Change of Scene: A 100 Page Novella (7 page)

“Close. It’s Stella McCartney.” She gave him a wave. “See ya around, Kev.”

*

For the first time in nearly two weeks she recognized a faintly familiar sensation. That glimmer, that something? It was hope. She felt hopeful enough to bathe, clean house, and even empty the half bottle of rotgut swill she’d started thinking of as emergency relapse gin down the kitchen sink.

When her phone rang, she grabbed it, assuming it would be CeeJay, calling to set up her meeting.

“Hey, girl, hey,” Greer said excitedly. “What’s the news?”

Not CeeJay. Not even close. It was her mother.

“The nursing home called. We have to move your grandmother. Again,” Lise said.

“We?”

“Okay, fine, act like a brat.
I
have to move her again. I thought you might be interested in your only grandmother’s welfare, but apparently, you inherited your father’s talent for self-absorption.”

Greer decided to let that pass. If Lise was invoking her father’s name, things must be bad. Very bad.

“What’s Dearie done now?”

“What hasn’t she done? Let’s see. She called one of the nursing supervisors a fat cow, to her face, then she organized a hunger strike on her floor because the new dietician had the Coke machine removed from the building. But, oh yes, her latest offense is that she was caught leaving the men’s memory care unit at three this morning.”

“It’s not exactly a school night for people their age. So what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that Dearie was stark naked when she was apprehended.”

Greer guffawed. “Good ol’ Dearie.”

“The nursing home wasn’t amused. So now Dearie’s back out on the street. But I guess that’s not your problem, is it?”

“Okay, okay,” Greer said quickly. “I’m sorry I popped off like that. So, what are we going to do about Dearie? They didn’t actually kick her out already, right?”

“They would have,” Lise said, her voice sour. “Until I went all batshit emo on the head madam, or whatever she calls herself, and threatened to sue for elder abuse. They’ve agreed to let her stay, in what amounts to granny lockdown, for another week. Two at the most. After that, Dearie and Pleasant Point Senior Living are parting ways.”

“Have you started looking for a new place to move her?”

Lise sighed loudly. “There aren’t a lot of places for somebody like your grandmother. She’s got basically no money, and let’s face it, her permanent personal record is spotty.”

“But she’s got Medicaid, right? And her studio pension, right? That should pay for something.”

“Something isn’t enough anymore, Greer darling. It’s this goddamn healthy living you millennials are so nutty about. No smoking, no drinking, no red meat, no free radicals. Yippee skippee! We’re all super healthy, which means the life expectancy is now longer than God ever meant anybody to live. Have you looked at the obits in
Variety
lately? People are hanging on into their eighties and nineties. It’s ghastly.”

“I’m not sure Dearie would agree with that,” Greer said. “She seems pretty happy to still be kicking.”

“Of course she is,” Lise retorted. “She gets to sit around in some cushy retirement home, being waited on hand and foot by hunky male nursing aides, watching Lifetime television all day. I’d love to have your grandmother’s life.”

Uh, except for the hunky male nurses, as far as Greer could tell, her mother did have that life. Oh, sure, Lise was still eternally on the hunt for an acting gig, any gig at all. She went on auditions, read the trades, but mostly, she sat around reminiscing about her glory days or talking dirty to losers for what everybody claimed was great money.

“Well,” Greer said slowly. “CeeJay thinks she can get me a new job. If it works out, I think I could help out a little with Dearie’s expenses. Maybe kick in a couple hundred a month? Would that help?”

“Anything would help,” Lise admitted. “So what’s the new job? Who’s the director?”

“It’s too soon to talk about. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Oh, all right,” Lise said petulantly. “I hate the thought of taking money from you, but on the other hand, I hate the idea of her coming to live with either of us even more.”

