Getting Old is a Disaster Read online

  “Not to worry,” I tell him. “They’ll get bored as soon as their favorite TV show comes on.”

  “What do we do now?” he asks. “Do you want me to come up with you?” A reasonable question since now we are officially a couple.

  “It might be a better idea if we go to our own places alone. Let’s meet tomorrow and figure out a plan of survival.”

  “Good idea. But I don’t care if the yenta brigade is watching. I am going to kiss you good night.” I’m so lucky to have this wonderful man. For a brief moment I let myself think of the life-changing events that occurred when we were in New York. It will take a while for me to absorb the truth about my husband’s murder so many years ago. But it was Jack who gave this truth as his finest gift to me. It has finally brought us together—forever more, I hope.

  And Jack kisses me. Beautifully. Lovingly. I cling to him, not wanting the kiss to end.

  From somewhere I hear a low smattering of applause.

  Jack, suitcase in hand, walks to his building in Phase Six, his jacket collar turned up against the drizzling rain. He hears a sugary voice calling out to him from the third floor.

  “Hi, honeybun. Up here.”

  He glances up to see Louise Bannister waving a handkerchief. His upstairs neighbor is a flamboyant widow in her sixties, who, because she’s a bottle redhead, is under the illusion she’s a Rita Hayworth lookalike playing Gilda. As she leans over, her Chinese red robe reveals—as Jack assumes she planned—much cleavage.

  “Welcome home,” she says breathily. “We missed you while you were away.”

  “Thanks, Louise,” he answers quietly so as not to disturb the other neighbors. She’s hard to take, his overwrought femme fatale neighbor, but Jack has to admit that Louise is a darned good bridge player.

  His eye is caught by two men coming toward the building. Both are dressed in the Orthodox Jewish tradition: black hat, suit, and vest; full beard and mustache.

  Louise calls cheerily. “Abe, Stanley, look who’s home.”

  To Jack, the two men, both in their eighties, seem an odd pair, but they’re always together. Abe Waller squints, peering through his Coke-bottle eyeglasses, and nods in recognition. Stanley Heyer smiles openly and waves in greeting. Whereas Abe is big and burly, Stanley is small and feisty. Abe speaks rarely, and smiles little. Stanley is garrulous and upbeat.

  “Well, gotta go, boys,” Louise says, straightening. “See you soon, hon.” She winks at Jack before turning to go back into her apartment.

  “I can hardly wait,” Jack says under his breath.

  “Good trip?” Abe asks.

  “Very,” Jack answers.

  “Just in time for some heavy rains,” Stanley comments as he plucks a few dead leaves from a hibiscus bush nearby.

  Jack smiles politely. Everyone knows that Stanley was one of the original developers of Lanai Gardens back in the late ’50’s. Apparently he liked it so much, he moved into one of the apartments himself when they officially opened.

  The two men separate and go their own way. Stanley crosses the courtyard to building Y and Abe walks into his ground-floor apartment in Jack’s building, Z.

  Jack’s finished gathering his mail and is about to head up the stairs when he hears another voice behind him. Dora Dooley pops out of her first-floor apartment. The petite eighty-one-year-old soap opera addict is always cold, and wears a bulky sweater and wool scarf no matter the weather. “It’s about time you got back. My garbage has been piling up.”

  “I’ll take care of it in the morning, Dora. I promise,” he says in his usual patient voice.

  Welcome home, he thinks ironically. Women to the right of me, women to the left of me. It’s not going to be easy having some kind of life with Gladdy around here with all these clutching women.

  The phone has already rung four times. Each of the girls called me to do what they always do: say good night, make plans for the next day, share last-minute thoughts of any kind. Bella is last. Finally, peace and quiet. It’s wonderful.

  The phone rings again. It’s Jack this time. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but the phone’s been busy.”

  I sigh. “It’s a tradition.”

  “I can’t stand not being with you. I wish it was morning already. Maybe I should wait until dark and sneak over. No one will see me.”

  “That’s what you think. The native drums will beat your arrival. Got a better idea. Meet me at the bus stop at the main gate. Six-thirty A.M.”

