For Crying Out Loud

by Cathie Wayland

  Bernie blinked, tossed her humidity-fluffed hair with one hand and returned my pointed stare. For maybe the second time in her life, she was rendered speechless. My seemingly irrelevant announcement stunned her. After an epoch of watching me twitch and wriggle and blink as the wheels turned in my fertile brain, she demanded, “What are you talking about?” She maneuvered Doritos and cheese dip and cashews without missing a syllable or crumb—years of practice paying off.

  “Jorge.” I couldn’t hold it in a second longer.

  Bernie nearly lost a dollop of dip from her cracker but recovered. She looked over at me, eyebrows in a knot, yet not distracted from her feeding spree. I suppose she thought I’d had one too many lemonades.

  “I thought we were utterly fascinated by Melba and her darling nephew. Or was it the dynamic duo of Vicki and Lionel? Anyway, what does poor Jorge have to do with anything?” She’d managed to lose a glob of oily dip on her new capris after all.

  “Exactly.” I stated and crossed my arms.

  “Too much sun,” Bernie muttered, poking through the dwindling pile of snacks for more cashews.

  “Bernie…we’ve driven through this complex…what…twelve, fourteen, twenty times, right? Even walked around a bit, checking out the neighbors and their condos, right?”

  “Uh hmmm,” she hummed.

  “Okay. And Jorge is always around, cleaning up, doing his job, right on schedule, blowing and cleaning and tidying up,” I added.

  Bernie leaned forward in her chair. “Right,” she agreed. “And…?”

  “And…have we ever seen Jorge anywhere else in this humongous complex besides right here at our own place? Have we seen him down the road, or across the lane, or down by the gate, or policing the other units? Well, have we?” I questioned, tugging at my T-shirt and pulling on one side of my shorts.

  “Well…no…I guess I never noticed him anywhere but here…except that time at the beach…” Bernie replied, not sure where this conversation was headed.

  “And Melba’s place is being used as a storehouse for a creepy nephew who says he’s a nephew, but who really knows for sure, and now there’s a brand-new computer, and the leaf blower thing is always running right on schedule but nowhere else, just around us and—” I sucked in a deep breath.

  “For God’s sake.” Bernie interjected. “Take a breath. Settle down, Michaela. You are hyper-ventilating.”

  “But don’t you get it?” I cried.

  “Michaela, you are bordering on hysteria. The last time I saw you this excited was when you encountered the tiny mouse that’d taken up residency in the glove compartment of your Volkswagen Rabbit, and had invited friends and family to join him in the plush, luxury accommodations. Missouri winters can be beastly, I know.” She popped another chip into her mouth.

  “Forget that nonsense. Somehow this is all connected. It has to be.” I leapt to my feet. “It’s just all too strange and odd and— And our vacation’s almost over, and we’re not going to discover the end of the story, and—for crying out loud, Bernie. Will you please stop eating long enough to listen to me? We have a real, live adventure here, and time is running out.”

  Flopping onto the couch, exhausted from my tirade, I fidgeted and squirmed, popped my neck, and glared at my annoying comrade.

  “Mike,” Bernie warned, “you’re going to break something. Stop the Pilates for a sec and chew on this. One, this complex is so big, I’m sure they have a dozen men going around with blowers and such. Two, I’m sure that each man is assigned a territory or section or whatever, and keeps to that location, which, of course, ensures that the job gets done and nothing is overlooked. Right?”

  I nodded and frowned.

  “Third, just because we think we haven’t seen anybody else do the job doesn’t mean they haven’t. Truthfully, have you really cared one iota whether someone was blowing debris two units down?”

  I grimaced then shook my head. “No…I guess I haven’t…”

  “On the other hand…I think it is mighty strange that we’ve only been aware of Jorge being around and nobody else. I mean, why zero in on Jorge? He’s not particularly large or excessively handsome…and yet, we seem to be fixated on him and him alone. Why? What is it about him that has enslaved our senses?”

  I stared at her, sparks shooting from my narrowed eyes. “Wait just a darned minute, Bernadette North. First you go on and on, telling me how silly I am, and then you go 180 degrees on me. Do you just enjoy tormenting me?”

