Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (11 page)

“Something is bothering me about her. I can’t quite get it yet.”

“Come on, eat.” He jokes, “The potato salad will get hot.” He hands me a plastic container. “You know, we’ve never had this conversation. Young kids, when they plan to marry, get into that—Should we tell each other about our past affairs? Or not?”

I feel myself tearing up. He’s hitting a nerve. I look a few feet away where a young couple, probably in their twenties, lie entangled in each other’s arms.

Jack continues. “So, I confess. Before I met Faye, I was randy all right. Lots of girlfriends and good times. I married at an older age than usual. I was
forty. But once I settled in with Faye, that was it. I was committed. I’m a simple man. I believe in family and I believe in honesty.”

Now my tears are flowing.

Jack takes my plastic dish from me and covers my hands with his. “You’re adding salt to your salad and salt’s no good for us old folks. Forgive me for being so insensitive. You were widowed at such an early age and in such a tragic way. I just assumed that somewhere over so long a period of time you fell in love with someone else.”

I say sadly, “You assumed wrong.”

He gently wipes the tears away. “You’re a beauty even now. But I’ve seen photos of you when you were younger. You were a knockout. I can’t believe some eligible suitor didn’t grab you off the market.”

“Yes, of course I dated. But I never met anyone who was as good and as kind and as loving as you are.”

Grinning, he pretends to swell his chest and open his arms akimbo. “Here I am. Better late than never.”

I lean into him and I’m crying again. “I can’t bear losing another man I love.”

He rocks me in his arms. “And you actually think Michelle is going to steal me away?”

I nod through my bleary eyes. “Something like that.”

“First of all, that can never happen. Second, as soon as Colette is able to travel, they’ll be going back to France, probably never to be seen on these shores again. So I won’t be spending any more time with her.”

I sit up, indignant now. “She was flirting with you.”

He smiles. “And I was properly flattered. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be?”

“I think she has an agenda. What does she want from you?”

“But our meeting was pure coincidence. Turned out she needed help and there I was. After all, she really didn’t know anyone in America. What happened before isn’t going to repeat itself.”

Now I have an appetite. I chew on my hummus-on-pita-bread sandwich. Even the group dancing salsa, playing their Latin song at ear-piercing decibels, no longer bothers me. “As long as you don’t see her again.”

Jack is suddenly silent.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, I did promise to take her out to a farewell dinner.”

“When?”

“Actually tonight. I was about to tell you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Look, I’d rather just say good-bye on the phone, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Now I’m silent. Her feelings? What feelings are those? It’s his turn to talk himself out of this sticky predicament. Finally his face lights up. “I’ve got an idea. Come to dinner with us.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. This way you’ll see how unintimidated I am by her. No way can she manipulate me.”

The dancers are moving away and now I don’t have to shout to be heard.

“What are you going to do, just bring me along and say Hi, guess who’s come to dinner?”

“No, I’ll tell her sweetly in advance that you’re joining us.”

Boy, I hate the way he refers to the two of them as “us.”

The wind is picking up. Without saying a word to each other, we gather up our belongings and start to head back down the beach. Others are doing the same.

“Okay,” I say, “I am officially invited.” I bet she won’t be thrilled to hear that update.

It suddenly comes to me to ask, “I’m sure by now you saw the inscription she wrote to you in her book. ‘We pardon to the extent that we love.’ What did it mean?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea.”

We slog through the sand. I keep thinking. And then I get it. “Jack, you broke off the relationship.”

“Yes, and I’m still ashamed of my cowardly behavior. The very next day after that embarrassing dinner, I left her a note and went straight to the airport. I guess maybe the quote means she’s forgiving me for dumping her in that unmanly way.”

Now I know what that weird expression means—my blood suddenly runs cold. “Jack, maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Nah,” he says, smiling. “I can’t wait to see you gals together.”

I doubt there’ll be mermaids singing to each other. More like sirens slinging mud.

IDA SPIES

I
da stands in the circle, watching Sophie and Bella. She is aware that they are purposely not looking at her. She smells that they are up to something again.

“Okay,” Merrill Grant says to his Cane Fu class of twelve, who listen with all eagerness. “This is our final scenario of the day. Pick a partner. One of you is the senior victim, carrying a cane. The other is the bad guy. Bad guys will toss their canes out of the circle.”

The participants fumble around, chattering, giggling, and picking partners and positions. Ida knows the players so well. Husbands and wives will stay together. Naturally the husband will insist on the role of attacker and the wife gives in and
enters the familiar victim role. The men fling their canes out of the circle. Ida sneers. How easy they are to read.

Merrill lectures on. “The odds are that the guy picking on you knows you are old and assumes you are creaky and an easy mark and doesn’t think he’ll need a weapon. Victims, hold onto your canes as you were taught.”

Sol, Joe, and Hy grin at each other, ready to have fun. Ida smirks again. Any chance to lord it over their women. Tessie, Evvie, and Lola give each other the eye. They are prepared to play hardball.

Sophie and Bella partner up. Ida partners with a friend from her cooking class, Patricia Drew. Her nickname is Pat “Nancy” Drew because she loves mysteries the way Gladdy does.

“Everybody ready?” Nods and yeahs. Merrill aims his next words at the married couples. “Since this is a practice and not reality, please do not take any aggression out on the person you live with. I know you’ll be tempted. All attacks are pretend.”

Hy can’t resist. “Spoilsport.”

Lola, who thinks every word out of her hubby’s mouth is a pearl instead of the grit of sand it really is, smiles mischievously at him. “I promise not to hurt you, poochy.”

Merrill scratches his buzz cut and says, “Okay, victim, turn your back. Bad guy, sneak up behind.
Put your hands around vic’s neck and pull her toward you.”

