Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted

by Patricia Rockwell

  She sat glumly in her recliner with the answering machine in her lap, turning it over and over in an attempt to determine which button would produce the desired effect. The desired effect, she assumed, was to play the message. If Ned had been correct, this must be an important message because salespeople didn’t leave voice messages.

  Stop this, Essie! she told herself. Stay calm! There are only so many people who would actually leave you a message. The best thing to do is start by calling back the obvious ones and ask if they called you. Claudia is the place to start. If anyone called and left a message, it’s probably her.

  Essie reached for the receiver on her telephone to call her daughter, but set it back down.

  “I can’t do that,” she mumbled out loud. “If Claudia did call, she’ll just chastise me for forgetting how to use the answering machine, and if she didn’t call, then she’ll be all worried about who did call. No, it’s better if I don’t call anyone until I actually figure out how to work this thing.”

  Essie sat befuddled, staring down at the plastic device and its many buttons.

  Let’s give it a try, she thought as she chose one of the other buttons at random and gingerly pressed it. A whirring sound ensued, scaring Essie. When the noise ceased, the light was continuing to blink but nothing else had changed.

  Maybe this one, she thought, pressing another button. A different whirring sound emitted from the machine. Still no message. Still the light was blinking furiously.

  Essie tried all of the buttons in turn and none of her efforts produced an actual message from the answering machine. She was able to make the light stop and start and she was able to make the whirring noise come and go.

  “This is stupid!” she cried to no one. “How is anyone supposed to figure this out?”

  As she was sitting pondering her predicament, the telephone rang.

  Good! It’s probably the person who left the message calling back. What they should have done in the first place! She set the answering machine back on her end table and lifted the receiver.

  “Hello.”

  “Mom!” cried Claudia. “Did you get my message? I told you to call me back!”

  “Oh, Claudia,” said Essie sweetly. “I just walked in. I haven’t…uh, had time to check my messages. Isn’t it a coincidence that you just called?” Essie was patting herself on her back for her clever little white lie. Now she’d stay in her daughter’s good graces and not have to worry about the stupid machine—at least not at the moment.

  “Mom, I called and left a message hours ago,” said Claudia, sounding very annoyed. “Where have you been?”

  “I was at lunch,” replied Essie. It was these kinds of questions that made her feel like a prisoner at times. “My friends and I were just chatting over coffee and—”

  “For two hours?” asked Claudia.

  “What did you want, dear?” asked Essie, cutting to the chase.

  “I was calling to tell you that we’re heading out to the airport to pick up Keith,” she replied.

  “That’s nice, Claudia,” said Essie, “but you didn’t need to leave me a message.”

  “I told you yesterday about this. You seemed very confused. You sound better today. I just wanted you to know where I was,” insisted her daughter. “We might be gone a while and I thought you should know where I was in case you needed to get a hold of me.”

  “I could always call Pru,” suggested Essie, not nearly as frazzled about this seemingly minor problem.

  “All right, Mom,” said Claudia with a sigh. “I’m just trying to keep you in the loop.”

  “In the loop,” replied Essie. “That’s very nice, dear. But I don’t really need to be ‘in the loop’ as much as you seem to think I need to be.”

  “What does that mean, Mom?”

  “It’s just…you worry too much, Claudia,” she said perfunctorily.

  “Of course I do, Mom,” said Claudia, a note of sadness in her voice, “you’re my mother. Besides, I guess I’m just excited about Keith coming home from basic training.”

  “And how long will he be here, dear?” asked Essie, happy to change the subject to anything other than herself.

  “Two weeks,” replied Claudia. “It’s hard to believe he’s really in the Army.”

  “Your father was in the Army, you know,” said Essie.

  “I know, Mom,” replied Claudia. “I’ve seen all the photos.”

  “He was very handsome in his uniform,” said Essie.

  “He was,” agreed Claudia.

