Bernie ignored me. “I mean, if you’re on vacation with a small child in a posh resort—well, an upscale resort, anyway—and there’s tons to do and places to go, like interpretive centers, and beaches and swimming pools—not to mention alligators and cranes taller than the child—well…why do you stay holed up in your unit, day and night? Hmmm?” She drew in a long breath.
I just glared at her. “Bernadette, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you take your pills this morning? Is it acid reflux? Your leg cramps again? Constipation? What is your problem? And you say I’m fruitcake.” She’d really lost me.
Bernie sighed. “Ohhh, nothing, I guess. Chalk it up to my over-stimulated imagination…and too much Dramamine. And too much Nicole Suzette. What’s for dinner?”
I shook my head in sad disbelief. Depressing how some people faded mentally when they passed a certain age. Still shaking my head, I proceeded to dump the entire contents of my purse on the scorching car hood, located my incorrigible keys, adjusted a bra strap, then ducked into the oven-hot car. I’d come to the conclusion that my best friend was either a complete idiot or was hallucinating from heat stroke…maybe both. God, I dreaded getting old.
FIFTEEN
The following morning we slept in. In layman’s terms, nine o’clock is probably not considered ‘sleeping in’, but for retired teachers too used to the nauseating ritual of rising before dawn is even thinking about dawning—well, trust me…it’s sleeping in.
I awoke first, struggled into something decent to wear, and dragged myself into the kitchen, where I put on the kettle. I’d just sunk into the cushions of the couch with a steaming cup of coffee when Bernie scuffled in. Without so much as a greeting, she fetched a can of Dr. Pepper, poured it over ice cubes, then turned bleary-eyed toward me. “G’morning,” she said hoarsely.
“Same to you,” I said with what I hoped passed for a twinkle in my eyes.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked with one eye shut.
“Good. Didn’t move an inch the entire night. How ’bout you?”
“So-so. Too many wicked dreams.”
“About boo-daddies and headstones?”
Her withering look squelched that. “No.” She flopped down in her chair and put her feet on the ottoman. “I’m still stewing about the fact that our upstairs neighbors don’t leave their apartment.”
I made a face. “For crying out loud, Bernie. How do you know they don’t ever leave? Weren’t they going out for ice cream the first time we met them?”
Bernie’s face clouded. “Yes…yes, they were. But that’s been the extent of their comings and goings as far as I have observed. They’re always going out for ice cream. And ice cream, to my mind, does not constitute a dream-vacation.”
“How do you know they only go out for ice cream? We’ve been in and out ourselves. Gone to the beach, to Charleston, to half a dozen restaurants, on the tour, and—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted, waving a hand in agitation. “I realize that, but…all the same…something bothers me about them…and I can’t put a finger on it.”
I set my coffee mug on the table and leaned forward. “Yeah, well, maybe so, but, listen to this. Remember the descriptions of the Bonnie and Clyde wannabe’s?”
“Wannabe’s. What kind of a word is th—”
“Quiet. Just listen. You remember how they described the couple who’ve been running a robbery racket all over Charleston and thereabouts…well—and don’t interrupt ’til I’m finished—who do they remind you of?”
“Dangling prep—”
“Bernie.”
“Sorry.”
“Well…who do they remind you of?” I squirmed in my excitement. “Who fits the description of those robbers? Hmmm?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Vicki and Lionel.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Vicki and Lionel are the perfect portrait of a married couple bent on a life of crime.”
Bernie narrowed her eyes and just stared at me. Then she whispered, “You…have…got…to…be…kidding.”
“No. I’m serious. Don’t they fit the bill like a cliché?”
“Vicki? And poor Lionel?” Bernie snorted—rather an unladylike sound to be sure. “Why, Vicki has more brains in her pendulous boobs than in her frizzled head. And Lionel…why, he can’t even keep his pants on. I mean…I’ve seen his plumber’s butt more times than I’ve scratched my mosquito bites. You are absolutely out of your ever-loving mind, Mike. You read way too many novels, my dear. Way too many. Maybe you should get a part time job or something. You’re bored. You haven’t enough to do. You miss teaching. There you are. Go be a mentor or something. Be a sub. Get back into the rat race.”
