Getting Old is a Disaster Page 3

  Joe shrugs. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I accept your apology. But I bet Glad put you up to it.” Evvie has the decency to blush.

  Joe says, “She always was nicer to me.”

  Isn’t that the truth? Evvie, in true sisterly loyalty, humphs. “Look, Joe, I just want to say, even though you’ve moved here, there’s no reason for you to hang out with me. I have a life and it doesn’t need you in it.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ll try to stay out of your way,” he says sadly.

  “That’s that, then. See you around.”

  I mm around quickly, so Evvie wouldn’t see me spying.

  Evvie walks away and heads for her usual seat around the pool, her shoulder still stiff. I assume her attitude is as kind as he deserves.

  “Oh, goody, here comes the gang,” Bella announces. She sweeps the piles of mail into a basket and heads for our appointed lounge chairs, which are around the three-foot-deep pool mark. These seating arrangements have been set in stone for years.

  Sure enough, as if a bell rang, the usual denizens begin to arrive from all directions. The Canadians stake out their camp at the deep end, near the diving board. Hy and Lola plop down on their chaises, near the shallow end. Tessie and her new husband, Sol, who used to swim in Phase Three, take their seats next to the couple.

  Barbi Stevens and her cousin Casey Wright are across the pool, directly opposite them. They immediately start rubbing sunblock on each other’s bodies. My girls watch with fascination, knowing the “cousins’” secret sexual persuasion.

  Oh, but here’s something very new since we’ve been away. Irving Weiss arrives with Mary Mueller. They are carrying snacks, towels, and books to read. He now has a chaise next to hers. Irving, whose life has changed radically since his Millie went into an Alzheimer’s unit at a local nursing home—Irving, who’s always avoided the sun like a plague—now has become a worshipper?

  There are the usual morning greetings.

  As I walk past them to join Evvie at our usual spot, I have to ask. “How is Millie?”

  Mary’s eyes tell me what I know already. But Irving is still in denial. “Mary drives me over there every day. I stay all afternoon by her side. She seems to be doing a little better each time I see her. Sometimes I think my Millie recognizes me.”

  I look around. I can see there are mixed reactions to this new “couple.” I know everyone feels compassion for Irving, but there are negative responses to his spending so much time with Mary. Mary must be lonely, too, since her husband left her. Speculating on what they are doing or not doing together? I shake my head. What do they want from him? That he should sit in his apartment and cry all day?

  Everyone settles in. Tessie drags a reluctant Sol into the pool. She splashes him playfully, he cringes, then she takes off, doing laps. Hefty as she might be, Tessie is lightness itself as she swims laps up and down the pool.

  The Canadians, the “snowbirds” who come each year during the winter; read copies of their back-home newspapers and chat quietly amongst themselves.

  Lola immerses herself in one of her endless collection of romance novels. Hy always leers at their lurid bodice-revealing covers. I bet they secretly turn him on.

  Casey and Barbi have their laptops open and their hands fly across the keys.

  Mary reads medical journals. She used to be a nurse and even though she’s retired, she likes to keep up. Irving stares into space. By his mournful expression, he must be thinking of Millie.

  The girls are already in the pool. Ida and Evvie are doing kicking exercises along the edge. Bella and Sophie are humming little ditties from old musicals or other songs they remember, wiggling their fingers in time as they walk back and forth in two feet of water—their idea of strenuous exercise. I recognize the tune as “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.” Tiny Tim, of course.

  Hy, like some bird of prey, peruses the group, looking for mischief. His wicked, paunchy face lights on me. The perfect target. Not that I don’t expect it. I hide behind my new Janet Evanovich mystery. Her books always make me laugh out loud. I brace myself. With Hy on the attack, there will be no laughter from me this morning. Only aggravation.

  “So, Gladdy,” he calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What’s the big news announcement? Bella dropped a spicy tidbit the other day. You and Jack Langford maybe ready to tie the knot?”

  Trust me, I don’t have to say anything. My girls will do all the talking.

  Sure enough, they hop out of the pool, dripping and smiling, ready to reveal my secrets to one and all. Except for Evvie, who will try to remain loyal... until she, too, will succumb to the great idol, Gossip.

