“Well, I don’t want to brag,” I said, “but I have to say that, once I got over the shock of seeing Chuckie Krumpelbeck after all these years…I didn’t recognize him at all, by the way, but he knew me immediately….”
Nancy waved her hand. “And then…”
“He was thrilled to see me,” I said. “It was almost embarrassing, especially in front of Jim.”
“Did he ask about me?” Nancy said. “We sat next to each other in seventh grade. Sometimes I let him copy off my tests.”
“Nancy, you cheated on tests? I’m shocked at you,” Mary Alice said.
“Mary Alice, it was more than forty years ago,” I said. “I think the statute of limitations has expired.”
“You think you know someone,” Mary Alice muttered.
“Anyway,” I said, “I met Chuckie’s daughter, Carrie, too. She’s a member of the production team.” I decided to omit the fact that she’d been named after me. No sense overwhelming my friends with too much information at one time.
“Well, this is all very interesting,” Nancy said. “And if you’re trying to make us jealous, consider yourself successful. But what exactly do you mean, you’re in show business now? Are you really going to be helping Jim with this job? Wait a minute. Is Jim going back to work? Oh, Carol, that’s your dream come true!”
“He is going back to work,” I said. “At least, for The Second Honeymoon Game. Jim was called back to Gibson Gillespie because he’s the ‘right demographic’ for the audience the show is aimed at, according to his boss, Mack Whitman.”
“You mean, because Jim’s old?” Nancy asked, getting right to the point as usual, even if it hurt.
“Well, if Jim’s old, that means the rest of us are, too,” Mary Alice pointed out. “Since we’re all pretty much the same vintage.”
“I am not old!” Nancy said. “As a matter of fact, most people think I’m at least ten years younger than I really am. Just in case you’ve both forgotten, I was the youngest member of our class.” She huffed and took a sip of her coffee.
“So, what about Chuckie?” Mary Alice asked. “How did he become so successful? And why did he change his name?”
“That’s an easy one,” Nancy said without giving me a chance to respond. “If Chuckie Krumpelbeck was your name, wouldn’t you want to change it, too?”
“Charlie King certainly is an improvement,” Mary Alice agreed with a smile. “I hate to admit this, but I’m hungry. I may have to order some food to go along with this coffee.”
“You know how you always lecture us about how bad it is to eat and then go to bed on a full stomach,” I said to my friend the nurse. “You have to make a choice. Eat and stay up for a while longer, or stick to your coffee.”
“So what’s up with this television show?” Nancy asked, saving Mary Alice from responding. “And what do you mean about being in show business? You never did answer my question.”
“We were all in this meeting at Charlie’s office in New York,” I said.
“Yes, Carol, we already know that,” Nancy said and rolled her eyes at Mary Alice. “So…?”
“Well, Charlie kept deferring to me in the meeting. No, that’s not true.” I colored a little. “I guess I started to ask some questions first about the way the show was going to be designed. It’s a game show aimed at and for Baby Boomers, so I figured that all the contestants would be Boomers themselves. Then I found out that Charlie was hiring young actors for the promo video and aging them to look like Boomers.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Nancy said.
“That’s exactly what I told Charlie,” I said. “The promo video should use real Boomers, not actors. And one thing sort of led to another.”
“Jim must have loved that,” Nancy said. “He’s pulled out of retirement to be a public relations consultant on a television show, and the first thing he finds out is that the hot shot producer is his wife’s grammar school boyfriend. And to top that, he’s immediately upstaged by his outspoken wife.”
“Jim wasn’t happy,” I admitted. “In fact, he kept squeezing my knee. I knew he wanted me to shut up. But what was I supposed to do when Charlie kept asking my opinion about everything? Not answer him?”
“What happened with the actors?” Mary Alice asked. “And what do you mean by a promo video?”
“A promo is a short video meant to attract sponsors for a television show,” I explained. “They were going to shoot part of it yesterday in the New York studio until I opened my big mouth. I’m not sure exactly what will happen now.”