  “I’m sure Keith is equally wonderful,” added Essie. “He’s a fine young man.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Claudia. “Anyway, Mom, we need to get going. It’s a long drive to the airport. You call Pru if you need anything. We’ll let you know when we get back.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that, dear.”

  “We’ll let you know when we’re back,” interrupted her daughter firmly.

  “All right, dear.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, dear.”

  Essie replaced the receiver and, feeling somewhat guilty for the little lie about the answering machine, lifted it back into her lap and had another go of it with testing the buttons. She pressed different ones alone and together in an attempt to extract the message that her daughter had evidently left for her while she was at lunch. All to no avail. While she was fussing with it, the phone rang again. Was it Claudia calling again about something she’d forgotten? Essie decided to experiment with the machine and see if what Ned had told her about salespeople was true.

  One ring. Two. After the third ring, the pre-recorded voice mail message clicked on and she heard her own voice speak to the incoming caller. Then she waited. She expected it might be Claudia again. At that point, Essie assumed she’d just pick up her phone and speak to her daughter. However, once the click sounded, no message was forthcoming. After a few seconds, the phone clicked off. It appeared that it was, as Ned had suggested, a salesperson unwilling to leave Essie a message on her answering machine because they knew that she wouldn’t call a salesperson back.

  Essie was mystified. She did get a few sales people calling her from time to time. So she should be grateful for the little device because it allowed her to avoid conversations with such individuals. But this had happened the other day right after Ned had installed the device. Galloping galoshes! She had no idea she got so many sales calls. She obviously must miss them because she spent so little time in her apartment. Maybe her daughters were right. Maybe she did need an answering machine. Maybe Essie Cobb was much harder to track down than she thought she was.

  Oh, that is ridiculous! she concluded. She wasn’t the President. No one needed to find her that urgently for anything.

  “Stupid answering machine!” she said to the device in her lap. She picked it up and growled at it and its blinking light. She was now unable to get it to stop, no matter what button she pressed. She took the device and set it back on the end table where the light continued to blink at her like an annoying gnat.

  I hate red blinking lights! She grabbed the device and turned it over on its side so that she couldn’t see the light anymore.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I always say I want to look haunted.”

  ––Kristen Wiig

  Checking her wristwatch, Essie realized that she just had time enough to make a quick potty stop before heading out to her beauty shop appointment. She hoisted herself up out of her recliner, zipped into her bathroom for reconnaissance, and stormed out her door and down the hallway to the beauty shop, actually a small room just off Happy Haven’s family room. The entire front was glass-covered so residents walking by could see ladies inside getting their hair done, and, of course, patrons could see anyone walking by outside.

  Essie walked in and looked for Bev, the proprietor. Actually, proprietor was a misnomer as Bev didn’t actually own the Happy Haven Beauty Shop. She didn’t even rent it. Technically, the beautician was retired, but t
hree afternoons a week she came to this location to work her magic on the female (and occasionally male) residents. The Happy Haven management didn’t charge her rent; in truth, they were thrilled that she was willing to provide this service, because otherwise, residents who wanted to get their hair done would have to make arrangements to go to a local beauty parlor and that would mean transportation. This was a time and money saver for all involved. And, of course, residents loved being able to just walk to their appointments. Everyone wondered what Happy Haven would do if—when—Bev truly retired, but for now they were all happy with the arrangement. Essie had a standing monthly slot whether she needed it or not.

  “Hi, Essie,” called a loud voice from the back of the shop. Essie could see Bev, her signature cigarette butt protruding out the side of her mouth, bent over the head of one of the residents at the wash basin. The smoking was one of the few things Essie disliked about Bev, although she did admit that Bev was very cautious about directing the smoke away from a customer’s face. She had heard residents complain at meals sometimes about Bev’s smoking, but no one wanted to do anything for fear that the talented and friendly woman would just up and leave Happy Haven and then they’d all have to go outside of the building for hair appointments.

