Getting Old Is a Disaster (10 page)

  I'm sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying my fantasies, when Bella walks in. Talk about another kind of adorable. She stands there in her cute PJs, rubbing her eyes and holding her teddy bear. I can picture Bella as she was as a child, in that same posture. Sweet and gentle. And as usual, confused.

  Bella asks, "What are you doing in my kitchen?"

  I smile at her. "No, you mean what are
you
doing in
my
kitchen."

  She looks around, realizing that indeed she is in my apartment. "I don't know. How did I get here?"

  She sits down and I pour her a cup of coffee. "Don't you remember coming over here last night during the storm?" I indicate the cluster of rain gear that we both can see in the adjoining hallway.

  "I did?"

  "You tried Evvie's door but couldn't open it, so you sloshed across the courtyard to me."

  She blows on the top of the cup to cool her drink. Bella likes her coffee lukewarm.

  We sit there quietly sipping and enjoying the silence and comfort of longtime friendship. Suddenly Bella perks up, remembering:

  "I had the funniest dream last night. I was in a strange bed and some man was standing over me, looking at me. Isn't that weird?"

  I cough, sputtering my coffee slightly. "That's quite a dream. Did you recognize this stranger in the night?"

  "No, it was too dark. But I think he was nice."

* * *

The sun is out, although it's weak and weary. Black thunderclouds darken the horizon.

  Ida is at her mailbox when Bella and I exit the elevator. She looks Bella up and down, eyebrows raised. Bella is still holding her teddy bear. "Are those your pajamas you're wearing under all that stuff?"

  "Don't ask," I say.

  Bella blushes, and hurries across the courtyard to her building, where she passes Evvie talking to her ex, Joe. Before Evvie can comment, an embarrassed Bella scampers into their building's elevator with her eyes closed against curious expressions on anyone else's face.

  Evvie and Joe are standing near Joe's old Ford V8. He's parked, with his door open, right in the middle of the street. I can hear their voices clearly.

  "I don't want them," Evvie says loudly.

  "Why not? They're just flowers." Joe is obviously frustrated, but trying to stay cool.

  "So, what's the occasion?" My sister busies herself reading her mail.

  "Does there have to be an occasion? All right, maybe it's a peace offering so you'll stop treating me like dirt under your shoe."

  She snorts. "As far as I'm concerned, this war is still on."

  "How about amnesty?" he begs. "After so many years."

  "How about you shut your car door before another car bangs into it?"

  As he does so, Evvie is aware of me looking their way and she beckons me to hurry over—I suppose to get her away from Joe yet again. As I cross the courtyard, I see Denny busy sweeping up last night's mess. Many of my neighbors are brushing leaves, and whatever else the wind brought, off their parked cars and balconies. Palm fronds and debris clog the street. Trash barrels are overturned. Denny waves to me and I wave back.

  Joe is holding a lovely bouquet of flowers, which he is attempting to pass to Evvie, who refuses them. I hate being put in the middle of the two of them.

  We exchange good mornings. I wait to see how this will go.

  "Lots of rain last night," Evvie comments.

  "Plenty of wind, too," says Joe.

  I can play the same game. "Nice flowers," I comment.

  Joe eagerly says, "Evvie's favorites. Pink roses."

  Ms. Contrary has to say, "That was twenty years ago. Now I favor yellow."

  My sister, queen of the put-down.

  Joe turns to me. Here it comes, me-in-themiddle. "Gladdy, tell her to have dinner with me. She keeps turning me down."

  "I have no need to go out. I already have a dinner planned," Evvie says haughtily.

  "Like what?" Joe demands.

  "Like my leftover pot roast from last night."

  Joe sees this as a possible break. "Then maybe I can share it with you?"

  She shrugs. "Sorry, only enough left for one."

  Just then Enya appears in front of the building. Seeing us standing there, she moves in our direction. Joe pushes the flowers into my arms. "I give up. Stubborn broad. Here, you take them." And he gets in his car and drives off. I give my sister my stern look of disapproval, but she doesn't care. She still won't give her ex an inch.

