Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (19 page)

Ida shows not the least interest in leaving. She scans the pamphlets, humming a little tune to
herself. “And where is that club and what’s it got to do with Jerry’s Deli?”

Bella pulls Sophie’s hand away. “I don’t care if she knows. I just want her to stop tormenting us.”

In an unusual show of aggressiveness, Bella plants herself directly in front of Ida. “We meet in the back room of Jerry’s. We have a guru who teaches us about better health. We learn how to get rid of stress. And right now that’s what you are. Stress.”

Ida is not perturbed. “You’re in my space.”

Startled, Bella lurches backwards, away from her.

Ida leans farther back into the couch. “A guru? Really? Just hearing about all this, I already feel relaxed. So what’s the name of your club?”

Like lightning, Sophie pulls Bella away, and faces her, nose to nose. “Not another word.”

The two of them turn and look daggers at Ida. She smiles. “I can wait. I have no pressing engagements.” Ida’s eye is caught by a receipt atop one of the purchases. “Twenty-one dollars for a long-distance call? Huh?”

Bella closes her eyes, defeated. She finally turns to Sophie. “You know she’s gonna blab to Gladdy and Evvie. Then
they’ll
be all over us. I can’t stand the pressure, so let’s just get it over with.”

Sophie shrugs. “It’s your funeral.”

Bella startles and waves her fingers at the air.
“Ptui, ptui.”

Ida stares at her as if she’s crazy. “Stop that.”

Bella keeps waving. “But I have to chase the bad spirits away.” To Sophie, she says, “Don’t say things like that. It’s like having someone walk over your grave.”

Sophie shrugs as she heads for the kitchen. “You and your superstitions. I’m raiding the fridge. All those Jerry bags give me an appetite. Go confess your heart out. You’ll be sorry.”

Bella moves close to Ida, right back in “her space.” She puckers her lips and fairly spits the words out. “It’s called the Dead Husbands Club and we get to talk to our … our dead husbands. And that was a bill for three minutes. Not that I was able to say a word. So there!”

With that Ida jumps off the couch, almost knocking Bella over. Her composure is finally undone. “You what!”

Bella smiles calmly now. Confession is good for the soul.

Michelle sleeps late, Jack discovers—gratefully. It’s already nearing ten a.m. That gives him fewer hours of walking around a minefield with her. He stretches. Every muscle in his body aches from trying to relax in the armchair. He did drop off a few
times, but any little sound woke him up again. A car alarm going off. Garbage trucks backing up. Conversation in the hallway.

He can’t wait for his turn to shower. On the other hand, he thinks about not bathing at all, just to avoid going into her bedroom—a double minefield. Then he laughs at himself. Does he expect her to climb in once he’s naked and lathered? Like he’s such a great catch? But he wouldn’t put it past her. And how would he feel? How would he react? Would he have to fight her off? Any man’s fantasy woman? He feels himself sweating. What an idiot he was to allow her to manipulate him into this. Gladdy was right about her ability to twist him around to do her bidding. He realizes he doesn’t know this woman at all.

Craving coffee, he digs around the well-equipped kitchen area and finds an open package. And in minutes he’s made his own full pot. There are even croissants in the fridge. Naturally. He warms one up in the microwave. As he butters the flaky delicacy, he recalls, with a pang, his recent dinner with Gladdy. Their evening of dinner at a French restaurant and a French movie, when he officially reinstated their engagement. Somehow it seems a long time ago.

The Miami newspaper is waiting outside the door to the suite and now he can enjoy Gladdy’s
and his favorite pastime of the day. The morning coffee and the morning paper.

After a while he hears shower sounds coming from her bedroom. He finds himself staring at her half-opened door. He sighs, bracing himself. For when she’ll come out.

But when she does she surprises Jack again. Instead of wearing some slinky robe, she’s already dressed for the day. Even casual in a white linen pantsuit and no makeup, she’s still gorgeous. And doesn’t she know it.

“Bonjour,”
she says.

“And good morning to you,” Jack greets her.

