by Rita Lakin
Ida throws her arms around me. “We didn’t think we’d ever see you again. They expect Key West to be hit in a few hours!” I think of the lovely Ms. LeYung and hope she gets out in time.
Ida pulls us into my apartment.
What a sight before us. Every light in the apartment is on. My highboy, the tallest piece of furniture I own, has been pushed against my living room windows. The rest of the windows were obviously hurriedly boarded up. Denny is finishing up last-minute hammering. His girlfriend, Yolie, acting as his assistant, is handing him nails. My floors are covered with mattresses and sleeping bags. The couch and chairs are circled in and around the sleeping bags. The dining room table is sky-high with snacks. The air, oddly, is filled with delicious smells.
Evvie runs to hug me. “Thank God you’re all right. I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to get back in time.” Her hug is tight, I hug her back. We hold on to each other for a few moments. For the first time I allow myself to think of what might have been, had we left any later.
“Welcome to Hurricane Central, Operation Gladdy’s Apartment,” says Ida. “We decided to use your place because it has the least amount of clutter.”
Bella adds, “So we could be able to fill it with the biggest number of people.”
“And because if you returned very late, you’d be able to find us.” This from Sophie.
“What’s going on? Do you have a plan?” I ask. Jack stands close to me, holding my hand.
“You bet we do,” Evvie says. “Every building has made sure no one is left alone. People are staying together in groups. We have a telephone outreach so we can check on one another, and we know where every person is. That means we all have the phone numbers of the apartments with groups staying in them. For as long as the phone lines stay up. About five to eight people have been placed per apartment.”
“Yeah,” says Bella, seated cross-legged on one of the mattresses. “The stores ran out of candles and flashlights so we’re all sharing everything.” Sophie adds, “Everyone brought food from their apartments. And we figure before the power goes out we’re cooking all the frozen food.”
That explains why I smell pot roast. And chicken, too.
Bella adds, “And we made a ton of ice cubes to keep the stuff in the fridge from spoiling.”
Evvie looks shyly up at Jack. “Sorry your vacation trip was ruined.”
“Me, too,” Jack agrees stoically.
It’s already getting much darker outside. I can tell from the tiny slits of sky showing through the rough plywood boards.
Denny and Yolie walk carefully over and around all the stuff on the floor. “Best I could do this fast,” he tells us.
The girls hug the two of them and thank him in unison.
“Where are you and Yolie staying?” I ask. “With Sol and Tessie and Mary and Irving in Irving’s apartment.” Yolie nods for emphasis. They head out the door, into the wind.
Evvie calls after them, “Be careful.”
They wave and with heads down, holding hands, they run to the stairs.
Out of curiosity, I ask, “Where are Hy and Lola?”
Ida grins. “Home alone. They insisted on being by themselves.”
Evvie looks at Jack. “You’d better get back to your place while you still can.” As she says this, she hands him a sheet of paper.
I look at Evvie, upset. “What are you talking about? I want him to stay with us.”
Jack glances at the list. He looks at me. “I guess I better go.” He hands the sheet of paper back to Evvie.
“No,” I say quickly. “That’s ridiculous. We need you here. I want you here.”
Jack shakes his head. “Evvie’s right. My building has a number of women who live alone. Our Canadian neighbors all went home days ago, so Abe Waller and I are the only men left. He’ll need my help. They must be frantic waiting for me to round them up into my apartment and I can’t let them down.”
I grab the list and look it over. I know they are right. Evvie looks at me. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Jack gives me a quick hug and turns to the girls. “Take good care of one another.”
With that he gets hugs from them and a chorus of “We wills.”
With a last kiss for me, he hurries out. Before I shut the door, he calls to me, “We’ll keep talking on the phone until the lines go down. I love you.”
I shout, “I love you, too.” But it’s drowned out by the wind.
When I go back in, I notice for the first time that my bedroom door is closed, as is the screened-in Florida room.
Evvie sees my look. “We have all the furniture up against the screens to protect the inside as best we can, but I doubt it will help...”
