Significant Others (7 page)

“Tock,” my mother answered.

I laughed. Okay, this was all a joke. There was nothing wrong with my mother.

“You think this is funny?” Aunt Helene asked.

“No, but I want you to stop torturing my mother,” I insisted, turning her around and kissing her on the forehead.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you should know.”

“Has she seen a doctor?”

“Yes, and he agrees with my diagnosis.”

Okay, my mother combed carpet fringe, my brother was stuck in the 1940s, and my aunt was practicing medicine without a license. I had my work cut out for me.

“Did you know she’s also seen a doctor for cataracts?”

“No,” I said, alarmed. “She never said a word.”

“If you have something to say, please say it to my face,” Dee Dee said to her sister.

“I told her not to see Dr. Frank,” Aunt Helene said, ignoring her. “He’s not very friendly.”

“I don’t need a friend,” my mother countered. “I need an ophthalmologist.”

“All I know is that after my cataract surgery, when I went in for a recheck, Dr. Frank looked into my left eye and said everything was fine, and I said, ‘You did the surgery on my right eye.’ They’re operating a laser mill down there.”

I took my mother’s hand.

“It’s okay, Honey,” my mother assured me. “I’m not falling apart.”

“Exactly,” Aunt Helene said. “Your mother is still an attractive woman, which is one of the reasons I came over here. There’s a big dance at the club tonight, and I’ve been trying to talk her into going. She refuses.” Aunt Helene folded her arms and looked directly at my mother.

“I’m tired, and Honey just got here,” my mother protested. “Besides, Donny and Honey are taking me out to dinner at The Addison.”

“But, Mom, a dance sounds lovely,” I said. “It’s just what you need. I think you should go. I’m sure Donny and Barbara will understand. We can save The Addison for another night.”

“They’re going to have big band music,” my aunt added. “I know you like that. Didn’t you used to dance to all the big bands when we were girls?”

My mother sighed and got a wistful look in her eyes. “That was a long time ago, Helene. I’ve forgotten how to do those dances.”

“You’re not getting out of this. There’s a man in my building—a very handsome man—who also lost his wife recently. He shouldn’t be alone right now. I convinced him to go to the dance and told him I was bringing my very lovely, recently widowed sister. He’s from up north too. But he’s worked most of his life in South Florida, and he and his wife moved to Boca to be closer to their son and his family.”

“I don’t care where he’s from, or why he’s here. I told you I’m not interested in dances or dating,” Dee Dee snapped, jumping up from the couch. “Just because he lost his wife and I lost my husband doesn’t automatically mean we were meant to be. If he’s that handsome, I’m surprised the vultures around here haven’t gotten to him yet.”

“You mean the brisket brigade? Well, actually, Mrs. Goldman in the next building thawed out a chicken she had in the freezer. And Mrs. Klein down the hall already has a Mojo chicken from Publix ready to go, in her refrigerator. Mrs. Kennedy is roasting one as we speak, so it will be nice and fresh. He’s had roast chicken three times already this week. I think he’s ready for a taste of something new.”

“Roast chicken?” I asked, not understanding.

“Every widow in the complex keeps a roast chicken or a casserole in her freezer to bring over when one of the men here loses his wife or significant other,” Aunt Helene explained. “Either that or they leave a trail of brisket gravy dripping down the hallway so they can find their way back in the middle of the night. Millennium Gardens is a regular Peyton Place. If a woman is interested in getting a man, all she has to do is defrost a chicken and go out and grab him. They’re all just lonely, ready for action, and ripe for the picking.”

“What about Max?” I wondered.

“Well, he’s lonely too. He’s missing his significant other, Jean.”

“Significant other?” I prompted, anxious to know more.

“Significant others are very common down here,” Aunt Helene answered. Apparently the phenomenon was as pervasive as Early Bird Specials. Aunt Helene knew what she was talking about. Her significant other—Harold Cohen—passed away two months ago.

“It’s a different culture in this complex,” she continued. “Many of the couples who live here are well off, but no one wants to mix up their finances, or get less Social Security by remarrying. And they don’t want flak from their children, who are worried about losing their inheritances. So instead of getting married, they become significant others. But it’s not a legal arrangement, so it raises a lot of other issues.”