  Sophie starts it. “Well, you know they broke up.” Bella: “And then they made up.”

  Sophie: “And broke up again.”

  Ida: “Get to the point already. They are definitely an item and plans may soon be in the making.

  I pretend to read my book, but it’s impossible to concentrate. I have to keep alert for damage control.

  Barbi and Casey look amused. The Canadians always listen to our repartee; to them I imagine it’s something like going on safari and watching the baboons at play. Terribly droll, what?

  Bella blathers on. “Gladdy doesn’t have a ring, yet, but maybe...”

  I shudder. I cannot bear the idea of my very private life being thrown to the hyenas. I pull my floppy sun hat farther down on my face.

  Sophie adds, “We’re hoping to hear dates being mentioned... soon.”

  Ida says smugly, “A formal engagement might be announced one of these days.”

  Sophie jumps back. in. “With a great big party possibly to follow. We think.”

  Hy is chafing at the bit. He jumps up, his annoyance running over. “So? So? This is your idea of news? Maybe this. Maybe then. Maybe soon. Maybe later. It’s like pulling teeth getting facts out of any of you. Gladdy, ’fess up.”

  Everyone turns to stare at me. I bet I’m doing a perfect imitation of a deer caught in the headlights of a two-ton semi. I remain in that trance, hoping it will be over soon and they’ll turn on somebody else.

  Evvie grins, knowing how much my silence is annoying Hy. “Believe me, you’ll be the first, or maybe the last, to find out.”

  Lola the puppet bounces up and down with joy. “You can tell us. When’s the wedding date?” That’s it. Time to stop this. I turn to Hy, smiling insipidly. “So, Hy, no joke today? I sure missed your jokes while I was away.”

  What can I say? It’s either that or me, and I want out of the spotlight.

  Hy bows like the bantam cock he is, and holds his arms aloft, embracing everyone with his largesse. “Funny you should ask. I’m reminded of this joke. I look around me, and I see couples. Newly married couples.” He indicates Sol and Tessie, who simper back. “New sorts of couples.” He looks toward Irving and Mary. Irving looks embarrassed. Mary throws him a dirty look. “And now love has resprouted. Phase Six melds with Phase Two.”

  That’s aimed at me. I smile, though it’s more like a grimace.

  Hy pulls Lola up. I guess this routine needs a stooge.

  “There’s this loving couple, see? Let’s call them Hy and Lola.” He grins.

  Isn’t he the clever one? Meet Romeo and Juliet of Transylvania.

  “They’re sitting on the couch in front of the TV and suddenly Hy puts his arms around her.”

  Hy does just that. He pinches Lola for a response, and by golly, she says, “Oh, darling, how nice.”

  “His arm moves down her shoulder to her waist.” His actions continue to follow his words.

  I pray he doesn’t make his story X-rated.

  He pinches Lola for the next response. I guess they’ve been rehearsing.

  She goo-goo-eyes him and says, “I love it, darling, keep going.”

  Hy, the man and the character is now moving down toward her bony hips. Believe me, I’m holding my breath. He wiggles his fingers along her legs.

  “Oooh, aah,” she gurgles. “Don’t s
top.”

  His hand is moving dangerously close to no- man’s-land. I grin, amused by my thought.

  Hy, the narrator says dramatically, “And Hy stops.”

  Lola moans like she’s got indigestion or some-thing. But I think she is trying to act out ecstasy. “Ooh, my precious, why did you stop?”

  Hy lifts his hand aloft, using his sunscreen as a prop. “Because I found the clicker.”

  There is a long moment of quiet. Then, as one by one we get it, the applause builds to a smatter.

  I hope this dangerous duo of daftness isn’t going to be a regular act.

  Suddenly there is a huge cloudburst and rain starts to fall. Hoorah, saved by the weather. We all grab our things and run home before it becomes worse and we get soaked.

  But when I reach my apartment, it hits me—what was different about the pool scene today. Someone was missing. Enya, our concentration camp survivor; who is always there, reading a book and never talking to anyone, didn’t show up. She never misses a day. I hope nothing happened to her while we were away.

