Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery (8 page)

Say it isn’t so.

Trixie lunges toward each of us for a hearty handshake as Lola states our names.

“Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello.”

“And hello back,” says Bella. Miss Charm. I’m surprised she didn’t curtsy.

Lola beams. “Trixie was in the neighborhood and dropped by, hoping you had a few minutes to get acquainted.”

“I suppose so,” I say warily.

Evvie pushes me forward. “You could use the distraction.” She turns to the girls. “Come on, let’s hoof it.”

The girls follow her, high-stepping in imitation.

Just then we hear Hy calling Lola. Her master’s voice. And off she goes.

Now I’m left alone with the overwhelming Ms. Tryhard. What a name.

“Just call me Trix,” she says as she unloads a pile of stuff from her massive bag onto the patio table. “Isn’t this the loveliest day?”

I sit down slowly at the edge of a chair in case I need to make a fast getaway.

First she puts on her huge sun hat. “Don’t want too much sun, do we?”

She reaches for an oversized three-ring binder notebook. And whips out a pen. As she does, she takes a handful of pens out and rolls them toward me. I read the writing on their sides.
Call Trix for your wedding fix
. “Take some and pass them around to your friends.”

I start. “Ms. Tryhard … ” Trix shoots me a look which says, Didn’t you hear me? “Trix, I mean. I’m not really sure we need a wedding planner.”

She is horrified. “Not need? No problem. Just hear me out and you’ll know this is the direction you want to take. Names!”

“Excuse me?”

“The name of the happy couple. You are Gladys Gold. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Jack Langford. But I’m not sure … ”

“Jack Langford.” She writes slowly with one of her pens, her tongue licking the side of her lip as she does so.

I try again. “Look, I don’t want to waste your time—”

Trix puts her large right paw on my arm. “Just hear me out. Advice is free. After you hear, and I demonstrate what I can do for you, you will be thrilled to write me my itsy-bitsy checkee.”

Checkee? Oh, no … I have the feeling if I try to get away she’ll sit on my lap and smother me. Oh, well. Evvie’s right. I’m already distracted.

“First things first. When is the wedding date?”

“We were talking about the first of the year. Maybe even earlier. We’re flexible.”

Trix is horrified. “That’s impossible! We usually expect six to twelve months to prepare!”

I start to get up. “Well, that’s that. We’ll just have to manage—”

That large paw pushes me right back down again. “That’s a very good word—manage. That’s what we’ll do.” She sighs. “It might not be as grandiose.”

I equal her sigh. “Grandiose is what we don’t want. Simple, that’s the operative word.”

Trix laboriously writes the word in her notebook. It’s obviously not a word she likes. “We’ll just have to work speedo.”

Speedo? I hate to think what that means.

Trix pushes brochures at me. That purse must be bottomless.

As she mentions a name, she slaps down a
brochure to match. “Here’s our checklist: Decide on a definite date. Make an appointment with the clergyman. Determine a budget. Compose and set a guest list. Set time, location of ceremony, rehearsal, and reception. Choose photographer or videographer. Shop for wedding gown; several fittings will be necessary. Obtain floral and music estimates. Make appointment for bridal portrait. Register with a gift registry. Select bridesmaids. Pick honeymoon place. Will you need a passport? Are your passports up-to-date? How do you feel about confetti? And don’t you love ice sculptures?”

Help! Somebody get me out of this!

By the time I escape from Trix and head off to catch up on my exercises, the girls are off to other activities. Ida is on her way out to her cooking class when she notices Bella and Sophie heading toward the back of their building. They seem fairly dressed up with matching colored walking canes. Ida calls out to them. “Hi. Where are you two going?”

Bella and Sophie look at one another guiltily.

Sophie says, “Going to the post office across the street,” and at the same time Bella says, “Just out for a little stroll.” They both stop. Sophie throws Bella a dirty look. “Post office, remember!”

Bella looks chagrined. “Yeah, I forgot. Post office. Need any stamps?” she asks Ida.