  This time he sighs. “Six A.M. all right. Until tomorrow, my dearest. I love you.”

  That night, I have a dream. In it, I see Jack sitting on the beach waving a Mai Tai at me. He’s in swimming trunks wearing a big floppy sun hat and aviator sunglasses with a big grin on his face. He waves to me to join him. The girls and I are dancing around a maypole. All of them are sewed on to me with huge colored ribbons. As we dance I try to get their ribbons off. I want to pull free, but they won’t let go of me. The music goes faster and faster and finally we all fall down.

  I wake up in a sweat. I don’t need Dr. Freud to tell me what that nightmare was about.

  Mata Hari Explains It All

  I am sitting at the bus stop in front of the main gate of Lanai Gardens, on Oakland Park Boulevard, at six-thirty A.M., waiting for Jack. It rained last night. Lucky thing I brought along a towel to dry the bench. But it’s a lovely morning. It’s been a long time since I got myself up this early. Nice to hear how quiet things are before the mobs of people start their day.

  Someone has planted a new grouping of camellias in a wired fence in front of the big Lanai Gardens sign and I am enjoying admiring them. So far two buses have attempted to stop for me but I waved them on.

  It’s about a six-minute brisk stroll from my apartment to here, maybe ten from his. I look at my watch. I know Jack will be on time. Sure enough, here he comes at a sprint down the long road from Phase Six.

  He hesitates at the strange sight of me. I give him a great big smile. He drops down next to me on the bench, puffing slightly. “Morning,” I say.

  “For a moment I thought it was Halloween. What’s with the Mata Hari outfit?”

  “You like the black hat with the veil? And the huge dark glasses? I picked them up at a garage sale years ago for a costume party.”

  “So, I take it you’re in disguise?”

  “You bet I am. I snuck out the back way behind the buildings. Nobody looks out those windows because all they’ll ever see are the garbage trucks. You might consider the same route going back. If you want any privacy, that is.”

  “Is this the life you predict for us from now on? Sneaking around Dumpsters? Getting up at dawn? Meeting at bus benches?” He grins. “It’s a little kinky, but if that’s what turns you on.”

  He lifts the hat off my head and places it beside me. “The better to see you with, my dear,” he leers. Then kisses me, and I kiss him right back. I feel like a teenager again, sneaking out to meet my boyfriend.

  Another bus starts to slow. This time Jack waves it past. I didn’t know we had such good public transportation around here.

  Jack turns my shoulders so I am facing him directly. “I have an easy solution. Let’s get married. After the girls get over the shock, everything will become wonderfully boring. They’ll get used to us being together.”

  “Nice plan, but it won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of—the getting-used-to part. See how fast the girls got you to pay the cab bill and carry up their suitcases? Soon you’ll graduate to ‘Jackie, won’t you please run down to Publix and get me a jar of Hellman’s mayonnaise?’ Or ‘Jackie, I can’t plug in my iron,’ or ‘Jackie, could you change a lightbulb for me? I just can’t reach the socket.’ Never mind they’ve been doing all these things for themselves for years before Mr. Easy Touch came to town.”

  Jack laughs and pulls me close and kisses me again. “You forget what I did last night. I just needed to snap my fingers and they j
umped at my command.”

  I shake my head. “Foolish man. You just imagine you’ve got control.”

  “No, I know I have.”

  “You won’t believe me? I’ll prove it. We promised we’d have a celebration dinner when we got home. Okay. Tonight at the deli. It’s what I like to call show and tell. After that, you’ll understand what you’re in for.”

  For a few moments we snuggle together, exchanging kisses and waving buses on. Early- morning traffic on the six-lane street is getting heavier. Maybe we’ll die from the exhaust coming out of all those vehicles. Right now, I don’t care. This is bliss.

  “Yoo-hoo, Gladdy, Jackie!”

  We turn around and, yes, here they come. My darling, predictable girls. They climb out of a car, thanking a neighbor for the lift to the main gate. They manage to pull a huge picnic basket after them. They are all smiles.

  “You left so early, you didn’t have time for breakfast,” says Bella, placing the basket next to us on the bench. “So we put together a feast from all four of our almost-empty fridges.”

