Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (5 page)

Or is it
oy vey?

“But what about people who really need their canes to stand up?”

Ida reaches us, panting. She’s heard my comment. “That’s a different class. Merrill shows them how to fall down and attack from the ground.”

If they don’t get killed first or die of a heart attack, I think.

Sophie and Bella grab Ida and Evvie. Naturally Joe is right at Evvie’s side. “Invigorating!” Ida says. “I think I might get arm muscles out of this.”

We head for a patio table where the girls left snacks, lemonade, and towels. They flop down, dropping their canes, exhausted. “That was some workout,” Joe says.

Evvie adds, “Beats our boring calisthenics.”

I can’t get over this craziness. “What if the attacker gets the cane away from you? He’ll be like fifteen, tough, in perfect condition, armed and unafraid. You’ll be shaking and terrified and won’t have a chance in hell to overcome him. What then?”

Hy, passing by, calls out, “Then you kiss your ass good-bye.” He grins and pats Lola on her rear. I have a feeling all this macho physical activity is turning him on and she’ll be led to their bed as soon as they hit their apartment. Ugh, indeed.

Sophie and Bella grab seats and start blabbing.
As if I could stop them. I pull a chair away from the table and sit there with my head in my hands.

Sophie says, “You ain’t gonna believe what happened to Gladdy this morning.”

“What? What are you so excited about?” Evvie downs a large glass of lemonade.

Bella blurts, “Jack met his French girlfriend.”

This gets everyone’s attention.

“What French girlfriend?” Ida asks.

I say in desperation, “At least keep your voices down. This is no one’s business but mine.” Why am I kidding myself? Juicy news like this will spread like applesauce on a latke within an hour.

Joe is leaning so close, he’s almost in my lap. “Wow!”

Sophie stage-whispers at a fast pace, “She’s a redhead and she’s way younger than us and she’s gorgeous.”

“Talk slower,” Evvie says. “Take a breath.”

“Andshe’safamouswriter,” Bella adds, unable to slow herself down.

“And she kissed Jack. In front of a thousand people!” Sophie is ecstatic.

“Maybe twenty … or fifty,” I say with a dollop of sarcasm.

“And she called him ‘moan chair,’ whatever that means.” Bella looks to me for help.

“
Mon cher
,” I correct. Why did I do that? It’s like tightening the noose at my own execution.

Bella fairly jumps up and down. “That’s it, whatever. It means she was madly in love with him.” Bella adds, “Her name is Michelle. Isn’t that sexy?”

“And they met in Paris.” Sophie jumps in as she reaches for the guacamole dip and Doritos on the table. “And Jack was so embarrassed.”

Evvie suddenly realizes he is missing. “Where
is
Jack?”

What can I say? My little family group looks to me for answers.

“Is he back in your apartment?” Evvie asks.

All the chairs are moved closer in, sort of reminding me of the early settlers seated around their campfire inside the wagon train. “I don’t know what to tell you except that Jack seemed very surprised at seeing the woman. He knew her in Paris eight years ago.”

Sophie is fanning herself nervously with a napkin. “He sure was flustered. That must have been some hotsy-totsy romance. Does this mean the wedding is off?”

Ida throws her a dirty look—Sophie, subtle as usual. “Don’t be in such a hurry to throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

Bella, holding a Dorito aloft, looks around perplexed. “What baby? Where is a baby taking a bath?”

Ida shakes her head. “It’s just an expression. It means don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Oh.” Satisfied, Bella delicately dips her chip in the dish of guacamole.

“Girls. And Joe,” I say. “I really don’t feel comfortable talking behind Jack’s back.”

“Yeah, men hate that stuff.” So says Joe, spokesperson for the entire male sex.

“Well,” Ida says, looking back toward the building. “You won’t have to do that anymore. You can do it to his face.” Ida’s chin nods to the twosome coming our way.

Surprisingly, Lola, who is never without her Hy, is heading toward us with Jack in tow. He clearly isn’t happy about it, but she’s holding firm to his left arm.

“Not a word,” I whisper. “Act natural.”

