Getting Old Is to Die for (27 page)

He groans as I look around. I'm puzzled. "These decorations came with the room?"

Next to the window on a small table is one of those cheesy little statues of a hula dancer. I turn the switch and suddenly there are revolving colors and the hula girl is dancing to the "Hawaiian Wedding Song"!

On the bed are two matching colorful green muumuus, laid out next to one another. On the hotel pillows is a shiny white taffeta throw pillow with some kind of sea theme featuring sharks. The lampshades have plastic colored beads thrown over them. I stroll into the bathroom and there are matching shark towels.

When I walk back into the bedroom, Jack is still standing at the door, stricken, as if by lightning.

"Don't say it. I know it's tacky."

"You did this decorating? To perhaps make up for the lack of decorating?"

He almost blushes. "I was trying to re-create Pago Pago. This was all I could find in one of those touristy T-shirt shops."

Ah, Pago Pago, I think wistfully. Our almost-perfect fantasy getaway. Stopped at a crucial moment of passion.

I peer suspiciously at him. "I have two questions. When did you find time to shop?"

He smiles, embarrassed. "Last night after I left you. A lot of these joints on Times Square stay open late."

"And how did you know I would come up to your hotel room?"

That stops him. He grins shyly. "I could only hope."

"It's adorable. You are adorable," I say as I pull him over to the bed and push him down onto it.

We tear off one another's clothes, piece by piece, rolling all over the bed, laughing and kissing as our passion builds. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful...

And Jack's cell phone rings.

For a second we stop, startled. But then I keep kissing him madly, all over his face and neck. "Don't you dare answer that!"

"Don't worry, I won't," he says, nuzzling me and running his fingers through my hair. But he slows down.

Jack suddenly lets go of me. "Oh, God, what if it's Patty Dennison's cousin?"

"No, please no," I gasp, grabbing on to him again. "Don't pick up that phone! Remember what happened last time?"

"Just let me look at the caller ID."

As Jack crawls over to the night table where he left the phone, I hang on to his back and drag myself with him. Jack squints to read it. He obviously needs his reading glasses. I throw my arms around his neck.

"Damn," he says. "It is Barbara."

He pulls himself up to a sitting position, drops his legs to the carpet, and answers the phone. I throw myself back against the pillows, gasping for breath.

I hear him say, "Yes, Barbara, the two of us can make it by three. Yes, we'll meet you there."

He turns and looks at me as miserable as I am. "First we have to rent a car."

"First," I say, "I have to scream."

He leers at me. "We might have time for a quickie."

But we don't.

Why do I always think of my sister and movies she loved in times like these? Today's movie quote would come from the end of
Chinatown
when everything goes wrong and Nicholson's told, as if to explain why: It's Chinatown.

For us, it's Pago Pago.

43

STOP OR WE'LL SHOOT

N
o!" Ida and Bella both say in disgust. Sophie is voted down and she sulks.

"I don't know why you won't let me lie down on the steps and play the drunken rich lady."

"Because you look ridiculous," answers Ida. "Our perp wouldn't go near the church with something the likes of you lying there. Either he'll be blinded by all that greenness or burst out laughing and run away. And because you already made a fool of yourself, trying to capture that nice-looking priest who did not look one darn bit like the thief."

"Yeah," says Bella. "I should be on the steps."

Ida disagrees. "Bella, dear, you look suitably pathetic, but you'll get hurt. I'm stronger than you are, and besides, I'll get him with the rolling pin or the bug spray. Or Sophie will hit him with the toilet plunger. Then you can start whistling with your toy police whistle and wave your fly swatter."

This discussion takes place across the street from Sophia's Ristorante, next to St. Luke's, where the girls are hiding in the recesses of the doorway of a small quick-copy printing establishment with their chosen weapons.

"Well, we better decide because it's almost three o'clock," Bella says.

Ida shrugs. "The more I think about it, the more I'm sure this will be a waste of time. What are the odds he'll come to the place we chose? Especially in broad daylight."

The girls look around. There isn't a soul on the streets.

"We're already here," says Sophie spitefully. "So go ahead, Ida, you go lie down. I'll wait for you in the restaurant they named after me and get a bite to eat."

"Don't you dare," says Bella worriedly. "You see better than me. I need you to watch, too."

"All right," Sophie says grudgingly. "Besides, it looks likes it's closed until dinnertime." She glances out. "There's someone walking up to the church now. So I guess we better wait."

Ida peers out, then grabs Sophie's arm and punches her. "It's him! It's him!" She looks Sophie right in the eyes. "Exactly the way
I
described him."

"Where?" asks Bella. "I don't see anyone."

"He just walked into the church," says Sophie. Then, realizing it, "He just went into the church!"

Reality hits. The three of them jump up and down in excitement.