Ida shakes her head. “If you’re gonna lie, try to keep your stories straight. And never mind, I don’t care where you’re off to.”

With that, the two of them scamper away, swinging their canes as they go.

Ida, though, is curious. She follows them, staying well behind. She watches them cross Oakland Park Boulevard, and to her surprise they head for Jerry’s Deli, next to the Fort Lauderdale hospital.

Strange, she thinks. Why were they so cagey about going out to breakfast? She turns around and heads to her cooking class.

Meanwhile, Sophie, leading Bella by the hand, enters Jerry’s Deli. Jerry, the owner, stands behind the counter with his son, Larry. She sniffs, thinking how these are two of a kind. They sure do look alike, very heavy, swarthy, with identical small moles with a tiny tuft of hair on their chins. They’re always noshing at something while they cut meat slices and make sandwiches. Their aprons are always unattractively stained with a variety of foods. Jerry recognizes them and nods his head toward the back. Bella sniffs too, only she is kvelling over the wonderful odor of delicatessen. “Maybe we could eat first?” Sophie yanks her arm. “We can’t be late.”

They make their way through the restaurant past a few customers who don’t look up, totally involved in their food. Sophie agrees that what they
are eating smells delicious. Bella slows up, hoping they’ll stop to eat, but Sophie pulls her along.

At the far end of the deli there is a large, heavy, russet-colored drape. Sophie pulls it aside; behind it is a door. She looks over her shoulder, sensing someone watching them. She’s right. Father and son are staring at them from behind the counter, beady-eyed, their mouths twisted in a knowing grin.

The heck with them. Sophie knocks, and she and Bella walk right in, shutting the door behind them.

The girls enter what Sophie imagines was once a back storeroom. Now it’s been cleared out and the room is painted totally white. A number of women are already seated in a semicircle facing a chalkboard at the rear of the room.

Mrs. Jerry—the girls have never known her first name—sits near the entrance behind a small table with a notebook and cash box. Sophie thinks that Mrs. Jerry looks just like her husband and son. At her side are white painted shelves full of what to Sophie seems like a peculiar collection of products. Vitamins. Crystals. Beads. Incense. Energy drinks and energy bars. Photos of their leader posed with very famous, mostly showbiz clients. Dried flowers. Lists of ashrams in India with dates of events. CDs of Indian New Age music. Posters. And much more.

Daunted by the oddness, the girls haven’t bought anything on their previous visits.

“Here’s my five-dollar entrance fee,” Sophie says eagerly.

“Mine too,” adds Bella.

Mrs. Jerry hands them each a small ticket and notes their names and amounts in her spiral notebook. Knowing the rules, the girls open the closet adjoining the shelves and place their purses in alongside everyone else’s. Mrs. Jerry explained it the first time they attended—there must be nothing to distract in this plain room. They remove their shoes, lining them up with others against the wall. They take seats, and park their canes next to them. They smile at the neighbors they know from the Phase Three building in Lanai Gardens. Sophie glances around, noticing that few of the women are under sixty-five. She waves at Arlene Simon, a neighbor from Phase Four. Arlene waves back. Bella sniffs again and pokes Sophie. She whispers, “I don’t like the smell of incense. It makes me want to sneeze. Why couldn’t they use pastrami or corned beef?”

The room eventually fills up with about thirty women. While waiting, they study the posters on the wall. “I still don’t get them,” Bella says. “What’s a chakra anyway?” Each poster has a dramatic, multicolored painting with names identifying the
different kinds of chakras and their corresponding crystals.

A gong sounds and a door at the side of the room opens and he comes in. Their leader. Their guru. Baba Vishnu. He is tall and very thin and wears a white robe and white turban. Around his neck is a string holding a large crystal.

“Yum,” Sophie says, admiring the young man’s looks as always. “Such a gorgeous
punim.”
Baba Vishnu slides slowly down onto the white pillow on the floor facing the semicircle of his admirers. As he lowers himself he bows his head. Everyone bows back to their guru.

