Bingoed (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

“We’ve put more effort into helping folks reach old age than into helping them enjoy it.”

—Frank A. Clark

When Essie awoke the next morning, she was chastising herself for not finishing reading the printed minutes from the Board of Directors’ meeting. She’d left the pile of papers on her end table in the living room. Now, she probably wouldn’t have any time because Prudence was coming over right after breakfast to take her to her doctor appointment. DeeDee’s voice called out and soon her lively Italian morning assistant was cajoling her out from under her warm duvet and whipping Essie into her daily uniform in her typically efficient yet bubbly manner.

“DeeDee,” said Essie, as she held up her foot to get her shoe laces tied, “what is your opinion of Violet Hendrickson?”

“Old sourpuss? Ooops, I mean, our Director,” chuckled DeeDee, a hand over her mouth.

“You’re not too fond of her?” asked Essie.

“She doesn’t have a very touchy-feely manner,” noted DeeDee, smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion and then quickly placing her finger to her lips in the “shh” gesture.

“Does all the staff feel the same?” continued Essie.

“Most of us, I guess,” answered DeeDee, now helping Essie up and to her walker.

“What about Sue Barber, the Social Director?” queried Essie as she shuffled out to her living room.

“Oh, her!” scoffed DeeDee, bringing Essie her pills. “She’s just her flunky.”

“Flunky?” said Essie, astonished.

“Yeah,” replied DeeDee. “That woman adores Violet. Why, I’ll never know. Violet is such a cold fish. Why she ever wanted to work at an assisted living facility—let alone got to be a director of one—is beyond me.”

“Her job has never been in jeopardy?”

“I guess she must know people in high places, if you know what I mean,” said DeeDee rolling her eyes.

“Does the job pay well?”

“Essie, let’s just say that for what she does, it pays really well,” answered DeeDee.

“You mean she’s incompetent.”

“More like superfluous,” responded DeeDee. “This place is a well-oiled machine. You know it. We have a great staff and we’re well paid compared to lots of facilities. Violet is really just a figurehead who sits in her office and greets visiting dignitaries.”

“I saw her handle a rather sticky situation yesterday rather well,” suggested Essie tentatively.

“Oh, she can be diplomatic. Don’t get me wrong. She knows how to sweet talk and persuade. Unfortunately, she tends to use those skills more for her own benefit than for Happy Haven.”

“Hmm,” said Essie.

“You’re all set, Missie,” said DeeDee, giving Essie a hug. “Now, you’re not going to repeat all of this to Violet, are you?”

“Absolutely not, DeeDee,” agreed Essie. “And thanks for your honesty.” She smiled and waved goodbye to her aide as DeeDee headed out the door. Essie sat in her chair, her clipboard of crossword puzzles in her lap, and contemplated her next move. Violet Hendrickson required more investigation; that was for sure. As she had some time before breakfast, Essie reached over to the stack of printed sheets next to her telephone where she had left them the previous evening. For some reason, Fay seemed to think that these minutes held some important information. Or maybe, Fay was just dreaming. Maybe she just found Violet’s name listed somewhere and printed everything she could find whether it was meaningful or not. She looked at the page on the top of the pile. Flipping on her table lamp, she brought the small print as close to her eyes as possible and started to read.

The minutes indicated a rather heated discussion about the finances at Happy Haven. She really didn’t understand what the Board members were arguing about, but it seemed to concern investments in the facility’s holdings. Some Board members believed that Happy Haven needed to diversify their holdings more and other members disagreed. Page after page indicated motions and counter-motions regarding changes to the portfolio. It was excruciatingly boring—sort of like listening to Darrell, her financial advisor, ramble on about the stock market for hours at a time. After about six or seven pages of this, she came to a spot where one Board member made a motion to consider filling the Director’s position at Happy Haven. He noted that the present director was retiring in several months and that they would be obligated to replace him. The minutes indicated that several candidates had applied and had been interviewed. The top three candidates for the position were listed in the minutes. One of those candidates was Violet Hendrickson. After this, the minutes indicated an intense discussion about the three candidates. Ah, thought Essie, now it’s getting juicy.

“Mr. James Abernathy moved that the Board select Margaret Peterson as the new Director of Happy Haven,” indicated the minutes. Then discussion from fellow members was recorded in the minutes. Ms. Peterson’s qualifications were discussed critically. Following this scrutiny of the first candidate, the same routine was utilized for a second candidate—a Priscilla Hardy. Finally, said Essie to herself, the Board came to their final candidate—Violet Hendrickson.

