by Rita Lakin
What about no longer just planning for myself but having to always consider another? The subtle battles. Who will have control. Having to compromise. No more being comfortable alone with one’s own self.
And will the apartment need to be kept neater? Will I have to be the housewife again, with the man’s wants more important than mine? Will I not be able to read in bed ’til dawn or eat standing in front of the open fridge at midnight? Remember what you’ve forgotten, Glad, old girl. Living with a man is work. You’ve got to please him, dress for him, cook for him. Bother. And sex. How much effort will it take to do what used to come easily and naturally? Will it work at all at this age?
You’ve got your own baggage, now you’d have to take on his as well. A whole new load of relatives to deal with and have to make room for. How much energy is left for this? And let’s not forget the downhill countdown, the body’s deterioration and potential illnesses. The possibility of having to care for an invalid. And what if that invalid is you? Would you be able to dump that on a stranger? And dealing with death again. One or the other left bereft again. So much risk. So much easier to do nothing. Live the easier life. Without love.
Best to leave well enough alone.
“It’s a girl!” Jack appears at the table, beaming. “Six pounds, eight ounces.”
I try to recover quickly from my shambling thoughts. “Congratulations, Grandpa.” A weak retort.
He looks at me, eyes seeming to pierce into mine. He sits down, reaches over and takes my hands in his.
“I leave you alone for five minutes and you start to think! Stop it immediately! You imagine I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours? That I haven’t had every one of those same thoughts?”
I try sarcasm to cover my feelings. “What are you, a mind reader?”
“No, I’m just a person of the same age having all the same doubts and fears and giving myself all the same rationales to run as fast and as far as I can.”
My voice sounds shaky to me. “So why don’t you?”
“Because hopefully we’re wise enough by now not to make the same mistakes we made when we were young. We no longer need to fight those foolish battles anymore. There are different ways to live with someone at this age. A way to make life easier and simpler for both. A way to cherish whatever is left for as long as it lasts, and to have someone at your side to share it.”
“But what if . . . what if . . .” I can’t say it.
“What if it’s only a few years or a year or a month or even a day? Isn’t one perfect day worth it?”
I am speechless. Then I start to cry.
32
Back to Reality
I guess I drove home. My car must have made it back on autopilot. Oh, wonderful world of limitless possibilities. Jack Langford. All these years so near and yet so far. We might never have met again had it not been for—murder. Francie, why aren’t you here? You would have enjoyed the irony.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I am aware of something flickering. It’s coming from across the parking lot, a ground-floor apartment. Denny’s apartment. There is only the barest sliver of dull light shining through the louvers on the front door, but it seems to be moving. Is it a fire? Oh, please, God, no! I quickly park my car and hurry over. The kitchen blinds are shut tight and I can’t see anything. I knock, but he doesn’t answer. I keep knocking. Finally he speaks to me through the door.
“Who is it?” A mean, unfriendly voice.
“It’s me, Gladdy.”
“Go away.”
“I thought I saw a fire—”
“There’s no fire.”
I’m relieved, but to my own surprise, I suddenly say, “Denny, may I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”
“No. Not now.”
“Promise we’ll talk soon. All right?”
“Yeah. Some other time.”
“All right then. Good night.”
I start back across the parking area again and head for my place, my mind wanting to return to pleasant thoughts of Jack. But the sound of Denny’s voice has pulled me into the here and now. His behavior in the garden was odd. Now this. It’s obvious he’s avoiding everyone. One of these days, I am going to make him talk to me and tell me what’s wrong. Though I don’t want to admit it to myself, I don’t want to know. I’m afraid to know. . . .
33
The Living Dead
D enny peered out the peephole and waited until he was sure Gladdy stepped into the elevator.
Moving lethargically through his cramped apartment, he was no longer aware of the putrid smells around him. Of his own body odor from too few baths. Of the clothing he no longer washed. Of the garbage piled up in the kitchen and the filthy dishes in the sink. All he knew was that he was tired all the time. All he wanted to do was sleep. And he couldn’t sleep. Life was only bearable when he was in his garden.
He placed a flickering black candle under his mother’s portrait and straightened the black crepe he had wrapped around it. He did that every evening before the phone call. It was a ritual he dared not stop.
It was stifling in the apartment. He knew he should fix the air conditioner, but he didn’t care that he could hardly breathe. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He only wanted it to stop.
Everything was wrong in his life now. He’d even lost his keys. He never lost keys before!
He had been so happy. Without her. He had his garden and his jobs for all the ladies. Everyone was so good to him. They gave him presents and food. Nobody ever made him feel bad. Like she always did. Why did she have to come back and ruin everything?
For seven wonderful years he’d thought he was rid of his mother forever. But then on the night before her birthday, she’d called him. How was it possible? And she sounded so strange. It didn’t sound like her. But she knew everything about him and reminded him that it was because of him she’d died on this very date, the night before her birthday. He had killed her. Because he was a bad boy. He deserved to be punished. Then he knew it had to be her.
He didn’t understand how she could phone him from heaven. She laughed and said they had all the modern conveniences. But he would never know that because he would never go to heaven. Because he was bad.
