“Yes, sir. I’m Jack,” he replies kindly.
“Jack,” the man shouts scooting closer to Jack and throwing his bony arms around him.
A plump, flame-haired woman, who looks like she might take makeup advice from Effie Trinket, shimmies out the door and pulls the old man off Jack. “This isn’t Jack, Arnie. Jack’s been dead for forty years, remember?” she says, but it doesn’t seem as if Arnie heard her because he is gazing at Jack like he’s a God.
“I’m sorry, kids,” the redhead apologizes. “Arnie’s got Alzheimer’s and he thinks every new face is his son, Jack,” she explains.
Jack and I exchange heartbreaking glances. Primrose must be a retirement home. This is the best news I’ve gotten all day. Old people are my peeps.
“Come on, Arnie. Let’s get you on the bus. We’re going to see the Cubs remember?” she says, attempting to pull Arnie in the direction of the bus. But Arnie won’t budge. He sticks to Jack’s side, gazing up at him in wonder.
“Let’s go, Dad,” Jack says, ushering him toward the bus. “Go, Cubs,” Jack says, urging Arnie up the two steps outside the bus. He follows Arnie, helps him get seated, bows to tell him something then stows his walker and hops off the bus. It is one of the sweetest gestures I’ve ever seen.
“Wow, you need to marry that one,” the redhead informs me, fanning herself with a clipboard.
I’m about to explain that Jack and I aren’t an item when more elderly people shove through the front door. Everyone is shouting over each other and I can’t understand a thing anyone is saying. They struggle out the door with enough bags to clothe a small village even though there don’t seem to be that many of them.
A Santa Claus doppelganger throws open a side hatch on the bus and starts throwing the luggage inside as he whistles a Lady Gaga tune.
“Are you kids selling something?” the redhead asks politely, as she glances at her clipboard. I have a feeling she is serious about keeping a specific schedule that we aren’t on.
From my experience, senior citizens are a fairly distrustful bunch. My own grandparents have been known to slam the door on a Girl Scout pedaling cookies. They always think you have a motive. I’m going to have to play this just right to get them to agree to give us a ride. I just wish I had more time to formulate the perfect plan.
Before I can squeak out a word, Jack bounds up and blurts out, “Can we hitch a ride with you guys?”
Alrighty then. Apparently we aren’t going with subtlety.
“Where are you kids from?” the concerned redhead asks, scrutinizing our ridiculous attire. “I thought the prom was last weekend,” she adds, looking concerned.
“We’re kind of in a bind. We need to get to Missouri and we don’t have any money. If it isn’t too much trouble, we’d like to hitch a ride to Illinois,” Jack finishes smoothly, taking the bag from her shoulder and adding it to the pile waiting to be stored inside the bus.
“Honey, you can ride anywhere with me,” I hear a crackly voice say. The three of us turn to see a tiny woman teetering on high heels wearing hot pink capri pants and a white T-shirt bedazzled with the letters, GILF, in pink rhinestones. I know those letters can’t possibly mean what I think they mean. But when I see her drape a wrinkled arm over Jack’s shoulder, I know her shirt isn’t a typo.
Who are these people? They seem more like teenagers than senior citizens.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Millicent, he’s young enough to be your great grandson,” the redhead thunders, looking disgusted.
“Shut up, Ginger,” the GILF shouts. “I’m Milly,” she coos, touching Jack’s cheek. “Do you hunt cougar?”
“Get on the bus,” Ginger orders, looking ready to crack her clipboard over the GILF’s coiffed head.
“Once you go granny, it’ll knock you on your fanny,” Milly whispers seductively to Jack. She puckers her painted cherry-red lips and blows him a kiss then saunters off.
“Wow,” Jack utters, his face dotted with splotchy red spots. “I think I just got sexually harassed. I feel so dirty,” he says, shivering in the ninety-degree weather. All the misery I’ve gone through since waking up this morning was so worth that moment.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Ginger apologizes. “I wish I could say her mind is gone but she’s been that way for twenty years.”