"Places, everyone!" Ida yells, as she rushes across the street.

"What places? I forgot," says Bella, turning around in circles. "Wait a minute, we never rehearsed."

"Every man for himself," shouts Sophie as she dashes across the street after Ida, plunger at the ready.

Everything seems to happen all at once. The thief dashes out the door of the church, his hands full of bills. He runs right into Ida, knocking the rolling pin out of her hands, but her other hand has the spray can at the ready. She squirts him in the eyes. He stops, momentarily stunned, then twists and turns in agony, rubbing his eyes and stumbling down the stairs. Where he trips over the hem of Sophie's lime green extravaganza and falls down, knocking her down as well.

Meanwhile across the street, Bella is blowing the whistle as hard as her old lungs can manage. With her other hand she is excitedly waving her fly swatter.

Sophie and the thief are entangled as they roll down the steps together. She bats at him with her toilet plunger as they roll. "Get off my gown," she shrieks.

"Help! Help! Someone save me!" the poor-box thief screams. "These lunatics are trying to kill me!"

What a night. It is the big finale everyone has been waiting for: the San Gennaro religious parade and pageant. The floats are gorgeous. Every restaurant on Mulberry Street has outdone itself to be the most grandiose. The neighborhood florists have been emptied of decorations.

Several bands march and play the stately "Triumphal March" from
Aida,
as the religious part of the ceremony, the carrying of the statue of the Patron Saint of Naples that gives the holiday its name, moves slowly down Mulberry Street.

But everyone is waiting for the last float. The news of the capture of the church robber has spread everywhere. Even the
Daily News
and the
Post
have their cameras ready. They eagerly await
La Regina della Festa
.

And here it comes: the biggest and grandest float of all. Sponsored by Ristorante Firenze, the entire float is decorated with poppies otherwise known as white lilies, the national flowers of Italy, and is surrounded by a hundred Italian flags. The huge float is drawn by the Pasquale Funeral Home's polished-to-perfection black hearse. Sitting proudly in the front seat, next to her brother Gino, is Philomena Pasquale, home from the hospital with her entire head bandaged. The hearse itself is crowded with many Pasquales, family quarrels now forgiven.

Sitting high on her throne and wearing her silver tiara is the guest of honor,
La Regina della Festa,
Mrs. Sophie Meyerbeer, visitor from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

It was decided to pick Sophie to be the queen since she already had a gown (slightly soiled and ripped) with the three colors of the Italian flag: green, white, and red.

Her ladies-in-waiting, Bella and Ida, have dressed up as best they could from their limited travel wardrobe. Sophie smiles down at her sulking "ladies," and whispers, "I told you not to buy those
shmatte
s."

Then she turns grandly to her adoring public, and throws them kisses.

44

PATTY DENNISON

I
look around as Jack drives down the main street of Fair Lawn, New Jersey. We are following his exact trip of a week ago.

"The good part is I have you with me this time." Jack pats my knee. He is grinning, I assume, recalling our twenty-minute bedroom almost-adventure.

"If you hadn't been so secretive, I could have done this with you the first time. And stubborn," I add, thinking of how our relationship stalled, and blaming him for it.

He glances over to me. "Truly? Wouldn't you have thought this was an impossible scheme? Besides, I was afraid to drag up your past and make you unhappy. If I failed, I'd never confess; you wouldn't be the worse for it."

I lean my head against his shoulder. "I can't believe I'm actually going to meet Patty again after all this time."

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

"Yes, very."

He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead. "Have courage, my sweet."

Jack turns into the motel parking lot. "We're right on time and so is she. There's Barbara standing next to the blue Ford station wagon."

"You certainly have terrible taste in hotels
and
motels," I say, making jokes in an attempt to cover sweaty palms and a tension headache coming on.

"Hey, I'm a practical man." He grins. "That's a virtue."

I peer out the window. "She's exactly as you described her."

Jack parks the rented Toyota and we get out.

Barbara Sutterfield is skittish. With a cigarette dangling from her mouth, she watches as I move toward her.

"Hello," I say, trying to seem calm.

She examines me for a long moment. "You're the wife." It's not a question. It's as if she needs to verbalize this bizarre reality.

"Yes, I'm Gladys Gold." I almost expect her to ask for proof of identity.

"Patty wants to see you." Barbara doesn't try to hide the fact that she is upset about it, but she's apparently following orders.

Jack doesn't try to pretend to be surprised. "Where is she?"

"I'll show you the way. You'll never find it yourself. You better follow me."

We get back into Jack's rental. Barbara's station wagon is already heading down the highway, not waiting for him. He skids out of the driveway, tires squealing, and catches up to her.

"Touched a nerve with her, didn't I?" I say to Jack. "She must really care about her cousin."