Again giggling and fooling around. And major overacting. Mostly from Sol and Hy.

Merrill says, “Victims, he’s got you by the throat. You’re frightened and you know you have to think fast. What do you do?”

Lola, who must have been one of those prissy kids in school who always shot her hand up first, as she does right now, says, “I know. I know. Don’t fight, let your body go limp.”

“Very good,” the instructor comments. “Your bad guy won’t expect that.”

Sophie and Bella begin to tiptoe out of the circle, with Sophie’s hands still around Bella’s neck. They are trying to be inconspicuous.

Ida, who never takes her eyes off them, calls out. “Hey, class isn’t over yet.”

“Gotta go,” Sophie announces. She drops her arms and makes a show of looking at her wrist to read a watch she isn’t wearing. “Previous pressing engagement.” She pulls Bella quickly along with her.

Ida waits to see which direction they take. No longer paying attention as the victims twist about ready to counterattack, Ida breaks away, too. She apologizes to Pat Nancy. “I’m off.”

Pat Nancy says plaintively, “Don’t go. I need to attack you.”

“Next time,” Ida promises.

Evvie calls after her, wanting to know what’s going on. “What?”

“Later.” And Ida hurries after the two culprits.

She turns at the same corner they took. She can’t believe her eyes. They’re gone. They knew she was going to follow them and they’ve taken a different route.

Ida is flummoxed. What the heck are those two ninnies up to?

The chimes ring out. It is a delicate tinkling sound. Sophie watches as every woman in the room stiffens with anticipation and awe. Bella pinches her arm in excitement. A dead husband is calling out to be heard. Their guru is attentive and ready to let the voice of the dearly departed speak to them, from the other side, through him.

So far, in the three times they’ve been there, he’s contacted half a dozen dead husbands for the widows. Each one was such an emotional experience. Sophie is eagerly waiting for their turn to be called. The room is utterly silent as Baba Vishnu tilts his shining blond head to one side as if to listen better.

The chimes stop. Their guru is connected. He reminds them once more, “Don’t ask for a description of heaven or hell. They’re not allowed to tell.”
His voice lowers. “Arlene, I wish to speak to Arlene Simon.”

Arlene, a lovely blond woman in her eighties, who looks no older than sixty, stands up from her seat. She waves her arms up and down, thrilled to be called. “It’s me, Ronnie, I’m here.”

“How’s it going, Arles?”

She turns to the group, blushing. “He always called me that.” Then, to her dead husband, “I’m good, but I could be better.”

“What would make you feel better?” Ronald asks, his voice abrupt, as if his wife had always annoyed him with her “wants.”

Now Arlene’s voice hardens. “You know.”

“I don’t know.”

The suspense is building. Sophie is fascinated as every woman wiggles to the edge of her seat. They stare, back and forth, from Arlene to their guru, whose face contorts to fit the harsh personality of dead Ronald Simon.

Arlene frowns. “I looked everywhere, Ronnie. Where did you put it? You always hid your winnings under the mattress, but I couldn’t find anything. Were you allowed to take it with you?”

A few women giggle. Sophie has to pull Bella’s hands away from her arm or Bella will pinch her black and blue.

Ronald answers her with an oily lying voice. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I lost plenty on those nags
at Hialeah. But most of it went on the tables in Vegas. That’s what caused my heart attack, when I dropped dead in my two-hundred-dollar-a-night suite in Harrah’s. The kids have plenty of money. Get it from them.”

Arlene chokes up. “They won’t give me a penny, those ungrateful brats.”

Silence. “Ronnie?” she asks.

Baba Vishnu shakes his head. He straightens up as if he’s been in a trance. “We’ve lost contact, Mrs. Simon.”

Mrs. Jerry comes quickly to Arlene’s side, handing her a small slip of paper. As they were forewarned, the phone calls to heaven or hell are considered long distance and cost seven dollars a minute.

The chimes ring again. All eyes look up front except for Mrs. Simon, who stares into space, disappointment written on her face.

Baba Vishnu listens again. “Bella Fox?”

Bella gasps. Sophie leans toward her. “This is it. Now, don’t cry. You always cry when anyone mentions your precious Abe.”

Baba asks again. “Mrs. Bella Fox? Identify yourself.”

Bella waves her hands; her throat is already choked up. She can’t speak. Her eyes widen in frustration. Sophie raises her hand, and points at the now dumbstruck Bella. “Here she is.”

All eyes turn to this next lucky widow.

“Bella, it’s your Abe.” Abe speaks through the guru.

Sophie pokes her. “Say something.”

Bella starts to whimper. Then sniffles, which turn into cries which accelerate into sobs. Her body heaves, tears pouring down her paralyzed face.

The group can’t stand it. Someone yells, “Say something already.”

Bella is frozen to her seat. No words can come out of her mouth.

Sophie stands up. “May I speak for my friend?”

“Speak away,” says Abe through Baba.

“Why do you always make her cry? Did you used to beat her or something?”

Shocked silence fills the room. Bella manages to gasp. Silence from Abe.

Baba Vishnu speaks. “Contact disconnected.” He rises gracefully from his pillow. “Session is over.” He bows and leaves the room through his private door.

Mrs. Jerry heads for Bella, waving a bill. Sophie negotiates. “Since she didn’t say anything, you shouldn’t charge her.”

Mrs. Jerry is haughty. “Crying counts.” And she shoves the little piece of paper into Bella’s shaking hands. Sophie notices that they are the very same
order pads used by Jerry for his customers in the deli.

The room empties out. None of them look at the woman who blew her phone call from heaven. Or hell.

Humiliated, Bella sobs again.

Sophie pushes her toward the back exit. “It’s all right,
bubbala
. Maybe he’ll call again.”

GETTING READY