“Oh no,” Greer said. “I love Dearie, but I’ve only got the one bedroom.…”

“Say no more,” Lise agreed. “I’ve had some stuff come up lately. I have one little fucking fender bender, and now the insurance company wants to jack up my rates. Again. Not to mention the Mercedes needs new tires, and those aren’t cheap. If I have to take time off to go hunt up a new home for Dearie, I’ll have to take time off from my, uh, day job. But I suppose I could take the bus.…” Lise sighed audibly and paused to let the guilt trip sink in to her only child’s psyche. “Although you are the professional location scout.…”

Greer winced, remembering how haggard her mother had looked when she’d last seen her. Relocating Dearie was the least she could do since she wasn’t working at the moment. “Okay. If you’ll get all her paperwork together, I’ll give it a shot. I’ll find Dearie a new place.”

“That’s my girl,” Lise said approvingly.

CHAPTER 7

The Motion Picture and Television Country Home looked uncannily like the glossy photos she’d seen on the home’s impressive Web site. Impossibly lush, despite the drought, with a putting green, walking trails, rose gardens, and a cluster of low-slung stucco cottages with red-tile roofs, it reminded her of something out of a Nancy Meyers film.

Compared to the drab concrete-block assisted living facility where Dearie was currently on time-out, this place was a
Modern Maturity
dream come true.

Greer had a 2 p.m. appointment with the home’s admissions director. She’d dressed carefully, in the only conservative dress she owned, a sleeveless black linen sheath, and a pair of Lise’s black slingback heels. But her most important accessory was an inch-thick file folder with every piece of paper Lise had been able to gather documenting Deidre Kehoe’s entertainment career and current (depressing) financial status.

As she sat in a chair opposite the director’s imposing mahogany desk, Greer realized her palms were sweating, leaving unimpressive damp marks on her already rumpled dress. She tried to sit back and relax, but found her entire body tense as Jon Bentley leafed through the folder. Everything depended on this interview. Dearie needed to live in this place.

He looked up and smiled at her through wire-rimmed glasses. He had graying light brown hair with John Denver bangs that brushed his forehead, and a pleasant face, like a mild-mannered accountant, or an easygoing actuary.

“Your grandmother had quite a career. She acted for what, five, six years? In the late forties?”

“Until nineteen fifty-one, when she had my mother,” Greer said. “She went back to work after her divorce, when my mom was three or four, but as a seamstress at one of the studios. I actually can’t remember all the costume shops she worked in, but it’s all in the file.”

“Joined the Motion Picture Costumers Local in 1957, so that’s good.” Bentley nodded. “Sometimes our elderly applicants aren’t able to provide documentation for their work history, but the trade unions keep great records.”

“Your Web site says she’d need twenty years consecutive employment in the business to meet your eligibility requirement, but Dearie actually worked for closer to forty years, although the last ten years or so she was more like a contract worker,” Greer volunteered.

“Dearie?”

“Her given name’s Deidre, but everybody always calls her Dearie,” Greer said.

He continued reading the papers in the file, and smiling, so Greer actually found herself unlocking her knotted shoulders and settling back into the leather chair.

“Well, Dearie certainly qualifies for residency here based on her work history,” Bentley said. “And from the look of the financials, it seems she could use some assistance.”

Greer felt her face flush as the topic of money reared its ugly head. “It turns out she has a small long-term assistance policy she forgot to tell us about, but I’m sure it wouldn’t come close to covering your fees here. Um, my mother and I think we could possibly help, too. But we’re both in the business, and neither of us are currently working, so it would have to come out of our savings.”

Bentley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“I’m a location manager, and Lise, my mother, is an actress.”

He looked down at the file. “You’re Greer Hennessey. Correct?”

She nodded.

He studied her face. “Haven’t I read something about you recently? Maybe in
Variety
? Some kind of mishap on a shoot up at Paso Robles?”

A single drop of perspiration popped up between her shoulder blades and inched down her spine, following the track of the zipper on her dress. Her throat closed up, her mouth was parched.

“Something like that.” It came out as a croak.

He decided to let it go at that. “Fortunately, our foundations allow us to cover the gap between what residents can pay and what we need to charge,” Bentley said easily. “Your grandmother would qualify for need-based assistance.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Greer had to grip the edge of the chair to keep from leaping out of it and covering his face with sweaty, sloppy kisses.

“Does that mean she’s in?”

He closed the folder. “Well, I wouldn’t start packing her up just yet. The good news is that she qualifies. The bad news is that there’s a waiting list.”

