by Mary Daheim
“Lorenzo?” Judith echoed. “Is that the patient’s name?”
“No,” Renie answered. “Even to me, Bill never discloses his patients’ names. But that’s what we call him. I forget why.”
As the doorbell rang, Judith excused herself and hung up. Two embarrassed old ladies from Springfield, Illinois, had forgotten their keys.
“We’re going clubbing after dinner,” the one with the very blue hair said, “so we won’t get back until after you lock up at ten.”
Judith went upstairs and found their keys on the Bombay chest in Room One. “Have fun,” she said to her guests.
“We be cool,” the other elderly lady said as they headed back to their waiting taxi.
Just after Judith delivered her mother’s “supper”—as Gertrude preferred to call it—Renie phoned again.
“Down to seven,” she announced. “Oops! Got a call on the other line. It may be one of the kids.”
Renie and Bill’s three children had all gotten married on the same day almost two years earlier. The newlyweds’ careers had taken them to distant places around the globe. After constant griping because their thirtysomething offspring hadn’t moved out of the house, the senior Joneses now complained because they saw their children only once or twice a year. Judith and Joe, meanwhile, were thankful that Mike and his family lived at a ranger station only an hour away.
At last, Judith had some free time to go through the unopened parcels from the toolshed. She started in chronological order, dating back to September. Scanning the script revisions, she saw that less fact and more fiction had been put into the script. Judith wasn’t surprised. She—and Gertrude, for that matter—knew that the protagonist had be-
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come more of a symbol for the Greatest Generation than the real life Gertrude Hoffman Grover. But her first name was the same.
In the movie, Gertrude was a deeply committed women’s rights advocate, speaking at rallies and shouting from a soapbox in New York’s Times Square. Well, Judith thought, her mother was certainly one for equality, even if she’d never been farther east than Montana. The job as an ambulance driver in France during World War I was a stretch—
Gertrude had never left town. She had joined the local Red Cross auxiliary, knitting items for the Doughboys and buying a couple of Liberty bonds. But her involvement in supporting Prohibition and busting up bottles of booze was going too far. Gertrude had never been a serious drinker, but she had been a flapper, rolling her stockings, dancing the black bottom, and drinking bathtub gin.
That, however, was included in the next few scenes covering the twenties. Judith had reached the part about Gertrude meeting Al Capone when the phone rang.
“Lorenzo’s down to the third floor,” she said. “Even if he jumps, he’ll probably just bounce around and get banged up. You’d better check with the Rankerses to see if they can take over for you at the B&B.”
Hanging up, Judith wondered if she might, in fact, be joining Renie on the cruise. It still seemed like an outside shot, however. She kept going through the script, marveling at the fantasies the writers had concocted for Gertrude’s life. The final scenes involved the doughty heroine in her advanced years, using a high-tech telescope to scan the heavens and wishing she could land on Mars. There were days, Judith thought wryly, when she wished the same for her mother.
But what startled her most was the separate envelope that had gotten stuck to the last page. It was addressed to Gertrude and marked URGENT.
Carefully, Judith opened the sealed envelope. Her dark eyes widened when she found a check made out to her 20
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mother. The amount was twenty thousand dollars. A brief note was attached stating that the sum was due to Gertrude on the first day of principal photography, September 10. Quickly, Judith opened the other envelopes. They contained more script revisions, but no checks. She hurried to the toolshed.
“Mother!” she exclaimed. “The producers sent you more money!”
Gertrude snorted. “About time.” She reached to take the check and note from her daughter’s outstretched hand.
“Hunh. What does it say? Twenty bucks?”
“Use your magnifier,” Judith urged in an excited voice. Gertrude moved her empty plate and silverware, the jumble puzzle she’d been solving, and a deck of cards. “Ah. Here it is,” she said, taking the magnifying glass out of her still-full soup bowl. “It’s kind of messed up. Did you make that soup or did it just grow under the sink?”
