Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 (5 page)

7

No Rest for the Weary

B
ack home. At last. I'm beyond
exhausted. Time to lie down and take our afternoon naps. I can't wait.
We deliver Irving's groceries, then get our own packages out of the car
and into the building's shopping carts. On the elevator, riding up, I
hear this:

Bella:
"Did we say we were eating in
tonight or going out?"

Ida:
"Out, we said OUT! Twenty times in
the car."

Bella:
"Oh, I didn't hear that."

Ida:
"Well, if you wore your damned
hearing aid--"

Sophie:
"Not Chinese again. We ate that
yesterday."

Evvie:
"No, we didn't. That was
last
Friday."

Sophie:
"So where did we eat last night?"

Evvie:
"Home. We stayed home. It was
canasta night."

Bella:
"We played canasta?"

Sophie
(the light bulb goes on): "Oh,
that's right. I won."

Evvie:
"No, I won. Didn't I, Glad?"

Me:
"Who can remember?"

Sophie:
"You won last week. I know I
won."

Ida:
"Who cares! When Sophie wins, it's
by reason of insanity. She drives everybody nuts and we all give up!"

Evvie
laughs. "Sore loser."

Ida:
"Look who's talking. You almost
filleted her with the cheese ball knife."

Evvie:
"My finger slipped."

Bella:
"I like Eleni's. Or Nona's. Can't
we go there?"

"Next time. The birthday girl chose Continental. And," I
remind them, "don't forget your presents."

We help Sophie in with her stuff from the cleaners, which
took all of us to carry. We divide up the grocery bags from the
shopping carts. Then Evvie starts to lead Bella back to the elevator,
so they can take their things across the parking lot to their own
building. Bella looks confused.

"Don't I live here?"

"No, dear, we live over there. We had to help Sophie."

"Oh." We once left Bella downstairs to wait while Evvie
helped us carry, but she wandered away and it took us twenty minutes to
find her, so now we just bring her up one building and down the other.
Ida wants to put a bell around her neck.

Finally everyone is safely deposited in her own
apartment. I turn up the air, start undressing. I head toward my
bedroom, then remember. I rush to the phone. Too late. It rings. I
wasn't fast enough to turn it off.

"Yes, Bella," I say.

"It's me, Sophie."

"Sorry. Yes, Sophie."

"So where did we say we were eating?"

"Continental," and I hang up before she can say another
word. I quickly turn off the ringer.

Finally I am in my cool bed in my cool room looking
forward to my nap with the utmost of pleasure. I might even get in a
little reading later.

My eyes are closing and I feel myself letting go of
consciousness when the doorbell rings. I try to ignore it, pulling my
pillow over my head, but it doesn't stop. Finally, swearing and
stumbling, I race to the door to find Sophie there.

"What!" I screech at her.

"There's something wrong with your phone. We got cut off,
but when I rang again it didn't answer."

"No!
It
didn't answer, because
I
didn't
answer! Go back to your apartment.
Now!
"

And Sophie scurries away wondering why I raised my voice
at her. I want to bang my head against the door, but what did that door
ever do to me?

8

Library and Liberation

T
hrough the plate glass
window, Conchetta Aguilar sees me staggering toward the entrance,
carrying my usual load of returns. Grinning, she moves to the
coffeemaker and pours me a cup full of her great Cuban coffee and hands
it to me as soon as I put the stack of books down.

"Leaded? I hope."

"You betcha. I only needed one look at your face. Hard
morning with the inmates?"

I nod, gulping the hot liquid down. "I left them in the
clubhouse playing mah-jongg. I feel like I escaped Alcatraz."

Conchetta is head librarian for the Lauderdale Lakes
branch. She's in her thirties, about five feet tall and just as round,
and a lot of fun. When she found out I used to be a librarian in my New
York days, she reached out as one professional to another. When she
realized that the library is my one escape from Lanai Gardens, we
became even closer.