  Sophie says, “Just a little snack, a little cheese, some apples,” as she pulls them out. “A rugallah or two. Some hard-boiled eggs...”

  Ida adds, “Naturally a few bagels and cream cheese. Already schmeared.” She removes these, along with plastic silverware and napkins.

  Evvie grins wickedly at me, enjoying the look of horror on Jack’s face. “We even brought a thermos of coffee and cute little plastic cups. Just like a family picnic in the park.”

  “Don’t bother getting up, Jackie,” comments Ida. “We’re fine just standing here.”

  I add my own evil grin as I ask him, “Shall I pour; dear; or will you?”

  He grimaces. “How did you find us?”

  “Piece of cake,” says Ida. “Tessie was vacuuming the Venetian blinds in her Florida room and she saw Gladdy sneak out. You know what an early riser Tessie is.”

  Evvie had this to add: “Denny was driving back from the flower market with new plants for his garden when he saw Gladdy sitting at the bus stop.”

  Bella giggles. “Lola was beating her rugs on the landing railing when she saw Jack run by.”

  My sister smiles ever so sweetly at me. “So we put one and one and one together and we realized two people we know and love were up early and we thought how nice it would be to bring them breakfast.”

  “How kind,” I say, tossing an equal dose of saccharine back at her.

  Another bus pulls up and we hear the whoosh of the pneumatic door opening. I see the expression on my sweetheart’s face as he eyes the lowered steps to freedom.

  I say, “Don’t even think about it... Jackie.”

  The Pool

  It is still early in the morning. We’ve had our impromptu breakfast at the bus stop bench. Jack went back to his condo. The girls and I have done our exercises, such as they are—a little walking, a little stretching, a lot of kvetching. Now we’re ready for the pool. We’re waiting for the “regulars” to arrive for our usual nine a.m. meet. Definition of swim: Ten minutes spent getting in the water, inch by inch, to get used to what they describe as excruciatingly cold. The pool is kept at 80 degrees, so don’t ask. Then walking and talking as we slosh our way across from side to side in the shallow section.

  Now we’re sitting around one of the patio tables, its umbrella shielding us from too much sun, and using the time to go through all the private eye business mail that piled up while we were solving crimes in New York. We are job efficient. Sophie opens each envelope. Bella takes out each letter and flattens it for easy reading. She hands all bills to Evvie, who is our bookkeeper. We all read, discuss, and decide which pile to place the rest of the missives in. Our stacks include: boring, crackpots, whiners, just plain stupid, junk mail, and maybes.

  Sophie holds up a letter. “Here’s one from a guy who wants to know if our agency can find him a girlfriend. He says he’s eighty years old and still a stud muffin.”

  “Hah!” says Evvie. “Boy, is he unclear on the concept. This is not a dating service.”

  Sophie crushes the letter and puts it in the “stupid” pile. “I’m sorry Jackie had to leave us right after our nice meal. How could his head hurt so bad that he had to lie down?”

  Evvie laughs. “Gee, I wonder.”

  Poor Jack. The girls crowding over him on the bench was a little much, and the dropped bagel crumbs on his shirt were kind of irritating, but the last straw was when Bella, in her eagerness to serve, spilled orange juice all over his lap. I’d tried to warn him.

  “What about this one?” Bella says, holding up a letter. “Her husband goes to the park every day, then gets lost and can’t find his way home. She says he doesn’t have Alzheimer’s, it’s just his short-term memory that’s shot.”

  “I feel like we’re Dear Abby with these letters,” Evvie comments. “What does the woman want us to do? Pick him up every day and bring him home?”

  Bella looks up, surprised. “How did you guess?”

  “Tell her to get him a dog,” Sophie suggests. “One with a good sense of direction.”

  “Or put a bell around his neck so his wife can find him.” Bella giggles.

  Ida says, “Listen to this. A woman in Margate says men keep stalking her and the police won’t believe her.”

  “Men?” Evvie asks. “More than one?”

  “Does she give any other information,” I ask, “like her age?”

  Evvie says, “The woman writes she’s fifty-five and still a heartthrob.” She glances at the enclosed photo, then passes it around for us to see.

