Recessional: A Novel (19 page)

On one such inspection late in the spring, Zorn came upon one of the small enclaves provided for chess players, bridge players and people who wished to read in quiet surroundings or have tea with a small group of friends. It was empty at the moment, but someone had left on the bridge table a copy of the glossy magazine
Retirement Living
. He knew of the journal, of course, but was not familiar with its contents, for he supposed it to be frothy and of little use to him.

However, when he casually leafed through the color pages, he came upon an article that commanded his attention. Written at some length, it told the story of a registered nurse and of her education, her early work in southern hospitals, her salary, her expenses, and the curious twists in her profession whereby she became a head nurse in one of the fine retirement centers in North Carolina.

He had read only a few of the tightly written paragraphs when he
took the magazine from the table and sought a corner chair in which he could read the entire article. As he finished the last paragraph he closed the pages reflectively and said: “I feel as if I know the woman. She’s a real person with real problems and accomplishments. I wonder who wrote this?” and, turning back to the beginning, he saw the brief editorial note in italic at the foot of the first column of type:

Pepper Riley, graduate of University of Missouri’s School of Journalism, has worked in the health field for a dozen years and has written widely about it. She is a regular contributor to this journal
.

Slumping in his chair in deep thought, he tapped the closed magazine and lost himself in imaginary situations: Think what a writer like that could do with a story about a center as fine and varied as the Palms! Done properly, it could attract the attention of thousands. But no amount of hard thinking produced answers to: What kind of story? Focused on what aspect? Photographing whom? He had no answers, but the basic validity of his conclusion remained with him: Our story is one that’s worth telling.

With the magazine rolled up in one hand, he hurried down the corridors to his office, resembling a relay racer carrying a baton. Once in his chair, he summoned Foxworth, Krenek and Varney, and as they looked at the magazine he told them about what he had in mind: “A six-page article on the Palms, full color, written by Pepper Riley. It could leapfrog us right up to the head of the pack. I’m sending a fax to the editors this afternoon, but what to tell them that will excite their interest?”

As the discussion continued, Zorn returned repeatedly to the journalist Pepper Riley: “She wouldn’t waste her time on trivialities.” Krenek was strong in voicing his counsel to go slow: “You don’t know these people. You’ve never met this sharp-eyed Riley woman. And don’t forget, what you tell a reporter isn’t necessarily what she writes. They can spot something faulty here and blow us out of the water. I don’t like the idea.”

As they argued, Nora was reading about the other trained nurse who had found a good life in the health wing of a retirement center, and during a pause when the other three were staring at their knuckles, she said: “This is great stuff. It tells the story—my story, really—through goods words and wonderful pictures. If we do it, we have to focus on one of our people. But which one?”

Zorn thought that Ambassador St. Près might be a contender, but Miss Fox worth torpedoed that idea: “Stiff as a post, and what’s the story?” But as the discussion intensified, one resident after another being disposed of, she suggested: “The story isn’t someone who’s already here in residence. The real story is why someone out there might reasonably want to move in,” and as soon as she said this, all four minds agreed, and the ideas exploded.

“It’s got to be a widow. Her husband has died leaving her a big house.”

“Limited funds but not a pauper.”

“From some interesting state that photographs well, like maybe Kentucky.”

“She’s going to leave the monstrous house, all that furniture, and move down here to a two-bedroom apartment.”

“No!” Dr. Zorn shouted. “I see it all. Moving from a big house to a one-room special. That’s the story. Every woman could empathize.”

“If she has this big house and her husband left her in comfortable financial conditions, why is she confining herself to one of our small rooms?”

Krenek solved that: “I’m amazed at how many of our widows arrive here thinking they have more money than they do, but they soon face reality. And they take a one-room affair for the same reason Laura Oliphant does and half a dozen others. That’s why we have one-roomers, because not only these widows but also single women have to be careful with their funds.”