I sank back into the sofa cushions and folded my arms across my chest. “Fine. You dwell on the harmless young couple and their precious baby upstairs. I, on the other hand, will concentrate my attention on our neighbors in the next complex. I think Vicki and Lionel positively reek from their numerous illicit endeavors.”
“Well, I agree they reek, but the rest of that story is ridiculous. Lord…” Bernie sighed.
* * * *
It was after two in the afternoon when we got the craving for some ice cream. Bernie also wanted to rent a movie—Dreamgirls—since I’d never seen it, and she thought it worth viewing…especially by someone who’d taught years of drama to middle school students. I didn’t argue. I knew I’d enjoy seeing it. We were too tired to venture out into the late afternoon heat wave for anything more strenuous than dinner, so our evenings were free. And there was never much to watch on TV.
Grabbing our purses we headed out only to come face-to-face with Melba, who was standing on the veranda, starring up at the sky. She jumped a foot when we came outside.
“Oh. Hello, there, Norma…and Mary…how are you? I thought you had left…haven’t seen you around…are you still here?” Melba twittered like a bird that’d just flown into a window.
Bernie slapped on her best parent-teacher-conference smile. “Hello, Melba. Yes, we’re still here. How have you been? The heat hasn’t been too much for you has it?”
Melba’s eyes rolled. “Oohh, no…I’m used to it…sometimes I just wander around my little place in the all-together…you know what I mean… nekked as a jaybird…just trying to beat the heat.”
“Good…good…” Bernie nodded, probably desperate to block the mental image of Melba, nekked, wandering around her apartment.
The dear woman stepped closer to Bernie and craned her neck to peer up at her. “How are you, Mary? Are you enjoying your stay with us?”
“Uh, yes…yes, I am.”
I wanted to giggle and was struggling to keep myself in check. Melba was as vacant as a condemned building. I wasn’t sure she was rowing with both oars—not to mix my metaphors.
Bernie stepped back as unobtrusively as she could and grabbed my arm, none too gently. “Mike and I are off to get some ice cream and rent a movie. We’ve been at it so much that we’re both a little exhausted and need some down-time.”
Melba’s lips wobbled at the corners. “Ohhh…I understand…I understand. I’m just waiting here for my nephew and his wife…they called…said they had something for me to keep while they vacation out west…in Arizona, I think…or was it Reno? No…I think they’re going to San Diego…” she batted her eyes. “It doesn’t really matter, does it, girls?”
“Uh…no, it doesn’t. Nice for you to have some company,” Bernie muttered.
“Oh, they come by often…to leave things with me…I have that extra room, you know…and their apartment is so cramped…so tiny…and he needs his office space…the dear boy…my sister’s boy…like my own…and Jessica is such a darling girl…so clever…why, she can even—”
“That’s great. Well, hate to run away but we have to go. ’Bye, Melba. We’ll be seeing you.” And with that, Bernie pulled me after her, dragging me down the stairs and tripping me in the process. As soon as
we’d rounded the corner and were out of earshot, she hissed, “Jeez Louise. That woman needs help.”
“I know, I know,” I giggled. “But, gosh, Bern, I feel a little sorry for her, too. And us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, us. Imagine women our age so hell-bent on getting to the ice cream parlor that we have no patience for a sweet, simple old soul. Some day it’ll be our turn. Jeez, I’m already having more senior moments than I care to talk about. I dread the day when people are in a hurry to get away from me and don’t have time to give me a little compassion.”
Bernie’s face lit up. “Oh, sweetie…don’t I give you the attention you crave, heaped with oodles of compassion?”
“Well…I guess…” I opened my purse and stuck a hand in.
“And don’t I listen to your long-winded, pointless, rambling stories about ghosts and Gullah?”
“Ummm, yes…”
“Then consider yourself blessed to have a best friend like me.” She leaned against the car. “Sweetie, need I remind you I have Christmas shopping to do?”
