Ida taps her foot. Bella, as usual, peers into every store window as we pass. Evvie is using my back as a desk, scribbling her latest movie review for the next issue of her Lanai Gardens newsletter: Jack stands next to me, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glassy. The line is hardly moving.

  I gesture at the crowd. “Now you know. Short lines at four. Chaos after five.”

  Sophie adds, “And the prices are lower.”

  Bella pipes up, “And the kasha vamishkas sell out fast.”

  “I am more than willing to go somewhere else and pay whatever extra it costs.” Jack is sweating. He takes his jacket off.

  “No way,” says Ida. “We refuse to be beholden to you. We are independent women and pay our own way.”

  “At least Evvie is smiling,” he says, grasping at straws.

  Evvie looks up from her notebook. “That’s because I’m writing about George Clooney, that hottie.”

  After yet another ten sweltering, humid minutes, we finally get inside.

  I see Jack glance around. He whispers to me, “Not many men here.”

  “You need reinforcements?” I ask.

  “I might.” He squeezes my hand. “I’d love to kiss your cheek but I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  I laugh. “Honey, in this place, embarrassment knows no bounds.”

  We get our favorite waitress, Velma, formerly of Flatbush, Brooklyn. Thin as a blade of sawgrass. Greasy hairstyle circa 1950’s, very puffy and large.

  Nickname: Motormouth. The girls like her because she always makes sure to give them big portions of dessert. She is thrilled to see us.

  As she shoves the menus at us, she says, “So where you guys been? I thought you all died.”

  “Not yet,” Bella comments mildly. The girls are used to Velma’s hyperbole.

  “We took a vacation.” Sophie bites off a chunk of sour pickle from a dish of coleslaw and assorted pickles already on our table.

  Velma, not much of a listener, runs along her own track. “Boy, you missed some excitement around here. Edna Glatz from Hawaiian Gardens choked on a bone and almost expired before our very eyes.”

  “No!” Sophie and Bella chorus in horror, as Jack attempts to concentrate on the three-foot- high plastic menu.

  “If it wasn’t for our manager, Mr. Kay, who knew the Heimlich maneuver, we would have a dead duck on our floor. Instead of on a plate.” She chuckles at her joke.

  I can see other customers waggling their fingers to get Velma’s attention, but Velma loves to talk and is on a roll. “And one day Mary Lou Feeney’s great-grandchild upchucked on their table, all over the plat de jour and her new flowered sundress. Don’t ask.”

  “Could we order?” Jack asks morosely.

  Velma is pulled up short by this interruption of her news report. She pretends to do a double take, as if seeing him for the first time. She turns seductive. Her idea of sexy is batting her eyelashes.

  “I didn’t notice you have a man with you. And who is this Mr. Gorgeous?”

  Jack blushes. I can tell that he’s sorry now that he opened his mouth. Here we go.

  Ida can’t resist. “Meet Gladdy’s intended. Jack, meet Velma.”

  Nor can Bella. “We’re here to celebrate.”

  “Gedouddahere!” Velma screeches with excitement. She flashes a huge mouthful of horsy teeth at me. “Congratulations! This calls for an announcement!” She picks up a glass and a spoon and turns to the rest of the room. I grab her by her apron strings and tug hard. She turns back.

  I glare. “No announcements. Please.”

  Velma reluctantly replaces the glass and spoon. She sniffs loudly. “I guess I’ll take your orders now.”

  Dinner manages to glide along without too many annoyances. Sophie sends her chicken back—“Too tough.” Ida complains her brisket is stringy. Evvie doesn’t take her eyes off me while I’m looking at Jack and Jack is looking back at me. Usually I can read my sister’s expression, but not tonight. Everyone’s cheerful but there is an underlying tension. Kind of like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am on edge wondering if Jack is going to make his promised announcement about my going home with him tonight. I’m hoping he doesn’t.

  The checks arrive. Velma gives them out one at a time, making goo-goo eyes at Jack when she hands him his. The girls get into their usual discussion about tips. They pull out their little tip chart and make their decision. Velma always gets their best. Twelve percent.

  Jack says, “I really do want to treat all of you.”

  I add, “And I agree. In honor of our celebration tonight.”

  “Nonsense,” says Ida. “I told you, we pay our own way.” She reaches into her purse and takes out her share.

  Bella follows suit, digging down into her pockets. She pulls out crumpled-up dollar bills along with many, many coins, which she counts aloud.

  Evvie hands him her check and folds her hands. She smiles sweetly at Jack. “I don’t mind being treated on occasion.”

