Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 (26 page)

49

Poor Harriet

D
oesn't it seem like a lot of
people are at the pool today?" Harriet asks me as we walk toward the
clubhouse.

I answer her in this perky mode I've affected for the
occasion. I'm hoping it hides my stark terror. I'm also wearing my
brightest orange-peel sundress, hoping color will give me courage.
"Just another beautiful day in sunny Florida, and the natives are
taking advantage."

I fling a casual wave toward the sunbathers, and a few
casually wave back. But most of them ignore us.

"How funny," Harriet says. I glance over to where she's
looking, and there are my girls dressed for swimming. Then I realize
what she's commenting on. Next to each of their lounge chairs is a
peculiar object--a bathroom plunger, a fly swatter, a rolling pin. I
groan inwardly. I told them to bring weapons. That's what they brought!

I move along quickly. I don't want her lingering. "You
never know when you'll need a fly swatter," I toss back at her.

She catches up to me. "Your friends are so quaint."

Needless to say the usual Muzak is playing over the
loudspeaker at full volume.

We pass the pool, make a right at the palm tree, and
arrive at the clubhouse.

"Oooh, how sweet," says Harriet, feigning delight, as she
sees the huge, garish sign over the door. The girls and their helpers
really put their all into it, using lots of Day-Glo colors. It reads,
for my taste, low on subtlety:

"Farewell Harriet,
We Hope You Get All You Deserve!"

"We really shouldn't be here 'til everyone arrives for
the party; we'll spoil the surprise," I say, all sugary, "but I wanted
to give you my gift in private."

"And I can't wait to see it. I really always thought of
you as my favorite person."

"Why, thank you. I'm honored."

"It's because you're the only smart one around here."

Or so gullible, Harriet? "No, you're really the smart
one."

We go inside, and the girls have done a great job.
Multicolored streamers everywhere. Lots of balloons. All kinds of
photos. And a great big sign reading,
"Good-bye Harriet, So You'll
Never Forget Us,"
and signed by just about everyone in Phase Two.

Harriet puts her hand over her heart. "I am so touched."

She wanders around the room looking at the photos and the
pretty little flower baskets made for the tables, while I move around
fiddling with this and that.

Finally she turns back to me, eyes wide in anticipation,
and I smile with equal brightness.

"So what's this wonderful mysterious gift you're giving
me?"

I take a deep breath and plunge in. "Me."

She looks puzzled, and rightly so. "Me, what?"

"Just me. I am giving you the gift of me. Since you've
lost that dear, sweet woman, your mother, I am offering to take her
place in your heart."

Her voice is getting this teeny-tiny edge. "Gladdy, what
are you talking about?"

"Well, you're about to blow this joint and have a
wonderful life, and I want to share it with you."

Her eyes are like slits now. "I'm afraid I'm still not
following you."

"No, it's
me
wanting to follow
you.
I
see
us taking trips around the world. I always did want to see Paris. And
maybe after that, buying a gorgeous mansion somewhere. I'd like to
suggest the Bahamas. That's always been another dream of mine. With
four hundred thousand dollars you can buy anything!"

Her hand grips a chair now, very tightly, I notice. She
forces out a phony laugh. "Wherever did you get an idea like that?"

"A little birdy told me." I giggle nervously. "A chubby
little bird at the bank."

"How dare anyone discuss my personal finances!" Harriet
knows exactly who I mean. "I'll have that fat pig fired!"

Chalk one up for the home team. She isn't denying it. And
it's nice to see her temper has a short fuse.

Then she realizes what she's admitted, and pulls up
short. "I hope you'll keep my little secret," she says coyly.

"Why on earth would your mother live here if she had all
that do-re-mi?" I ask in all innocence.

"My mother was very eccentric. I didn't want anyone to
know. It was very embarrassing for me to be here, when we could have
gone anywhere. You can see that."

"I certainly can, and now that you are free to do
anything you want, I want to share in your fun."

"Will you stop saying that!" She actually stamps her foot.

I smile. She's starting to lose it.

She pulls herself back under control. "You're acting very
strangely today, Glad. It's not like you."