“That’s okay. I’m flattered, I guess,” Jack says, clearly flustered.
“That was so awesome,” I giggle.
“Hey, Dollface, I loaded the coolers full of drinks and snacks,” a deep male voice with traces of a New York accent says from behind us. A man dressed in a fluorescent orange track suit carrying a portable oxygen machine appears at Ginger’s side. Her face instantly turns almost the same color as her hair.
“Thanks, Dom,” she forces out.
“Anything for you,” Dom replies, giving Ginger a wink. He doesn’t look as old as the other residents because his face is more weathered than wrinkled. He’s got the kind of look that would blend in as an extra on a mob movie. The remaining black strands of hair on his head are slicked straight back and he’s wearing enough cologne to choke a buffalo.
Ginger seems to need a moment as she has gone back to fanning herself with the clipboard. Jack and I exchange eyebrow raises. Who knew that a retirement home got more action than the Playboy mansion?
“Ginger, we can’t budge him,” a woman says, exiting the house. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt that reads “Best Grandma in the World.” She has curly gray hair, a button nose, and piercing blue eyes. She’s pretty much the only normal person I’ve seen come out of this house so far. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realize we had guests,” she says to me and Jack.
“This is Gertrude or Trudy as we like to call her,” Ginger introduces her. Trudy shakes our hands and offers us a warm smile. There is something so comforting about her that I almost feel like I might make it out of this mess in one piece.
“Bernie still says he’s not coming?” Ginger asks Trudy.
“He won’t budge an inch off that bed. Do you think he’ll be okay by himself?” Trudy asks her.
“I hate this. I’m going to be worried about him the whole time. Maybe we should cancel,” Ginger says.
“We are not cancelling,” Milly yells out her window. “If he doesn’t want to come, that’s his problem.”
Trudy and Ginger roll their eyes at each other.
“I’m sorry, kids. You don’t need to be hearing all this nonsense,” Ginger says. “I sure don’t mind if you kids tag along, if you don’t mind all this craziness, but I need to clear it with the others first.”
She waddles onto the bus followed by Trudy.
“If we go with them, it’s going to take longer to get home then if we pawn your purse,” Jack tells me, which I already deduced by the snail’s pace that most of these folks are moving at.
Jack’s right. If we have to stop a million times, we’ll never get home before Monday. I don’t want to explain to Mom that I blacked out in a moving van and lost about twelve hours of my life.
I hear some shouting from the bus, and few seconds later, Ginger emerges from the bus with a giant smile on her face. The seniors must have signed off on giving us a ride. I hate that I’m going to have to break her heart by telling her that we changed our minds. But getting home as soon as possible is the most important thing. Jack and I can just hang out for a while then go pawn my purse and catch a bus.
A soft breeze swirls around us and a clump of my frizzy curls blows in my face. Jack delicately brushes it behind my ear. I’m instantly transported back to that amazing kiss.
“We’ll get you home on three conditions,” Ginger says. I’m trying to pay attention but my eyes are drawn to Jack’s lips. Maybe taking a little bit more time to get home wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. What am I saying? I’m starting to think that energy drink fried more than just my memory. “You have to change out of those dreadful clothes, we need help driving, and,” she says theatrically like a drum roll has
started, “what happens on the party bus, stays on the party bus.”
“Actually, Ginger—,” Jack starts, but I interrupt him.
“That sounds great,” I finish, noting the look of pleasant surprise that cross Jack’s features.
*****
At the senior’s insistence, we head inside Primrose to find ourselves more suitable outfits for the trip home. As instructed, we take the stairs to the second level. Jack gives me a thumbs up, then heads right to Dom’s room, while I continue left to Milly’s room. I’m half expecting a star with the word “porn” inside of it to announce I’ve found Milly’s room. To my surprise, there are just four white closed doors.
