Getting Old Can Kill You (8 page)

We hear Joe in the hallway. “Honey, I’m home,” he mimics.

“In here,” Evvie calls.

Joe arrives with a big grin on his face. He holds up a white pastry box. “Guess what I brought home for my two favorite chocoholics for after dinner? A gooey, fattening chocolate cake with chocolate icing.”

First, Jack and the chocolate éclairs, now Joe and his cake. What is it about us that makes our men ply us with chocolate? Maybe for Ogden Nash, candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker—for us it’s the opposite.

Evvie and I look at each other and laugh again.

“Look,” says Ida, “they’re heading out now.” The girls join her and stare out the window as Evvie, Joe, and Gladdy walk past Bella’s door.

“I bet they’re picking Jack up and going to the Continental for the Saturday night stuffed cabbage special,” Sophie whines.

Bella looks stricken. “I want to go! All day long I’ve been thinking of hot pastrami with coleslaw and French dressing on rye.”

Ida says, annoyed, “Well, stop. Think about eating whatever leftovers you have in the fridge. We can’t go.”

Sophie asks, “Why not?”

Ida is amazed. “I have to explain to you again that we’re no longer part of Gladdy Gold and Associates? We made our bed and we have to lie in it.”

Bella looks up, startled. “What’s my bed got to do with pastrami?”

Sophie says, “I know all that. But it doesn’t mean we aren’t still friends.”

Ida’s hands go on her hips. “Did you hear the phone ring? They walked right past us. Did they knock on the door? They didn’t invite us to go with them.”

Bella sighs. “Maybe it’s because we weren’t nice to them.”

Ida is annoyed. “Maybe it’s really because they have husbands now and don’t need us anymore.”

Sophie is adamant. “What’s one thing got to do with another?”

Ida moves away from the window. “It just does.”

Bella is horrified. “You mean we’re stuck here forever with no car? They have three! No early birds, no buying food at Publix? No window shopping? No movies?”

Ida answers, “We need to find a different way of getting into the city. Three buses to Gatkes is too much.”

Sophie thinks hard. “What about that new lady who just moved in? She drives that fancy Jaguar. We can make friends with her. What’s her name, Joyce?”

Bella perks up. “I met her. She’s not too friendly, though.”

Ida says, annoyed, “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t have met her. Why do you always make things up?”

Bella sits up, puffs out her chest. “I’m not making it up and if you don’t believe me, then don’t!” She gets up and heads for the door.

Sophie looks puzzled. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Bella says agitatedly.

Sophie goes to her and pulls her back. “You are home, silly. You live here.”

Bella plops back down on the couch and reaches for the dish of Snickers bars. “What are we going to do? I miss our friends already.”

“I
wonder what Evvie’s doing.” I sigh. I hand Jack the entertainment section. We trade and he gives me the front pages. This is one of our new shared pleasures of being married. Part of making our own traditions in our Florida room with its cheerful white wicker furniture. Sunday morning bulging newspaper. Bagels, cream cheese, lox, and coffee. The Bloody Marys are a plus. A sweet breeze comes through the louvres. Ah. Peace and serenity.

It’s nice being in my apartment. Once Jack’s building was reconstructed after the hurricane, we deliberated where to live. It made sense to stay here. Otherwise we’d have to replace all of his belongings that were lost when the building collapsed. So here we are.

Of course, the first new things he bought were to replace all the tech stuff he lost—the TV, computer, etc. And another wardrobe.

“Evvie’s gone exactly one week from last Sunday and you’ve already phoned her six times. Doesn’t that help?”

I take a sip of my drink. “It’s only been five. No. I miss her. She’s not just my sister, she’s my best friend.”

He leans over from his chair and kisses my nose. “Can’t I be your best friend?”

I kiss him back. “You are already, but she’s my best girlfriend. It’s not the same thing.”

I try to focus on the news, but I’m not able to concentrate. I place the paper back onto the coffee table. “Speaking about how people are doing, I wonder how Arlene’s been managing this whole week. It’s been kind of quiet. Maybe too quiet.”

Jack turns another page. “You might take it as a good sign.”

“You know, discussing friendship makes me think of the situation with Arlene and her nemesis. The reason Arlene’s unhappiness has lasted so long is because of Joyce’s betrayal. It hurt her to the very depths of her being. It has to do with having a profound relationship with a very close woman friend.”

“Are you saying women aren’t able to feel that deeply about a husband?”

“Yes, of course they can, but, again, it’s different somehow. These friends are the true soul mates. Usually ones you’ve had most of your life. They’ve seen you vulnerable and know your weaknesses and you are loved despite them. In fact, loved even more so for that very reason. It’s about the person who will never judge you, or let you down. No matter what life throws at you, that one person is the ballast that you hold on to. If you’re afraid, that person is willing to slay the dragons for you.”

Jack reaches out for my hand. “That’s quite a touching description.”

I shrug. “I don’t know how better to explain it.”

“Are you saying that Arlene took losing Joyce harder than losing Dr. Ed?”

“I actually think so. For example, Evvie and I have been together all of our lives. There’s only a two-year difference in our ages. I know just about everything there is to know concerning her. And vice versa. We have a solid history of trust and understanding. If I lost her, it would be unbearable.”

I reach over and pinch his cheek playfully. “In simple terms, we’re able to be our real selves, the selves nobody else can possibly see.”