“Ms. Hendrickson,” read the minutes, “has the educational qualifications and the experience for this position.” Essie read then about Violet’s background, her major in college, her work experience, and a list of her former jobs. She was duly impressed. Even so, Violet’s qualifications didn’t seem any more stellar than those of the other two candidates.

At one point, one Board member asked, “Should we not re-interview these three women, seeing as how they all appear to be equally qualified?”

Another Board member responded, “Since they’re all equally qualified, does it really matter which one we choose?”

Essie stopped and reread this remark to be sure she had read it correctly the first time. Yes, it appeared the Board didn’t seem to be all that concerned about their choice of director for Happy Haven.

“I move,” said one Board member, as indicated in the minutes, “that we offer the position of Executive Director to Violet Hendrickson.” Why? Essie asked as she continued to read.

“I have no problem with the Hendrickson woman,” said another. “Either of the three would be fine. Their qualifications are all relatively comparable. I don’t think we really need to interview them again.”

So, why Violet? Essie wondered. She continued to read.

The Board member who had moved to hire Violet added in the minutes, “I knew Ms. Hendrickson’s father years ago. A good family—and a well-placed one. She has a nice social standing—the other two, I don’t know much about their families.” Several other members offered confirmation for this analysis in the minutes, making their remarks sound as if Violet’s social position and family background were of greater importance in qualifying her for the Director’s position than her own education and experience.

Hmm, thought Essie. I guess they either ignored that DUI or didn’t know about it. Even so, she realized, all of this had happened years ago and Violet had been their Director for the entire time that Essie had been a resident, so for all she knew, Violet was a sterling Director compared to other assisted living facility directors around the country. Could she—should she— hold one indiscretion against the woman? A DUI was not exactly elder abuse. But she couldn’t help but wonder at the cavalier attitude of this Board of Directors—as evidenced by these minutes—the very people who should be most concerned about the welfare of the residents—just doling out the top job to someone based on their family’s social standing. Or at least to Essie’s understanding, that’s what appeared to have happened.

The intercom interjected into her musings. “Residents, good morning. It’s seven-thirty and time for the first seating at breakfast. We have fresh cinnamon rolls today!”

Essie smirked. They have fresh cinnamon rolls every day, she thought. She roused herself from her chair, made a fast detour to her bathroom because all the water she had swallowed to take her pills had seeped right through her, and then out she rolled to the dining hall.

Chapter Twenty-two

“After the age of 80, everything reminds you of something else.”

—Lowell Thomas

After breakfast, she hurried back to her apartment to brush her teeth and visit her toilet a second time. Just as she was walking out of her bathroom, her daughter Prudence arrived.

“Mom!” called Prudence. “I’m here! Are you ready?”

“Pru!” greeted Essie, “What’s the weather like? Do I need a jacket?”

“Just your light coat, I think,” answered Prudence. She opened Essie’s small living room closet and removed her blue raincoat and slipped it on her mother. “I’ve already signed you out, so we can just go.”

“A long trip today, right?” asked Essie.

“I know,” agreed Prudence. “But, Mom, the trees are in bloom and there are so many of them between here and Elmwood. You’ll love it!” She guided Essie out of her apartment and out through the main entrance. At the front of the building, Prudence helped Essie into the front passenger seat of her little white Toyota, and then quickly dismantled Essie’s walker and stuffed it in her trunk. Then she slid into the driver’s seat and the two women took off amidst a lively conversation about weather and catching up on family events.

“Oh my!” shouted Essie as they hit the highway on the way to Elmwood, “How beautiful!” And truly, the road seemed to be lined with parade watchers and those watchers were all festooned with garlands of flowers. Essie was entranced. She so seldom had the opportunity to get outside of Happy Haven, that when she did, she always enjoyed the natural scenery.

“A perfect April day!” exclaimed Prudence. Soon, they had arrived at the doctor’s office. Actually, it was a small brick building located conveniently along the highway. Prudence parked directly across from the entrance and shortly the two women were inside and waiting in the doctor’s lobby.

Almost immediately, the nurse called Essie’s name and she wheeled herself down the narrow hallway and around several corners into the small office. Prudence followed and the two women seated themselves before the doctor’s impressive desk. They always enjoyed commenting on the doctor’s array of unusual artwork on the walls and strange sculptures on her desk. However, today, they didn’t have time for that because the doctor entered from another door and immediately seated herself at the desk.

