Getting Old Is to Die for (24 page)

GLADDY AND JACK AT LAST

C
ell phone-itus.

Busy Monday morning at the Levinsons' once again. Dr. Dan off to Einstein Hospital. Kids to school and Emily meeting a friend at the gym. Which I wasn't invited to join. So New York City, here I come again.

I can't believe I'm walking down a Manhattan street with my phone glued to my ear. And as I look around me, just about everyone else is doing the same thing. How chic can I be? The streets are full, as always. The pace is fast. The city buzzes with excitement, as if important things are happening every minute. Construction continues to block the streets as newer and newer buildings go up to replace or redo the old. Even the venerable, world-famous old Plaza Hotel, after a hundred years or so, is getting an overhaul--or rather, what they call a "conversion." Along with the hotel, they're advertising condo suites for sale starting at $1.5 million!

I can't decide what to do next. I've already done MoMA--the Museum of Modern Art, which had a great retrospective of Picasso--so now the Guggenheim or the Jewish Museum.

I can't resist--I buy a salt-laden pretzel, no mustard, from a vendor on Sixty-fourth Street and munch happily for a few blocks. Finished, yum, licking the salt off my hand. My cell phone rings.

"Hi, Mom. It's me, Emily. Just checking to find out when you're planning to come home."

Interesting; first I'm ignored and now she wants a rundown of my activities. "Well, I was going to hit a few more museums."

"Good, but before you head for home, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, name it."

"Well, we're having a few people in for dinner...."

Again? More people around so they won't have to talk to me? I've got to nip this in the bud and have a little chat with my social-butterfly daughter. "You know, Em, I'm getting a little tired. I think I'll skip the museums and just take a nice long walk home. What do you need?"

"Could you stop at Zabar's and pick up a few things?"

"You said the magic word. Can't think of anything I'd rather do. Any excuse to drop in there. What do you need?"

"Three seedless ryes and an assortment of cold cuts. Pastrami, salami, corned beef. About a pound each. You choose. You know what we like. And don't forget the coleslaw and potato salad. Lots of it. And let them deliver it; too much for you to carry."

"My pleasure. And I'll pick up some halvah for the kids."

"Great, see you soon. Oh, and Mom, sorry we haven't had much time to talk. Maybe later tonight."

Hmmm, a little sensitivity at last. But I intend to chat sooner. "That sounds like a good idea. I'm on my way. See you."

Things are warming up at the old homestead. It's about time. I think about this list. How many people is she expecting? That's a lot of food.

Jack's cell phone rings. He's been waiting for Emily's call standing outside of a coffee shop near Broadway at Seventy-seventh, where he's been drinking too much coffee as he paces and worries. He's actually sweating. Gladdy's gonna kill me, he thinks. I know it. And I deserve it. He answers the phone.

"Hi, Jack. It's Emily."

"I figured. It's time, huh."

"Yes. She's on her way to Zabar's now. Figure she has about a fifteen-minute walk. If she speed-walks."

"My guess is she'll stroll and enjoy the sights. Don't worry. I'll be there before her. So, all systems go. Call the others."

"Will do."

He turns and heads uptown. He has plenty of time. Or not enough time, before the ax falls. On his head.

The cell rings again. It's Morrie. "Hi, Dad, how's it going? Talked to Gladdy yet?"

He groans. "Don't sound so gleeful. I'm about to walk into the lion's den."

"I'll be reading the New York
Daily News
online tomorrow."

"Why?"

"To find out how she murdered you." With that Morrie cackles.

"Very funny."

"Good luck, Dad. You'll need it."

And still laughing, he hangs up.

Zabar's. Huge and mobbed as always. Jack doesn't need to hide. She'll never see him until he reveals himself. He stands next to the international fish department; the incredible smells of smoked salmon and herring torment him with pleasure. He's reworking his opening remark when he spots Gladdy entering the store. He waits a few moments, so she won't see him, then picks up her trail. But, surprise! He's lost her already in this crowd.

After a few minutes of dashing from department to department in this warren of little rooms, he finally spots her standing in line in the cold cuts section. Here goes nothing. Or rather here goes everything. For a moment, he stops to look at her. She is so lovely. He hadn't realized how much he missed her.

On an impulse, Jack gets in the line, standing two people behind her. He doesn't know why, maybe just to stay close. He's relieved the woman in front of him is so large. He hopes that when Gladdy swings at him the large lady could be a buffer. He keeps stepping to one side, glancing around in front of the woman.

Two more customers and it'll be her turn. He removes his sweaty Yankees baseball cap and mops his forehead.

One more. Why are the clerks so fast today when he wants them to be slow and hold off his pain? What's going on? Usually buyers have a list a mile long, and they take forever in major discussions over every little purchase. He can't believe it--one quick item and done?

Gladdy's turn. She asks for a pound each of pastrami and salami.

"Don't forget the corned beef. That's my favorite," he calls, leaning in front of the large woman. The woman looks at him, annoyed.

Gladdy doesn't hear him. He tries again, louder. "And a pound of corned beef."