  “Hey, girl!” continued Bev, lips still firmly clenched on the cigarette and hands pumping the soap suds furiously through the hair of the woman in the chair. “How ya doin’? I’ll be with you in a minute! Let me finish with June!”

  Essie knew two Junes at Happy Haven. She guessed it was probably June MacDonald from the size and shape of her torso. She returned Bev’s greeting with a friendly wave.

  “Go have a chat with Bruno while I finish up here, okay?”

  Essie nodded and meandered over to a basket in the corner where a large sheepdog was sleeping. She bent down and tousled his head and the creature moaned in sleepy bliss. Essie reached over to a hat rack of sorts that held several plastic covers, selected one, and tied it around her neck. Her trips to this shop were so regular that she had become accustomed to the routine. She could see that Bev had finished rinsing June MacDonald so she rolled back to one of the empty chairs.

  “Hop on up, girl!” Bev directed Essie with a push of her elbow as she toweled June’s hair dry. Then, leading the woman carefully towards an empty work station next to Essie, she helped her into the hydraulic chair. “You two ladies know each other?”

  “Hi, June,” said Essie, seating herself and puffing out her plastic cover. Bev moved Essie’s walker to the side so she could walk between the two women.

  “Hello, Essie,” said June, squinting. “Is that you? I can’t tell without my glasses.”

  “It’s me,” said Essie. Bev was now working furiously, combing out June’s short, thin grey hair while she blew it dry with a hair blower at the same time. Essie always marveled at Bev’s manual dexterity, often thinking Bev would have made a great circus juggler. She could certainly handle several duties at once. Soon June’s hair was dry, fluffy, and glistening.

  “You look great, June,” said Essie.

  “Thanks, Essie,” replied June. “I can’t really see you, but I know your voice. Weren’t you at the Fright Night? I believe I saw you there.”

  “I was,” said Essie with a smile. “That was some event, wasn’t it? I jumped out of my skin when Santos made that noise!”

  “And that man who told that war story!” added June. “Wasn’t he wonderful?” June’s eyes lit up in a way that indicated to Essie that June was impressed with more than the man’s story.

  “He was quite something,” agreed Essie. “I understand his name is Edward Troy. I believe he’s new.” Essie would have been ashamed to admit that she had grilled Phyllis about the man’s identity. She certainly wasn’t going to reveal that she’d followed him on his mysterious morning trek.

  “Yes,” said June. “He’s new. He’s on my wing. I’ve spoken to him several times and he’s very charming!”

  “Oh?” asked Essie. “And what wing are you on?” This was a simple way to track down the elusive Edward Troy.

  “I’m on the west wing on the second floor,” replied June. “Essie, don’t tell me you find Mr. Troy as fascinating as I do?”

  “I…I…” stuttered Essie, “I do find him a bit mysterious.” She left her response vague in the hopes that June might reveal some more information about the man.

  “Mysterious?” said June with a laugh. “What’s mysterious about him? I mean, he told half of his life history at Fright Night the other day. It seems to me that he’s very forthcoming!”

  “Do you know anything about his, uh, present life?” asked Essie.

  “What do you mean, Essie?”

  “If he’s so forthcoming,” offered Essie, “just what do you know about him other than his military experiences?”

  “I…uh,” said June, scowling as Bev put the finishing touches on her do. “I guess I don’t know that much but he is very pleasant.” She smiled warmly at Essie.

  “There you go, June!” declared Bev, stamping out the remains of her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “All set!” She whisked off the plastic cover from around the woman’s neck and helped June down. Bev quickly went to the front of the shop and retrieved June’s cane and brought it back to her while June scrounged in her pocket and brought out some folded bills.

  “Here you go, Bev,” she said handing the packet of money to the beautician. “Keep the change!” Bev smiled and thanked her and stashed the money in her pocket. June waved farewell to Essie and headed out the door.

  “Now then, Essie,” said Bev, turning to her only customer, and (to Essie’s relief, with no cigarette), “what should we do with you today?”