“Miss Essie,” said the plain female physician with her hair pulled back into a loose bun, “how have you been?”

“Fine, Dr. Payne,” said Essie politely, “Just fine.”

“Now, let’s see, you’re at Happy Haven, right?” Essie always thought it was unusual that she was seeing this doctor for, among other things, memory loss and the doctor never seemed to remember anything about her.

“Right,” responded Essie.

“And how are you feeling?” continued the doctor, looking from her folder on her desk up at Essie.

“Fine, doctor.”

“Eating well?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Getting exercise?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What about activities?” the doctor continued.

“I play Bingo,” offered Essie.

“Really?” queried the doctor, the tip of her pen between her teeth. “Do you ever win?”

“Once in a while.”

“That must be exciting!”

“It is!” said Essie. “One of our residents won the other night and he collapsed and fell into a coma!”

“When he won at Bingo?” she asked.

“Yes. Well, not right when he won,” Essie said, correcting herself.

“Oh?” asked the doctor.

“No, now that I think about it,” said Essie, thinking hard, “he was fine when he won. It wasn’t until he went up to claim his prize that he collapsed.”

“What was the prize?” chuckled the doctor. “A Ferrari?”

“No, just a dollar bill,” said Essie.

“I can’t imagine him getting all that excited over a dollar bill,” noted the doctor, “unless, of course, he was really poverty stricken.”

“He’s definitely not poor,” said Essie.

“Then it must have been something else,” suggested the doctor.

“Yes,” agreed Essie.

The doctor moved on. “How’s your memory, Essie?”

“Fine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Essie Cobb.”

“How old are you?”

“Ninety.”

“She just had her birthday,” interjected Prudence. “It was a great party!”

“I’m sure it was!” said the doctor, smiling. “Essie, do you know the date?”

“Uh, Tuesday, April 5, 2011.”

“That’s right. What about the President?”

“What about him?” retorted Essie.

“I mean, who is the President?” asked the doctor. Essie responded correctly. “What about the governor?”

“Who?” asked Essie, looking flustered.

“Doctor,” said Prudence quickly, “I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t remember the name of the governor. It’s more that she’s just not interested in politics.”

“I see,” said the doctor. “There must be a lot going on over at Happy Haven that keeps you occupied.”

“Oh, yes,” said Essie.

“That’s good,” said the doctor. Essie smiled. “Essie, do you have any questions?”

“Do you know anything about Medilogicos?” Essie asked abruptly.

The doctor laughed. “My goodness, Essie. That’s quite a question. Medilogicos is a large medical software company.”

“Are they—uh—successful?” asked Essie.

“I’d say they are,” the doctor said, smiling. “We use their services. Truthfully, they’ve revolutionized a lot of medical testing and how we interact with patients.”

“Good,” said Essie. “Then their executives are probably not poor.”

“I would think not,” said the doctor. “Have you heard of Bill Gates?”

“They’re as rich as him?”

“Not quite, but believe me—Medilogicos is well known in the medical community.”

“That’s good to hear, doctor,” noted Essie.

“I guess we’ll just keep things the way they are then, Essie; okay? I’ll call in renewals for all your meds.”

“Good,” replied Essie.

“And I’ll see you in six months.”

“Okay,” agreed Essie. The doctor beamed at Essie, shook her hand, and then exited out the back door in the office. Prudence and Essie rose and ambled out into the lobby. Essie waited as Prudence made her six month appointment. She was thinking about what she had talked about with the doctor—not about her health or memory. None of that. She was thinking about the conversation about Bob’s collapse at Bingo and how he hadn’t fallen right when he got the Bingo; he had fallen when he went up and claimed his dollar bill. That didn’t make a lot of sense now that she thought about it. If Bob was all that upset—about Ben Jericho or Violet Hendrickson—or whoever or whatever was worrying him—you’d think that the added stress of actually winning would send him over the top—anxiety-wise. You wouldn’t think that he’d be just fine during that exciting part and manage to walk all the way over to the center of the room and reach out and grab that dollar bill—and only then hit the floor.

Prudence came into the lobby.

“Let’s go, Mom!” she said and the women headed out of the doctor’s office and back to Happy Haven—the scene of enough excitement to keep Essie’s memory and mental faculties in top form for a long time. Gerontologists! Ha!