Getting Old is Criminal

by Rita Lakin

  Everyone parrots, “Good evening, Hope.” I can’t believe it. Sounds like kindergarten.

  “Some of you have already met our latest arrivals. Let me formally introduce them to you. At table five is Evelyn Markowitz of New York City and Fort Lauderdale.” Evvie is urged to stand up. She does and she receives polite applause. “Evelyn’s hobbies are writing articles and attending movies, plays, and all forms of entertainment. I’m sure she will find much of that right here on our own campus. In fact, tonight we are showing a wonderful old classic, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in Adam’s Rib. Perhaps she’ll do a movie review for us.”

  Evvie instantly responds, “You bet I will.” “

  Well, then, we’ll be looking forward to that.” Evvie smiles broadly and sits down.

  Hope turns to me. “At table three, meet Gladys Gold.” I am urged to stand. “She is also formerly from New York, but then again, so many of you are.” That gets polite laughs. “She has just recently arrived in Florida. I know she’ll be happy not to see snow anymore. I hope you left your furs behind.”

  I smile the saccharine smile that Hope seems to bring out in me.

  “Gladys enjoys reading and walks on the beach, and sometimes writes poetry.” Again a smattering of applause. Evvie created my so-called bio. I just pray nobody asks me to recite a poem.

  My tablemates acknowledge me briefly with little enthusiasm.

  Hope is not through. “And before I forget, let me remind everyone of the monthly mixer this Saturday night. Ladies and gentlemen, get out your fabulous finery. It will be a gala evening for one and all.” There is applause and murmuring at this announcement.

  Whew. That’s over, we’re back to dinner. And what a meal it is. Gourmet, all the way. The chef comes from France, I’m told. I can’t help but think of the girls back home. I hope they took a cab and went out for an early-bird special tonight. Then I wouldn’t feel so guilty.

  I make one more stab at dinner conversation. “Will you all be at the mixer?”

  Anna continues eating as she speaks. “What for? My Harry won’t be there for me to dance with.” She sounds so pathetic. “Those others think they can still find love. When you’re old, it’s over.”

  “Ditto for me.” Lorraine studies the dessert card. “We’ve already had our share of happiness. I stay in my room and put earplugs in so I won’t hear the noise.”

  I’m afraid to ask Seymour. But he volunteers his response. He shrugs. “I come. I listen. I like the music. I don’t dance.”

  Well, that was stimulating.

  We are on our coffee and dessert when the dining room doors are suddenly flung open and a man appears. He stretches his arms out and says, “Oh, dear, I suppose I’m too late for dinner.”

  Everyone turns to look at him. Indeed, he is something to behold. For a man of seventy-five, he seems in excellent physical condition. He is about five foot ten, resplendent in a tuxedo and matching cape with a red lining and a black fedora. His glistening, dark, wavy hair is steel gray at the temples. His eyes are electric blue and for a man his age, he is utterly handsome.

  He bows. In a plummy English accent, he says, “May I introduce myself? My name is Philip Smythe.”

  After dinner, as we are walking out of the dining room, Evvie purposely passes me, grinning. She whispers, “Wow. What an entrance. Smythe doesn’t look like he could murder anybody, except maybe onstage. With that outfit he should be playing Dracula in summer stock.”

  “Dracula killed his women, don’t forget,” I whisper back.

  Evvie laughs. “In books and onstage, Glad, make-believe stuff.”

  “I can see his appeal. Every woman in the place is gaping at him.”

  “Looks to me like this will be a whole lot of fun. I intend to enjoy myself. A lot!”

  Evvie hurries to catch up to the other residents heading for the screening room. “See ya at the movies!” she calls back to me.

  NINETEEN

  NO FREE LUNCH

  So much for not being here very long. Three days of Hello, Mrs. Gold, how are you? Fine, and you, Mrs. Markowitz? This pretending not to know each other is beginning to get tiresome.

  After breakfast at our separate tables, I make an executive decision. I walk over to Evvie, who is just leaving the dining room. “Good morning, Evelyn.”

  Evvie is startled. I’m going out of character, but she’s quick on the uptake. Nodding, she responds, “Gladys. Isn’t it a lovely day?”