  “Just the regular,” replied Essie as Bev led her back to the wash basin. Soon, Essie was drifting off as the warm water pulsated over her head. When Bev plopped the big, thick towel on her head and led her to the hydraulic chair, Essie relaxed. This was always one of her favorite times. She enjoyed talking to Bev and, most important, she always learned something because Bev had been at Happy Haven so long that she knew everyone who lived there now and almost everyone who had ever lived—or worked—at the facility.

  “So, what’s up with my favorite detective?” asked Bev as she began sectioning Essie’s hair and rolling it in curlers.

  “Oh, all sorts of things, Bev,” replied Essie.

  “Bet you’re planning on going to the haunted house field trip, right?” asked the beautician, grabbing some more curlers and papers from her stand.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Essie, “my friends want me to go, and we all did sign the sheet, but—”

  “Essie!” cried Bev, standing upright and staring Essie directly in the face. “Surely, the most daring resident we have isn’t afraid of a haunted house?”

  Essie cringed. She hated to disappoint Bev, or anyone, but she couldn’t help feeling the way she did.

  “I’m not really scared of haunted houses,” she said, “more it’s just I hate field trips where I’m away from any nearby bathrooms, if you get my drift.”

  “Oh, Essie!” said Bev. “I can’t believe you’d let a little incontinence stop YOU from doing anything! And besides, I understand that Tippleton House is making their haunted house tours available to retirement communities for these daytime trips for the first time since they’ve been doing the haunted house. I’ve been there several times—at night, of course—and it’s amazing. It’s not all that scary; it’s more just a beautiful old mansion. You would love it!”

  “I’ll think about it, Bev. It’s good to get your opinion of the place. Actually, I wanted to ask you some questions. You know, about your memories of the past—of Happy Haven’s past.”

  “You know me, Essie,” said Bev with a chuckle, “I’ve got a great memory. I can tell you just about anything you want to know about anyone here at Happy Haven.”

  “Of course, I’m curious about our new director,” said Essie, and just thinking about the handsome
man caused her cheeks to redden.

  “Oh, that man!” said Bev, almost swooning. “Isn’t he the bee’s knees?”

  “Bev!” cried Essie. “You’re too young for such expressions. Bee’s knees is my generation.”

  “Whatever,” replied the beautician, grabbing another small thin paper with her teeth and a clump of hair and a pink roller with her fingers. “You know what I mean, Essie!”

  “I do,” agreed Essie as her eyes followed Bev’s multiple gyrations. That Bev could manipulate the various different items using her fingers, teeth, and, sometimes, her underarms, always amazed Essie.

  “Wasn’t HH lucky to get such a dreamboat?” Bev continued. “I mean, after the notorious Violet Hendrickson, we’d all have been content with some mousy little lady, but, no, they send us a genuine Italian movie star!”

  “Oh, he just looks like a movie star, Bev,” said Essie, maintaining a frozen posture as Bev whipped the last few rollers into her hair.

  “Nope,” said Bev, now rimming a long strand of cotton around the base of Essie’s hairline, “he is a genuine star. He doesn’t talk about it, but I have it on the highest authority—that means someone in the main office—that Felix Federico is…was a minor Italian movie star before coming to the states.”

  “Why would a movie star want to become the director of an assisted living facility?” asked Essie, incredulous.

  “You got me,” replied Bev, “but he was in a couple of films in Italy back in the ‘80s.”

  “Maybe he was just an…oh, what do you call them? An extra?” she said suddenly.

  “Nope!” replied Bev, wrapping a plastic sheet around Essie’s head. “He had featured roles in several movies. I guess back when he was in his twenties. I’d guess he’s forty or forty-five now, but he still looks like a movie star, doesn’t he?”

  “Did he ever appear in any films here?” asked Essie.

  “Not according to my source,” she whispered close to Essie’s ear, as she lowered the seat to floor level. “He never discusses it, my source says. She says she thinks he’s embarrassed by it.”