  It was all confusion. Driving rain and impenetrable fog. Bodies pushed every which way, prodded by bayonets, useless struggling, nowhere to run, lights zigzagging, pinning them down, their pathetic screaming turned into wailing. Clutching their loved ones, their soggy flesh herded, smashed together until they were one mass of seething humanity. Hopeless.

  Enya wakes up. She knows she should get up, but she can’t. Her body feels paralyzed.

  The nightmares have come back.

  Dance Around the Dumpsters

  Jack covers his ears against the noise of the garbage trucks as they empty the trash behind my building. It’s early afternoon and once again I’ve snuck away from the girls to be with him. We have yet to get enough time alone to make some plans.

  “I thought you were kidding when you said we should meet here,” he shouts.

  Between the clatter of the garbage trucks and the heavy traffic on this back road and the ambulances that speed by in a direct route to the hospital across the way, we can hardly hear each other.

  “Well, I figured no one would think to look for us in this place, but then again, I thought we were safe at the front gate,” I yell back at him. “You’ve already learned there’s hardly any way to have a private conversation around my girls.”

  “We’re not in jail, you know. We could have met off the premises.” He grimaces as one of the trash men heavily drops the lid of the Dumpster nearby.

  “Yes, but we have a visitor coming soon, so it wouldn’t have been convenient. Guess who.” “Somebody I know?”

  “Intimately.”

  “Really? Morrie?”

  I nod. He looks at me, surprised. “My son, the cop, does house calls? I’m impressed.”

  “Well. Not quite. He’s giving a lecture in the main clubhouse on avoiding senior scams and I asked him to drop by afterward to chat with us about an odd letter we received from the man who calls himself Grandpa Bandit.

  “I’ve already filled him in on the phone about the challenge thrown down to us. Naturally, Morrie’s interested in the article sent to us with the man’s handwriting on it. He’s coming by to pick it up. Care to listen in?”

  “Sure. Why not.”

  I give him a hug. “So, quick, let’s get to our own agenda. We need a plan.”

  “I have a plan. We go out to dinner. Afterward, we go to my place. Plain and simple.”

  “You mean I sneak away and come over? I can walk this back route most of the way.” I pause. “Wait, that’s a problem. I have to tell someone where I’ll be. If they keep phoning and I don’t answer, they’ll panic.”

  “That’s not what I mean. No more hiding. Tell them you will be with me tonight. All night.”

  I am pleasantly surprised and a little shocked. “Are you sure you want to go so public? You may regret it...”

  He tips my chin up so I can gaze into his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes that I want to sink into. “Chicken,” he says sweetly.

  He knows what I’m thinking. He always knows what I’m thinking. We have yet to consummate our love. Not for lack of trying to find an opportunity, though.

  “Be brave, my sweet,” he continues. “Since you won’t marry and make an honest man of me, then you have to deal with being a fallen woman.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask tentatively.

  “Yes!” he cries out dramatically. “Shout it out. Be strong. Who cares if the whole world knows!”

  “Gladdy. Jackie. Hello down there.” We hear Bella’s lilting voice from up above. We look and she is half-hanging out of her Florida back room window on the third floor. “Morrie got done early and he’s already here. We’re waiting for you two lovebirds to finish sparking.”

  Sparking? I haven’t heard that obsolete word since the 1930’s. Is Jack really turning purple, or am I imagining it?

  He sputters, “How do they do it? How do they always know where we are and what we’re doing?”

  I grin. “They just do. That’s what makes them such good private eyes.”

  I call up to Bella, “We’re on our way.”

  I start to walk toward the front of the building.

  “Come on, Jackie, your cover’s blown. Now’s your chance to tell the whole world, including your son, that we’re sleeping together tonight.”

  Young, handsome Detective Morgan “Morrie” Langford is waiting for us, seated at a patio table on the lawn, with my girls gazing at him adoringly. Which makes him most uncomfortable. He is dressed casually for his lecture today. Chinos and a cotton plaid shirt and a tie, instead of the usual suit.

  Whenever I gaze at him, I see the young man my Jack used to be. Many a proud grandma in Lanai Gardens has shoved photos of their unmarried granddaughters into his unwilling hands, hoping to make a match. He hasn’t ever followed up. Very wise, I’d say. I’ve seen some of those granddaughters.