  Sophie grapples through her purse. Then again. And again. She throws up her hands in disgust. “I can’t believe it. I left my wallet at home.”

  “Shh,” Bella cries out. “I lost count. Now I have to start again.” With that she flails her arms and accidentally knocks her pile of coins onto the floor. Jack gallantly stoops down to pick them up. While he is down there on his knees, reaching under the table, a dr
umroll sounds. More like someone banging on a pot. Even though it’s still light outside, someone is flashing the light switches off and on. And a huge chorus of voices begins to sing, “Happy engagement to Jack and Gladdy... happy engagement to them...”

  Jack, caught on his knees as if he is in proposal mode, practically cracks his skull leaping out from under the table.

  All the diners in the restaurant burst into applause.

  I shrug at Jack and point to the huge strawberry cheesecake lit with candles that Velma holds aloft as she comes toward us.

  The bill is finally paid. By Jack. Why am I not surprised? The girls are about to stand up, when Jack announces. “Ladies, I have something to tell you.” I gasp. I can’t believe he’s actually going to do it. All eyes look to him expectantly. “Glad won’t be going straight home tonight. I’ll drop you all off, then Gladdy and I will go to my apartment.” Sophie and Bella don’t get it right away. When Bella does, she blushes. Ida’s head drops down as she rips what’s left of the bread on her plate into little pieces. Sophie giggles. Evvie slyly smiles.

  The awkward silence that follows is broken by Mr. Kay, the manager, who walks over to our table and hands me a plain white envelope. “Mrs. Gold, a gentleman gave this to me on his way out and asked me to deliver it to you.”

  I open it as the girls begin to come out of their comatose state. Inside is a plain white piece of paper folded in thirds. As I take it out a small green feather flutters onto the table. I pick it up as I read from the scrawled note, “‘Getting old ain’t for sissies. Catch me if you can.’ ” There’s more but the girls are already on their feet. I shove the note and feather in my purse and stand.

  Bella fairly swoons. “Another note from the Grandpa Bandit!”

  To Jack’s astonishment, we all race for the door. Once outside we look around the parking lot.

  “Look!” Evvie shouts.

  We see a hand waving to us from the darkened window of a senior pickup van leaving the shopping center. We hurry to the curb, but are too late. Evvie quickly grabs her pen and takes down the model and license number of the van.

  Back in the restaurant again, we question the manager. But all Mr. Kay can say is he was an old guy with gray hair. Figures.

  Jack’s Place

  From Jack’s grinning and whistling, I gather the girls didn’t throw him off as much as I feared. I guess the letter from the bandit with its green feather cushioned the shock of his announcement.

  We dropped the girls off at Phase Two, thinking who knows what thoughts as they stared after us. Jack parked his car, and now we stroll, hand in hand, toward his apartment building. All I have brought to this evening’s adventure is my toothbrush. I wish I’d had time to put on something slinky (not that I have much in that line). Or even a dab of perfume. But never mind, it’s a beautiful evening. The storm clouds still hover, but the sky has striations of reds amongst the deep purplish-blues. And I’m with my darling man.

  Jack swings my arm with his, like some happy five-year-old on his way to a party. “See how easy this will be?” Now he’s the party clown putting on a smiley face for the birthday girl. His mood is contagious. I feel like a kid, too. I am fairly skipping along with him.

  We hurry upstairs to his apartment on the second floor. Jack turns the key in the lock. I glance around discreetly, relieved to see that no one is watching. The grounds are fairly empty since it is dinnertime for most people—those who don’t live by early-bird-special rules.

  Jack’s voice goes singsong. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  I laugh. “I know you know.”

  Once we’re inside, he makes a demonstration of double locking the doors. Dramatically, he pulls down the blinds in each of the rooms. “No one and nothing will spoil this evening. I give you my promise.”

  “And I’ll hold you to it.” I watch his shenanigans with delight. He’s so good to be with. I feel so blessed. I also feel a little nervous about where this is going.

  He turns off the phone ringer with a flourish. “There! We are alone in our little pleasure-dome cocoon. Nothing will disturb us.”

  With that he grabs me and kisses me, holding me tight to him. It’s a wonderful kiss, and the hug that goes with it feels like it may go on forever. I hope it does. We finally come up for air.

  “Need a drink for courage?” he asks me.

  “No,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath.

  We zigzag our way to the couch. “Shall I tear off our clothes before or after we make it to the bed?” Jack says this as he’s unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Wait,” I say eagerly. “We need to exorcise old demons.”

  “Go on, exorcise away.” Jack kicks off his shoes.