"That's 'cause I'm giddy with excitement. I see a chance
for me to get out of this dump and live in the manner to which I'd like
to get accustomed. After all I did for you, I deserve it."

Harriet is having trouble holding still. She moves
erratically around the tables, her fingers beating little tattoos on
their surfaces. I can sense she'd like to walk out right now, but she
has to find out what I know.

"Just exactly what did you do for me?"

"I helped you get away with murdering your mother." I say
it very calmly and I'm proud of myself. Considering my heart is
pounding and my stomach is in a knot the size of Chicago. I want out of
here myself. It's the memory of Francie, who died for nothing, that
keeps me going.

She stops moving and stands very still. I can almost hear
the wheels clicking.

"I mean I didn't know I was doing that, but you so
cleverly led me down that garden path, and little old me just did
everything you wanted me to."

I can't take my eyes off her because I'm scared to death
of what she might do. And believe me, she can't take her eyes off me.
So I babble on.

"That's just it, you see. You wanted me smart and you
wanted me dumb. You can't have it both ways. I needed to be smart
enough to pick up all the clues you left for me, so I would come to the
conclusion that Selma and Francie had been murdered. It wouldn't do for
the medical reports to remain heart attacks. Then you wouldn't be able
to kill your mother, who was really the intended victim. You needed a
serial killer to take the heat away, because otherwise you'd be the
prime suspect."

"You're crazy!" she says, low and ominously.

"No, but speaking about crazy--that was brilliant, the way
you brought back good old dead Maureen to drive Denny nuts."

"Denny!" she says, almost snarling. "Who gives a shit
about that retard! They should have drowned him when he was born!"

I am shaken by the force of her hatred, but I know I
mustn't show it. "Poor, sweet Denny who couldn't kill a mosquito, let
alone someone like Francie whom he worshipped! So that's how I finally
figured it out--if he didn't do it, you did it. For the money."

Harriet starts toward the door. "I'm walking out of here,
you lunatic."

"So, go. What's holding you?"

She stops as I knew she would. "Why are you making this
up? What did I ever do to you?"

Now she moves very close to me. I can feel her breath on
my skin. She grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. I hold very still
and don't try to resist, though every instinct in me wants to fight
her. Or, at least, scream.

"You silly cow!" she hisses in my ear. "Who would ever
believe a story like that!" Then she stares into my eyes to see if I'm
telling the truth. "Who did you tell?"

I manage to keep my eyes steady. Please, God, let her
believe me. "Nobody, yet," I say. "Nobody
ever--
if you take me
with you when you leave."

She relaxes her grip and slowly backs away from me. She
actually smiles. "So you want to blackmail me, you greedy old fool."

"Something like that," I say, as casually as I can,
considering that my jellied knees are about to give way.

"But what about your dear friends, those ugly, stupid
women you spend all your time with? How could you bear to leave them?"
The fangs are really out now, and her voice is dripping acid.

"Try me. See how fast I pack."

I can feel her analyzing her options. Can she kill me
here and now and get away with it? Or should she promise me anything
until she can find another Dumpster?

"I don't think so," she says icily. "It's your word
against mine. Nobody would believe a senile old fool like you who has
nothing to do but read too many murder mysteries."

"They'd believe my proof." I whip out of my pocket a
sheet of paper and read: "Five five five-six two four three, five five
five-seven seven six three, five five five-five two two eight--need I go
on?"

"What the hell's that supposed to be?"

"The phone numbers in the phone booths you used here and
next to the hospital to call poor, pathetic Denny every night at ten
o'clock. There will be a record of his number being called when I hand
it to the police to check."

"That does it!" she shouts, lunging for me. "I've taken
enough of your crap!" She knocks me against the wall. I grab at her
hair and pull.

"Stop it!" I scream at the top of my lungs, holding on
for dear life. "You might have gotten away with beating your mother up
all these years, but you won't get away with hurting me!"
Instinctively, my eyes look toward the door.

The twisted expression on Harriet's face is terrifying.
"Bitch! You're too smart for your own good! Watch me!" She smashes her
hand against my mouth and, although I'm in agony, I instinctively bite
as hard as I can. She pulls away, shrieking.