  “Maybe we should send her photo to that first guy whose letter we read,” says Ida. “I smell a possible romance here. Heartthrob meet stud muffin.” Everyone giggles.

  Evvie studies a newspaper article someone sent in a folded sheet of paper. “Hmm,” she says, “get this. It’s from last week’s Broward Journal. While we were away.” She laughs. “You’re gonna love it. ‘Grandpa Bandit eludes police again. A gray-haired elderly male has robbed six Fort Lauderdale banks to date. Bank officials and police, who arrived quickly on each scene, are baffled as to how the bandit has made his escape time after time.’ Wow. And what about this?” She holds up the clipping for us to see. “Someone scribbled across the article with a heavy black marker. It says, ‘Catch me if you can, girls!’”

  This gets everyone’s attention. “Girls?” Ida says. “He means us? How does he know who we are? Is that his way of hiring us to find him?”

  Bella looks bemused. “But how will he pay us if we don’t know who he is?”

  “Well, he could afford it from his loot when we catch him,” suggests pragmatic Sophie.

  “But why would he want us to catch him?” Ida says. “I don’t get it.”

  Evvie pulls something else out of the envelope. “Well, look at this!” She holds up a tiny green feather.

  “I wonder what that’s for,” Sophie muses.

  A green feather? A challenge to us to catch him? Why? I’m intrigued. “Put that one on our ‘maybe’ pile,” I say.

  “Someone’s coming,” Bella says. “I guess the pool gang is starting to arrive.”

  Evvie looks up and scowls. “Oh, no. Here we go again. I thought he’d have moved out by now.” Shuffling toward us is Evvie’s ex-husband, Joe Markowitz. His head is bowed. It’s sad to see what a broken man he’s become, so unlike the virile, exciting soldier Evvie married after the war. Evvie has still not forgiven him for his sorry treatment of her during their marriage and she won’t budge from her position. She hadn’t seen him in more than fifteen years when, to Evvie’s surprise and annoyance, Joe recently turned up and rented an apartment in Phase Three.

  Joe reaches our table. “Hi, Evvie. I heard you were back. I just came over to say hello.”

  There’s a stain on his shirt, which is buttoned wrong. And his shorts are badly wrinkled. His clothes look shabby, like he’s given up caring. So unlike the meticulous dresser he used to be.

 
Evvie stiffens. Her tone is curt. “Okay. Hello. And goodbye. We’re busy here.”

  I shoot her a look to tell her to lighten up a bit. She shrugs at me, meaning she doesn’t want to. All our lives my sister and I have talked in body short-hand.

  “Take a load off,” Sophie says, offering Joe a chair that she pulls from an adjoining table. Evvie is not pleased.

  “May I?” he asks pathetically.

  Evvie gives him her shoulder. A very cold shoulder. More like ice.

  He hesitates, then sits down. No one speaks. The girls pretend to busy themselves with opening envelopes as Joe stares hopelessly at Evvie.

  Finally, Evvie’s had enough. “Well? Speak your piece.”

  “I thought I could take you out to breakfast. I’d like to talk some things over with you.”

  “I’ve already had breakfast,” she says loftily, not giving him an inch. “Anything you have to say, you can say in front of my beloved sister and my dear friends.”

  Ouch... when the drama queen wants to play mean, nobody does it better.

  Joe stares at her with a hangdog expression. She turns away. Joe stands up. “Maybe at a more convenient time.”

  The rest of us are silent when he leaves. Nobody will look at Evvie.

  “What?” she says testily.

  “Get up,” I say. My tone is to remind her I’m the older sister. “Your parents brought you up with some manners. Go and say something kind to that poor man.”

  Evvie stands and puts her hands on her hips. “Or what? You gonna spank me? We’re grownups now.”

  “Then act like one.”

  We glare at each other. Then she stomps off like a kid having a tantrum.

  The girls applaud me. “Back to our mail,” I say, but I’m glancing over my shoulder at Evvie catching up with Joe. He’s obviously surprised and pleased, but trying not to show it.

  I can barely hear their voices. “I’m sorry I was rude,” she says, obviously not meaning it.