Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your grandmother. You said she was looking for an assisted living center. She could move into this one.”

  “What? Oh no. No, no, no, no. I mean, the place is beautiful, don’t get me wrong. It’s perfect, in fact. But she’s on a fixed income. I’m sure the rent would be—”

  “Taken care of,” Drew said. “She wouldn’t have to pay a dime.”

  “I don’t understand. Was she the hundredth caller?”

  “No. See, when I went down to the office before, they pulled up Pops’ records, and it showed he was only here about six weeks, but apparently paid for a whole year up front, which surprised the hell out of us because we weren’t sure he was going to stay. Anyway, I got to thinking. Why let the place sit empty? Claire’s trying to help her grandmother find an apartment just like this.”

  “You mean they won’t give you your money back?”

  “No refunds after thirty days.”

  “Are you serious? You should sue.”

  “I’m joking.” Drew cupped my chin. “Of course we could break the lease.”

  “But you don’t want to?”

  “To be honest, it’s not like my family needs the money. Anyway, I mentioned the idea to my dad, and he said it’s exactly the kind of thing Pops would have done, and if she’s happy here, we’ll just set it up so his estate pays her expenses as long as she stays.”

  “Oh my God,” I cried. “Oh my God.” I was literally shaking. Didn’t I wish for this kind of miracle only an hour ago?

  “Those are the good kind of tears, right? Sometimes with Marly I get them mixed up.”

  I nodded yes. “This is unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

  “Do you think she’d like it here? They do an awful lot for the residents. They take them to the movies, to the doctor…”

  “Are you kidding?” I started to walk around, surveying the apartment from the perspective of a kvetchy tenant. It was huge compared to where Grams lived now. Plenty of closets, a large bathroom—no, wait, two bathrooms, one adjoining the bedroom and another down the hall. And what was this? A second room? It was smaller, but Abe had set it up as a den with a pull-out couch. Perfectly suitable for a guest.

  “This place is amazing,” I sniffed. “What about all the furniture?”

  “It’ll stay. What would we do with it?…Why? You don’t think she’ll like it?”

  “Oh no. She’ll love it. It’s so much nicer than what she has now.” If you only knew. “By any chance, do you happen to know if there is an age restriction here?”

  “Probably. We just assumed she was elderly.”

  “She’s eighty-four.”

  “That oughta do it.”

  “What about thirty?”

  “Who’s thirty?”

  “Me. Next week.”

  “And you feel you’re in need of assisted living?”

  “Drew, right now I need all the help I can get.”

  Nothing is more frustrating than going out of your way to do right by people, then having your good intentions bite you in the ass anyway. No matter that it had been the longest day of my life, I’d still made it my business to keep my family informed.

  Three times I left detailed messages on my mother’s cell. Twice I left a message on the home answering machine. Once I paged my dad. And I tried Adam’s and Lindsey’s cells, too, but no one bothered calling me back.

  So when early the next morning my cell phone rang and I heard my mother screaming in my ear, my first question was, what was she yelling at me for? My second question was, where the hell was I? Oh yes. Grams’ apartment. Sleeping on the floor of her bedroom, door locked, with a high-powered revolver under my pillow.

  “What do you mean, you gave her a sleeping pill?” My mother cried. “What were you trying to do? Kill her?”

  “She started it,” I whined.

  “Have you lost your mind? You can’t mix sleeping pills with all her medications. It could send her into cardiac arrest.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal, okay? I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “You mean you don’t know if she’s fine?”

  “She’s still asleep on the living room floor.”

  “The living room floor? What did she do? Fall again?”

  “What the hell is going on down there?” My father picked up the extension in the bedroom. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you to handle this.”

  Welcome to The Lenny and Roberta Show, starring two crazy people who criticize me, then turn on each other.

  “If you’ll stop yelling at me, I’ll be happy to tell you everything,” I said.

  “Yeah, Lenny. Enough with the shrying. I want to hear what Claire has to say.”