“What about the bedroom? Can’t we use that?”
“Of course, but right now our other houseguest is napping. Enya is also in our group,” Ida reports.
I look around the room once more. Each mattress and sleeping bag has a pillow and someone’s clothing on it. “That’s pretty darned good organizing in so short a time,” I say. I look at the faces of my girls. They are frightened but excited, too. And trying very hard to act brave.
“Thanks to Evvie,” says Ida. “She mapped out this plan in her last newsletter.”
I blush. I’ve been so involved with Jack; I’m probably the only one who hadn’t read it. I look apologetically at my sister. She smiles knowingly.
Sophie adds, “The minute the TV said we were going to get hit, Evvie was on the phone organizing every building. Within an hour everyone was set.” Evvie comments, “A lot of people went to schools and community centers but we all voted to stay here.”
Suddenly there is a loud smashing sound outside. We all jump.
Enya rushes out of my bedroom with sleep-encrusted eyes. “What... what happened?”
Ida puts her arm around Enya. “We don’t know.”
Sophie joins Ida and embraces the shaking Enya. “Anybody hungry?” she says. “The pot roast smells ready.”
Enya sees me and comes to hug me. “You’re back safe.”
I nod. “We’ll be fine. Try not to worry.”
“We have three kinds of potatoes to choose from,” Evvie says, starting for the kitchen. Everyone follows. “Five different veggies and three meats.”
My tiny kitchen will have to hold all of us. There is a poignant cry from the living room floor. It’s Bella, struggling to get on her hands and knees. “Somebody help. I can’t get up!”
We rush to her aid.
Partners, all of us. Through thick and thin. God help us through this night.
A Night to Remember
We are all pleasantly stuffed, which helps make what’s going on outside almost bearable. The girls are stretched out in the living room in nightgowns and robes, leaning against pillows, walls, and couch backs, contentedly watching a classic movie. Each of them has a flashlight at her side.
It’s dark out and the storm rages around us. Every time there is a banging somewhere, we stiffen. But we are determined to keep things light, to soldier on.
Enya stiffly sits away from us on a chair at the dining room table, eyes closed, still dressed. She is somewhere else, lost in her troubled thoughts. She clutches her cup of tea, already cold.
I am in the kitchen cleaning up the mess we made at dinner. I had offers of help, but it’s much easier for one person to move around in the small space. Besides, I need something to take my mind off the storm. I watch my girls and Enya through the small pass-through opening. Poor Enya, she seems almost in shock.
Believe it or not, the girls voted to watch this TV rerun of A Night to Remember. Evvie, our movie maven, explains that this is the famous black-and-white English version of the disaster. It came out in the 1950’s. The girls are mesmerized by the almost documentary style of the sinking of the Titanic. I guess watching another disaster is better than thinking of the one we’re in right now.
Bella giggles.
Evvie asks, “What’s so funny? We’re watching a serious movie. They
’re about to hit the iceberg.”
“I can’t help it. Two nights in a row I get to go on a sleepover.” Bella burps, and then giggles again, holding on to her expanded tummy. “Maybe I shouldn’t have had three different desserts, but how often do I get to eat peach pie, chocolate cake, and strawberry shortcake in the same night?”
Ida huffs. “You didn’t have to stuff yourself.”
“Well, it was gonna spoil.”
“So what,” Ida answers. “It’s disgusting watching you pig out.”
Sophie grins. “I’m with Bella. I loved having all those different main dishes. I vote Evvie’s cabbage rolls were the best.”
“Thank you ever so much,” Evvie says modestly.
“And besides,” Sophie adds, “what if we’re stuck here for days and run out of food? We might need to feed off our own fat—I read that somewhere.”
“But where’s that adorable Leo DiCaprio and the cute English girl?” Bella wants to know. “Where’s the love story?”
Evvie corrects her. “That’s the much later version, in color. This one is from the point of view of a young man who worked on board.”
“No kissing, no naked painting?”
Evvie shrugs. “Sorry.”