I glared up at her and continued to rummage for my damned car keys.
As luck would have it on a blistering summer afternoon at the beach, the ice cream shop was crowded. We didn’t mind too much as it allowed us a decent time to review the many flavor selections offered. Finally, after much thought and careful weighing of pros and cons, I decided on a cherry vanilla scoop with hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry—oh. And a sprinkling of chopped walnuts. Divine.
Bernie, on the other hand, and with no imagination whatsoever, chose a double scoop of ‘Killa Vanilla’ in a plain old waffle cone. Be still my beating heart.
We carried our concoctions to a table, relieved that most of the patrons were taking theirs with them. Both of us hated to eat standing up, juggling purses and treats and napkins. I invariably had an accident whenever I did. Sitting down didn’t afford me much leeway, either, but at least I had a fighting chance.
Gazing around at the happy patrons crowding the tiny shop, jostling one another for prime position at the counter and discussing among themselves the multitude of flavor possibilities, we couldn’t help but smile. Happiness is contagious and we old gals were enjoying more than just our sweet treats. I was picking the stem off my cherry when I happened to catch a familiar face. Bobby from upstairs, minus his two gals, was standing just outside the glass door, holding an earnest conversation on his cell phone, eyes darting about as he talked. When his roving eyes spotted us, recognition clicked, and a frown followed by a toothy grin spread across his grizzled face.
“Bernie,” I mouthed after swallowing the cherry I’d been sucking on. “Don’t look now, but we have a friend standing just outside the shop.” I pointed with my chin.
Bernie took a peek over her shoulder. “Well, I’ll be…”
She didn’t say any more as Bobby had popped into the shop and was at our table in two long strides. “Hey, there, ladies,” he greeted us with a smile that stretched from ear to ear but didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Enjoying some ice cream, I see. I’m picking up some for my girls, too. Good day for it, huh? Well, gotta run. See you.” And without waiting for either of us to respond, he turned on his heel, pushed ahead of the line to the counter, made his selection in rapid time, paid for it, and was out the door before Bernie or I could blink, let alone swallow.
“Good grief.” Bernie leaned back in her chair.
“Yeah,” I stared out the picture window at nothing in particular. “Good grief is right. Is it my imagination or was he one up-tight young man?”
“God, it must be this humidity. The whole damned place is crawling with crazy whackos. Sheesh.”
“You’re telling me. Double that sheesh.”
Bernie tossed her bouffant head of hair and resumed tackling her ice cream. “Forget the loonies. This is sooo good. Probably…” lick… “the best…” lick… “ice cream I’ve…” lick… “ever tasted…”
Spooning lumps of chocolate covered cherry vanilla into my mouth prevented me from responding so I rolled my eyes, nodded, and left her to do the interpreting.
When we finished—feeling a tad nauseated from too much sweet stuff in too much heat—we tossed our trash and ambled over to the wall displaying videos for rent. Bernie spied Dreamgirls and snatched it up as though someone might put up a fight for it. I followed her to the counter, where the congenial proprietor waited to check us out.
I gave him the necessary info about where we were staying, and Bernie showed him her driver’s license and paid the rental fee.
“Enjoy,” he said, grinning, “and come back. I could see how much you enjoyed your ice cream.”
Bernie made a face. “One of my many vices.”
“Good one.” His grin widened then faded. “And remember to lock your doors. We had a break-in last night.”
“You did?” I exclaimed in total shock.
He shook his head. “No, not us. By ‘we’ I meant here at the beach. One of the beach houses was broken into—the folks weren’t there—and some stuff was taken.” He shook his head again. “Not big stuff—just some cameras and a ring and stuff.”
“How’d you hear about it?” I asked.
Color flooded his cheeks. “Oh…I, uh, am friends with the, uh, local authorities around here and…well, I guess I shouldn’t have told you. Keep it under your hats, okay?”
We both nodded, thanked him, and left, rendered speechless for several seconds. Once out the door, however, I spoke in a rush. “Okay. They’re here. They’re here. I can’t believe it.”