Jack tosses his papers aside and gets up. “I do understand what you mean. When I was growing up it was me, Charlie, and Dave who had our special friendships. We promised to be there for one another forever. I remember when we even took blood oaths on it. I can still see the expression on my mother’s face when I came home with those bloodstains on my hand and shirt.”

“What happened to those friendships?”

Jack shrugs. “I guess we just lost touch.”

“The librarian in me studied the history of women over a long period of time. Men were the rulers, women their chattel. Men were dangerous. Women had only each another to depend on. They developed a secret code, a way to survive through friendship. It exists even today.”

He reaches for my arms and lifts me up out of my slatted rocker. “Well,” he says, “I can’t make up for not having known you forever, but there’s one advantage we husbands have that the best friends lack.”

“And what’s that, my darling?”

With that he kisses me lovingly and sweetly. And what a wonderful feeling it is.

“Makes up for it?” he asks, catching his breath.

“It certainly comes close.” I move in for another of the same.

The doorbell rings.

“I knew it was too quiet. Maybe the girls are finally behaving as they did, BH.”

“BH?”

“Before husband.”

As I head for the door I suggest he make us another two Bloody Marys.

But it isn’t the girls. It’s Leah Andrews, in tears. “Are you still in the private eye business, Gladdy?” she says before she’s even through the door.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“Then I want to hire you.”

I call into the kitchen, “Honey, make that three Bloody Marys.”

W
e walk Leah back with us to the Florida room to continue to enjoy the breeze. Jack and I make small talk to try to help Leah get over her nervousness. Her hands are shaking. Isn’t the weather fine? Nice party the other night, that kind of thing. I can tell the Bloody Mary is having an effect on her. She finally leans back against the couch pillows as Jack and I bend forward on our patio chairs.

“I’ve never hired a private eye person before,” Leah says with trepidation.

I try to make it easy on her. “Just think of me as your neighbor who can also help people with their problems.”

“Of course you realize it’s about Seymour. I’ve waited and waited to hear from him with no word at all, and now this.”

She digs down into her small clutch purse on her lap and retrieves two postcards. And hands them to us. “Can you believe it? These came this week. Here’s a picture of Seymour in Fiji. Another in Australia.”

Indeed they are. In one, Seymour stands in a rain forest, wearing a T-shirt and shorts.
Fiji
is embossed on a baseball cap. The other Seymour photo is a variation, different T-shirt, and different shorts. The cap announces
Aussie
. He is posed in front of the Sydney Opera House. One says, “Wish you were here,” the other, “I saw
Carmen
last night.” In the second photo, Seymour seems to be getting a tan.

Now Leah can’t hold back her tears. “How could this be? The man needed me to tie his shoelaces. Even at sixty, he is an innocent, clueless man-child.”

For a moment she sobs. We wait until she’s able to speak again.

“It was an accident. At school when he was eight years old. Children were pushing on the staircase. He fell down a whole flight … he was never the same again.”

I hand her a tissue. “I’m so sorry … I didn’t know.”

“I’ve never told anyone. After my parents died, who else was there to take care of him? I did the best I could, but it was hard. He had a few jobs over the years. Simple things, like sweeping up a store.

“This was his life. All he ever did was take long walks or else he stayed in and watched all those silly reality shows on TV.”

She becomes more agitated. “To just up and travel by himself? When did he ever get a passport? The few trips we took, and those were nearby, I had to pack his suitcase, because he couldn’t manage it. And yet his suitcase is gone. And most of his clothes. He must have packed it. Somehow.”

Leah stops, needs to take a break, then she continues.

“How could he plan? How did he know how to advertise for a sublet? Where did he get the money? He doesn’t own a credit card. How did he manage to get to the end of the world?” She is beside herself. “How could he not tell me?”

We examine the postcards. They look authentic. The postmarked stamps are real. She hands us his original note. As she mentioned, all he says is he’ll be back in about six months and he sublet to this Mrs. Joyce Steiner.

Jack comments, “Nothing about how he’s traveling. Is he on a tour? A cruise? He doesn’t mention hotels.”

I ask, “Has he ever done anything like this in his whole life?”

Leah digs back in her mind. “Well, he did run away from the special school he was attending when he was thirteen. We found him at our local Publix helping shoppers carry their bags home for small change. But that was because he was afraid of some bullies in his class.”

Jack comments, “He looks quite happy and healthy in these photos.”

“He’s safe, from what we can tell. That’s the important part,” I add.

She uses the tissue to dab at her eyes. “I don’t know what to think.”

I put a caring hand on her shoulder. “So what is it you want us to do, Leah? You’re not able to just wait until he contacts you directly at some point.”

“I just need proof to know he’s safe or to have him call me and tell me what’s going on. I need to hear my dear brother’s voice.”

We look at our neighbor with compassion. She is truly suffering.

Jack says, “Well, there are a few things we’ll be able to do once we get some facts. If he’s on a ship or in a hotel, we can check where he might be. But without any real information, this could take a lot of time. By now, he’s probably in a different country, so trying to track him in these two places wouldn’t help.”

I add, “We can talk to Joyce Steiner and learn how she found this sublet. Maybe he told her of his plans.”

Leah gets up. “Anything you can do to find him, please, I beg you.”