  Bernie grinned, cracked open a pistachio and stuck the nut into her mouth, keeping one eye on the slide show of emotions displayed on my perspiring face. “Okay…you’re right. I am only baiting you, but. Even though I think we have just missed seeing other gardeners around, I do agree that Jorge does seem to be always here, which does make him a tad suspicious…of what, I haven’t a clue.”

  “He probably works for the CIA or FBI or NSA or—”

  “Mike.” Bernie was shaking with convulsive laughter and could hardly get the words out. “Mike…you’re…incorrigible.” Another spasm. “As I said earlier, you need an outlet…a job…something to occupy that fertile imagination… FBI? NSA? You’ve got to be kidding. Next, you’ll suggest he’s affiliated with NCIS.”

  “I happen to like that program,” I muttered darkly.

  “You have a crush on Mark Harmon, Charlton Heston—may he rest in peace—Lorne Greene—gosh, he’s dead, too—George Clooney—”

  “Stop it.” I glowered at her. “You admitted he looked suspicious…”

  “Yes…but more in the ballpark of illegal alien or something…certainly not,” A loud snort. “FBI or NSA. Ohhhh, Lord, that’s priceless.”

  “But that’s why he’s so good at what he does,” I whined. “He’s perfect for his surveillance job for the very reason that he doesn’t look like he’s perfect for his surveillance job.”

  “Run that by me again?”

  I picked up one of the couch pillows and flung it at her. With force. It landed square in the open container of onion dip.

  “Ohh. Now look what you made me do. And that’s my sister’s pillow. Now I’ll have to wash it somehow, and dip is oily and will probably leave a stain and she—”

  “Mike.” Bernie’s voice was so loud it did the trick. I deflated and slumped against the remaining sofa pillow. “There…now just calm down. We’ll clean the damned pillow. Right now, we have better, more constructive things to do.”

  “Like what? I mean, if I knew there was actually something we could do, I’d jump at the ch—”

  At that precise moment, the whirring howl of Jorge’s leaf blower punctuated my dramatic gyrations. I sat bolt upright, transfixed by the noise and whirlwind of dust and pine needles that announced the groundskeeper’s arrival.

  “3:30.” My voice was hoarse. “Now, what do you make of that?”

  “You know, sweetie,” Bernie replied cryptically, “that twenty-four hour walk-in medical clinic we saw on highway 17 could probably see you right now, no questions asked.”

  “3:30, Bernadette.” I repeated, desperate to make a point that seemed lost on her, since she’d left her chair and was once again foraging in the refrigerator. I knew Bernie could hear my impatience without having to see it. My bare foot tapped on the laminate floor, attempting to command some semblance of attention from her, but she was otherwise occupied and therefore unimpressed. However, sensing my eyes boring into the back of her…well, her posterior…she rose to full stature, closed the refrigerator in resignation, glared at me and flopped back into her chair.

  Seizing the opportunity to make my point or lose the moment forever, I declared, “Jorge never comes around at 3:30. It may be 9:00 in the morning or 11:20, and once almost noon, but never-never has he swept the deck at 3:30. Something’s up.”

  Looking like she hoped there was more to this sudden, though remarkable deduction, Bernie motioned for me to go on. So I did.

  “Don’t you see? Everything we thought was regular and ordinary
and usual and common is…well, irregular and unordinary and unusual and uncommon.”

  “Sweetie, truthfully, I suspect that maybe it’s you who is irregular. May I suggest something soothing and natural to rectify the situation?”

  “Bernie. Stop being so difficult and listen to me. It’s a conspiracy. What can we do? We’ve got to do something.”

  “Okay. Then we will.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, we will.”

  “We will? Like what?”

  Bernie slipped on her sandals and struggled up from the chair. “I think we need a little exercise and fresh air. Don’t you? I think a nice stroll around the complex would be just the ticket.”