And how much trouble I’ve caused, particularly to Jim, by voicing my opinion over and over, even when it wasn’t asked for. I sure hoped Charlie and his staff weren’t mad at me for being so outspoken. Not that I intended to share my concerns with Nancy and Mary Alice right now. I wanted to bask in my friends’ admiration (and envy) for a little while longer.
“There’s something else I forgot to tell you,” I said. “The pilot of The Second Honeymoon Game is going to be shot in Florida this winter. And the show’s going to use real Boomer couples as contestants.”
Nancy’s eyes lit up. “Carol, that’s great! And I have a perfect Boomer couple for the show. Bob and me.”
Chapter 16
If men are from Mars, can we send a few of them back home?
I choked on my coffee. “What? Are you crazy? You and Bob aren’t really married anymore. You’ve been separated for over a year.”
“Oh, pish,” Nancy said, waving aside my objections with her perfectly manicured fingers. “That’s a minor detail. Legally, we’re still married. We just don’t live together. We still see each other all the time. We’re the poster couple for a modern Boomer marriage. Oh, this is going to be such fun. I can’t wait to tell Bob, and go shopping for the right clothes for a trip to Florida.” She pulled her tablet out of her voluminous Dooney & Bourke purse and started making a list.
“Hold it,” I said, gripping her wrist. “There is no way that this is going to happen, Nancy. What are you drinking, anyway? It sure isn’t just coffee.”
“You can make it happen, Carol,” Nancy said, still typing furiously. “I have faith in you. I’m sure Chuckie will remember me from grammar school. And when he hears my idea, he’ll jump at it. You’ll see. He always admired my creativity.”
“He’s not Chuckie anymore, Nancy,” I said. “He’s Charlie now. And you are delusional. What about your so-called ‘creativity’ did Charlie admire? Helping him cheat on tests?”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Nancy shot back. “You’re just being selfish. You don’t want to share the spotlight with anybody else. You’ve always been a selfish only child.”
Whoa. Them’s fighting words. True, I’m an only child. And due to the long ago demise of both my parents, I was doomed to remain that way. But selfish? No way. There is not a selfish bone in my entire body. Maybe a touch of self-centeredness on occasion. But only when completely, totally justified.
Before I had the chance to give in to my urge to slug my BFF—or say something that I’d bitterly regret later—Mary Alice intervened.
“Hold it, you two. You’d better calm down,” she said, giving us the same kind of look I used over the years to make Jenny and Mike behave. It never had the same effect on Jim, though. Much to my disappointment.
“Why, Mary Alice,” I said, “I never realized you could be so forceful. That look always worked on Jenny and Mike when they were kids.”
“Good,” Mary Alice said. “Because you’re both acting like children. Although I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s the way you always behave. And, quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of it. It’s even worse, now that Claire’s gone. She used to be able to knock some sense into you two. I’m afraid I don’t have her no-nonsense style. Yet. But if you keep this up, I’ll have to learn. It’s either that, or only get together with one of you at a time. Which, now that I think about it, might be quieter. But not nearly as much fun.”
Properly chas
tised, Nancy spoke first. “You’re right, Mary Alice. I’ll play nice if Carol will.”
I nodded. After all, what else could I do? Although none of this was my fault. It was just another example of Nancy going off on one of her frequent hair-brained tangents.
“I’m glad we’re all behaving like adults now,” Mary Alice said. “Although I know it’s harder for one of you than the other.” She grinned and continued, “No way am I saying which one of you I’m talking about, so don’t bother asking. Moving along, I just thought of the perfect Boomer couple to be contestants in the pilot of The Second Honeymoon Game.” She beamed at me. “Can you guess? I’m surprised you didn’t think of them yourself, Carol. And the beauty of my idea is that the couple is already on their way to Florida.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid you lost me,” I admitted.
“Carol, how can you be so dense?” Nancy asked. “It’s a brilliant idea, Mary Alice. Although they’re such a traditional choice. Bob and I would be much better. Edgier. More modern. I’m sure we’d attract many more viewers.” She paused for a second, then said, “Maybe we could all be contestants. After all, the show will need a least two couples, right?”