“Very funny, Mother,” Judith snapped. “It’s from a leftover roast.”
“You should have left it over at Rankers’s house,”
Gertrude grumbled. “Are you going to clean that magnifier or not?”
Annoyed, Judith went into her mother’s kitchenette and washed the glass. “Here,” she said, “now read the damned thing.”
Gertrude’s expression slowly changed from testy to pleased. “Well, well! Isn’t that nice. Maybe I can buy new corn plasters.”
“Why not?” Judith was searching the card table, trying to see if there had been a check included with the most recent version of the script. “Are you sure there wasn’t a separate envelope with this latest batch of revisions?”
Gertrude nodded several times. “ ’Course I’m sure. I don’t get the last check until the moving picture gets shown.”
That made sense to Judith. “Why don’t you let me put that check in the bank for you tomorrow?”
Gertrude, however, shook her head. “I’d like to look at it
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for a while. Besides, I’m not sure I trust you.” She narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “In fact, with that floozy hairdo, I’m not sure I recognize you. You could be an impostor.”
Frowning, Judith ignored the barb. “Don’t you dare mislay that check,” she admonished. “It’s already several months old. The bank may not even honor it. Then you’ll have to ask for a replacement.”
“Don’t fuss,” Gertrude said airily, holding the check up close to her face. “What’s today? Tuesday? You can take it in on Friday. Isn’t that when you usually go to the bank?”
“Usually,” Judith admitted. “Okay, a couple of days won’t hurt, I suppose. But don’t you dare—”
“I know, I know,” Gertrude interrupted. “I’ll watch it like a hawk.”
Although she didn’t say so, Judith still had misgivings. Approaching the back porch, she could hear the phone ringing inside. Judith snatched up the receiver just before the call switched over to Voice Messaging.
“Good news!” Renie cried, then lowered her voice. “Except for poor Bill.”
“What happened?” Judith asked, confused by her cousin’s pronouncement.
“Bill convinced Lorenzo that he shouldn’t commit suicide again,” Renie began.
“I didn’t know you could do it more than once,” Judith put in.
“You know what I mean,” Renie said. “I told you, this guy’s tried it at least a half-dozen times before. Anyway, after Lorenzo got down to the third floor and saw Oscar, he asked why Bill had a stuffed monkey. Bill informed him that Oscar wasn’t a monkey, he was a dwarf ape. Monkeys have tails, and Oscar doesn’t, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I haven’t, really,” Judith said, sometimes wondering if her cousin and her husband were crazier than some of Bill’s patients.
“So Bill and this guy got into a real argument,” Renie 22
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went on. “Lorenzo was convinced Bill was wrong because at one time he’d worked at the zoo. Lorenzo, I mean, not Bill.”
“Define zoo, ” Judith murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing, coz. I coughed.”
“In fact, when Lorenzo was working there,” Renie continued, “he tried to kill himself by jumping into the lion pit. Unfortunately—or not—it was just after feeding time. Anyway, that was years ago, before they put all the n
atural habitats in at the zoo.”
Judith picked an apple out of the fruit basket on the kitchen counter and began to munch. “Um.”
“So Lorenzo told Bill that he had a primate book in his apartment, and he could prove that Oscar wasn’t an ape. You can imagine how Oscar felt about all this. He was really getting irritated.”
Judith kept munching. “Um-um.”
“Then Lorenzo suddenly got off the ledge—he was sitting on it, facing Bill and Oscar at this point—and came to the office doorway where Bill was standing. Even being three stories off the ground bothers Bill.”
Judith was tempted to ask if it bothered Oscar, but kept quiet and wished her cousin would get to the point. “So what’s the bottom line?”
“Well—Bill was tempted to go to Lorenzo’s apartment to prove he was right about Oscar, but he realized that wouldn’t be proper protocol,” Renie explained. “So he let the medics take over, and now Bill’s gone up to Bayview Hospital’s psychiatric ward. I imagine Bill and Oscar will go to the cafeteria for something to eat while the MDs check out Lorenzo. The problem is,” she went on, sounding worried,
“Oscar hates hospitals. It’s too bad I didn’t take Archie to Bill, too.”