  “Who’s yelling? You’re the one who’s yelling. Claire, tell us what happened already. You’re making me late for the office.”

  I sat up on my blanket. “Okay. Well, I’ll spare you all the gory details about the day I had because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’ll just start with the little surprise I found after I got dropped off here last night.”

  “Last night?” My mother interrupted. “What did you do all day?”

  “I had the go-see with the photographer, remember? Anyway, when Grams opened her door, all I saw were boxes, her TV, and those god-awful lawn chairs from the house in Valley Stream. Why? Because she sold every stitch of furniture, and most of her clothes. No, I stand corrected. She gave them to the super’s son as a wedding present in exchange for his gun.”

  “Wha’d she say?” My mother asked my father.

  “A gun!” My father yelled. “She has a gun…. Claire, what kind is it?”

  “Daddy, c’mon. I wouldn’t know a Saturday Night Special from a Sunday brunch.”

  “Wh-what does she need a gun for?” my mother stammered. “The neighborhood got so bad?”

  “The neighborhood is fine. I don’t know why she wanted it, but she pulled it on me.”

  “What’s she saying, Lenny? You know I can’t hear a damn thing when you pick up in the bedroom. But why should you care? As long as you can hear.”

  “I think she just said Gert pulled a gun on her.”

  “Oy, Claire! You know how easy she gets herself all riled up. What did you say to her?”

  “Oh my God. I didn’t say or do anything, okay? All I did was walk in the door and ask if she’d been robbed. And then she went on and on about how all of her friends are dead, and how you never listen to her anymore, and you don’t care whether she lives or dies, so I go to call you, right, and she runs into the kitchen and pulls out this handgun.”

  “She said I don’t care whether she lives or dies?” my mother seethed. “The nerve of her. All I do is call her, call her doctors, call her home health aides…. I’m worried sick about her day and night.”

  “Mommy, could we please not make this about you?”

  “Exactly,” my father chimed in. “Every time, you have to turn things into how it affects you.”

  “Lenny, did I ask for your opinion?”

  “Fine,” he yelled back. “You handle this. But I told you not to send Claire down there alone. Didn’t I say to you, go with her just in case?…Claire, listen to me. We’re not blaming you, honey. Thank God you’re there. Are you okay?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Thanks for asking…but Daddy, wait. Don’t go. I have something amazing to tell you, and I want you both to hear. I found a great place for her to move.”

  “What move?” My mother didn’t let me finish. “She can’t move. She’s got a lease.”

  “Mom, you’re not listening. She can’t be alone anymore. We don’t give a shit about a lease.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” my father grumbled. “I’m the one who gets stuck with all the bills. Paying off sky-high credit cards with twenty-one percent interest, and leases on cars we only got to use for three months because someone forgot to take the keys out of the ignition so it got stolen, but all right, we�
�re all entitled to make a little mistake now and then—”

  “I told you a hundred times I did not forget to take the keys out,” my mother yelled. “They got stuck in there or something. I don’t know. It was a very hot day….”

  “I’m warning both of you,” I said, “if you don’t shut up and let me finish, I’m hanging up and I swear, you’ll never hear from either me or Grams again.”

  Bingo. Twice in one phone call I got their undivided attention.

  “Okay, so as I was saying, last night the grandson of the man who died on me offered to let Grams move into his grandfather’s assisted living apartment, and you have to see this place. In fact, it’s so big and nice, I was thinking, and I know this is going to sound crazy, but unless they find out it’s against the rules, maybe I’ll move in with her for a little while because I was sort of offered a job down here at that modeling agency, and I haven’t decided what to do yet, but it’s a possibility—”

  “Where is this place?” my mother asked. “In a decent neighborhood?”

  Excuse me. Did you hear a word I said? I just told you I’m considering moving to Florida and living with your mother, and your first question is about the location? “It’s down in Coral Gables.”