“Speaking of chickens in the freezer, I forgot I have to put away the groceries,” Dee Dee said. “We picked up some things from Sam’s Club while we were out.”

“I thought you just went to Sam’s Club yesterday,” Aunt Helene said, her eyes narrowing.

“So I went back. Is that against the law?”

My aunt rolled her eyes and threw up her hands.

I gave my aunt a look that said, “I’ll explain later.” My mother turned to me and said, “Sit and talk to your aunt and I’ll be right back. But don’t talk about me.”

“Mom, let me help you with those groceries,” I offered, getting up.

“Sit, sweetheart,” she said, pressing me back down on the couch. “You’re probably still tired from your flight yesterday. Your aunt never gets a chance to spend time with you. She misses you.” I watched my mother walk into the kitchen. Was she moving more slowly than I remembered?

“You came to take her home, didn’t you?” accused Aunt Helene.

“Yes,” I replied honestly. “I think it’s time. We need her at the office. She can’t stay here forever.”

“Did you ever ask her if she wanted to come back, to the business, I mean?”

“I’ve been asking her every week since she got here.”

“And she’s been stalling, am I right?”

I nodded in agreement.

“There’s a reason she’s procrastinating,” my aunt said. “Has she told you she’s made a decision about selling the company?”

“Yes, and that’s one of the reasons I’m here. To talk her out of it.”

“She’s made up her mind,” my aunt protested. “It’s a great deal of money.”

“She can still get the money. But instead of selling outright, Palladino Properties could become an affiliate of one of Hammond Reddekker’s holding companies. We’d become part of one of the premier real estate providers in the country.”

“I know that was the deal your mother initiated, but she told me she doesn’t want to go through with that.”

“Do you know how great this acquisition would be for Palladino Properties? The potential for growth? The resources we could offer our clients? Hammond Reddekker could infuse a lot of capital into our business, enough resources for us to upgrade our entire operation, improve our Web site, and compete with the national firms. And I came up with a campaign that would highlight Donny in a series of television ads that could put Palladino Properties on the national map. ‘Palladino Properties: Your Home Base.’ It would feature footage of a young, powerful Donny Palladino hitting the ball out of the park, rounding the bases, and sliding in to home. Now women across the country will fall under Donny’s spell all over again, but this time
off
the playing field.”

“That sounds nice, but your mother is worried about taking on so much responsibility. Her goals have changed.”

“When is the last time you talked to her about this?”

“Right before you came. She’s afraid to tell you how she feels. She doesn’t want to disappoint you. She wants to do what’s right for you and your brother and your father’s memory, but that’s not what’s right for her at this stage in her life.”

I sighed. “Then I need to talk to her again.”

“What you need to do is
listen
, Honey, to what she’s trying to tell you. Her heart isn’t in it anymore. This was your father’s dream, not hers.”

“Well what does she intend to do with the rest of her life? Wait for the end in Millennium Gardens?”

“Is that what you think we’re doing here? Waiting to die? We’re living very fulfilling lives. Every Friday night they play Cuban music at the clubhouse and they teach salsa dancing and Zumba.”

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” I apologized to my aunt, who looked like she was on the verge of walking out. “But my mother had a very active life in Atlanta. She still has a lot to give. Donny and I need her to come back.”

“Whose needs are you looking out for? Hers or yours?”

“She needs to face what’s happened,” I argued, “and look at life from a realistic perspective.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Honey. You haven’t lost your husband.”

My aunt’s words stung, but she didn’t know that was exactly what was about to happen to me.

And I knew Aunt Helene was not just talking about my mother’s loss.

“So how are you doing, really?” I wanted to know, taking her hand.

“I’m fine,” she answered, patting my hand and placing it back on my lap.

Aunt Helene never struck me as the type to shack up—or, as Hannah would say, hook up—with someone. My aunt had always been very conventional. But apparently things were different here at Millennium Gardens. She had essentially been shacking up with her significant other before he died.

“Aunt Helene. Why didn’t you and Mr. Cohen ever get married?”