  Enya manages a feeble smile for the two of us. "Thank you for your kindness the other evening."

  "You're very welcome," Evvie says.

  "Are you feeling better?" I ask. She still looks very fragile to me and she clutches a worn black sweater to her, as if she isn't able to warm up.

  She shrugs. "It helps when the sun is out." She leans over to smell the roses I now carry. "Such loveliness in an ugly world." She shudders, then frowns. "I still can't help feeling something very bad is coming."

  "You mean another storm?" Evvie asks. "We've never had a hurricane hit Fort Lauderdale, so you needn't worry."

  She pulls her sweater tighter. "A different kind of storm. A storm like no other. Something evil is coming." Then she forces a smile. "Don't listen to me. I'm just a silly woman with a lot of fears."

  I look at Evvie, then at the flowers, and then at Enya. Evvie nods. I hand the flowers to Enya. She is surprised. "Please take them," I say.

  Evvie adds quickly, "I'm allergic."

  Enya smiles and reaches for them gratefully.

  Evvie pinches me and indicates I should turn to see something.

  I do. It's Jack coming briskly toward me. Enya, her nose smelling her flowers, walks off to go on her usual morning stroll.

  Evvie winks at me, then heads for her apartment. I go to meet Jack halfway.

  "Hi—" I start to say, but he instantly interrupts me.

  "I'm already packed."

  I gaze at him, startled. "Are you going somewhere? You didn't mention—"

  Again he interrupts me. "W
e're
going. I made us a reservation in Key West. Tonight. Throw a few things in a bag."

  "You really took me seriously? You actually picked out a place?"

  He takes my arm, and marches me toward my building. "You won't need much. I don't expect we'll be leaving the room too often."

  With that he playfully pats me on my backside. "I'll pick you up in an hour."

T
he girls can't believe Jack and I, based on a

    few minutes' discussion, are actually going down to Key West. I can almost hear one of them say,
Just like that, you go on a trip? Without us?
But with Jack standing right there, they hold their tongues. Roughly 180 miles away, approximately a three-hour drive. I can't believe it, either, yet here I am. Everyone is standing in a tight cluster when I appear downstairs with an overnight bag. Jack's vintage Cadillac is parked right in front, with its trunk open and his duffel bag very much in sight. I watch my girls as they watch me hand Jack my case and stare at him placing it next to his.

  No guessing what the two of us intend to be doing on this trip—the answer is as plain as the blush on my cheeks. I look at their faces, trying to read what they're feeling. No one says anything but Bella is grinning. Sophie pinches her in excitement. Ida is scowling. Evvie is absolutely poker-faced. When will I ever feel comfortable about this couple thing and my girls? Maybe only when we finally marry—ha!

  Needless to say, others are watching the Jack and Gladdy show, too. Ever-present Hy and Lola stand on their second-floor landing, whispering to each other. Lola giggles. This should give them an entire afternoon of speculation and innuendo. I'm surprised they aren't waving a sign that says FALLEN WOMAN.

  Jack sees me gazing at them. He grins, and whispers, "Scarlet woman, babe. I keep proposin' and you keep dozin'."

  The girls wave as we head out. We pass Mary and Irving in Mary's car. I am sure they're heading for the hospital.

  What little sun we had before disappears. The first raindrops begin to fall.

* * *

I'd been to Key West many years before, but this trip will definitely be different, very different. I'm going with a man who loves me and wants to be alone with me. I look over at him adoringly. He catches my glance and winks at me. I feel this tiny little shiver up and down my back. I can hardly wait until we get there.

  I look at Jack and then at the sky.
Threatening
is the word that comes to mind. Jack senses my concern. "Don't worry," he says, "I checked the weather report. All systems go."

  We pass Miami. Jack thoughtfully packed a picnic lunch, so we munch turkey/cranberry sandwiches, brownies, and bottled water without stopping.

  Leaving Homestead, we get onto US One, the Dixie Highway, which takes us all the way down to the Keys. I sigh. Only forty-three bridges and

110 miles to go. Rain threatening. Clouds black and grumbling.