  “Oy. It’s all Spanish down there now. And so far,” she complained.

  “So far?” I replied. “Oh my God. What are you worried about? That her commute will be too long? What do you care where it’s located? The place is brand-new, they offer a million services, and you should see how huge the apartment is. Plus, it’s fully furnished, which, may I remind you, is a beautiful thing, because let’s review, class: YOUR MOTHER IS SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR.”

  “How much?” my father, the accountant, asked, already calculating twelve months’ rent.

  “Okay, see? That’s the best part. It’ll be free.”

  “There’s no such thing as free.”

  “Yes, there is, Daddy. The Fabrikants love me so much for trying to help Abe, they’ll do anything for me. So when they found out that my grandmother needed a place to live…”

  Silence. “Hello?” I said. “Hello?”

  Oh God. Of all times to lose the signal.

  I decided to see if The Lenny and Roberta Show would call me back first so we didn’t have to go around and around with the busy signals and the voice mails. Meanwhile, I’d go check on Grams and hope to God that I hadn’t accidentally killed her.

  Admittedly it took me longer to arouse her than I expected, which made me work up a bit of a sweat because could you just imagine that phone call home: Mommy, you were right. Never mix sleeping pills with Cumadin. But at least when she awoke, she was not only alert, but in decent spirits and hungry for breakfast.

  Turns out she loved the nice cup of tea I made her last night. In fact, she hadn’t slept that good in years, and wanted to know what brand it was so she could try it again.

  It was only after a few minutes of getting her up and moving that I realized I hadn’t heard back from my parents. Strange. I would have thought that after hearing the words free rent, my father would have returned the call immediately. On the other hand, given my parents’ history of petty bickering, they were probably fighting about something ridiculous, and it was Grams who?

  Why should they care where the beloved matriarch of the family lived? Why should they care what a struggle it was for her to function? Let someone else worry whether she remembered to take her medicine or see the doctor. Didn’t they realize what a lousy example they were setting for their children?

  Meanwhile, I was about to tell Grams to put on her last remaining outfit so I could take her to breakfast and surprise her with some great news when my cell rang.

  “Claire. It’s Dad. I’m going to ask you a very important question, and I need you to speak slowly and clearly when you answer.”

  “Hey, Dad. Nice of you to remember I was in the middle of telling you some really big news.”

  “Drop the smart-ass crap, would ya? You may have opened up a can of worms here, and it could mean serious trouble…. Please repeat the name of the man who died.”

  “Sure. No problem. His name was Abraham Fabrikant. From Miami. A very wealthy humanitarian who helped save the lives of all these—”

  “Oh my God. Oy, oy, oy. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This isn’t happening.”

  “Actually, that’s what Grams said when I told her his name…but I don’t get it. Did we know him? Because if we did, I swear I don’t ever remember hearing you mention him.”

  “Claire, listen to me, and listen good. For your own sake, I do not want you to have any more contact with this family. Do you understand? These are not good people.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. So far they’ve been wonderful to me. Yesterday they gave me a limo and a driver for the whole day, they offered to let Grams move into Mr. Fabrikant’s apartment for free no matter how long she lives there, they invited me to speak at the funeral—”

  “Speak at the funeral? Are you out of your mind?”

  I had to hold the phone from my ear or risk permanent hearing loss.

  “Please. I’m begging you,” he said. “No more contact. Your mother and I will be on the next flight down. We’ll take care of everything. And don’t mention any of this funeral business to your grandmother, because I’m telling you right now, this will be the death of her, too. No wonder she threatened to kill herself—”

  “Hey, wait. She pointed the gun at my head, not hers.”

  “Exactly. Because you brought this mess into the house, like we needed to deal with even more craziness right now.”