As he reaches the pillow he begins the chant and the women follow. The sound of their group mantra,
om
, slowly builds, filling the room.

Sophie grabs Bella in excitement as the gentle chimes begin to ring. She wonders whose husband will join them today in the Dead Husbands Club.

When Ida gets to her cooking class, she is disappointed. There is a sign on the rec room door saying her class has been canceled. She looks around hoping to find some of her classmates; at least they can talk Thai cooking on their own. But no luck. There’s no one around unless she counts the quacking ducks along the walkway. She feels a hunger
pang. All she ate before meeting the girls for exercise was toast with orange marmalade and tea. Why not join Sophie and Bella at Jerry’s Deli?

Her salivary glands respond instantly to the idea. She hurries to the back of the buildings to take the shortcut across the street again and heads to the deli with visions of a three-decker turkey, swiss cheese, and tomato sandwich on rye urging her on. In five minutes, she’s there.

Ida walks in with a smile on her face, which quickly diminishes as she finds no sign of Sophie or Bella. She looks again, booth by booth. That’s odd, she thinks. They couldn’t have finished eating that quickly. She counts the customers. Three different men in three different booths. A mother and two kids sitting at the counter. That’s it. She looks to Jerry and his son, but suddenly they seem very busy chopping onions and don’t look at her. A scowling waitress, fortyish and seemingly anorexic, with stringy hair and sallow skin, approaches. She looks suspiciously like the father and son behind the counter. One might guess that’s because they
are
her father and brother. Phoebe (her name tag announces), menu in hand, asks, “One?”

But Ida doesn’t want to sit there by herself. Annoyed, she leaves the restaurant to go back home and forage in her near-empty fridge.

*   *   *

Evvie is watching me pace my apartment, back and forth. “Talk about a cat on a hot tin roof,” she says as I unwrap groceries and stack them where they belong. We are listening to the messages Jack left about Colette. It was a terrible accident. A very heavy bookshelf fell on her. She’s still in intensive care. They’re worried that she might not come out of the coma.

“That poor, poor girl,” Evvie says.

I agree. “How could I be so dumb? I get myself all aggravated because he hasn’t called me all morning, and then I realize I forgot to turn on the cell phone.” I slam the fridge door unnecessarily hard. “And then I get home and there are three more messages on the apartment machine.”

“Well, look at the good side. Instead of him being the unfeeling rat you were furious with all day, he did call in as he promised he would.”

“And I can’t call him back on his cell in the hospital.”

“Patience, my darling sis. He’ll probably be home any minute now.”

I toss a loaf of bread at her and she catches it. “Look who’s giving me lectures on patience—Ms. I-want-to-know-now-this-very-second-or-else gal.”

She throws the bread back at me, grinning. “I like to think I’ve matured.”

“Ha! That’ll be the day.”

I rewind the machine again. “Did you notice anything about all the messages—something left out?”

Evvie listens as I play them again. “No, what am I missing?”

“He never mentions Michelle at all. He was with her since about five
A.M.
and still not home and not a word about her.”

“Aren’t you overreacting? What do you think he’s doing with her? They’ve probably been at that unfortunate girl’s bedside.”

“What a terrible person I am. Michelle must be going through hell and all I can think about is being annoyed at Jack for not being home.”

“I thought you said you trusted him.”

I break off a piece of my dill rye bread and nervously chomp on it. “I don’t trust Jack’s old girlfriend. She’s up to something and I don’t know what.”

Eventually Evvie leaves to have dinner with Joe. I’m too antsy to eat. When I finally hear the key in the door, the first thing I do is look at the clock. It’s nearly ten-thirty. I hurry to open the door. Jack enters, but one look at his ashen face shows his exhaustion.

“Are you all right? Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything all day?” I don’t know what to offer
him first. I put my arms around him, but he gently shrugs me off.

“Need to sleep. That’s all I want. We’ll talk later.” With that he moves right past me to our bedroom, undressing as he crosses the room.

Not like my Jack
, I think.
Not like him at all
.

THE SNAKE CHECKS IN