She lifts her arms, stretching, causing her jacket to open and reveal another of her low-cut silk shirts. “I slept so well, knowing you were here to watch over me.”

She heads for the coffeepot and fills her cup. “How domestic of you to make coffee. You could have ordered room service.”

“No problem.”

She sits down next to him at the elegant dining room table and sips. “Good,” she says. She peers at one of the sections of the newspaper on the table. “Weather is supposed to be perfect. Balmy. What shall we do today?”

Jack is startled. “Do? We’re supposed to stay right here and stay safe.”

She pouts, gets up and walks to the balcony door. “I can’t stand being cooped up.”

“You don’t have much choice. And please don’t go out there.”

“You see too many of your violent American movies. Do you think he’s out there with a rifle trained on this particular window?”

“Michelle, we don’t know where he is or what he’s planning. I don’t want to take any chances. You’re my responsibility.”

“But I have to visit Colette.”

“You can talk to her on the phone. Hopefully the police will find him soon, now that we have a description. And hopefully, even if he changes his appearance, they’ll spot him anyway if he’s anywhere in this hotel or close by.”

She turns and grimaces. “There must be some way we can sneak out so he won’t see us. He can’t be everywhere. We can have a bellman bring your car around. After you get in, I sneak in and lie down on the backseat until we are far from the hotel.”

“Michelle. Not a good idea.”

She walks back to where Jack is seated.
“Mon cher
, I’ll go mad closed up like this.
S’il vous plaît!”

Jack isn’t about to share
his
feelings about being cooped up. What if he’s stuck here for more than a few days? He’ll want to put a fist through a wall. Believe it—he wants out of here more than she
does. Because he’s indoors he imagines all the outdoor places he’d rather be. When he was a cop, he was always outside, always on the move. Even during those years married to Faye and raising the kids. He’d be taking them camping. Skiing. Fishing on some lake. Gardening. He already feels the four walls closing in.

She reaches out to touch him. “I beg you.”

Jack quickly stands up. “I think I’ll shower now. Why don’t you order some breakfast?”

She straightens up, rebuffed. “Very well. What do you want?”

He picks up his overnight bag. “Surprise me.”

He walks into her bedroom, avoiding looking at the unmade bed and her personal items lying around. He tries not to look at the wall-to-wall mirrors.

When he gets into her bathroom, he fixates on the lock, tempted to turn it. He hesitates, then doesn’t. Laughing at himself. Does he really believe she’ll slip in next to him? He’s not surprised to see mirrors again everywhere. A huge sunken tub. The large, beautifully appointed room smells of bath soaps and perfume. It’s overwhelmingly feminine. And intoxicating.

He turns on the shower and as he undresses, he keeps his eyes on the door.

Jack smiles ruefully and thinks,
Gladdy, save me
.

GETTING THROUGH THE DAY

B
y the time the lunch hour rolls around, I feel like I’ve spent the whole morning staring at the phone, willing it to ring. But I know I’m being unrealistic. How can he talk when she’s around? Besides, he wouldn’t call me when he’s “on duty.”

I open the fridge to find something for lunch. Some cottage cheese and tomato? Boring. Leftover Caesar salad? Wilted, uninteresting. Which reminds me, yet again, of last night’s flowers and fabulous dinner, then spoiled by Jack packing a suitcase and leaving. I play this scene over and over in my mind. I think of myself standing here at the open fridge eating whatever I find. Is that what I’ll be going back to if I lose Jack?

I pace. I can’t read. I can’t nap. I can’t stand my negative thoughts.

Knock. Knock. Knock
.

I answer the door. To my surprise the girls troop in. Carrying boxes.

Evvie says, “We got hungry; thought you’d be, too.”

Ida says, “Chinese take-out.”

Sophie says, “Egg rolls. Mu shu chicken and wonton soup.”

I smile to myself. Since when did Chinese become the national comfort food? Notice how, in so many movies, when you see someone lonely and unhappy, there are always the little white cartons and chopsticks on the table?

Bella adds, “And we stopped at the video store and got the latest George Clooney so we can drool over our fried rice.”