Now Jack pulls ahead of the woman and directly behind Gladdy. He says even louder, "Hey, Gladdy, I'm just mad about corned beef."

The woman glares at him. "No cutting in."

Gladdy stiffens and turns slowly.

Jack's voice wavers but he continues on. "Tell him to make it lean."

She sees him, just as the large woman pushes Jack sideways away from her. Gladdy's face registers her shock.

"Jack?" She grabs onto the countertop to steady herself.

He tries to move up to her, but the large woman grabs him by the scruff of his neck and shoves him back. "I said, no cutting in!"

"You aren't going to faint, are you?" he calls out to Gladdy as he is being forced backward.

"Good riddance," the woman says. People in the line clap. They close ranks in case he tries to get in front of them. Jack is jostled even farther back.

Gladdy can't move. Now the woman turns on her. "Finish your order or get off the line."

Gladdy hurries to where Jack is standing. Jack makes his move. It's do or die. He grabs her and kisses her, hard. He holds her tight enough so she can't pull away. She isn't trying to pull away. Thank God.

The crowd turns from booing to clapping. This is no usurper; this is romance. Romance is good. Everything in New York is free theater.

We are standing outside in front of the store. I am still in shock. Stupidly I say, "I didn't get the cold cuts."

Jack smiles. "Forget it; she's making pot roast. It was a ploy."

"A ploy?"

"Yes, to get you here so I could meet up with you."

I'm trying to make sense of this. "My daughter, Emily, told me to come here."

"Yes, she did."

"You know that? You know Emily?"

He looks sheepish. "Yes, I do. I have a lot to tell you."

"I would certainly think so." I keep my voice very steady. I don't know how to react. "Have you been in New York all this time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's a very long story. Shall we find a place to sit and talk?"

I am still reeling. "But I'm expected home."

"No, you're not. Not yet."

Jack looks at me deeply, his eyes sparkling. What the hell is going on? I don't even know what to feel. Am I furious? Or so glad to see him? But I know two things for sure: I'm damned curious and I feel my legs tremble and about to buckle under me. He grabs my arms and holds me tightly.

38

WONDER OF WONDERS

W
e are in yet another coffee shop down the street. Jack sits opposite me across the Formica table. He stares into my eyes as if he wants to drown in them. I see and feel such love from him. People must be walking back and forth, but I am no longer aware of anything but the man in front of me and the sound of his voice. I still can't believe he's here.

Wait a minute. I'm angry at him. This better be good.

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

"At first because I was sore at you and yes, even jealous, because you were putting the girls before me."

"That's silly."

"Probably. I did a lot of thinking about our relationship. And then I decided I had to find a gift for you to truly show how much I love you."

I am starting to melt, but I'll be damned if I'll show it. "You could have just said so."

"Not enough. Not for me or for you. Not for our future together."

I need to think about what he's saying. But not now. "So running away to New York was an answer?"

"I hoped it would be. But I'm a coward. If I failed, I wanted you never to know I was here or what I attempted."

I'm confused. What could he mean by that?

"Brace yourself, honey. This is going to be hard to hear. I came to New York to find out who killed your husband."

I gasp. My heart starts pounding. What is he talking about? I pull my hands away. He waits, I assume, for me to absorb this bombshell. I can barely speak. I whisper, "And did you find out?"

"No, not yet. But I may be close."

I sit, stunned.

"Do you want coffee? Water? A gun?" He grins.

"Nothing. Just talk."

I shake inside as he tells me about his search for Patty Dennison. How he discovered she had lied and had hidden the truth all these years. How he met a reporter named Milt Paxton, who found her in a small town in New Jersey, but lost the trail. He went into detail about going to her hometown and meeting her cousin Barbara, who knows where she is and won't tell him. But he isn't done with Barbara yet. He will get it out of her.

It is taking him a long time, but I feel as if I cannot breathe. I can only listen and feel. The tears become sobs. I am vaguely aware of people glancing over and quickly turning away. I cannot stand to listen one moment longer. I can't. I turn away toward the window.

He is standing outside, looking at the menu in the window. He wears a gray rain jacket and gray rain hat. It is raining.

But it isn't raining.

Noises are gone. I no longer hear the dishes rattling around me. No one in the coffee shop is moving. They are all stopped in their tracks, except for Jack who seems farther away. His lips are moving, but I no longer hear him.

Nor do I hear the traffic noises. The waiters stop taking orders from the tables. They, too, are motionless. Like the game of Red Light, Green Light we played as children. Everyone is frozen in time.

The man outside in the raincoat smiles at me. I squint to see his face. I can't see him clearly, but I know who it is. Oh, God, I know. The rain falls, hard.

"Order the cheesecake," he says. He smiles.

"Only if they have blueberry," I answer.

Family joke. He always ate the blueberries out of my pie.

"It's nice his name is Jack, too. So even if you call out my name by mistake he'll never know." He laughs as if he is enjoying himself.

"Stop that. I'll never forget you, my beloved husband."

"Time you did."

"Why is it raining when it isn't?"

He shrugs. "Maybe where I am it is."