“Thomas? Sissy? Where's the sled? The salt shaker?”
Gretchen couldn't help but shiver. To live like that, your mind muddled, only breathing in and out day by day. Unaware of the kindness, the compassion, your family and friends, grieving around the foot of your bed, had for you. Lost, locked, in a jumbled, long-gone past.
“Time for your medication, Mom,” David said. He went to the sink in the kitchenette, filled a glass with water, and took it over to the bed.
The woman sputtered and moaned as he gave her a few pills. David placed a hand gently on her left cheek, then leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Tears welled in Gretchen's eyes. Unaware of why, she forced herself closer to the bed. David stiffened, as if warning her not to get too close, but Gretchen didn't care.
“The poor woman!” she said again. “She looks like she's trapped in those sheets!”
“No, Gretchen, don't!” David warned. “Her hands need to be warm. She's, her body, uh, extremities are prone to hypothermia.”
“I just want to hold her hand. Give her some human comfort. I'll place it back inside the blankets when I'm done.”
She couldn't see what look David was giving her behind her back, if any.
The woman's hands were indeed held captive under the sheets and blankets on either side of her body. Gretchen reached under the sheets and pried one out, massaging it and staring kindly into the woman's startled eyes.
“Don't worry,” she cooed into wrinkles like the roots of some Amazonian tree. “I'm a friend. I'm David's friend. And now I'm your friend.”
Mrs. Roth's hand seemed remarkably unaffected by the passage of time, like somebody in her forties or early fifties. Could you get hands 'done'? But if Mrs. Roth had done that, why hadn't she bothered with her face? It hardly seemed an appropriate question to ask the woman there and then. And Mrs. Roth probably wouldn't even remember why, in any event. Gretchen reached across the woman's chest and pulled out her other hand. She massaged that one, too.
One of the hands gripped Gretchen's wrist and, again, it seemed to belong to someone decades younger, seemed capable of remarkable strength. Mrs. Roth seemed about to speak, her withered lips trembling, heavy breaths heaving from her concave chest as she struggled to form sounds. Perhaps the vise-like grip was because of the importance of what she had to say to Gretchen. Gretchen winced.
“Take...take good care of my baby,” Mrs. Roth croaked into Gretchen's ear, and the woman's breath smelled like Listerine strips, the blue ones. Again Gretchen was surprised. She hoped she wasn't being ageist, but she couldn't imagine a woman Mrs. Roth's age even knowing of the existence of Listerine strips—mints, yes—let alone popping one into her mouth. But from Gretchen's experience with her great Uncle Sean, she was relieved at the sweet-smelling breath, no matter how odd. Sometimes you could smell death approaching only through the mouth.
“Don't worry,” Gretchen said, smiling down at her. “I will.” And she meant it.
Was that gratitude she saw in the woman's milky eyes?
“Let's go,” David said. His voice was strangled, as if he were holding back the urge to cry. “She can't get too excited. It's bad for her.”
Gretchen gently placed the woman's hands back under the covers, and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead as well.
“Don't!” David warned. “She might—”
But Gretchen's lips were already there. Halfway through the kiss, she wished she hadn't done it. The cold, rubbery feel of the woman's flesh, like she was already dead, sent another chill down Gretchen's spine. Was this was it was like to get old? Her lips jumped from the woman's forehead, and Gretchen wrapped her jacket around her as if it might protect her from old age and Alzheimer's. They left the apartment.
“If...if we're still together when we get to be that age,” Gretchen said as they were walking to the subway, “I want you to...let me go. If you understand what I'm saying.”
“Yes, dear,” David said. They stopped at the entrance and looked at each other.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Thanks for meeting her,” he said.
“I was happy to do it,” Gretchen thought. Though now I wish I hadn't.
They kissed. She felt better. Younger. Thankful. The kiss ended. They held hands as they walked down the stairs.
“What on earth were those electrodes?” Gretchen asked. “What was that machine they were hooked up to for? It looked terrifying! Like something out of a hospital from the fifties or sixties! Like an electroshock machine to cure homosexuality!”