“Be careful,” Evvie warns. “Watch every word you say. What goes in Lola’s ear will eventually come out of Hy’s mouth.”

Lola is very pleased with herself. “Look who I found just about to go upstairs. I told him you weren’t up there.”

Jack waves feebly with his free arm.

What I’m thinking is that my mind is a clock. It’s an hour and ten minutes since I got home. What has he been doing?

Sophie and Bella suddenly pretend great interest in pouring themselves another drink. Ida taps her fingers on the table, looking hither and yon. Evvie
is busily examining her nails and giving them a little buffing with a nail file. Joe’s nose buries itself in his newspaper. Upside down.

So much for acting natural.

Lola awards me a toothy smile. “Now that I have you and Jack together, I have good news for you. I found you a wedding planner. She comes with great recommendations. You are very lucky she has a spot available right now.”

With that, Lola places a small card in my hand. “Call her. You’ll love her.”

As she turns, she adds, “Her name is Trixie Tryhard.” She grins. “I think it’s her professional name. I hope.” And she scampers off.

Everyone gets up all at once and begins moving away, excuses given on the run.

Evvie says, “Joe, come on. We have to check on your calf’s liver.” She pulls him along.

Sophie drags Bella with her. “We have to go, too. We’re cooking together tonight. Salmon croquettes.”

Bella embellishes, “She cooks. I wash up.”

Ida just gathers up her things and tosses a casual wave over her shoulder as she leaves.

After they scamper off, Jack says, “Let me guess. I was the prime subject of the conversation.”

“You got it.”

He sits down next to me and pours some lemonade for both of us. “I have to apologize for my
behavior back there. I was so taken by surprise—I mean I never thought I’d see Michelle again and suddenly, there she was.” He shrugs, and smiles wryly. “I’m afraid I didn’t handle it well. I suppose you want a full report.”

I smile back at him, amused. I reach out and touch his cheek. “Honey, I would expect that you knew other women in your life before me. Granted I was a little taken aback that there was someone so much younger.”

“I was pretty amazed myself at the time. That’s why it didn’t work out for me—the age difference.”

“Did it matter to her?”

“She said not.” He shakes his head. “All I kept thinking at the time was that twenty-five years’ difference would matter fairly quickly.”

I want to say reassuring things like, To me you’re not old, and other well-meaning comments, but I know it’s better to let him talk. I try to imagine myself in such a situation, being much older than someone I loved. I suppose it would have bothered me, too. But to give up happiness for that reason?

It’s as if he hears my question. “It was wonderful while I was thousands of miles away. But what would happen when I came home? I played all the scenarios in my head. Being embarrassed to introduce her to my children. Or my friends. They might have laughed at me or thought me a doddering old
fool. So I took the coward’s way out. Took her to an expensive restaurant and then I broke the news to her. That I was leaving without her.”

“Before dessert, I’ll bet,” I blurt and immediately wish I could take the words back. I think of the little scene I played for myself last night about men dumping their girlfriends at expensive restaurants. Then it hits me all at once. Was that Jack’s unconscious mind at work? Having a “French” evening to become engaged because it would be romantic? Oh, my!

He stares at me, startled. “How did you know?”

I cover quickly. “Saw it in a movie once.”
Don’t pry
, I tell myself.
You don’t want to know too much. The less to worry about
.

He takes my hand in his. “But that was in the past. You know I’m totally devoted to you.”

Tessie and Sol walk by, towels in hands, having just come from the pool. They start toward us, I suppose to chat. But I shake my head and Tessie gets the message. Private stuff. She steers Sol away.

I want to change the conversation, hopefully from personal to … what? Something less emotionally charged? “So you found her when you went back to the hotel?” I say. Do I want those details or not? I don’t know which is worse, knowing or not knowing.

He’s relieved. “Yes. She told me she was heading
toward a small shopping area and invited me to walk with her.”

Good. At least she didn’t invite him to her hotel room. To see her advance reading copies? I breathe a small sigh of relief. How much is he really telling me and how much has been abbreviated to protect the innocent? Why is all of this making me uncomfortable?