But why? What did she want from him? She told him, but he didn’t really understand. How? he had cried out in anguish. She said she was lonely in heaven and she wanted her friends to join her. She couldn’t wait until God was ready to send them. Oh, no, she had to have it her way, like she always did when she was alive. But it was confusing. It made his head hurt to try to understand. His mother never liked those ladies. She didn’t have any friends.
Denny kept looking at the clock, waiting for it to be ten. Afterwards, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. No wonder nothing got done around here anymore.
He sat on the couch, hands clenched, staring at the clock, praying for it to be over. He didn’t want to do this every night, but he didn’t dare disobey her. He had tried once. He left the house, so he wouldn’t be there at ten when the phone rang. The next day he found a dead rat in his bed. Strangled. He threw up when he saw it. And that night when she called she warned him: The next time it would be his neck.
The second hand was nearing the end of the hour. He suddenly realized he had to pee, but it was too late. He had to answer on time. He didn’t dare be late.
The old grandfather clock chimed the hours. Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten. Ten o’clock. And the phone rang. Denny, staring at the phone, felt paralyzed. Pick up, Denny, now!
With sweating, shaking hands he lifted the receiver.
“Mama?”
He listened with the growing awareness that he should have gone to the bathroom first. He jiggled his body up and down, trying to control his bladder.
“But I did pick it right up. I did.”
“No, the clock isn’t wrong, I swear.”
“Oh, no, Mama, not another one. Please.”
“But, why? Don�
��t you have enough friends up there?”
“No, I don’t want to. Why do you say that? I don’t want them dead.”
“But I don’t remember doing that.” He shivered with fear. “I can’t sleep, so how can I do that in my sleep?”
“Mama, no, I’m not fighting with you. I’m not . . .”
He couldn’t help himself and Denny, mortified, could feel the pee running down the inside of his pant legs. He was sure she could see it. She saw everything he did.
His voice was dead now. Dead as he was feeling. “Who is it this time, Mama?”
“Yes, Mama, whatever you say.”
Denny hung up the phone and sank to the floor. It was over. For tonight anyway. He stared at the damp spot on his pants and began to sob.
34
Back in Business Again
What a night! When I finally do fall asleep—nightmares galore. Denny was in my tortured night visions. Crying and standing over a grave, waving white flowers and whispering “Not me, not me.” When the grave looked like it was opening up—well, that sure woke me up, covered in sweat and absolutely terrified. I shudder to think what the dream was trying to tell me.
That keeps me up a few more hours, pacing, thinking, attempting to read, until I can finally fall back to sleep again.
Around eight A.M. I’m awake again, feeling like I just drove a ten-ton truck to Tallahassee and back. I drag myself into the kitchen and make my morning coffee.
While carrying my cup and my toast to the dining room table where my crossword puzzles await, my eye catches something white on the floor, half hidden under the front door. I retrieve it after setting the coffee down.
And at the same moment the phone rings. As I answer it, I’m aware that the note is from Evvie. I feel terrible. We’ve come to this. To talk to me she has to leave a note under my door. Mea culpa, as my pal Conchetta would say.
“Good morning,” says Jack Langford cheerfully. “Hope I’m not calling too early.”
“No, not at all,” I say, still preoccupied by the note.
“I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed our evening together.”
“Thank you. I did, too.”
“You sound distracted.”
“I’m sorry. I am. I had a fight with my sister and I’m feeling overwhelmed with guilt.”
“Not good. Guilt is something we should not have to suffer at our advanced age.”
“Easily said . . .”
“I know. Well you do what you have to do to repair the damage and call me when your mind is clear.”
“Thanks for understanding, Jack.”
After I hang up I read Evvie’s note. Glad. We’re still on the job. We have important news about Leo the Sleaze and his real-estate company. They are up to no good. Evvie.
This is so stupid! What am I supposed to do—never forgive them? Live here and never talk to them again? Sneak around so that we don’t ever run into one another? So Evvie reached out first, attempting to make up. I can guess how much it cost her. I have to let them off the hook even though I’d still like to wring all their necks.
I put on my sweats and walk outside to begin peace negotiations. This is my way of announcing to them that I am willing to begin our daily walks again, and channels are now open for further communication. Immediately, I can feel eyes peering out at me from behind louvered windows.
Sure enough, Evvie is out her door in a flash. Playing it cool, she does her warm-ups without facing me. She calls out to me across the parking area. “So, how did you sleep last night, Glad?”
If she only knew. This isn’t the time or place to tell her about my nightmares. I call back. “Pretty good. Only got up twice.”
And here comes Bella, peeping out her door to make sure it’s safe to make an appearance. Evvie must be nodding at her, because she, too, is now out and moving at her usual snail pace.
“Hi, Gladdy,” she calls tentatively at me.
“Hi, Bella,” I answer. I can see her grin clear across the way.
Here comes Ida, doing her warm-ups. Head up, nose in the air, and definitely not looking at me. She is not going to say hello. Never one to accept blame for anything, in her mind she did nothing wrong; I’m to blame.