  I pick up on her cue. “Nice day for a stroll.” I indicate the patio doors.

  “Why not.”

  And we go outside and out of earshot. “What’s up?” she asks me.

  “Nothing’s up, sis. Let’s become ‘friends.’ I’m tired of thinking up new ways to communicate. Then we can hang out together. Much simpler.”

  “Fine by me.”

  I smile. As the older sister by two years, Evvie does look up to me to be the leader. We’ve always made a good team. We think alike. I wish I could have found a way to make the girls understand that’s why she was the right person for me to work with.

  Together we scout the entire place. We check the grounds, the pool, the tennis courts, the bike path, and the walking trail around the lake. We cover the card room, the gym, the library, the TV room, the barbershop, the billiards room, the art room, and the snack bar.

  Evvie gives up. “Where the heck is he? No sign of him anywhere.”

  Either he’s skipped breakfast to sleep late or he left the premises. No sign of our guy. We’ve been trailing him since he got here. So far, nothing’s been happening. He hangs around, socializes. Picking out his next prey?

  We linger outside for a while. Evvie sits down on one of the cement benches that has the name of a rich contributor carved into its arm. “It’s not going to be so easy keeping tabs on him.”

  “We need a different tactic.” I sit down next to her and bend to touch the backs of my new Reeboks. They’re rubbing against my ankles because they aren’t broken in yet. Come to think of it, all my new clothes feel uncomfortable. I don’t feel like me. Like I’m not in my own skin. This is a strange new experience.

  “For example?”

  “One of us has to get closer to him. Make friends with him. But we have to be subtle. Maybe one of us can get assigned to his table and sit next to him at meals. Let’s ask Hope Watson’s help.”

  Evvie laughs. “Fat chance she’ll accommodate us.”

  It’s a tempting thought, though. To be away from my dreary tablemates. “At least she gave you a lively table.”

  “Some lively. All they talk about is the price of this and the price of that. Do you want to know the price of sable coats these days? Like they need them here. I really have to work hard to keep up with their assets.”

  “Smythe is taking his time picking out which old lady he wants for his next, maybe dangerous, love affair.”

  “Innocent love affair,” Evvie comments. “Remember, innocent until proven guilty. Anyway, the longer he takes, the longer we get to stay here, which is fine with me.”

  “That, too.”

  We stretch out our legs and let the sun bake our faces. “Mmm,” says Evvie, “I could get used to this life.”

  “Well, don’t. Because we aren’t going to have it forever.”

  Evvie stands and pulls me up, too. “Then let’s take in every advantage. Race you to the spa.”

  We’ve been in the Jacuzzi and the workout room. We went into the indoor pool and actually swam a few laps. Now we’re in the “relaxation room,” lying on adjoining tables with long towels covering our bodies and rejuvenating mud packs over our faces. The soft music lulls us. The aromatherapy session on our backs earlier makes us tingle pleasantly.

  Suddenly I feel Evvie poke my arm. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?” I mumble blissfully.

  “Listen!” She pokes me again.

  I hear voices coming toward us. They sound familiar. The door opens slightly and we hear Hope Watson whis
per, “And this is where we have our delicious facials.”

  I take a peek from out of the corner of my eye mask. Hope moves back out of the doorway, remaining in the corridor while her little tour group tiptoes in.

  “Mahvellus, absolutely mabvellus, ” says phony potential client Sophie Meyerbeer.

  “Just too lovely for words,” agrees sycophant Bella Fox.

  Can Ida be far behind? “Perfect,” says the third conspirator.

  “Psst.” I hiss at the three of them as I lift myself up from my padded table, holding my towel around me as best I can. Evvie does so, too. We glare at them.

  “What the heck are you doing here?” Evvie whispers angrily.

  The girls stare at us in horror. The mud is dripping down our faces.

  “Who’s there?” Bella is about to scream.

  “What do you mean, who’s there. It’s us. Ev and Glad.” We pull off our eye masks.

  Bella grins. “I didn’t recognize you with all that gunk on your face.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sophie is belligerent.

  “You’re supposed to be working,” Ida sneers.

  “We are working,” Evvie sneers back.

  Hope calls gaily from the hallway. “Ladies? There’s so much more to show you.”