“Electro acupuncture,” David explained, somewhat stiffly. “It's something new the doctors are trying out.”
They rode the subway to Gretchen's place. Roz was gone. They had sex in the living room, in the bathroom against the sink, and finally in bed. Thirty had never felt so young.
CHAPTER 14 FIVE MONTHS AGO
GRETCHEN SPOKE. “THIS is what really—”
“Make it snappy!” Judge Edna Lee snapped, tapping her watch and casting dirty looks over her glasses. “We don't have all day! He bought a scratch card. You scratched it. It was a winner. The money is his. End of.”
“But that's not how it happened! He lied to you! And he lied to me. About his name, his age. He bought the scratch card for me, yes. Because I asked him to, along with some tea and, well, it sounds silly now, but some, er, SlimJed Jerky as well.”
“We don't need details!”
“And I was going to give him the money for everything. I just couldn't find my purse. The moment he walked out the door, I found it. Under the coffee table. I put the money on the table. A ten dollar bill.”
“Likely story!” Judge Edna Lee harrumphed. “So you admit the plaintiff bought the scratch card?” Her voice sang with satisfaction.
“Yes. But that was never the iss—”
“On what date?
“I don't know. Probably J—”
“June or July?”
“I—”
“June?! July?! Tell me now! June or?!”
“Maybe Ju—”
“—July?!”
“Julune!” Gretchen wailed out.
“Julune? What kind of stupid month is that? Are you psychotic?!”
“Yes!” yelled Mike the length of the courtroom. “She is!”
Judge Edna Lee passed him a vague look of warning, then turned to Gretchen with a smirk.
“And you admit he used his own five dollar bill to buy the scratch card? In the month of Julune?”
“Yes, but it was Ju—”
“Cease and desist! That's all I need to know!”
The judge grappled her gavel and made to bang it on the bench, case over.
And the rage suddenly burst from Gretchen.
“Wait, you judgmental, judgmental...bully!” The audience roared with disapproval, “Don't you dare pound that mallet! Just listen to me!” Judge Edna Lee clutched at her heart as if she had been stabbed, “It's my right!” the gavel clattered to the bench, “As an American!” and out of the corner of her eye, Gretchen saw the PA race towards the judge on her haunches, out of sight of the camera, clutching a placard where they scribbled how they wanted the show to go. The judge's cheeks ballooned, she bit off a squawk—the note must have told her to let Gretchen continue speaking, it was great TV—and Edna Lee wriggled behind the bench, her lips pressed tightly shut, insults begging for release, fingers clawing the case file, her face mauve. Gretchen continued, her voice rising to a shrill squeal. “I know you're a judge and all that, but you can't decide a case based on a charming smile from a scam artist! That scam artist! He's scamming you just like he scammed me. Shall I tell you exactly what he did? Yes, I scratched the card, but the next day on the subway. When I came back from work, the ten dollars was gone from the coffee table, and there was a note asking if he could borrow twenty for 'writing supplies.' When he showed up and I told him I won, he said the money was his. Just to shut him up, I gave him $10,000. He didn't tell you that, did he?”
&nbs
p; “Guilty conscience!”
“Kindness. I didn't need to. But I did. Out of the kindness of my heart. And then, after my next trip, I worked for the airlines then—”
“Nickel and Dime!” yelled Mike, and there was a moan of shame from the audience.
“And when I came home, everything in the apartment was gone! Stolen! The TV, our computers, the stereo, our bikes, our snowboard, please don't ask me why we bought it, even the blender, the few handbags I had that weren't fake. He had picked up some girl, some drug addict, and while he was sleeping, in a drunken stupor I've no doubt, she hauled away all our stuff. I guess she had her real boyfriend cart them away in her car because I don't know how she could have carried them all herself. Taken to feed their drug habit, I'm sure. We had nothing left! And it was all his fault. I didn't know what was worse, the theft or the fact that he had cheated on me with a drug addict, probably disease-ridden. I told him then I knew the sad truth about him. He had lied about his name, calling himself some stupid thing I could barely get out of my mouth all the time, Maximus Voo, if you can believe that, and he had lied about his age and, worst of all, he had lied about spending his time writing poetry. He had only written, well, I don't know what it was, about six words, I guess. In six months! A word a month! A poet, ha! Then I tried to kick him out. But he refused to leave. I left. He still lives there.” She singled out Louise and Carly Rae with a trembling finger. “Those...those girls are lying! He didn't move in with them! He's still living in my apartment! He refused to move out! Roz here, my current roommate, can testify that I live with her! I had to move in with her! And shame on those two. Louise there even whispered to me as she moved out that she thought I should break up with him!”