Milly practically threw a temper tantrum when she realized her clothes were the only ones that would fit me. I’m not exactly psyched about the situation either and am just hoping I can find something without rhinestones or vulgar acronyms to wear. I open the second door as she instructed and nearly jump out of my skin when I see a man sitting on the bed clutching a picture frame.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, starting to pull the door closed. Dang that, Milly. I can’t believe she made me purposely bust in on him. I have a feeling she might be a thorn in my side this entire trip.
“You can leave it open,” his small voice says so I leave it cracked and continue down the hall. That must have been who Ginger and Trudy were talking about. I wonder why he doesn’t want to go with the others. They are definitely a kooky bunch but I can’t imagine that he has anything else to do. I guess it’s not really any of my business.
I find Milly’s room, and to my surprise, it isn’t wallpapered with beefcake pictures. She has an exquisite wedding ring quilt draped over her bed that resembles the one my parents used to have on their bed. Mom packed it away after the divorce. I shake off the memory and throw open the closet. Surprisingly, I immediately pull out an adorable pink and white gingham sundress. I unzip the gown I’m wearing and it falls to the ground. I almost forget I have somehow misplaced my underwear until I spy myself in a vanity mirror across the room.
As much as I don’t want to do this, I can’t go traipsing around caveman all weekend, so I pull open Milly’s underwear drawer. All she has are thongs and padded bras. I slip one of each on and instantly feel miserable. I pull the dress on, and luckily, it feels much better than the undergarments.
I grab a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and another thong, knowing I’ll need at least one more change of clothes. I scoop everything into a plastic bag I find on the floor along with the gown. Leo will be able to help me get it back to the rightful owner since his moving company was transporting the belongings. It will be a good excuse to visit him the minute I get back in town.
A thought hits me as I adjust Milly’s underwear. What if Leo thinks I left the party on purpose? What if he doesn’t believe that this road trip with Jack wasn’t planned? If Leo ever found out about that kiss, we would be over before we started. He would never believe that Jack did it to distract the movers, even though I don’t doubt for a second that he never really wanted to kiss me.
I close Milly’s door and head back down the hall. I don’t see Jack lingering so he must already be out in the bus. I’m almost to the stairs when I hear sniffling. I turn back to see the man I passed earlier hunched over sobbing into his hands, the picture now resting on the carpet. There is no way I can just leave him here. I get a crazy idea that just might work. I walk into the room and pick up the picture. It is a black and white wedding photo of a very young couple. The groom is incredibly handsome with dark hair and chiseled cheek bones wearing some sort of military uniform. The bride is beyond beautiful with her shoulder-length smooth curls and amazing smile. She’s wearing a simple white dress with a rope of pearls around her neck, holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Wow, she’s exquisite. She looks like Ingrid Bergman,” I remark. For once, Mom’s movie choices came in handy.
I almost drop the picture when the man looks up. His pure sorrow sears through me like a hot knife into butter. What was I thinking barging in here? I don’t know this man at all. I’m afraid he’s going to scream at me or slug me with the wooden cane next to him, but the corners of his mouth actually turn up in a bit of a smile.
“Thank you,” he says kindly.
“For what?” I ask, handing the picture gently back to him.
“For not talking about her in past tense,” he says, patting a spot next to him on the bed.
“You’re welcome,” I say, feeling like a bit of a fraud considering I didn’t realize she had died. “What is her name?” I ask, choosing my words very carefully.
“Esther. She’s my wife,” he tells me. “She died six months ago.”
“I’m very sorry. You must miss her very much,” I say, touching his hand. I’m so lucky that I’ve never lost someone close to me. I can’t imagine how I would feel if something happened to Mom or Dad.
“I was in the military my whole life, so I was always prepared to uproot at a moment’s notice or be thousands of miles away from people I loved, but I wasn’t prepared for this,” he shares, nearly breaking my heart in two.
I remember how devastated I was when I found out Dad and Mom were getting a divorce. People were constantly saying stupid things to me like how it would get better, or how lucky I was because now I had two families. I don’t want to say stupid things like that so I sit with him for a minute, holding his hand while we both look at the picture.
“I’d really like to hear more about Esther.”