  Now I was dumfounded.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It took me a minute to run to the bathroom, comb my hair, struggle into a bra, stuff my pockets full of Kleenex and house key and join Bernie on the veranda. We sprayed our ankles and behind our knees with bug repellant then made our way down the wooden steps to the parking lot. We couldn’t see Jorge but we could hear him. He was on the far side of our building, blowing to beat the band.

  “Okay,” I hissed, “now what?”

  “We walk. We look devil-may-care. We breathe in the fresh air. We watch his every move…without being conspicuous ourselves. Got that?”

  “Oh, right…uh huh…sure. Like that’s going to solve anything…or prove anything…”

  “Look…you’re the one who wants to solve a mystery…”

  “You do, too…”

  “Yes…therefore, we embark on an afternoon stroll about the grounds…”

  “Oohh, you’re just patronizing me again.”

  We rounded the corner, came up behind the gardener and skidded to a stop. Bernie raised her eyebrows but didn’t say a word. I kept my eyes glued on the man, watching his every move. He seemed complacent enough, doing his job with the same meticulous attention, blowing debris hither and yon, but every once in a while his head turned upward, and he stared at our complex.

  I nudged Bernie and hissed, “Why’s he doing that?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest.”

  “Whose unit is he interested in? Can you tell?”

  “No.”

  “Is it Melba’s or Bobby’s or ours?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “This is killing me. He’s definitely consumed with curiosity about one of them.”

  “Doesn’t appear to be concerned about Vicki and Lionel’s…”

  “Yeah…at least, not right now…”

  Just then Jorge snapped off his blower and the silence was deafening. We didn’t want to look conspicuous, standing there like idiots, spying on him, so stumbled into one another in an attempt to turn around and retreat. We made it to the parking lot, overcome by a spasm of strangled giggles. Bernie snorted and choked, while I bent over with uncontrolled laughter.

  “I..I…” I gasped, “haven’t laughed…like that in…years. Oh, Lord…it hurts…it hurts…”

  “We’re acting like…a couple of silly junior high…ninnies. So glad…no one I know…was here…to witness that…” Bernie panted, fanning her face with a Kleenex. “God, now I need to use the bathroom…”

  That brought on another series of convulsed giggles, and I had to lean against my car for support. “S-stop it…please…you’re killing…me…”

  We were so caught up in our childish regression into an unbridled, total lack of self-control that we didn’t hear our neighbors until they were upon us. To our complete and mortified surprise, Bobby, Brenda, and little Amanda approached, looking inordinately interested in what we two old gals were doing. Bernie recovered first.

  “Oh, hi, there,” she said with just a hint of embarrassment.

  Bobby grinned. “Someone tell a good joke?”

  “Oh, we were just reminiscing about old times…get a little slap-happy when we get going… You off to the ice cream shop? Again?”

  “Yeah, we are. Mandy wants a cone. Don’t you Mandykins?” The little girl craned her neck and stared solemnly up at her dad. He tweaked her nose but she didn’t flinch. Somewhat flustered, Bobby looked at us and shrugged. “Woke up from her nap on the wrong side of the bed, I guess.” His grin returned. “Well. Nice to see two old friends having such a great time. We’d better get going. We’ll be seeing you.”

  “Have fun,” I said, lifting a trembling hand in an awkward wave.

  Bobby laughed. Brenda, on the other hand, scowled. We watched as they got Amanda secured, climbed in, then left the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

  I looked at Bernie, swallowed, choked then gasped, “H-her mole…was on the l-left side of her chin.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she made a face. “But it wasn’t the mole that I zeroed in on,” she muttered.

  “Yeah. Little Amanda didn’t seem too overjoyed at the prospect of yet another ice cream cone, did she?”

  “No, she di—” Bernie stopped in mid-sentence and her eyes narrowed. “Well, well… don’t look now, but we’ve got company.”

  Turning my head slightly, trying to be nonchalant, I looked behind me. At the corner of the building, partially screened behind a thick live oak, stood Jorge. In the shadows, his face half-hidden beneath the brim of his cap, we couldn’t tell what had snagged his attention. He was too far away for us to even call out a greeting without sounding like we were nosy, in-your-face neighbors.