  “Would you stop blaming this on me? It’s not my fault a man died, it’s not my fault that Grams has been neglected, it’s not my fault that—”

  “Whatever. Just tell me if the gun is loaded.”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Don’t be fresh. Just find a good hiding place so she can’t get a hold of it again. Oy givalt. I needed this today like I needed a hole in the head. I got clients coming in from New Jersey…I’m still way behind after tax season…Roberta! We’re going to Florida. Pack the bags. I’ll call JetBlue…. No, not Adam and Lindsey, too. Did you hear me say anything about this being a vacation to Disney?”

  Okay, you think this was sounding bad? Not two minutes later, Drew called. Did I happen to remember the name of the nice man down the hall who played cards with his Pops, because Channel 6 was planning to do a story for the evening news, and they wanted to interview the two of us together.

  Believe me, I seriously considered finding out if that damn gun was loaded.

  Chapter 9

  SURE AS I PREDICTED, GRAMS HAD NO INTEREST IN PAYING GOOD money to eat at some restaurant where the son-of-a-bitch waiters never got the order right and the bagels were stale. But if I couldn’t talk my grandmother into going out for a nice breakfast, what hope did I have of getting her to take a walk with me to look for a Starbucks? Trouble was, I was starting to feel a little shaky without my triple grande cinnamon nonfat latte and dreaded the headbanger I’d surely get if I had to survive on her brand X decaf and lactose-free milk substitute crap.

  I would just tell her I was going out for my daily jog and hopefully find that my favorite caffeine oasis had opened nearby. Although what were the chances that a place that charged a minimum three dollars for a cup of coffee would survive in a neighborhood with elderly patrons who wouldn’t pay that much if Juan Valdez personally ground the beans?

  Unfortunately, now that she was feeling so refreshed after her good night’s sleep, she decided to whip us up a batch of her famous buckwheat pancakes. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the only thing they were famous for was weighing you down for two days. But to be polite, and because I wanted her to be in good spirits when I told her that my parents were en route to Florida, I said I would be glad to eat pancakes after my run.

  But what to do with the gun? Pack the pistol in my bra? Leave it with the doorman?
(“Excuse me, would you mind holding this?”) Couldn’t hide it under a couch. There was no couch. Or any furniture. Speaking of which, where did she plan to serve breakfast? Would we be eating every meal standing up? Of course not, she said. There was a bridge table and chairs in the front closet. Did I think she was crazy? Matter of fact yes!

  I suddenly thought of the laundry hamper. That was my mother’s favorite hiding spot when she was on Weight Watchers and needed a safe haven for her contraband Snickers bars. I just had to hope Grams had no plans to do laundry.

  I’ll admit that my jogging attire attracts attention. It’s skimpy. It’s tight. And the Lycra content is so high, I have to stay away from lit cigarettes for fear I’ll blow like a Firestone tire. But in my defense, the shorts and jog bra are comfortable and they inspire me to run for miles.

  But when I got outside and looked at my watch, I realized I was kidding myself if I thought I could get a run in. Grams was probably pouring batter on the griddle right now and had no idea a five-mile jog took more than five minutes. I should probably just go find a place for coffee before she came down looking for me, holding a plate of pancakes.

  Too bad Viktor would miss that little reprise. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

  After squinting, I thought I recognized a familiar white stretch parked in the circular driveway. Sure enough, there was Viktor, newspaper in hand. I tapped on the window.

  “Good morning, Miss Claire. Yur feeling better today, em I right?”

  “Much better, thanks. What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Ben seys to wait here for when yur ready. Yur to go shopping…get your hair blown up.”

  My hair blown up? Oh, right. Ben had told me to buy something to wear to the funeral, and then to have my hair done. But no way could I pull that off now. Not with the Fabrikant name causing such a furor, not with my parents arriving in a few hours, not with me being so worried that Grams would find the gun.

  “Oh, end Drew sez to get eh second outfit for the television news tonight.”

  “No, no, no, no. There is no television news tonight.” What a disaster, I thought. It was bad enough I was going to be lying to Abe’s family and friends at the funeral. The least I could do was draw the line at defrauding the viewing public.