Soberly, Andy concluded: “We could have the story of a widow from Kentucky, or wherever, who faces a crisis in her life. The end of a wonderful life in a big house with her husband, the beginning of an acceptable new life in a small room alone. And then—now we get to the heart of the story—in the Palms she is not imprisoned in that one small room. She has the full richness of a great mansion,” and in a rush of words he explained the photographic shots that would be possible: “We see her playing bridge with three attractive partners. Shuffleboard. Exercise room with the Yanceys. Movies in the recreation room. Chess one-to-one against Senator Raborn. Dining with friends. Library, our Sunday evening prayers, fishing with Judge Noble and his birds. God! this could be magnificent!” and afire with that enthusiasm he drafted a fax to the New York offices of
Retirement Living
, praising the editors for their fine article on the nurse in their February issue and inviting them to do an even better story on
a bereaved widow making her big decision to sell off her house and move to what the average reader would call a nursing home, but this—the Palms—was a home with a vast difference. He suggested that Pepper Riley would be ideal for writing the story.

To his astonishment, next morning at nine-thirty he received a telephone call from the managing editor of
Retirement Living
: “We rarely receive proposals, and we get a lot of them, with as clear a statement of possibilities for a story suited to our needs. Pepper Riley is sitting here with me and she says it sounds like a natural for her, and she’s our best. But that’s no commitment on our part. You have to agree to certain conditions before we can even talk. Now I want you to take down these requirements. One, the subject must be photogenic, not Lena Horne–beautiful at her age, but what you might call blue-hair good-looking like in the jewelry ads when he’s giving her an extra diamond on their fiftieth anniversary. Two, she must still have her big house available so that we can photograph her heartbreak in leaving it. Three, she must be willing to talk with us openly and honestly about her financial position. That’s an obligation, because without her compliance we have nothing. And we will not accept her playing coy and saying: ‘John left me comfortable.’ Readers insist on more than that. Four, when she reaches your quarters you must be able to surround her with five or six men and women of above-average attractiveness. We pay for visits to the hairdresser. Five, you must play honest with us in every detail about
your
financial arrangements with her.

“Talk it over with your staff, Dr. Zorn. Make them understand that our five requirements must be met, and if they are, Miss Riley and I have a gut feeling that this project could prove to be a live one.” As he was about to hang up, the editor added: “Oh, Dr. Zorn! The widow’s agreement to provide us with the details I mention is made with us, not you. We’ve learned not to accept blind assurances like ‘I’m sure we can arrange that.’ We’ll do the arranging. Good luck.”

When Andy informed his staff of the five demands, they started immediately to sort out recent inquiring visitors who might satisfy the magazine’s needs. Both Foxworth and Krenek were invaluable, since they remembered recent applicants with surprising accuracy. One after another the two experts rejected candidates: “Not for a national magazine.”

“She sold her house a year ago.”

“That one would be possible, but she’s taking a two-room apartment.”

With a cry of delight, Miss Foxworth looked up from her papers: “I have her right here. A delightful widow who visited us from a small town in Arkansas, husband was a lawyer, who left reasonable funds, but she has to watch her pennies. She’s found a buyer for the old house, is moving out shortly and coming down here in two weeks. Taking one room, very nice with a view of the water. Her name is Arlene Jessup, and here’s her phone number.”

“But is she photogenic?” Krenek asked, and Miss Foxworth said: “By my standards, yes. I hope I look as good as she does when I’m in my late sixties, but I fear I may have lost that battle already.”

“Stop it, Roberta!” Zorn said. “You know you’re attractive, and you’re probably the most intelligent person on our team.”

“That’s been the bane of my existence,” Miss Foxworth replied. “I never look half as good as I sound. But it doesn’t matter—I’ve become really excited by this project. It’s a great idea, Andy, and we’ve got to carry it through.” She volunteered to call the widow Jessup and propose the story to her, and she made the project—both the photographing in Arkansas and the special introduction to the Palms—so alluring that Mrs. Jessup agreed. A fax was sent to New York giving the positive and enthusiastic details, and word was returned: “Have talked with Jessup, sounds ideal if she has acceptable appearance. Assigning Pepper Riley to story. She and our world-famous Austrian photographer on their way to Arkansas immediately to shoot removal from Jessup’s big house. Riley and her crew should be with you in ten days.”