  “He’s watching us,” I whispered, feeling the need for a bathroom, myself.

  “Hmmm, maybe,” Bernie mused. “Or maybe he was interested in our upstairs neighbors…could be…could be…”

  “Bobby and Brenda? Yeah…but why? And, what do we do now?”

  A strange look crossed Bernie’s face. One that I’d seen on a number of occasions in the past, boding no good for the recipients. I thought of burly Bart Heilbronner crumpling beneath her stern gaze, and the obnoxious Pine sisters who’d been brought to their knees after a ‘talk’ with Mrs. North. What did she have up her sleeve now? I wondered, feeling rather uncomfortable.

  “Bernie…what are you going to do? I know that look. Tell me. What’re you cooking up?”

  Bernie smacked her lips, crossed her arms against her chest, and marched straight over to where Jorge was in the process of winding up his long extension cord. I trotted alongside her, now nervous as heck. “Bernie…Bernie…what are you doing?” I hissed.

  “You just watch,” she mumbled.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “G’morning, Jorge.” Bernie called out in his general direction, smiling and striding with purpose toward the groundskeeper.

  Jorge seemed to shrink in stature as she advanced, so reminiscent of all those mischievous little junior high kids who visibly melted when they realized they’d been discovered in some major misdeed or other.

  “Do you have just a moment?” I knew from her tone that the inquiry was only a gesture, and that Jorge would have a moment whether he had one or not. The Spanish Inquisition was about to take on a whole new perspective.

  Jorge removed his weathered cap, clutched it to his chest, and averted his peat-brown eyes. He was bobbing and nodding and mumbling something in a mix of languages that implied he couldn’t or wouldn’t or shouldn’t understand the impending dialogue.

  Undaunted, Bernie let loose with a string of questions, hardly allowing Jorge time to answer or even indicate whether or not he understood her at all.

  “Have you had this job for long? Where are you from—originally I mean? Do you have family here? For whom do you work? Do you have a schedule? I mean…we seem to see you here every other day, but seldom see you anywhere else in the complex. Do you understand? Jorge? Do you understand what I’m asking you?” She fired rapidly as only a veteran principal could.

  Jorge had the deer-in-the-headlights look that so many former students utilized, while enduring one of her barrages, to no avail. Fear was not a factor. It was answer or else. Still, Jorge just looked bewildered and unsure of what, if
anything, he’d done to warrant this verbal salvo. Somehow he’d crossed this menacing lady with the fluffy hair who spoke so quickly and with such authority that it upped his anxiety.

  “Bernie,” I whispered, elbowing her. “He doesn’t seem to understand you at all. Leave the poor man alone. We can look into this some other way. You’re frightening him. Actually, you’re even frightening me,” I insisted, all the while smiling and nodding at Jorge.

  Bernie ignored me. “Jorge…who are you, really? You’re not a gardener, are you? Who are you watching, and why?” Bernie demanded.

  Distracted by my pointy elbow nudging and jabbing, she unlocked her eyes from Jorge for a fraction of a moment to glare at me. The diversionary tactic worked, for as soon as she turned away, Jorge beat a hasty retreat to the back of the condo, disappearing into the underbrush.

  “Way to go, Mike,” Bernie sighed. “Now you’ve let him get away, and he will avoid us like the plague now that he knows he could be attacked at any moment.”

  I had the grace to look repentant. “I’m sorry…I just felt sorry for him…he looked so scared. You were coming on pretty strong, there, Mrs. North.”

  “Yes, well, he may have a very good reason for looking scared, and now we’ll never know just what that reason is.”

  Somewhat dejected, we walked toward the deck steps, shaking our heads at each other’s ridiculous actions.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I can’t believe you did that,” I said for the third time, somewhat out of breath, as we climbed the stairs to our unit. “I mean, I admire your penchant for taking charge of every single situation, probably because you think that I’m not capable…”

  “Oh, you’re capable enough. Capable of a vivid and random imagination, capable of making a mountain out of a molehill, capable of thinking you have this tremendous insight into everything and everybody…”