  Spotting us, Bella and Sophie immediately jump up and take each of Jack’s arms and cuddle into him. They lead him to an empty chair. Poor darling—trapped again.

  Morrie is clearly surprised to see his father being greeted so familiarly. But before Morrie can open his mouth, Jack waves his arms at him, warning him. Don’t ask. I’ll fill you in later.

  Our police detective shrugs. I guess he isn’t used to seeing his dad flustered.

  “Hand Morrie what we’ve got,” I tell Evvie in my business voice. She takes the article as well as the envelope and offers both to him.

  “Thanks,” he says. He briefly glances at the article, then places the papers in his shirt pocket. “We’ll look into it.” He changes gears. “So, girls, how are you all?”

  “Wait just a minute. Not so fast,” I say. “After all, Grandpa Bandit reached out to us.”

  “Don’t bother your pretty little heads. It’s minor stuff.”

  I persist. “Maybe we can help you catch him.”

  “Don’t waste your energy. This is small potatoes.”

  Evvie chimes in. “But according to that newspaper article he’s robbed six banks. Isn’t that a big deal?”

  “This is police business,” Morrie says severely, obviously trying to end the conversation.

  Don’t bother our pretty little heads? Translation: We should mind our own business. What a put-down. Yet again our earlier successes as private eyes mean nothing. And why? Because of the usual prejudicial attitudes—we’re old, and assumed senile. And invisible. Who would take us seriously? Even Morrie still doesn’t get it—and he’s seen us in action. But that’s precisely why we succeed—people don’t see us as a threat. They assume we’ve lost our marbles. That’s why they’re careless of what they say around us. And then we nail them.

  “But it’s our case,” Sophie says stubbornly, as she refills Morrie’s glass of iced tea.

  He’s just as stubborn. “You have no case.”

  “Yes, we do, now.” Bella says sweetly. She reaches over to pick an imaginary bit of lint off his shirt.

  Morri
e is getting hot under the collar. “You have no client. A client meets with you face-to-face.”

  Bella smiles at his naivete. “Now, isn’t that silly? If he met with us, we’d know who he is.”

  Sophie jumps in. “Yeah, and we wouldn’t have a case anymore.”

  “Where is it written that he hired you?” Morrie crosses his arms, determined not to let us steamroll him, which we are about to do.

  Ida points. “In the article that you just pocketed. In his very own handwriting. He wants us to catch him, not you.”

  “Yeah,” says Bella. “If he wanted you to catch him, he’d have written to you.”

  Morrie’s face stiffens. Jack shakes his head, trying to signal his son. I can tell he’s warning him to get out while he can. But Morrie blunders on. “So where’s your retainer?”

  Bella smiles. “Silly. We work on a handshake deal.” She stops to think about what she’s said. “That is, we’ll shake his hand when we find him.” Morrie is behaving oddly—for him. He’s usually not so nervous around us. He’s hiding something. I wonder what’s going on. I can tell by Jack’s expression he has the same impression.

  “Look,” Morrie blurts as he stands up, “some-body is pulling your leg. Somebody you know sent you the clipping as a gag.”

  That stops us for a moment, then Evvie glances at me, both of us remembering. “Take a look in the envelope,” she says. “You missed something.”

  Puzzled, Morrie opens the envelope and sees the tiny green feather. By the way his face goes from tan to red to gray, we’ve hit gold.

  “That wasn’t in the newspaper, was it?” Evvie says knowingly. “That’s the information the police kept back.”

  “Bingo,” I say. “Your bandit has thrown down his gauntlet, so to speak. In fact,” I add, “do us a big favor, since we’re so old and helpless, mail me a list of the banks that our client robbed, and their addresses.”

  Morrie is sputtering by now. “Wait just one minute...”

  He’s right, of course. The police don’t want civilians pursuing cases on their own. They want cooperation and information, not meddling. Or interfering in a way that might compromise their investigation or their evidence. It’s not just the bandit who’s thrown down the gauntlet; so has Morrie, wanting us to keep out of it.