"Murderer! Why did you have to kill them that way? Why!?"
I shout at her, now crying bitter tears. "They died in such pain!"

Her voice hisses back at me. "Maybe I liked seeing them
suffer! Maybe it was
fun
getting rid of you old miserable
pieces of garbage! Maybe I was doing society a big favor! Wasting
space, still living when you should have died long ago. Who needs you,
you pathetic, brain-dead losers. With your goddamn wheelchairs and
walkers. With your shriveled-up, useless bodies. Even your families
have deserted you. Even they wish you were dead!"

With what little strength I have left, I butt my head
into her stomach and ram as hard as I can. With ease, she lifts me away
from her and knocks me down on the floor.

"Damn you! You're dead, old lady, you're finished!" she
shouts at the top of her lungs.

If ever I heard an exit line, that was it. Practically
crawling, I manage to get out the front door as fast as my arthritic
knees let me.

And fall into Evvie's arms.

"Come back here, you bitch," Harriet screams, rushing out
the door. "I'm not through with you--"

Harriet stops dead in her tracks as she is aware of two
things at once. Everyone who was around the pool is now standing in
front of the clubhouse. And her voice is reverberating over the
loudspeaker: ". . . through with you . . ."

I manage to smile, though every bone in my body is
hurting. Harriet stares, thunderstruck. Hostile faces stare back at
her, and then she sees Detective Langford, off to one side, grimly
looking at her. And next to him is Denny Ryan.

"Hey, Harriet," I say.

Harriet whips around to glare at me.

"I'm sure glad Hy finally taught me how to use the PA
system."

50

The New Old
(Not an Oxymoron)

P
icture this. Time seems to be
standing still. Nobody is moving.

I am reminded of a game we used to play when I was a
child, called Statues. (Do kids still play that?) The leader would yell
"Freeze!" and everyone would stop immediately, caught in some dramatic
pose or another. The leader would turn around and there we'd be,
statues frozen in time. Who would move first?

Today it will be Evvie.

She turns toward Langford, terribly upset. "Why didn't
you go in to help my sister! Harriet could have killed her!"

"No," I interject. "He was right not to. You know I had
to go all the way."

"You did a hell of a job," Langford says to me, slowly
starting to walk forward, his eyes never leaving Harriet.

And Harriet's eyes never leave him.

"It was too dangerous. It was crazy to try it!" Evvie
says.

"But it was the only way, dear Evvie."

"With a lot of help from my acting lessons," she adds,
finally relaxing, wanting her due.

"You bet," I say, kissing her cheek.

"Do you need a doctor, Gladdy?" Langford asks me as he
continues his move toward Harriet.

"I'm fine, really," say I, the stoic, but boy, will I be
black and blue tomorrow morning.

"But did you have to call this place a dump?" Ida
whispers.

"Yeah," says Sophie, "and couldn't you put in a nice word
for us?"

The crowd parts for Langford as if they are the Red Sea,
and he, our Moses. Everyone watches him intently.

"I want a lawyer," Harriet says.

"Why do they always say that?" Bella wants to know.

"Harriet Feder," Langford says, "you are under arrest for
the murders of Selma Beller, Francine Charles, Greta Kronk, and Esther
Feder . . ."

There is much murmuring and sighing at these names.
Sophie is practically jumping up and down from the drama of it all.

Bella says, "Again like in the movies."

Sophie pokes her. "This is better than the movies. Come
on, let's move closer."

Ida, queen of grudges, is enjoying the sight of payback
at last. She announces, "I knew it was her all along."

The other three give her a dirty look.

As Langford continues to recite the Miranda warning, the
three girls, holding hands and weapons, move sideways and forward for a
better angle. "I hope he pulls out his gun," Bella says, shivering with
anticipation.

"Nazi!"

Everyone looks around.

And there is Enya, eyes wild, rushing toward Harriet,
hands fashioned into claws. "Nazi!" she is moaning and sobbing. "My
shayner
kindlach
, my Jacov . . . They put my beautiful babies to die. Put
them out of their misery, they said, pushing them into the ovens. The
world would be better off without them, they said. Oh,
Gott im
Himmel
! God, where was God?? Why didn't God stop them! Why didn't God stop
you
!" The clawed hands stretch to Harriet's face as if to scratch and tear
at it.
"You
are one of them!
Nazi!
"

But the hands go limp, trembling, impotent. Harriet looks
down on her, pitiless. Enya, finding a last bit of strength somehow,
spits in her face.