  “Meet us in the parking lot as soon as your ‘tour’ is over!” I demand.

  “We’re coming,” Sophie trills toward Hope.

  Bella sticks out her tongue at us as they rush from the room.

  We stand off to one side of the parking lot, behind some shrubbery, so no one can see us. It is a hot argument on both sides. We’ve been round it twenty times and everyone is still mad.

  “How did you get here?” Evvie wants to know.

  Sophie snarls. “We took two buses. Like you care?”

  “What are we supposed to do? Let you have all the fun?” Ida is next.

  “Yeah. Some work. Facials? I didn’t see Romeo in the ‘relaxation room.’ ” Bella’s turn.

  “We don’t have to tell you how we do our job.” Evvie is indignant.

  “Days go by. You don’t call,” Ida chastises us.

  Evvie snarls. “We’ve only been here three days!”

  “If we had something to report, you’d hear from us.” That’s me.

  “You could ruin our cover.” Evvie is furious. “Just get yourselves home.”

  “What? And miss the free lunch? It’s part of the tour.” Sophie crosses her arms in protest.

  Bella giggles. “We should visit every retirement place and get a free lunch every day. Let’s do it.” Now I feel guilty. They are having such a good time and I’m spoiling it. What’s the harm? I look at my watch and calm down. “Then get inside. Lunch is about to start.”

  “And don’t you dare look at us or talk to us,” Evvie demands.

  Sophie is annoyed. “Yeah, we got it. We’ve never seen you before.”

  “Will you drive us home afterward? In the Caddy?” Bella pleads.

  Suddenly a snazzy red Mercedes convertible whips past us.

  “It’s him!” Evvie whispers excitedly. “With three women!”

  Almost as if on cue, we duck down behind our shrubbery. We are actually close enough to hear any conversation.

  Philip opens the car doors for each of his passengers. The women pile out, pulling many shopping bags along with them, all bearing designer store logos. They’ve obviously been hitting Worth Avenue.

  His passengers are practically drooling over Smythe.

  A sixty-ish blonde, whose gray is showing, simpers, “Phil, you are such a darling to take us shopping. So patient.”

  “And the lunch at Bice was exquisite.” The others gurgle their syrupy thanks as well.

  Philip doffs his Marlins baseball cap and bows. He’s dressed in at least five hundred dollars or more of very casual wear. “My pleasure, pretty ladies.” The parking attendant takes his car. Philip and the shoppers happily make their way inside.

  A moment of silence, and then the girls and I all pile out of our silly hiding places.

  “Hmph,” Evvie sniffs. “Talk about corny acting.”

  “Wow!” says Sophie. “He can put his slippers under my bed anytime.”

  That about sums it up.

  My cell phone rings as I am getting into my pajamas. I rush to get from the bedroom to the living room where I left it. For a moment I fantasize it’s Jack calling. To apologize and make up.

  “Hi, it’s only me.” Evvie laughs. “Just like home.”

  “I almost broke my neck running to answer. Why didn’t you use the house phone or just walk through our adjoining door?”

  “No reason. I like to respect your privacy. Want an update on tonight’s mah-jongg?”

  I shrug, trying to hide my disappointment that it wasn’t Jack. But then again, if he did call, it would be on my home number and he’d get the machine. Jack doesn’t know I have a cell. Damn him, I think. Foolish me. Why can’t I admit it’s over and stop tormenting myself?

  Which makes me wonder—how am I going to get any of my messages from home? I still haven’t learned how to access them.

  “Why not? Your place or mine?” I say, without much enthusiasm.

  “I’ll come through.” With that, Evvie enters from the interior door, carrying something wrapped in a napkin. “Leftover cookies from the game. Put on some tea.”

  I do so as she places the chocolate chip cookies on a plate and sits down to wait for the tea.

  “Mah-jongg was a hoot. I can’t get over how dressed up they get just to play games! Don’t they ever relax around here? Anyway, remember the blonde from Philip’s shopping spree? Well, she was at my table, and all the women wanted to know what Philip was like. Lucky she’s a gusher. She went on and on about how cute he is, how gallant, how patient, as he schlepped them from store to store. Where they shopped. What new gowns they bought to wear for the mixer.”