  I am worried. Not so much about the act we intend to consummate—well, that, too, a little. My concern is, what will interrupt us this time? Something has on every other occasion. I have to voice it out loud. “May I remind you that in Pago Pago, just as were about to have at it, we received a fax that changed our plans immediately...”

  “How could I forget?” Jack gestures expansively with his hands. “No fax machine here. No problem.”

  “And our silly fight that kept us apart for so long.”

  “Over and forgotten.”

  “In your New York hotel room, the phone rang, once again interrupting us with important news that had to be dealt with instantaneously.”

  “Phone’s turned off. No news can find us.”

  I listen. The silence is wonderful.

  “Nothing’s going to intrude. I’m telling you.”

  “It will. I know it will.”

  “Nonsense.” He pulls me down on the couch. Then onto his lap. “Thank God.”

  “Why ‘Thank God’?”

  “Because I don’t need Viagra.”

  Kiss. Kiss. Ummn, more...

  “Lucky us to have each other.”

  I snuggle closer into his arms. “No girls to interrupt.”

  “No thinking about the girls allowed. Shut it down.”

  “Done.”

  More kissing and murmuring of silly nothings. How happy can one be? His body fits so well with mine. I let myself sink into the pleasure of the moment. It’s been so long...

  The doorbell rings.

  We freeze.

  I moan, “No...”

  He echoes my “No,” then shakes his head. “I will not answer it.”

  We both jump up so quickly that we bang heads.

  The doorbell rings again. Jack mutters irritably, “I am absolutely not opening that door.”

  The ringing is now followed by knocking and then a seductive female voice calling, “Come on, Jack, I know you’re in there.”

  Now it’s Jack’s turn to moan.

  Another voice is heard. A high-pitched one. “It’s seven o’clock.”

  And yet another female voice, a wispy one. “I brought the cards.”

  Jack gets off the coach. I roll over into a sitting position, straightening my dress as best I can.

  He whispers to me, “Don’t move, they’ll go away.”

  “Who are they?” I ask.

  “My bridge partners.”

  A few moments later, Jack’s cell phone rings from a side table, once again startling us. Jack snarls. “They aren’t giving up.” He glares at it as the phone keeps ringing, then finally it stops.

  We wait breathlessly. Silence. He smiles at me, sensing victory, then grimaces as the pounding on the door begins again.

  We look at each other. No use. Jack says, “One thing you can say about bridge players, they are tenacious!”

  Moving to the door, he runs his fingers through his hair and turns on the lights. “Damn, damn, damn...”

  He struggles with the double lock, cursing. When he finally opens it, there is an immediate flurry of activity. One woman, nice-looking, in her fifties, wearing navy blue sweats, lugs in a small square folding table. Two other women carry packages. One of them, a redhead wearing a rather sexy sundress with a jun
gle/tiger print, moves easily to the kitchen. The one following her is taller and big-boned. Even though they see me sitting there, none of them has the decency to be embarrassed.

  The sexy voice calls out, “We brought all the snacks this time because we knew you didn’t have time to shop.”

  The taller one adds, “Mostly pretzels and chips.”

  As if in a trance Jack helps the woman in blue sweats unfold the card table.

  I sit up straighter on the couch, trying to look casual and relaxed although I am neither. Pm actu-ally frustrated and annoyed. I cross and recross my legs. This can’t be happening again. It can’t. Is this some cosmic joke?

  Finally the trio turns to stare at me. The sexy woman stands much too close to Jack, who looks beyond sheepish.

  “Hi,” says the sexpot. “I’m Louise Bannister.” With that dress, I expect her to growl.

  The tall woman says, “I’m Carmel Graves, from one flight up.”

  And blue sweats waves cheerfully. “I’m Carol Ann Gutsch from two doors down.”

  “My bridge partners,” says Jack, shamefacedly. “Tonight’s our usual game night. I guess I forgot.”

  I get up from the couch and move on shaky legs. “I’m Gladdy Gold,” I manage to say, my voice breaking. I can’t even look at Jack. “I was just leaving,” I stammer.

  “No, don’t,” Jack says, holding tightly to my arm. He faces the trio of card players. “I’m terribly sorry, but I made other plans tonight.”

  “So I see,” says Ms. Bannister, assessing her competition. “I wish you’d called. I could have made other arrangements and not wasted my evening.”

  Carol Ann behaves as if someone ran over her pet cat. “I was so looking forward to tonight. I circled it three times on my calendar.”

  Carmel also seems crestfallen. “Maybe I could still make it to the movies if I can find someone to drive me. I don’t see too well at night.”