Getting Old Is a Disaster (2 page)

  
Then suddenly he saw it. And with a shudder, he
understood. He stared at the man's body as if
memorizing something.

  
He dragged the dead man along the sodden
gravel until he came to a plywood-framed trench.
His rage returning, he kicked the body, edging him
closer and closer to the hole, until the dead man
tumbled and fell in. He picked up the shovel. Over
and over, he pitched mud and gravel in on top of
the dead man, and finally, anger spent, his body
heaving with exhaustion, he stopped. He spit into
the dirt and walked away.

T
he airport van pulls up between the Phase

    Two buildings of our Lanai Gardens condominium complex. It's a mild September evening with just a bit of drizzle coming down. I'm home at last.

  I sigh happily, getting out of the van. We are back from New York and I'm so glad to be on home ground again. At the same moment I wonder—where will we all go from here?

  The girls and Jack pile out. I call them girls although there's not one of them under 73—my sister, Evvie, and our three friends, Bella, Sophie, and Ida. They're also my partners in our three-monthold private eye business.

  My on-again-off-again boyfriend Jack Langford, now definitely on for good, graciously pays the van driver, since the girls manage to fumble through their purses long enough, with sheepish smiles, for Jack to take up the slack. He's immediately commandeered into lugging suitcases for each one of them. Suddenly my girls are helpless? Next year's birthday presents should be smelling salts in case they decide to take up fainting. But Jack goodnaturedly carries Bella's bags, along with my sister Evvie's, up the elevator in the P building, to their second-floor apartments. Then he's down again and racing across the courtyard to schlep Sophie's and Ida's things up to the third floor of building Q. The girls are always one step in front of him, rushing to unlock their doors—their idea of being helpful.

  I wait downstairs for the troop movements to cease. I can foresee that there will have to be some rules and regulations as to how much they use and abuse my guy now that we are officially an item. What a relief that the girls are finally happy about our relationship, after fighting it for so long. Or are they? We shall see.

  Tiny Bella is all atwitter. "It's so nice to have a man around the house," she trills off-key, hanging over her balcony and waving down to me.

  "I could get used to it," Sophie calls out from across the way, patting her skirt down, trying to smooth the creases out of her lime-green velour traveling outfit as Jack lugs her stuff into her apartment.

  Ida insists on carrying one of her own bags, so she picks up her small carry-on. "I'm not helpless. Yet," she tells Jack as she grudgingly allows him to wheel the other case—which, from the way it is listing to one side, looks like she packed an elephant inside.

  Some of our neighbors stick their heads out to see what's going on. Not a surprise. They always stick their noses into anything anyone does at any given moment. Newlyweds Tessie and Sol Spankowitz pop out of Tessie's apartment on the second floor of Q. Is it my imagination? The reluctant husband, Sol, looks like he shrank since he got married. Not like the Sol we knew as The Peeper, who scared all the women with his lecherous snooping. Super-sized Tessie looms over him, eating pistachio ice cream from a gallon carton.

  Naturally Mr. Know-it-all, Hy Binder, appears in a flash, on the second-floor balcony of P. And right behind him is his parrot. I mean his wife, Lola.

  "Look who's finally blown back into town," he calls out. "So how was the Big Apple? Anybody get mugged?"

  "Yeah," mimics Lola, "anybody get mugged?"

  Bella, standing two doors away, beams at the two of them. "No, but we were in a parade and got a medal. We had a fabulous time."

  Sophie has to chime in, calling across, "And look who we met up with in New York. Our very own Jackie."

  Uh-oh, here they go. My entire life will now be spilled out of the girls' eager mouths into our neighbors' ever-inquiring minds. But what can I do? I love them even though sometimes I want to paste duct tape across their lips.

  Years ago, our husbands all dead—or in Evvie's case, divorced—we formed a new family unit sworn to care for one another through thick and thin. Mostly it's more thick than thin. We are an odd combination—mixed nuts is what Evvie calls us. My smart, fast-talking sister is also my best friend. Then there's Bella, our sweet, diminutive shadow, who follows us everywhere; roly-poly Sophie, who sees herself as a fashionista, mad about clothes; and last but definitely not least, Ida, our curmudgeon and self-proclaimed man-hater.

  Bella is breathless in the face of everyone's attention. "Have
we
got a big announcement to make."

  Even Ida is grinning.

  By now Jack is at my side, puffing a bit, and as the new male alpha dog of our little pack, he decides to nip this bud off quickly. "Ladies," he calls out. "We've all had a very busy day. Time to get some rest."

  "Yes," Evvie says with a tad of sarcasm, "let's get some rest." I can't believe my eyes. Immediately they scamper inside their own apartments, waving cheery good nights as they do. Doors one, two, three, and four—closed and not opened again. I hold my breath in case one of them changes her mind. Jack and I stand there and wait. And finally the looky-loos retreat, too. It seems as if the show is over. But I know better. They'll all be peering from behind their venetian blinds to see what we do next.

  My very tall darling bends down to whisper to me, "I can feel their eyes burning holes in me."

  "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 lastminute 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.

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 gettingused-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 jumped at my command."