  “He didn’t pay for their stuff, did he?”

  “No, but everyone was impressed that he treated them to a very expensive lunch. At a very expensive restaurant.”

  “Did she mention if he said anything personal about himself? This was a good opportunity to do some sleuthing.”

  “I tried asking direct questions, but she was all about adjectives. How dashing, how clever, how sweet, blah-blah-blah. She’s obviously set her cap for him.”

  Now her eyes light up. “And guess what? A little later Philip walked by where we were playing. He smiled at everyone. Kibitzed a bit. You know— stuff like, How come you beautiful gals don’t have dates tonight? Talk about a line of jazz. And then he wandered away. Probably to flirt with the bingo players, too. Women are such suckers. Everyone was so sappy, making goo-goo eyes at him. When he looked back, I could swear he winked at me.”

  I pour the tea. Evvie chomps away at the cookies.

  “How can you be hungry after all the food we eat around here? You’re going to blow up like a blimp.” I’m grumpy and I can’t help it. Cut it out, I tell myself.

  Evvie stops eating the cookies. “This is all so exciting. It’s gonna be some competition to capture the only lively guy in the place. This sure beats having to do stakeouts in the car.”

  She gets up, yawns. “Well, time for beddy-bye. One thing Betty, the blonde, did comment on, was that he carried a wad of money in his wallet. She figured he was filthy rich.”

  “So what? So is everyone else around here.”

  “Except us.” Evvie sighs as she puts her cup in the sink and throws the napkin in the trash. “Why did I have to go and marry Joe? If I’d married a rich guy, I could have ended up living in a place like this. Where I really belong.”

  “Woulda, coulda, shoulda.” I remind her of one of our favorite phrases.

  As she goes through her door, she grins. “Tomorrow night’s the big mixer. I can hardly wait to catch the action. Wanna bet he makes his move? Some lucky gal is gonna get a shot at romance with Romeo.”

  TWENTY

  THE MI
XER

  I wait downstairs for Evvie to finish dressing and join the group. We’re all in the clubhouse. What a difference from the one we have at Lanai Gardens. This looks like a large, fancy nightclub. And they have a band, a real live band. We’re lucky if we can get someone to spin records. If I thought the women in this place were always dressed—well, it was nothing like what I’m seeing tonight. Much fancier cocktail dresses and evening gowns. Subtle colors, obviously very expensive. The men aren’t in tuxedos, but I’ll bet they are wearing their best suits and ties. I am in basic black. Figure that would fit in anywhere. I’ve dressed it up with a scarf and earrings. I look pretty good. Actually it’s fun to have an excuse to dress up.

  Every woman’s been to the beauty salon. I’ve now learned the hard way, when it’s mixer night you call way ahead for an appointment. Or go into town for a do, or it’s hot rollers in your own bathroom. Evvie managed to snag the last appointment on the premises. I haven’t seen her since I spotted her walking into the shop at three.

  A bar with champagne cocktails is being set up by a bartender. Such an air of excitement. Even the rather staid men seem to have perked up. Since it’s not a holiday, there’s no theme, but the entertainment committee put up balloons, colored streamers, and whirling lights to make it festive.

  The band plays the music of our youth: Benny Goodman, Frank Sinatra, Artie Shaw. I have to admit, it’s lovely. There must be rules of behavior, since all the men take turns dancing, then changing partners.

  I have been watching Philip Smythe cruise the room. His method seems to be that he makes a point of dancing with every woman who is single. Not hard, since every one of them is eagerly waiting her turn. It’s amusing to note that the men are putting a stiff upper lip on it, but they are visibly jealous. This new guy’s cramping their style. Not only that, he’s an excellent dancer, he looks great in his tuxedo (the only man wearing one), and his energy is making the others try harder, something I think they aren’t used to.

  There is a buzzing sound from the crowd near the door. I turn around. And there’s my Evvie making one heck of a grand entrance. She’s wearing the low-cut scarlet red cocktail dress and matching boa from our thrift shop shopping spree. Her hair—now colored back to its original auburn— and makeup are stunning. And, oh, my, she’s wearing the dazzling fake diamond necklace.