A Night to Remember is interrupted for another update on our own catastrophe.
Sophie groans. “Just before my favorite part, where the captain starts shutting down the emergency doors.”
“We interrupt this broadcast for a special report,” says the announcer. And now for the third time this evening we are getting a repeat of the same fifteen-minute documentary. The Eleven Worst Florida Hurricanes in History flashes on the screen, once more preempting our movie.
This program has been playing in between the actual on-the-spot news reports happening on our own streets. “Here we go again,” mumbles Evvie, sitting next to a lamp; she’d been trying to read a book and watch the movie at the same time. “If it isn’t another depressing news flash, it’s this thing. They’re ruining our movie.”
Ida is knitting. Sophie and Bella are holding up skeins of yarn, forming them into workable balls for Ida.
I keep playing over and over in my head the trip Jack and I took to Key West to be alone. I think of the warm feelings I felt for him. I wish Jack had been able to stay with us. I want his nearness and his comfort.
The phone rings. I set out for the bedroom to answer. It’s probably not any of our families. We’ve spoken to a few of them earlier. My daughter, Emily, worriedly called much earlier from New York and so did Evvie’s Martha. We assured them that we are fine. But are we?
Sophie’s son didn’t call, but she’s not surprised—her jeweler son in Brooklyn is very selfish and uncaring. I can’t go into what Ida is thinking. She has family but there is a huge rift that she refuses to speak about, and she never hears from them. As for Bella, as she says, she’s an orphan. And Enya, well, there is no family left for her anywhere since the end of the last World War.
I’m sure it’s Jack on the phone. He’s already called twice. As long as the phone lines stay open, I feel connected to him, and I need this connection, to know he’s safe.
In the background I hear stentorian tones: “In 1919 Key West was hit by the most powerful hurricane in its history. The storm killed more than eight hundred people. In 1926...”
I shut the door to block it out. “Hello, dear, everybody still in one piece?” I ask, keeping my voice cheerful.
“About the same. Except for a few battles about who gets to control the TV, the ladies are holding up. Of course, Dora keeps wanting to tell us what’s happening on her soaps and all she’s worried about is will she be able to see tomorrow’s episodes.”
“And what about dear Louise?” I say icily. “Is she still pretending to be terrified, so she can hold your hand?”
Jack laughs. “Meow,” he says. “You’re jealous. Admit it.”
“Maybe a little, since she’s the one with you right now.”
There is a pause. “I wish it could have been otherwise.”
“Shh, take care of your little harem.” I pause. “Just keep her out of your bedroom.”
Jack laughs. “I promise to restrain myself.”
I hear a deafening sound from his end of the line followed by a woman’s scream, then, “Jack, get over here quick! I need you!” I recognize Louise’s voice.
His voice tightens. “Something’s happened. Better check on it. Hold on, be right back.”
I listen with the phone glued to my ear. I hear women’s voices crying out all at once. They sound terrified. But I can’t make out what they’re shouting.
Jack’s phone goes dead.
I try redialing, but no luck. I can’t get through. A copy of Evvie’s list is on the dresser. I dial Abe Waller’s number. Surely he’ll know what’s going on in their building. The phone continues to ring. But no one answers.
I try Stanley Heyer across the courtyard. His line is busy. In a panic I call the next number on the list, of someone in the Y Building. A man named Charles answers. I’ve never met him. I ask him to look out through the slats in his window and see what’s happening in Z. He does so. He reports back that all seems okay. Lights are still on. I thank him and hang up.
I want to run out the door and get over there now! But I don’t dare. It’s not possible anyway. I’d never make it. Maybe it’s nothing too serious and the women were overreacting. Maybe, I pray...
I go back into the living room, sick with worry, but I don’t intend to say anything. My group’s scared enough, and there’s no sense causing a panic until I know more. I pull myself together and try to hide my dread. The moaning and groaning sounds, mixed with whatever things are smashing outside our door, add to my fears.