The way Ida and Sophie and Bella avoid looking at one another and keep their distance tells me they haven’t quite made up yet. There’s still plenty of tension between them.

We line up at the kitchen counter and dole out portions. I bring out a pitcher of iced tea. The girls lay place mats on the coffee table in the Florida room. Evvie slips the movie into the VCR slot. She warns us that the guy in the video store said DVDs have almost completely replaced tapes, and very soon they’ll be gone forever and we’ll be out of
luck. And there’s even talk about something “blue” that might replace them, too.

We bring in our plates and drinks and go for our usual seats. My slat-backed rocker is always mine. We settle in for food and entertainment.

When Clooney appears, a happy groan goes round the room.

“Oh, to be forty years younger,” Evvie says, sighing.

“Oh, to be forty pounds lighter,” Sophie adds.

Bella jumps in. “He should be forty years older and I could live in Hollywood right next door to him. I could knock on his door to borrow a cup of sugar.”

Ida feels compelled to dash their dreams. She has not one romantic bone in her body. “So, why isn’t he married? There must be something wrong with him.”

Evvie counters, “Hey, if you looked like him and made the money he makes, believe me, you’d stay single and have all the fun you want.”

Sophie snipes at Ida. “You always have to spoil everything, don’t you?”

Bella gives Sophie a little shove to try to keep her quiet.

Ida flares. “You starting up with me again?”

Bella shoves Sophie harder. “Don’t.”

I sigh. Here we go again. “Girls, what is it going to take for you to be friends again?”

Ida stands up, waving her chopsticks at them. “A confession to everyone for being liars, that’s what.”

Evvie hits the mute button on our movie and turns to them. “Let’s have it, already. This is getting tiresome.”

Sophie and Bella cower into one another. Poor things, they look terrified.

Ida says, “Allow me. If you let them tell it, we’ll be here all day while we drag it out of them. It seems that our gullible friends have done it again.”

Sophie sits up stiffly, glaring at her. Bella hides her face in her hands.

“They’ve joined a club. Apparently there’s a secret back room at Jerry’s Deli where not only do you get a guru and incense, but you get one hell of a scam.”

Sophie jumps up and shoves her. “It is
not
a scam.”

Bella whispers, “We get vitamins, too.”

“Didn’t you learn anything after Mme. Ramona duped you?” Ida shoves Sophie in return. Harder.

Evvie rushes to them and pulls them apart. “Enough. Sit down.”

Bella moans. “I’m getting a heartburn already.” She gropes for Tums in her purse.

Ida spouts out the venom she feels. “Not a scam? It’s called the Dead Husbands Club and they make phone calls, I assume, either to heaven or
hell. It cost Bella twenty-one dollars to be able to speak to her Abe!”

“I didn’t say a word.” Bella pushes two Tums in her mouth, tears beginning to run down her face.

There is a moment of silence. Evvie and I exchange glances. How funny! Actually paying money to talk to heaven? Or hell? But we mustn’t laugh. Evvie finally breaks the silence. “Oh, boy.” She shakes her head in wonderment. “Did you actually hear Abe’s voice?”

Sophie answers as Bella searches once again hurriedly through her purse. “They speak through our guru, so of course it isn’t the actual voice. And don’t make fun of him.”

Bella answers, her nose in her purse. “He’s a saint.”

Ida blurts back. “What do you know from saints?”

Sophie shoots Ida a poisonous look. “Feel better? You like making her cry.”

Ida shrugs. “It’s the principle of the thing. You lied because you knew the rest of us would disapprove. They’re breaking the law. They should be in jail.”

Evvie tries to mediate. “But are they hurting anyone? Doesn’t sound like much of a scam. You’re talking a few bucks. Not a big deal.”

Ida scowls. “Okay, if you are so sure you aren’t
being suckers, then let me go with you to the next meeting.”

I look from face to face. I should say something. But I feel like the last person who should criticize Bella and Sophie for wanting to reconnect with the husbands they love, so I stay silent.