When Pepper Riley reached the Palms, with the Arkansas half of her story already in draft form, she was a new experience for Andy Zorn. Two years younger than he, she had been a nurse in a variety of health-care institutions: hospital, nursing home (a horrid experience), top-scale retirement center in North Carolina, and county nurse in the Carolinas. At the advanced age of twenty-seven she quit her nursing job and enrolled in the University of Missouri’s School of Journalism, where she took a degree in writing about science and health.

Upon graduation with good marks, she quickly landed a job with a Kansas newspaper, where her writing attracted favorable attention, and this led to an apprenticeship at the age of thirty-two with
Retirement
Living
, where almost immediately she was promoted to staff writer and then to feature writer. An unbroken series of excellent stories followed, and now she was in Tampa to sustain her record.

Her rapid rise in her profession had made her self-assured, if not arrogant, for when Dr. Zorn presumed to advise her about how he thought the Tampa half of her story should develop, she told him curtly: “Let’s understand one thing at the start, Doctor. I decide where the story is going and how,” and he retreated.

She brought with her a team of three: a young woman who served as her assistant, looking after the script and the details; Fritz, the Austrian cameraman, fifty-one years old and showing signs of aging; and his assistant, a lanky young fellow with a pigtail and one earring who was a master at lighting—with a square of reflecting metal, a white sheet, a newspaper and a variety of booms and klieg lights he could either make a scene seductively romantic and filled with mysterious shadows or throw a blazing spotlight on a face to reveal the crags and lines that indicated character. Fritz told Zorn: “That boy is my credit card. I won’t leave home without him.”

When the Palms command crew saw the photographs taken in Arkansas, they were elated, for they sensitively captured the sad aftermath of the death of a loving husband, surrender of a cherished home, disposal of furniture and objects assembled over a lifetime, and the beginning of the great loneliness that awaits so many. One picture seemed to tell it all. Mrs. Jessup stood by the window of an empty room, looking out at a bleak landscape. The lighting genius had kept the room in deep shadow, played a soft light on the woman’s profile and used a spot to illuminate a forlorn tree that stood some distance from the house. The result was a masterly depiction of a person totally alone.

Although the widow Jessup arrived with more furniture than could be fitted into her one-roomer, the son and daughter who accompanied her were happy to turn the extra pieces over to an antique consignment dealer. The three Jessups were a delightful trio, she in her late sixties, they in their early forties with every sign of having been well cared for. Miss Foxworth substantiated the financial figures provided during the interviews in Arkansas: “Mr. Jessup, a small-town lawyer, had lived well in a big house with three bathrooms but had left his widow only $260,000. She was able to sell the big house, rather outmoded, for $176,000 because it carried with it almost half
an acre of desirable land. Since her children made it clear that they expected no bequest from their mother when she died, they encouraged her to enter the Palms on the no-return-of-capital principle and she chose one of our least expensive one-roomers. This meant a lower monthly fee, in her case $110,000 for the buy-in, and only $917 for the monthly fee. Because she loved her children she opted for a 50 percent recoverable for them at her death.”

Zorn could not recall a more equitable arrangement. It left Mrs. Jessup with a substantial sum to be invested so that she would have the interest to use as spending money. He wished that all transactions were as amicably put through.

But as Zorn worked on the Tampa end of the story he quickly found that the strong characters involved in this project had three separate agendas: Pepper Riley was determined to tell her story her way; Fritz would shoot the pictures his way, regardless of what Pepper suggested; and he, Andy, was determined that the Tampa segment tell the story of the Palms in a way so favorable that a reader, studying the elegant text and looking at the strong pictures, might want to fly down to Florida and take a look at the place—he hoped that some of these sightseers might become interested in taking an apartment or, in later years, to utilize the health services.