  First town coming up will be Key Largo. How can I not think of Bogart and Bacall steaming up the sheets in that famous movie of the same name? I look at my macho Bogart type driving happily along with a big grin on his face. But then again, I remember that movie also featured the worst hurricane in the United States up to that time. The Keys were very badly hit. The sky above us gets darker and more foreboding. Jack whistles some tune I don't recognize. Maybe it's the theme from
Titanic.

  "It's starting to rain," I say, "in case you haven't noticed." I singsong the child's tune: "Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day."

  "What's a little moisture," he says cheerfully. "Won't spoil our indoor sports."

  "You have a one-track mind."

  "And why shouldn't I, since we've been derailed so often."

  By the time we reach Islamorada, the rain is seriously coming down. And the wind has picked up.

  "Would this be a good time to tell you I really can't swim?"

  "Swimming is not on the agenda."

  "And I'm afraid of sharks."

  "Who isn't? But we won't be swimming, ergo we won't have to worry about sharks."

  I wish I had his confidence. "Maybe we should get a room closer in. Long Key is just right up ahead."

  "Nah. Key West is great. Why, if you get bored we can visit Ernest Hemingway's house and see all the cats that live there or Harry Truman's Little White House or maybe even ride a dolphin . . ."

  I reach over and pinch his arm.

  "Wise guy. But the weather does look ominous."

  "Not to worry. To an ex–navy man who rode out the storms in the North Atlantic, this is nothing."

  "Nothing can turn into something," I say, still nervous. "You never told me you were in the navy."

  He leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

  That's for sure. Now I'm getting the macho view of my man against nature. I hope nature doesn't win.

  By the time we pass Marathon, the wind is howling and the rain is pelting down. It's hard to see out the windshield. Many cars are on the road, but they are going in the opposite direction.

  Jack is still whistling. I close my eyes and pretend I'm asleep. But that's even worse. My imagination continues to paint dire scenarios.

* * *

I feel like I'm going "up the down staircase" as we fight our way through the heavy wind up the steps to the Brown Pelican Inn. People hurry past us, obviously on their way out, lugging their suitcases. Nervousness is written on their faces.

  I would like to admire the charm of this pale yellow faux-Victorian B&B, but I can't tell much for the downpour.

  "Lots of people leaving in a hurry," I say, trying to look at Jack, though I can't see his face clearly.

  "Good," says Mr. Cheerful. "We'll upgrade to a better class of room."

  At the desk, the checkout line is longer than the registration line, which consists of us! I stand next to him and leave it to the admiral to get us settled.

  The manager introduces herself as Ms. Teresa LeYung, petite with long, lovely dark hair and almond eyes. She looks to be in her thirties. I timorously ask what the latest weather report is.

  "Last report I heard, the storm was heading toward Puerto Rico, possibly south toward Cuba. But it will be bouncy here. Storm should subside by midnight. Not to worry." She's upbeat, but I detect concern in those pretty eyes. Jack is right; she offers us the bridal suite. No extra charge. Apparently the Midwestern newlyweds had changed their minds and canceled their reservation. Am I imagining it that the manager's hand is shaking as she hands Jack the key?

  "You will keep us informed?" I ask.

  "Absolutely," Ms. LeYung promises.

  As we head for the elevator, I glance around the lobby quickly. It is a lovely place, done in good taste with French antiques. A few tourists are milling around having drinks, looking relaxed. So why am I still worried?

* * *

I admire our "bridal suite"—all white satin and peach lace with Laura Ashley delicate lavender floral drapes and bedspreads. It overlooks Mallory Deck, a huge outdoor party space where people gather by the hundreds each night to view the glorious sunsets over the ocean and be entertained by carnival performers. The ocean is an angry battleship gray. There are no cruise ships parked there this time. There will be no sunsets tonight. No people dancing the night away.

  Jack hefts the voluminous basket of fruit, cheese, and wine. The ribbon reads, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Jim Lawler."

  He reaches for a slice of pineapple. "I'm sure the Lawlers won't mind."