With that, she runs off sobbing.

Silence. Everyone is transfixed by what has just
happened. Then someone calls out. "Yes, Nazi!" And a chorus of people
echo the vile word, reaching for one another for comfort.

"My God!" Ida says. "She never cried. Never! Not in fifty
years!"

Harriet takes a few steps back, wiping at her face, as
the group rage builds.

And suddenly there's Tessie pushing past Langford,
through the crowd to Harriet, who cringes at the sight of her. Tessie,
all two hundred fifty pounds of her, lifts her arm, opens her hand, and
smacks Harriet's face with a sound as loud as a gunshot.

"This is for my Selma!" she cries.

The crowd, now caught up in the hysteria, goes wild,
moving erratically, yelling and calling her names. Harriet, forgetting
caution, begins to run across the lawn away from them. I suddenly find
myself thinking of a famous story of long ago, Shirley Jackson's "The
Lottery," about a public stoning. Is it turning into that?

"Stop!" Langford shouts at the crowd. Frustrated, because
he can't push through the mass of elderly folks, he is stuck.

Utter chaos. "Somebody do something!" A voice in the
crowd yells. "Don't let her get away!"

The crowd is now speeding up in Harriet's direction.

"And they're off!" Sol Spankowitz shouts, elbowing Irving
as if they were at the starting gate at their beloved Hialeah.

The three Gladiators go rigid in shock as Harriet heads
right for where they are standing.

Ida punches Sophie. "Spread out! Block her! Move!"

"A klog iz mi!"
Sophie cries. "And me in my
flip-flops!"

Puffing away on short, stubby legs, disregarding
osteoporosis and every other ailment, the girls spread out and take
blockade positions. With weapons aloft, they prepare to attack. Sophie
wields her toilet plunger. Bella, her fly swatter. Ida, her rolling
pin. Ida, in her usual choler, shouts, "So we're ugly and stupid, are
we, you . . . you ugly, revolting . . ."

But they are no match for Harriet, who lifts
hundred-pound weights at the gym. She plows through them, knocking them
away as if they were bowling pins. Bella is down, still gripping her
swatter. The other "weapons" go flying, but amazingly Sophie and Ida
manage to cling to Harriet like a couple of swamp leeches. Harriet
keeps running, unable to shake them, dragging them behind her as Sophie
hangs on to the tail of her blouse and Ida clutches the belt of her
pants suit.

Langford is trying to find an opening, but by this time
the Red Sea has closed and he is falling farther behind. "Stop!
Everyone stop!" he calls. "Let me through!"

Exhausted, Sophie can no longer hold on, and she falls by
the wayside, plopping down like a rag doll. Evvie reaches her and,
without breaking stride, gets her to her feet and pulls her along.

The crowd of seniors, giving it their all, is still
trying to catch up, but at their ages, and physical conditions, and
those old legs--not to mention the metal walkers--they don't stand a
chance.

Ida, the bulldog, is still clutching the back of the belt
of Harriet's pants suit. Her feet are being dragged along, her body
almost scraping the lawn, as Harriet tries to shake her off. But she's
gamely hanging on, working like an emergency brake and slowing Harriet
down a little.

I look for Langford, but he's now on the ground under
Tessie, who accidentally tripped over him, God help him.

Sol, still at the track, announces, "Harriet, carrying a
one-hundred-ten-pound handicap, is four lengths ahead. Langford is
blocked at the far turn. The rest of the pack is losing ground. What a
race for a trifecta!" Sol is jumping up and down in excitement. "Whadda
ya know--Harriet's now passing the long shot, Denny, who is the only one
not running after her!"

That's not quite accurate. Denny and I are the only ones
standing still. Evvie left me long ago to join the fray. My body hurts
too much to move. But the muscles of my mouth still work. "Denny!" I
shout. "Go get her!"