Not only am I designated driver, but I am designated book
chooser. This is no mean feat, since I have to carry around each girl's
list of what she's read before. Heaven help me if I bring home a
repeat. Bella reads only romances in large print. Evvie wants
biographies of the stars. Ida likes the best-sellers, Sophie prefers the
Reader's
Digest
condensations, and Francie reads cookbooks. Happily, nobody
else wants to make the trip, so coming here is like a vacation for me.

"Come on,
muchacha.
Tell
mamacita
everything."

"What a day. Those girls are wearing me out. Publix was
bad enough. Going to the cleaners was maddening. It was the bank that
did me in."

Conchetta leans her arms against the counter, ready to
listen. "Good. A bank story."

"The bank is always mobbed on Friday. Everyone has checks
to cash. Ida, who hates waiting for anything, gets this brilliant idea.
She sneaks in a slice of her famous pecan coffee cake and slips it to a
teller who knows Ida's cakes. The bribe gets her to the front of the
line. Neither one of them being subtle. And what a
geshrie
from
everyone on line!"

"Geshrie,
I guess, means an uproar."

"You got it. Wait 'til you hear what happened next.
Harriet Feder, who's near the front of the line with her mother, lifts
Ida up and carries her bodily, feet dangling, and drops her back at the
end of the line where she belongs. All the while, Ida is hitting her
with her purse, thus emptying the contents all over the floor.
Everyone's hysterical. Ida is mortified. Knowing Ida, she will never
forgive Harriet."

"And . . . I can tell there's more. . . ."

"Greta Kronk struck again."

"Barney, quick. Another Kronk episode."

A tall, skinny, and proud-to-be-a-nerd young man strides
over. "Fantabulous," Barney Schwartz says. "Our Lady of the Garbage."

"Our what?"

"We're having a contest to give Greta a title worthy of
her accomplishments," says Conchetta.

Barney adds, "I want to publish her poems. I already have
the title of the book:
From Under the Belly of the Alligator.
"

I burst out laughing. "You guys are so bad!"

"I especially love 'Hy and Lo put on a show. They make me
throw. Up.' Brilliant," says Barney.

Conchetta recites her favorites. "'Tessie is fat. That's
that.' And 'Esther's a pest and Harriet can't get no rest, yes.'"

"They've been benign up to now. Today took a different
turn. She hit on a couple named John and Mary." I recite it for them
and their eyes widen.

"Wow," says Conchetta. "I think her crazies are
escalating."

"Is he?" asks Barney. "Gay?"

"I've always wondered, but how could Greta know?"

"That woman needs help."

"We've tried. But to no avail."

Conchetta is being beckoned. As she moves off to help a
fellow book lover, she calls back, "Typical. The authorities are
waiting for her to hurt somebody."

I head at last for the mystery section, perturbed by our
exchange. But quickly my mood gentles. I am among my favorite things.
Books.

A half hour later with a Virginia Lanier, a Barbara
Neely, a Mary Willis Walker and a Ruth Rendell in hand (so many great
women mystery writers these days), I have enough to keep me happy for a
week. I pick out books for the girls. It's nearly dinnertime and I must
gather up the lambs before they turn into lions.

Conchetta smiles at my customary stack as I check out.
Then she picks up my Barbara Neely. "Like it so much you're gonna read
it again after only two weeks?"

"What are you muttering about?" I pick up
Blanche
Among the Talented Tenth.
"I didn't read this one. I read her
first and third."

"Two weeks ago."

"Oh, yeah, smart stuff, what's this one about?"

"Blanche sends her kids to a snooty private school and
they start getting attitude."

I smile sheepishly, and take it off my pile. "Well," I
say, "if I ever get Alzheimer's, I'll only need one book from then on."

"And we'll be out of business."

I say my good-byes and
schlep
my books out to
the
car.

She knows I'll be back very soon. It's the way I stay
sane. But all the way home I find myself thinking of Greta Kronk and
what loneliness can do to people. But is Conchetta right? Is she
dangerous? Would she do more than hurt someone? Would she kill?