“Don’t start that again,” Mary Alice warned her.
All of a sudden, the light bulb went off in my brain. I tried my best to hide my negative reaction, but Mary Alice and Nancy know me far too well.
“What? You don’t like the idea, Carol? Claire and Larry are the perfect choice. Larry’s a lawyer, so he’s used to public speaking. And Claire, well…Claire is used to speaking. As we well know.” Nancy laughed.
“I’m not so sure how much input I’ll have on the show,” I protested, trying my darndest to wiggle out of this unexpected development. “Charlie may not want any more suggestions from me. And I’m sure Mack Whitman doesn’t, judging by the looks he was directing at me in yesterday’s meeting.”
Besides, Larry’s so boring, and Claire’s so critical and controlling.
I didn’t really say that, of course. But if you knew Claire and Larry as well as I do, I’m sure you’d agree with me.
“Well, at least promise me you’ll think about suggesting them,” Mary Alice said.
What else could I do but agree? After all, thinking about doing something and actually doing it are two completely different things, right? Of course, right.
“What did the kids say about this new adventure in your life?” Mary Alice asked. “I bet Mike is thrilled about you and Jim coming to Florida.”
“Will the pilot episode be filmed in Miami?” Nancy asked. “I’ve always wanted to visit South Beach. I’ve heard it’s the ‘in’ place to go. All the celebrities hang out there.”
“I’m embarrassed to admit this,” I said, “but I haven’t contacted Jenny or Mike about the television show yet. We got home late from the city, one thing led to another, and…”
“No time like the present,” Nancy said, reaching into my purse and fishing around for my cell phone, which was easy to find thanks to its pink and green Lilly Pulitzer phone case. “Go for it. They’re going to be so excited for you and Jim.” She took a quick look at the phone, and said, “For Pete’s sake, Carol, how long has your phone been off? What if someone was trying to reach you?”
I looked at my phone and realized Nancy was right. “I guess I turned it off after you and I texted last night,” I said, pushing the power button to “on.” “But I’m sure nobody tried to…holy cow!”
There were ten texts from Jenny, and three from Jim. The latest one, from Jim, had arrived ten minutes ago.
Carol, where are you? Mark’s in Fairport Hospital. Get over here right away.
Chapter 17
Every morning is the dawn of a new error.
“I’m really fine,” my son-in-law protested as Jenny fluffed the pillows behind his head, being careful not to touch the bandage on his left temple or dislodge the intravenous line attached to his hand. “It’s just a scratch. I don’t know what everyone is making such a big deal about.”
“You don’t look fine,” said my daughter, her brow wrinkled in concern. “And it’s more than just a scratch, or you wouldn’t be kept in the hospital for observation. They want to be sure you don’t have a concussion. You’re weak and you’ve lost some blood. For heaven’s sake, lie still and try to get some rest.”
“You’d better do what Jenny says,” I echoed from the doorway. “You know how bossy she can be.”
“Mom, you’re finally here! Thank God,” Jenny said, her blue eyes (so like mine!) filled with tears. She gave me a quick hug, burrowing her face in my shoulder the way she did when she was a little girl.
“It’s about time, Carol,” Jim said from the far corner of the room. “Where the heck have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
I ignored his accusatory tone and focused on Mark, hooked up to several machines and looking so pale and weak in his hospital bed that it scared me. “Hey, how’s my favorite son-in-law?” I said, giving his cheek a gentle kiss. “I haven’t seen you like this since you fell off your bike in sixth grade. As I recall, you were doing wheelies in our driveway to impress Jenny. So, what trouble did you get into this time?”
Mark moved slightly, then winced in pain. Jenny was by his side in a flash. “Do you hurt, honey? Do you want me to call for a nurse?”
“I’m okay,” Mark insisted. “I just moved the wrong way.” He reached out, grabbed Jenny’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. And to answer your question, Carol, I wasn’t doing any wheelies this time.” He flashed me a weak grin. “I remember that incident very well. I always tried to show off to impress Jenny.”
“You always impressed me, honey,” Jenny said. “Even if I didn’t tell you so.” Mark nodded and closed his eyes.