Judith didn’t want Renie to get started on Archie, the small cheerful doll. She had had to put up with that bit of fantasy when the cousins were both in the hospital for sepa-
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rate surgeries. Archie had a tiny suitcase that accompanied him when he stayed with any member of the Jones family who was hospitalized. The worst of it was that the three Jones children all believed in Oscar, Archie, and another small doll named Cleo who was a foulmouthed Oakland Raiders fan. Judith felt that the entire family had too much imagination—or they really were nuts.
“There must be a reason you’re telling me all this,” Judith said.
“Of course!” Renie sounded irked. “I already mentioned I had good news for you. There’s no way Bill can leave town with Lorenzo in such a precarious emotional state.” She paused and sneezed a couple of times. “Sorry—it’s March, and my allergies are bothering me.”
“Mine, too,” Judith said impatiently. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m supposed to fill in for Bill?”
“Yes! Aren’t you excited?”
Judith wasn’t. Not yet. It seemed too good to be true. Indeed, panic began to engulf her. “Aren’t you—we—scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow?”
“That’s right,” Renie agreed. “I told you to be prepared. Have you checked with Carl and Arlene?”
“No,” Judith admitted. “I haven’t mentioned the possibility to Joe, and he’s not here.” She felt frazzled. The cruise was like a mirage, appearing and disappearing.
“Then get hopping,” Renie commanded. “You’ll have to shop, too, and buy some vintage clothes for the thirties theme.”
“Really . . . I don’t know . . . Oh, dear . . .” Judith never liked making decisions, especially on the spot. “Can I sleep on it?”
Renie sneezed again before she replied. “No. If you tell me tomorrow you’re not going, then I’m in a pickle. I couldn’t ask anybody else because they’d have less than twenty-four hours’ notice.” She paused. “Okay, let’s do it this way. You’re worn out, you look like bird doo, and you’re coming with me.”
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“You haven’t seen my hair,” Judith countered in a feeble voice.
“I expect to see it on the way to the airport. I’m hanging up now.”
“No! Wait!” Renie was right. Judith desperately needed a break. “At least give me time to tell Joe.”
“Good. Now get organized.”
“I will. I’ll call Joe and the Rankerses. I think I’ve got enough of what might pass for cruise wear. In fact, there’s a trunk in the basement with old clothes Mother refuses to let me throw out.” She hesitated, calculating what else needed to be done. “If Carl and Arlene can’t take over for me, I’ll ask the state B&B association. They have temporary innkeepers on call. And . . . by the way, where is the cruise going?”
“Atiu.”
“Gesundheit.” Judith repeated the question. “Where are we going?”
“I told you—Atiu, Pukapuka, Rarotonga, several stops in the Cook Islands. Read a map.”
“I’ll have to,” Judith said. “I’ve never heard of any of them—except for the Cook Islands themselves, of course.”
“They’re due south of Hawaii,” Renie said. “I wish they were closer to Guam. Then I could rendezvous with Tom and Cathleen.”
The Joneses’ elder son and his wife had moved to Guam after their wedding. Cathleen worked as an optician in a Catholic medical clinic and Tom taught European history at the university. Once again, Judith thanked her lucky stars that Mike and his family were so close.
Happily, Arlene and Carl agreed to take over Hillside Manor’s operation for the two weeks that Judith would be gone. Not so happily, Joe pitched a fit.
“I thought you and I were going on vacation next month,”
he said, raising his usually mellow voice.
“We still can,” Judith insisted. “We could go in May or June. April really isn’t such a good time, with Easter being late this year.”
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“Is May any better?” Joe shot back. “There’s Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, and school’s out early in the month for some college students. As for June—forget it. Now you’re into the B&B’s busiest time of year.”