“Liar!” Louise screamed.
They used to be nice but stupid and now they were mean and stupid! And liars to boot!
“I moved out of the apartment, my apartment, the apartment I paid the entire rent on, paid the bills for, while he lounged around. He quit his job, you know, to persue this ridiculous poetry,” she sneered, “career,” finger quotes, “of his.”
Judge Edna Lee, having seemingly recovered from the PA shutting her up momentarily, beamed over at Mike.
“Are you a poet?”
“Why, yes, I am.” He made a show of blushing.
“What a delight!”
“What a liar, more like!” Gretchen called out. “He's not a poet! He's a poseur!”
“Silence! Do you have any proof you've moved out of the apartment? His witnesses say he lives with them.”
Again, Louise and Carly Rae, well-trained, bobbed their heads.
“Yes, I have proof. My witness, Roz Biana.”
Roz bounced up beside Gretchen at the table.
“Did I tell you to stand?” the judge roared.
Roz ignored her. “Your honor, I am the owner and proprietor of Gems of Buddha, on MacDougal Street betwee—”
“This is not free advertising for your vulgar, cheaply-made wares! Does the defendant live with you?”
“Yes.”
“I don't believe you. Sit!”
Roz hobbled to her chair on her heels, and Gretchen trembled with frustration.
“But, your honor,” she spoke up, “How can you believe them and not believe—”
“Proof!” she roared. “Do you have any proof? A signed lease with your name on it? The landlord as a witness?”
“No, but—”
“I need proof!”
“Where is their proof?”
“Do you want to be cited for contempt? Thrown out of court? Ed is itching to oblige. I can see from the look on his face he finds you as repellent as I do! Well?! Answer me! Do you want to be ejected from court for contempt?”
“No, your honor.”
“Speak up! I can't hear you!”
“No, your honor.”
“Without the attitude!”
“No, your honor.”
“That's better. But too bad. Ed, throw her out! Hostile plaintiff!”
“I'm sorry, your honor. I'll respect you. I swear I will.”
“That's better. You may stay for a moment longer. Let's take a quick vote, shall we? Hands up, all in the audience who think this defendant is repulsive! A repulsive, greedy pathological liar! Hands up! Now!”
Gretchen looked behind her, and rolled her eyes as every hand shot up. How she wanted to yell at them about their sheep mentality, but turning the entire studio audience against her wasn't a good idea. She didn't want to be lynched afterward in the studio parking lot.
“Act like an adult,” the judge sniped, “not a whiny little brat. I can tell by your behavior towards me today in court what type of person you are. Person?! What type of creature! Where you or the plaintiff lives is a moot point in any event, where your current...lair is, doesn't really matter. What I want to know is what your defense might possibly be. What you've written in your complaint sounds like the ravings of a madwoman. How can you justify stealing money the plaintiff so clearly won with his very own five dollars? How can you sleep at night? Shame on you! Shame! Shame on all money-grabbing sluts in the nation. This case is over. I'm awarding Mr. Brown the money he deserves. His money. $5000. I wish I could award you, Mr. Brown, everything this creature stole from you, but that's outside my remit. Perhaps it will be some consolation to you that just looking at her makes me feel filthy. Good luck with your poetry, Mr. Brown. The arts must be encouraged. And Ms.,” she checked her file again, “Ms. Barnett, let's just hope you get what's coming to you in life.”
The gavel rained down on the bench again and again.