“Let’s give the poor guy a chance to sleep,” said Jim, propelling Jenny and me out of the room. “We can stop at the nurses’ station and tell them we’ll be in the cafeteria, so they’ll keep an extra careful eye on Mark. I think a little sustenance will do us all some good.”
For once, I went along with Jim without comment. Or question. But I still had no idea why our poor son-in-law was in the hospital. When I opened my mouth to ask, my dear husband silenced me with a warning shake of his head. Not as effective as the “Look,” but I still got the message and zipped my lips.
“I’ll get us all some coffee,” Jim said. “You two find a table.” He gave Jenny a fatherly hug. “Don’t worry, honey. Mark is going to be just fine.”
Jenny nodded. “I know, Dad. Thanks for being there for me.” She headed toward the opposite side of the cafeteria, threading her way around tables filled with hospital employees on break.
I grabbed some sugar packets and napkins from the condiment station and prepared to follow Jenny. (Although I usually take my coffee black, I knew from Mary Alice that the Fairport Hospital coffee was terrible and figured I’d need the sugar to make it drinkable.) That’s when I saw a familiar figure—head down, face in his hands, sitting at a nearby table. It was Mark’s partner, and my nemesis, Detective Paul Wheeler.
For those of you who’ve not had the pleasure of meeting Paul before, let me explain that Paul is easy to miss, since he barely makes the minimum police height requirement. He also barely makes the minimum police intelligence requirement, in my opinion. In other words, he’s not the shiniest badge on the force.
Paul and I have crossed paths in the past, when I found myself involved in a few situations that also involved some of my nearest and dearest and the Fairport police. When the aforementioned nearest and dearest reached out to me for help, well…I couldn’t exactly say no, could I? And I was the one (well, with some help) who ended up solving the case, each time. Or, at least, uncovering the key evidence that led to the solution of each case. I am modest to a fault, despite what others may have told you about me.
Unfortunately, Paul Wheeler saw me as an interfering busybody, not a concerned public citizen trying to help her friends and f
amily. I’ll give you a beat or two to process his totally unfair opinion of me.
There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Small Paul (my own term of endearment for the little twerp, not that I ever voiced it) is threatened by a person of my superior intelligence and intuition. However, since Paul is also the partner of my son-in-law, I have to be nice to him.
It would have been so easy to pretend I hadn’t noticed him, but he looked so miserable sitting there, my maternal instinct kicked in. Sometimes, I swear, it’s on automatic pilot. So I touched him on the shoulder, and said, “Are you all right? Can I do anything for you?”
Paul looked up in surprise. When he realized it was me, instead of reverting to his usual odious personality, he asked, “How’s Mark? I tried to see him, but the doctors said that only immediate family would be allowed in.”
I pulled out a chair and plopped my derriere onto it. “We just came from his room,” I said. “Jenny and Jim are here, too. Why don’t you come sit with us?”
“I’m the last person Jenny would want to see right now,” Paul said. “This whole thing, Mark getting hurt, it’s all my fault.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said. “Although, I have absolutely no idea what happened.”
“He’s my partner,” Paul said. “We’re supposed to protect each other. Be sure we get the job done, of course, but also have each other’s backs all the time. I really screwed up.”
I waited in silence for him to continue. I’ve finally figured out that, if I just keep my big mouth shut instead of asking a lot of questions, people will eventually tell me what I want to know. A late life lesson, but better late than never, right?
This time I wanted to grab Paul by the shoulders and shake the story out of him, but since he’d probably have me busted for beating up a policeman, I sat on my hands instead.
“We were sent out to take a routine follow-up statement from a domestic violence victim,” Paul said. “But we didn’t know that the abuser was still in the house. When we knocked on the front door and announced we were from the Fairport Police, the guy came out waving a kitchen knife. I was in front of Mark, and I immediately stepped back and went for my gun. I slammed right into Mark. He fell and his head hit the pavement. I’ll never forget that sound. The perp jumped over Mark and got away. I really screwed up, didn’t I, Carol?”
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