Denny, who has been watching it all, befuddled, reacts to
the sound of my voice.

"It's all up to you now!"

His slow mind is processing what I am telling him.

"After all she did to you, don't let her get away!"

Denny may not be swift of mind, but he sure is swift of
foot. Like a greyhound after the rabbit, he takes off after Harriet,
who is now right in front of him, still lumbered with the stubborn Ida.

And just in time. Ida has finally lost her grip and has
tumbled down next to the duck pond. "Shit!" she cries out in disgust,
as she realizes what she's landed in. Poor Ida. The ducks quack at her,
having had the last laugh.

Denny is breathing down Harriet's neck. She sees him
coming and panics. She turns quickly trying to avoid him, but in her
confusion she's now running back toward the crowd. Seeing her mistake,
she tries to turn again, but Denny is on her. He grabs her by the arm
and with the other hand hammerlocks her around the neck, holding fast.
The two of them stand there, panting.

Sol catches up to them and starts gesturing with his
fists. Now Hy is there, joining Sol, dancing up and down, jabbing along
with him. "Hit her. Knock the broad out!"

"Don't lose her!" Irving yells, and he puffs up to them,
his hands punching air.

Denny studies the three excited, jabbing men. Harriet is
about to break loose.

"You're not my mama!" he yells, and with a neat left
uppercut, he knocks Harriet out cold.

Sol grabs Denny's arm and pulls it up high. "The winner
and new 'champeen,' Denny Ryan!"

The crowd cheers.

The running stops.

The kvetching begins. "I lost my glasses." "I need my
nitroglycerin." "My bathing suit is ruined." "Does somebody have a
seltzer? I have such a thirst."

My girls and Evvie come back to where I'm leaning. They
are panting and disheveled. Sophie's lost both of her pool sandals.
Ida's French twist has come undone. I won't even describe her clothes.
Bella is hyperventilating. I hug them all. "I told you to bring
weapons. That's all you could come up with?"

Bella holds up her fly swatter proudly. "There's a lot of
flies who wouldn't agree with you."

"You were brave and wonderful and I love you all." We all
hug and kiss again.

I'm surrounded by all the well-wishers congratulating me.
I thank them profusely for their gallantry. And boy, am I glad no one
dropped dead of a heart attack from all that exertion!

"Best entertainment we ever had at the clubhouse," says
Mrs. Nettie Fein from Phase Three, tugging at her support hose that
came flopping down in the chase.

Yolanda leads Millie to me. They are both giggling. With
a terrible Spanish accent Millie says,
"Basura, malo, hasta la
vista, bueno."

"What, in the name of heaven," Evvie asks, "does that
mean?"

Yolanda answers in equally bad English. "I teach Millie,
she teach me. Means good riddance, bad rubbish."

Leo, the Sleaze, is smiling. "Gotta hand it to ya, Glad.
You took a fixer-upper and turned it into a fast seller!"

"Good show!" chorus the Canadians.

My heart swells with pride that word of mouth brought out
nearly fifty "extras" from the other five phases, who turned up to give
me moral support and bear witness.

As the accolades keep coming, I glance toward the lawn
and watch someone familiar reach down to help Langford up. Morrie
balefully looks up into his father's eyes. "You look like hell, boy," I
hear Jack Langford saying as he grins. "Wait 'til the guys at the
station hear about this. Done in by a bunch of old fogies!"

"Dad!" Morrie says, horrified. "You wouldn't!"

Jack sees me looking. He waves at me and I wave back.

We all watch Detective Morgan Langford (who is not only
disheveled, but limping) take the handcuffed, and still groggy, Harriet
away.

"I hope she gets the chair," Hy says cheerfully.

"God forbid," Ida retorts. "Life in prison without
parole. I wanna see how she likes it when
she
gets old!"

"Like you're gonna be around to find out?" Evvie asks,
sarcastically.

I put my arms around Hy and hug him. "No, but Hy will be
here. He can tell us."

We all have a great big laugh at that. And it feels
wonderful to laugh again.

Do I feel good. Considering how bad I hurt. At last the
forgotten ones have had their day. We senior citizens fought back. We
reserve our right to live.

We are the new old.