Outside the courtroom, in the hall, interviews were conducted with both parties. Snippets would be shown as the closing credits of the show rolled. Gretchen and Roz were stood beside the potted plant next to the door, with a cameraman and interviewer holding a mic. Mike and his entourage were before them, but to the left, so that the viewers at home couldn't see Gretchen's camera crew. The camera pointed at him was filming, and the interviewer asked him, “Are you happy with the verdict?”
“Yes, but that b**** still owes me $25,000. No! The full $30,000, because this show will pay the $5000, not her! I vow to all the gods in all the heavens that I will get it all back. From her.” He turned to Gretchen, standing behind him with her own interviewer off to the side, out of sight of Mike's camera. “Somehow. Just watch me!” And then he turned back to his camera and smiled. “It will happen come hell or high water.”
“And,” the interviewer said, shoving the mic under the new girlfriend's chin, “what do you think about all this?”
“Our love,” the girl said, snuggling under Mike's armpit, “will last forever.”
“Run!” Gretchen yelled from behind them. “Run for the hills! He's poison!”
Judge Edna Lee burst forth from a side door, to the shock of them all. A surprise cameo. A mic fell to the carpet.
“Not only greedy,” she roared, “but petty, vindictive and, I suspect, mentally unhinged as well! You have the $5000, Mr. Brown, and you also have my deepest sympathy.”
Gretchen burst into tears, pushed past the camera and ran for the hills herself.
CHAPTER 15 NOW
DARKO HAD TAKEN HER out for lunch at a nice restaurant so they could review their lesson (food vocabulary), and she had dinner planned with David that evening. Gretchen was getting her life back in order; she felt better than she had in ages. It was so relieving not to work for the airlines, no high altitude, no demanding passengers, no Dennis, no air pressure, no pressure full stop. She was finally beginning to feel secure, and actually liking the life she was leading. The craziness with Mike was receding into the past, and even the humiliation of the Judge Edna Lee show was fading, the rude comments on Youtube were now posted far and few between. She was heading North. All she had to do was get an apartment of her own, move out of Roz's, and things would be great. Maybe move in with David...?
Gretchen looked back and couldn't understand where the person she had pre
viously been had come from. Yelling obscenities to the NYPD and 311, the horrible mishap on the kitchen floor, those were things of the past. Confession had put them there. But it was when she was coming home after the lunch with Darko that she happened to run into one of the neighbors who lived in apartment four, and then everything started up again.
Apartment Four was certainly an odd couple. He looked like one of the statues from Easter Island, she was a fearful mouse with attitude, looking out at the world, or anyone passing her up and down the stairs, as if peering over a Western Front trench. Gretchen shuddered at the thought of them making love.
Gretchen was laden with plastic bags of groceries, three hanging off one arm, the handles biting into her flesh, as she clawed through the madness of her purse trying to find the keys to the front door, when the front door flew open and the wheel of a bike poked out, then the frame, then the girl from apartment four herself.
Her brown hair was hidden under a helmet, and her rodent-like face was tan. From her vacation, Gretchen supposed. Gretchen's bags and the bike wheels did an awkward dance there before the garbage cans, then Gretchen smiled at her. The girl mistook it for a bullet.
“Excuse me. Aren't you the one in apartment four?”
The girl flinched again.
“What's it to you?”
“Er, um, hi. I'm Gretchen. I live below you, apartment two. With, you know...”
“That nympho one. We hear her...noises more than we care to. Her bedroom's below mine. I dread going to bed at night. ” She was strangling the bike handles.
“Me, too, if you want to know the truth. And I'm sorry about that.”
“She hasn't been too bad lately, though.”
“That's true.”
The girl was hauling her leg over the bike, preparing to zoom away.
“Wait!” Gretchen said. “Didn't you guys go on vacation somewhere?”
The girl's eyes saucered with alarm. “Yes...?” She motioned to her face, at her tan. “The Dominican Republic. My boyfriend took me for our third anniversary. It was wonderful. We could sleep in peace.”
Emergency Exit (The Irish Lottery Series Book 6) Page 23