“How long a waiting list?”

“Mmmm, it’s hard to say. It depends on which building and what level of care your grandmother would require. But just from our conversation here today, we’d place Dearie in a studio apartment on the Wasserman campus.”

“I’ve seen the virtual tour on your Web site, and one of those would be fantastic,” Greer said. “So much nicer than where she’s been living.”

“That’s the problem. They’re very popular. Right now, I’d say we have a couple dozen prequalified guests waiting for one of those units.”

“Oh. A couple dozen? Really? And how often does one of those apartments become available?”

“Unfortunately, vacancies usually only occur when a resident has to move into another care level, like Harry’s Haven, or our acute care facility.…”

“Or when somebody dies?” Greer’s mind was already working. She could see herself poring over the obituaries in the trade papers and the
L.A. Times
, hoping that some super-elderly script supervisor or set decorator living at the Motion Picture and Television Country Home had passed to their eternal reward.

Bentley took off his glasses and polished them with a tissue. “Well, yes.”

Greer tried to think of a tactful way to ask her next question, but there just wasn’t any way to tiptoe around it. “Can you handicap that for me? Give me a ballpark of just how much time we’re talking about? We’re looking to move Dearie within two weeks, give or take.”

He shook his head. “Impossible. Even being optimistic, I can’t see something opening up that quickly. I should think it would be more like ten months to a year.”

Her shoulders sagged. “That long? Dearie’s eighty-seven. I mean, she’s in fairly good health right now, aside from the COPD, but at her age…” She heard her own voice trailing off.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could be more helpful.” He handed the file folder back. “We’ll keep your grandmother’s application on file, and of course, we’ll call you if something becomes available.”

“Thanks,” Greer said, “I’d appreciate that.”

She was in the car, exiting the parking lot, when a slow-moving unmarked ambulance passed her headed in the opposite direction. No lights, no sirens. The vehicle pulled around to the side of the main building and parked. Two white-clad attendants climbed out of the front seat and unloaded a collapsible gurney from the back. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry as they rolled the gurney toward a side entrance.

“Good news, Dearie,” Greer muttered. “Looks like the waiting list just got a little bit shorter.”

CHAPTER 8

The next morning Greer met Lise at a new juice stand around the corner from Villa Encantada. Her mother had obviously taken pains with her appearance. She was wearing a hot pink Mexican cotton embroidered maxi dress, and wore a chic straw fedora with a matching pink hatband.

Lise’s makeup was carefully applied, but there wasn’t enough concealer in L.A. to hide the hollows of her cheeks or the dark circles under her eyes.

Greer stared down at the concoction her mother had preordered for her, something called an Ay Chihuahua. “Guava, mango, pineapple, coconut milk, and a little Serrano pepper to wake you up,” Lise said, sipping her own pale pink drink.

“Well, if it makes me look like you, I’ll just give it a pass and pick up a double-double at In-N-Out on the way home,” Greer said. She leaned across the table and tapped her mother’s cheek.

Lise swatted her hand away. “Is that a nice thing to say to your mother?”

“Sorry, but I’m worried about you. How much weight have you lost lately?”

“Not that much. I had a little stomach bug. Nothing to worry yourself about. Anyway, how did it go at the Motion Picture Home yesterday?”

“Not so good. Dearie definitely qualifies and they even offer financial assistance. But there’s at least a ten-month waiting list.”

Lise sat back abruptly in her chair. “Damn.”

“There’s another place, out in the Valley, not that far from where she is now, I thought I’d go take a look later in the week.”

Lise shook her head. “Better do it today. That bitchy dame at Point Pleasant called this morning. Dearie’s definitely out.”

“In another week, you said.”

“That was before they caught her smoking in her room last night.”

“Oh no.”

“Afraid so. It’s not the first time, either. She’s been warned repeatedly. Half the people in that place are on oxygen. She could have blown the whole place to kingdom come.”

“What do we do now?”

Lise looked at the watch that hung loosely on her wrist. “We pick her up and move her. Otherwise they said they’d put her in an ambulance and bill us three hundred and fifty dollars for a transportation fee.”