Sophie pokes her nose out the kitchen window. “I’m coming. I’m coming!”
“I think we need to have a meeting,” I announce.
“When?” Bella asks eagerly.
“As soon as we can.”
“I have a full pot of coffee on.” This from Evvie.
Ida finally speaks. Grudgingly. “I’m not in a walking mood anyway. Might as well do it now.”
Evvie chimes in. “Sounds good to me. Come on over.”
With that, Ida walks right past me to the elevator.
Sophie calls out from inside her door. “I’m almost ready!”
I catch up with Ida at the elevator. From the expression on her face, I can tell she was hoping not to ride with me. We descend without speaking.
Finally, I sigh. “Truce?” I ask her.
“You hurt my feelings. We were only trying to help.”
“I know,” I say. “Let’s get past it.”
A pause. Ida isn’t about to give me any easy satisfaction. “Well. We’ll see how it goes.”
But she is still not looking at me as we cross over to Evvie and Bella’s building.
As usual it takes a while to get the coffee, cut the bagels, spread the cream cheese, exchange some quick gossip, get settled around the dining room table. The only difference is that everyone is uncomfortable. Ida’s body is still turned away from me. Bella is looking nervously from one of us to the other and Evvie can’t quite look me in the eye.
Finally everyone runs out of unimportant things to do or say. Evvie, seeing silence as dangerous, taps on the table with her teaspoon. “The meeting of the Gladiators will now come to order.” She looks around, “Where’s—”
The door bursts open and there’s Sophie, half-dressed, looking frazzled, breathless and hyperventilating. She stares at us, just sitting there, puts her hands on her hips, and fires away. “Well, this is a fine kettle of fish and chips! I see you all out on the walkway, so I hurry into my sweats. I come out and you’re all gone. So, I figure you went downstairs, but I can’t find you on the path, so I figure it was time to go swimming, so I run back in and put on my suit, then I don’t see you near the pool—”
Ida puts her hand over Sophie’s mouth. “Shah, still! Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.”
Sophie jerks her hand away. “Nobody ever thinks about me! You know I’m not good at rushing, and what am I, a mind reader, to know you’re all up here at Evvie’s? I knocked on everybody’s doors!! Is this a way to treat a person?”
Bella jumps up and gets her a cup of coffee as Ida pushes an onion bagel at her. “It’s all right. It’s over. Sit. Eat. Listen.”
“As I was saying,” Evvie continues as Sophie noisily accepts the bribes, “the meeting has come to order. We all know all the old business, so we better go straight to what’s new . . . .”
Bella gets excited. “Tell Glad what we found out about Leo.”
“I was just getting to it.”
Ida jumps in. “I was there, too. I’m a witness.”
“Anyway, we were heading to the pool when we ran into Tessie. Tessie had news. Selma’s apartment finally sold. She heard this from Selma’s kids.”
“Well, that’s good,” I say.
“No, it’s bad.”
Ida can’t stand being left out. “So we naturally asked, who did they sell to? And when are they moving in?”
Evvie fairly pushes her. “Will you let me tell it already? Tessie says no one is moving in. A company bought the place. And they got it dirt cheap because it was on the market so long.”
“Uh-oh, that’s bad,” I say. “When that news gets out, the property values will drop and they’re plenty low now.”
Evvie says, “You know, other people can be a detective, too. I go into the o
ffice and look through the condo records and I call up the families of all the people who died in the last six months in all the phases. And guess what?”
Ida bursts in again. “All bought by different companies. With no people moving in anywhere!”
“With one family after another taking cheaper prices after these companies told them what the one before sold for.”
Sophie is sitting on the edge of her chair. “So what does it mean? Are they waiting ’til real estate prices go up and they’ll sell at higher prices?”
“Hah!” says Evvie. “We bought our units over twenty years ago, and our dumb luck—everywhere around us condos are worth a hundred thousand and up and we got the only price that never budged! This place always stayed cheap—” She stops suddenly, getting it, eyes wide. “But the real estate it’s sitting on must be worth a fortune. . . .”
“So,” I say, nodding at her, coming to the same conclusion. “They intend to buy us all out and tear this place down and build something much more valuable.”
“Like a fancy high-rise,” says Bella.
“Or, God forbid, a shopping mall!” says Ida.
“What’s so bad about a shopping mall?” Sophie muses.
Ida swats her with a napkin. “Dummy, so where would you live?”
“Bad, very bad.” Now I’m worried, too. “You said ‘companies.’ More than one?”
“Yes, about a half dozen different companies, but our accountant, Lou, is smart. He starts looking up the companies for me and surprise, surprise, there is one mother company who owns them all, by the name of Sunrise-Sunset, and that takes us squarely back to Leo Slezak.”
“That gonif,” says Sophie indignantly. “They’re out to get all our apartments, one way or the other.”
Bella picks up her coffee cup and her hand is shaking so hard the cup rattles. “But would they kill us to get them?”
I say, “Sleaze and his gang may be crooks, but cold-blooded murderers?!”
Ida says, “Makes sense to me. It would explain why they were trying to make us believe they were heart attacks.”