“I loved having him around,” she confided. “We had a very pleasant relationship and we got closer and closer, but I didn’t want the responsibility or commitment of being married.”

“Why not?”

“He had his own apartment. I had mine. We were on separate tracks but managed to meet in the middle ground. I like my privacy, doing my thing at my time. Harold was the same way. He preferred watching football games and the fights and being quiet. I went to bed at 11:00; he went to bed at 2:00. I liked to watch nature shows and he was interested in the stock market. Why does it do this and that? Why is it up one day and down the next day? He liked to wear his hair long. I like a man with a hair cut. If we had a disagreement, we repaired it and kept going.” She sighed. “But I like my home. I like thinking of your uncle. After so many years being involved with one man, I didn’t want to have to adjust to another man as a husband.”

I was thinking about my own marriage and the adjustments I’d soon have to make, and then we got to talking about love the second time around.

“It’s not exactly the same,” explained Aunt Helene. “Being older, you look at things a little differently, and it could be exciting, but in a very different way. There’s another dimension to it. When you’re young, your hormones take over more so than logic.”

What about sex?
I wanted to ask, but didn’t have the nerve. Aunt Helene, however, seemed to anticipate the question.

“Sex is up to the individual, and what their needs are. Not only up to the individual, but it has to do with who can perform sex. There are some who think about sex an awful lot but that’s about all they can do. Unfortunately, Harold and I were in that category.”

What category did I fall into? My husband was certainly “performing sex,” but not with me. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time we had “performed sex.”

I was fascinated with the subject of significant others. After all, my mother seemed about to get involved with one—Max—a man I had yet to meet.

“Do any of the significant others end up getting married?” I asked.

“I’ve had friends who did get married,” Aunt Helene answered. “From the outside it looks great. I don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. Some significant others maintain their apartments. A lot of women who have gotten remarried gave up their apartments and were very sorry because the relationship didn’t work out and they got divorced within a few months. Then there’s the problem of who gets the apartment—who leaves and who stays. Harold and I were content the way it was. I didn’t need marriage. I keep very busy with my girlfriends. But I also like the idea of having a date all the time, and I liked the affection. When Harold and I cruised together, we shared a room. It never bothered me. Of course he was eighty-seven years old. When we cuddled, that was terrific. The cuddling, the head on each other’s shoulders, was sufficient. I didn’t want to go any deeper. There comes a time in your life when sex is not the most important thing. Does that shock you, Honey?”

“No,” I said, grinning. In light of what was happening in my own marriage, concepts about sex and acceptable behavior were already beginning to shift.

“When you get to be as old as I am, nothing shocks you anymore,” Aunt Helene laughed.

“You’re not old. You’re younger than my mother.”

“Age has a way of creeping up on you when you least expect it. Your mind is as active as always, and you want to go all the time. But I have arthritis. My hip hurts a little bit. Oh, well, you just go on, try to exercise, eat well, keep your weight down, and the rest is in God’s hands. Women may not think anything about living with a man or having sex with a man, if the man can, that is. But it’s not the safest thing. There are men here with AIDS.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, my mouth opening in surprise.

“Yes. It’s a low percentage, but men go out of the Gardens looking for women. Just the other day there were people here from the health department giving an educational lecture, and they were distributing condoms in different colors—blue and pink ones—in the clubhouse. They were warning women, ‘You don’t know who this man has slept with before. You meet a gentleman for the first time, he takes you out to dinner, and he expects to be paid for dinner. He’ll say, ‘Let’s go to my house and have sex.’ Harold wasn’t like that. I wasn’t in love with Harold like I was with your uncle,” Aunt Helene admitted, “but being with him still gave me a good feeling.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find someone else?” I asked. “Stop me if I’m being too nosy.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t think I want a long-term relationship anymore,” Aunt Helene answered, throwing back her head and laughing. “Even the term long-term is relative around here. I have fond memories of both my men. But I’m getting on in years, and I like the idea of total independence. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who goes out looking for a man, like some of the women here. If a man asked me to go to dinner or a movie, and I think he has a brain in his head, I would go. I do believe in destiny, finding your soul mate or perfect match. If it’s going to happen it’s going to happen. I guess you’re never too old for love or sex.”