Bernie put her weight on one leg, thrust out her hip, and scowled at me. “Who’s here?”
“Bonnie and Clyde, of course. Who else would rob a house down here? Wake up, Bernie.”
The look she gave me was the patented one she’d given Bart Heilbronner some twenty-nine years ago when he’d chosen to use the words but and butt as examples of homonyms in eighth grade grammar class. The very same glare that had sent the six-foot tall, 150 pound eighth grader to the boys’ lavatory in tears, while the mob of hormonal teenagers in the class howled with laughter.
SIXTEEN
As soon as we got back to the condo with our video and our still-nauseous stomachs, we headed for our respective bathrooms for showers, to be followed by naps. I blamed it on the heat. Bernie blamed it on me. She said being around me was exhausting. I didn’t deign to address that.
By evening, we were ready to watch our movie. Dinner was in—as opposed to going out—and comprised of hot, buttered popcorn, a tall glass of Diet Coke for me and a similar one of Diet Dr. Pepper for her. To give the impression that we were educated and well versed on the latest nutritional findings, we also prepared a plate of raw veggies and a small bowl of ‘light’ Ranch dressing. We were content.
The sun had melted into the horizon long ago. I turned on the lights so Bernie could see as she knelt before the video/DVD player, trying to figure out how it worked. I’d set the food on the coffee table and was about to take my seat when I remembered I was close to the end of my novel and needed another one.
Getting the keys from my gaping handbag, I said, “Bern…I’m going out to the car for a sec. I have extra books in the trunk.”
Her reply was a mere nod and a low grunt.
I let myself out, leaving the door open but the glass outer door closed, and padded down the steps. It was dark now and the space between condo complexes even more dense due to the number of trees with mossy stoles. The scattered solar lights implanted close to the ground were hardly adequate so I took my time. Coordination and I weren’t the best of friends, and I’d been known to trip or lose balance over a gum wrapper.
Rounding the corner of our unit, I leapt out of my skin and let out a loud shriek when a dark form suddenly took shape in front of me. “Lionel. Oh. You scared me spitless.”
He’d stepped out of the deepest shadows so was visible, and I could tell he’d been as unnerved as I. “Oh. I’m sorry…I’m so
sorry…” he stammered.
“What were you doing?”
“Doing? Oh. I, uh, I thought I saw something move under your unit…wanted to see what it was…”
“Well, what was it?”
“Nothing. That is, I couldn’t see anything when I got here. Probably a raccoon…”
“Or a gator. You know they walk across the golf course at night to get to other ponds.”
His entire body stiffened at that and it almost cost me a laugh. “Oh. Well. Wouldn’t want to meet up with anything like that,” he said, still breathing hard.
“No, neither would I…though it would be fun to see one…from a distance.”
He nodded. “Yes, yes, it would. Well, Vicki is probably wondering where I am, so I’ll get back to my place.” He swatted the air and then smacked his left arm. “Damn mosquitoes. You better not stay out here too long. They’re really biting.”
“I’m just getting something from the car. See you, Lionel.” And with that, I jogged to the car, retrieved my book, and sprinted back to our unit. By the time I stepped into the living room, I was panting like I’d run a marathon. Bernie looked up in surprise.
“What took you so long? I was about to go looking for you.” Her eyes narrowed. “And why, for crying out loud, did you run?” Her mouth curved up in a sly grin. “Saw some boo-daddies, did you?”
I fell onto the couch and pushed the sweaty bangs off my forehead. “No…I…didn’t see any…boo-daddies.” I sucked in a shaky breath. “But…I did run into Lionel. And I do mean ‘run into’.”
“Lionel?”
“Yes, Lionel. And you’ll never guess where he was standing…or hiding…or…whatever…”
“Where?”
“Right next to that panel thingy with all the meters and widgets for our complex.”
“And?”
“C’mon, Bernie. Don’t be dense just to annoy me. Why was our neighbor from the next building standing in the dark next to our electric meter thingy?”
Bernie’s sigh was a tad over-dramatic. “I don’t know, Mike, did you ask him?”
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