Joe was right. The last week of April, after Easter, would be the best time for them to go together. Judith frowned into the phone. “I don’t know what to do. Renie insists I go with her.”
“Renie should cancel. Bill can’t go,” Joe argued. “Why doesn’t she tell those cruise bigwigs that she prefers another time?”
“She probably figures they’ll renege,” Judith replied,
“maybe even on the retainer offer. She had to threaten suing them.”
Joe snorted. “And once her mind’s made up, hell can’t hold her.”
“Well . . . there’s that, too.”
“Got to go,” Joe said abruptly. “Rich Mr. Zipper has just pulled into his inamorata’s driveway.”
Judith didn’t dare broach the subject to her mother, at least not so late at night. Nor did she want to relay Joe’s reaction to Renie. Reeling around in her quandary, she decided to go to bed. But Judith couldn’t sleep. She’d drop off for a few minutes, but weird dreams kept waking her up. A man wearing a slouch hat was playing the piano; when he removed the hat, he had no head. A large white bird in a satin evening gown and long strands of pearls had blood dripping from its claws. Two men in uniforms opened a bank vault to reveal a pile of handguns covered in caviar.
Mother was right, Judith thought to herself. It must’ve been the soup. She tossed and turned until Joe got home just before two o’clock.
“What’s the matter?” Joe asked in an annoyingly innocent voice. “You’ve got the blankets all messed up.”
“No kidding.” Judith rolled over again, turning her back on Joe.
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“Is it your hip?” he inquired.
“It’s always my hip,” Judith grumbled. “But that’s only part of it. The rest of me doesn’t feel so great, either.”
“You mean because you aren’t going on the cruise?”
“I haven’t told Renie,” Judith said, sounding crankier by the second. “In fact,” she went on, sitting up and looking at her husband, “you tell her. Call her first thing in the morning.”
Joe recognized the trap. Waking Renie before 10 A.M. was hazardous duty. Telling her that Judith couldn’t go on the cruise was tantamount to setting off a ton of TNT.
“Renie’s your cousin,” Joe declared. “It’s up to you to tell her.”
“No.” Judith pulled the sheet over her head.
“Sheesh.” Partly undressed, Joe
stood in the middle of the bedroom. He’d confronted hardened criminals, accompanied SWAT teams in hostage situations, and gone one-onone with drug-crazed killers wielding assault weapons. He wasn’t afraid of a little squirt like Renie. “Fine,” he said, and finished getting ready for bed.
The next morning, Joe called Renie at ten-fifteen.
“I’m afraid,” he began in formal tones, “that Judith can’t go with you on the cruise.”
“Really?” Renie sounded mildly surprised. “That’s a shame.”
Joe was momentarily nonplussed by Renie’s reaction.
“You see,” he said, compelled to explain further, “the two of us are planning a vacation next month.”
“Yes, she mentioned that.” Renie paused. “I hope it’s not too late.”
“Too late for what?” Joe asked.
“For her health,” Renie replied in a concerned voice. “I assume you’ve made sure she’s seeing a doctor.”
“About what?”
Renie made an exasperated noise. “About the fact that she could have a stroke at any minute. For God’s sake, Joe, have
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you looked at her lately? She’s thin as a rail, she’s pale, she’s haggard, she’s a train wreck waiting to happen. I can’t imagine that her new hairdo helps much.”
“What hairdo?”
“Touché,” Renie murmured. “What’s up with you, Joe? You’re usually the noticing kind.”
“I haven’t seen much of my wife this morning,” Joe said, sounding defensive. “She’s been . . . avoiding me.”
“No wonder.”
Joe expected Renie to say more, but she didn’t, which made him feel even worse. “Do you really think she’s completely worn out?”
“Yes,” Renie said, “I do. You two should have gone on vacation in January. After the holidays, she started to really go downhill. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt her to take two vacations, one with me and one with you. I still can’t believe you haven’t seen how tired and frazzled she is lately.”