“Nice try, little lady, but I’m not leaving this house,” he insists, grinding the end of his cane into the carpet.
“I guess Milly was right,” I bluff, rising from the bed.
“Right about what?” he grumbles. “What did that old hag say about me?” he asks, taking the bait.
“She just said you weren’t any fun and that she was glad you weren’t coming,” I lie. I feel a tad guilty but Milly was the one who tricked me into coming in here in the first place.
“Don’t just stand there, help me pack,” he says, reaching under the bed and pulling out a small suitcase.
“Okay, but only if you’re sure,” I say, hiding my smile.
“I’m Bernie,” he introduces himself, throwing some clothes into the suitcase.
“I’m Laney.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Laney,” he says, making me wish that people still talked like that all the time. I can only imagine how dapper he must have been and how hard Esther fell for him. Guys like Bernie are practically non-existent these days. Text messages have replaced love letters, and marriage proposals are public spectacles, instead of private moments. Hopefully Leo has a romantic buried inside of him. Bernie carefully tucks the wedding picture inside of his suitcase then escorts me out of the house.
I can’t help but bask in the senior’s appreciative smiles as they realize I got Bernie on board. Milly throws me a stinkeye, but Bernie replies by stomping on her toe with his cane.
After making sure that Bernie is settled, I run inside and use the restroom. I find one on the first floor and rush so I don’t keep them waiting. Besides, I’m as anxious to hit the road as they are. I’m hoping we drive straight through and get home by tomorrow.
I fling open the front door of Primrose and see a deserted driveway. There is no sign of the bus anywhere. I sink down on the steps in shock.
I’m about to hyperventilate when I hear honking and see the bus come tearing up the driveway. Two wrinkly butts are pressed against the back windows. My brain can barely process that I’m actually being mooned by a couple of geezers. These butts look nothing like Parker’s did yesterday and I might actually be traumatized for life. The bus screeches to a stop and thankfully everyone puts their pants back on.
“We was jus’ messin wit ya,” Dom yells out the window.
“I just do what I’m told,” Santa says guiltily, opening the folding door so I can climb on.
I’m not amused. I stomp onto the bus, angry.
“I told them not to do it,” Bernie exclaims, waving his cane around in a fury.
“Milly thought it would be a good initiation into the Primrose bunch,” Santa clarifies.
I’m just relieved they came back. I get a few whistles as I start down the aisle. I’m suddenly very aware of how low cut this dress is. It felt so good getting out of the sequin nightmare that I didn’t realize the V-cut neck plunges too low for my tastes. Self-consciously, I clutch my hands in front of my chest.
“Sit with me,” Bernie demands from way in the back.
I smile at Jack, who looks hilarious wearing one of Dom’s track suits. He looks strangely flushed and I worry that he might be getting sick. That’s the last thing we need right now. I keep walking but the thought that something else might be wrong makes me spin back around. When I do, Jack is eyeing me exactly like he did the plate of barbeque he ate earlier. When he realizes I’m watching him, his face flushes even brighter. I whip around and bolt down the aisle, sliding in next to Bernie.
Before I can even begin to analyze what in the world that look was all about, Jack yells, “Nice back tattoo, Dimples.”
Chapter Seven
“He’s pulling your chain,” Bernie assures me, checking my back for the third time.
“Are you sure?” I insist, jumping around trying to crane my neck to see my back. I must look like the human equivalent of a cat chasing its tail. I suddenly remember April Stevens and her life-changing dragon tattoo from last night.
“You’re making me regret this trip and we aren’t even out of town yet,” he grumbles.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I don’t understand why he said that.”
“You caught him checking you out and he had to throw you off his scent,” he kids, tapping the side of my leg with his cane.
“Jack doesn’t like me that way,” I explain. “Besides, I’m kind of with someone,” I elaborate. Leo and I were really hitting it off last night, from what I can remember, until Jack and Erika ruined everything. Oh my God, Erika! She must be going out of her mind worrying about me. What if she’s called Mom?
High School Hangover Page 10