“Gladdy, she really does have a problem. There might be someone stalking her. She gets notes threatening to kill her if she doesn’t stop writing her books. Unfortunately she threw the notes away. But she refuses to take it seriously. For example, I told her she shouldn’t be walking around alone. Not that she couldn’t be targeted in a crowd, but it lessens the odds. She promised me she’d report it to the security office. I think I’m going to phone Morrie and see what he suggests.”

Yes, let Morrie take over and you stay away
. I wonder if his policeman son knows all about Dad’s hot love affair.

Hopeful me says, “So, that’s it. You don’t have to see her again.”

He hesitates. Face turning a bit red again.

“Well, she did invite me to her book signing tonight.” He pauses. “And of course, she said for me to bring you.”

Oops. Spoke too soon. The pause gave him away. Not out of the prickly woods yet.

I pick up the now empty lemonade pitcher. Jack takes his clue from me and discards the empty paper cups and napkins in the trash bin.

I start on the cobblestone path toward my apartment, mind whirling. I feel insecure. I was so sure of Jack’s love. Not anymore.

Jack follows behind me. “I’d like it if you came with me,” he says to my back.

“I don’t think so. Thanks anyway for asking.”

“You’d probably enjoy it.”

He’s being too eager. Trying too hard to amuse me. His tone is insincere. I should go. Just to watch the body language between the two of them. But I don’t really want to see it. Right now I can’t even look in his eyes for fear I’ll see a lie there.

We walk up the stairs, my posture still stiff and aloof. But I can’t keep my back to him forever. I’ll have to face him and my eyes will reveal my fears.

We reach the apartment door and he turns me around. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I take a deep breath. “I was thinking that with you away I could do my nails … and wash my hair.” I pause. “Honest.”

He looks at me, but I hold precariously on to my blank expression. He nods once. “I promise not to be too long.” He pauses. “Honest.”

Now his back is to me as he opens our door.

THE BOOK SIGNING

J
ack hovers over me as I cook. He tries to help me get done quickly, so of course that slows me down. He sets the table fast and clumsily. Grabs plates, silverware, napkins, scurrying back and forth from kitchen to dining room, knocking into me, as if he were running a marathon. I try to keep out of his way. I don’t comment on his behavior.

When dinner is finally ready, he gobbles it down. I doubt if he even knows what he ate. No leisurely conversation at this meal.

He scrapes his chair getting up, almost overturning it, and apologizes sheepishly. “I really shouldn’t be late.”

As he grabs his jacket off the couch I see a tie sticking out of its pocket. A tie to go to a book
signing? “I hope you don’t mind doing the cleanup?” he says.

“Not a problem.”

“I was told it starts on time. First a speech and then the signing.” He makes a last dash for the bathroom. In moments he comes out and his hair has been wetly combed and he smells of aftershave. After giving me a quick kiss on the cheek he heads out the door.

Then he hurries back to where I still sit, unmoving, at the table. He asks, “Are you sure you won’t come?”

Since I’m in shorts and a T-shirt and barefoot, obviously it would take me time to get ready and if I said yes, he’d be stumbling all around me, anxiously hurrying me. “No, thanks. On your way now and make sure you buy a copy. I’m very interested in reading her book.”
And I hope she’s an awful writer
, I think meanly.

“Thanks, honey, I will.” And he is gone. In a flash.

I sit there and sip my chardonnay. Well, that was fun. I address Jack’s empty chair. “And how did you enjoy your dinner, dear? Yes, delicious, wasn’t it? Read any good books lately?” No, that’s not a good topic at this time. So now I know what it might be like to be married thirty years. Boring life. Boring wife. Hubby off to some adventure somewhere else. Hopefully, just an adventure, not an
affair. What is he thinking? I’d really love to know. Is it the excitement of seeing someone he once cared for? Maybe it’s more like unfinished business. Hopefully it’s not testosterone. Now I interrogate myself.
And how do you feel, Gladdy Gold, about being dismissed?
I lift up my uneaten plate of vegetable stir-fry, which is starting to congeal by now. Like this sodden mess, that’s how.