The girls are mimicking what the announcer is saying. They’ve memorized these words from earlier broadcasts. “In 1928 Okeechobee; 1935 the Keys; 1960 Donna; 1964 Cleo. Betsy, Andrew...”
“I wish they’d name a hurricane after me,” Sophie says wistfully. “This year we’re gonna get Arthur, Bertha, Cristobal, Dolly, Edouard, Fay, Gustav... who makes up those names anyway? And why do they make them up in advance? They have names picked out all the way through 2012.” She counts on her fingers. “Twenty-one names. Does that mean they’re expecting twenty-one hurricanes to hit this year? Oy.”
Ida says, as she untangles a knot in her yarn, “I read somewhere that three different ancient civilizations all predicted a comet would hit the world in 2012. That’s the day we’re all supposed to get killed, so why sweat it now?”
Sophie groans. “Why do you always have to be such a truthsayer?”
“You’re trying to say soothsayer, but you mean nay sayer,” Evvie corrects.
“Whatever.”
Ida makes a face. “I’m only telling you what I read.”
Evvie climbs over the sleeping bags to find the remote, when suddenly the TV switches to one of our local broadcasters. He’s huddled inside a restaurant doorway, clutching his mike, his hands shaking, his voice quivering. Behind him a group of onlookers peers into the camera, too frightened to make faces the way people usually do when they manage to squeeze their way in front of the camera.
“We are in Melina’s Greek Diner on University Drive right off Oakland Park Boulevard. We can hardly believe our eyes. The corner streetlight fell moments ago and the street sign just... blew away!”
The camera shifts and now we are witness to what’s going on outside the door, from their point of view, as the announcer continues to report. We see what he is saying.
“We are on generator power, as all lights are out in the entire neighborhood. Trees are tumbling haphazardly down the streets as water from broken mains turns this usually busy intersection into rivers!”
“Those poor people,” Bella says. “How are they gonna get home?”
Even as the newsman continues to speak, the lights in my living room flicker and everyone responds nervously.
On the TV, we see fire trucks racing by,
sirens screaming, gushing up huge puddles as they pass the cameras. “The store windows are exploding,” the announcer’s frantic voice shouts. “Everyone, move back!”
Sophie gets up on her knees and points at the TV. “Oh, no, across the street, look—there goes Bagel Bites!”
Bella utters a small scream. “A car just floated by. Did you see?”
We watch as a wrought-iron bus-stop bench at the corner falls over. The announcer is fading in and out. Their generator light is dimming and we can hear people screaming as the front glass panes blow out. The sounds and sights are terrifying. Suddenly the picture is gone.
A voice tells us, “We now return to our original broadcast...” And A Night to Remember is back on again. Just in time to see and hear people screaming and running for the lifeboats as the Titanic starts taking on icy water.
One by one the girls turn away from the screen. Our real disaster has trumped the movie. They are all silent. Enya moans, shaking her head from side to side. We all turn as strong winds whistle eerily through the uneven slats on the windows.
Evvie mutes the TV. “Enough,” she says. “Let’s do something else.”
“Like what?” Sophie asks.
“I don’t know. Talk about stuff. Somebody pick a topic,” Evvie answers.
I jump in, wanting to get their minds off what just happened on streets that are barely a mile away. “How about telling a funny story about yourself.”
They look at me, blank expressions all.
After a few moments, Evvie says, “Okay, I’ll start.”
With that, Bella and Sophie start passing out candy and other assorted junk food.
When we are all settled, Evvie begins. “During the war I got a job singing in this bar in Brooklyn. I was only sixteen but I lied about my age. And on a Friday night, after one of my sets, this old guy sidles up to me and tries to pick me up. He uses the corny line, ‘Hey, girly, haven’t we met before?’ and I look at him and I look at him and finally, I say, ‘You know, we did meet years ago.’ Now he’s getting all heated up. He says, ‘Yeah, where? Did we have a hot old time?’ And I tell him, ‘We met on Boynton Avenue in the Bronx. I was a kid and you were my babysitter. Herby, you old cradle robber; you!’