Getting Old is the Best Revenge (4 page)

Sophie fidgets and moves around aimlessly. She no longer knows how to behave in front of a man. She knows she's too old to flirt, but how else do you behave with "them"?

Evvie stays close to me, unconsciously, as if protecting me from this threatening outsider in her life. The status quo is in danger. She doesn't want anything to change, and he is Change with a capital C.

I just stay away from the line of fire. Jack is a big boy. He can take care of himself.

"Just a cup of coffee, thanks." He smiles at Bella.

I can read his mind. He wants to come over and hug me, but he knows it will make me uncomfortable, so he shrugs.

"Thank you for the flowers," I say pointedly, glaring at the girls.

There is an immediate chorus of "yeah, thanks" from the rest. Ida's is so low you can't hear it, even though you can see her lips moving. Complaints get high volume; gratitude earns a mumble.

"So, what's new?" Jack asks.

I sit back and wait for the Greek chorus to begin.

Bella is first. "We have a new client. Mrs. Siciliano. From Plantation."

"Yeah," Sophie chimes in. "She wants us to catch her husband sleeping in somebody else's bed."

"Yeah, like Goldilocks." Bella giggles.

"Right," Ida adds with satisfaction, "so she can kill him." She looks at Jack and says, ever so sweetly, "Most men are such liars and cheaters, don't you think?"

"Well, that might be a little strong," he replies, trying to keep a straight face.

Evvie looks directly at me. "We're going on a stakeout tonight, so don't make other plans." That's her idea of being subtle.

Sophie is dancing around the table. "So, what's in the box? I can't stand the suspenders," says she who mauls the English language.

"It's for your office." Jack opens the carton as the girls gather around.

"What is it?" Sophie asks.

"An answering machine, so you won't miss any calls."

"Uh-oh, Jackie, you're in big trouble," Bella offers. "Gladdy hates progress."

"Hold it," I say. "It's not the progress. It's the loss of humanity. The day we substituted computer voices for real operators was the end of civilization as we knew it. And simplicity. One page in a typewriter was easier than having to be an engineer to learn a computer."

Bella ignores my soapbox speech. "She hates all new gadgets. You better just take it back right now."

"Yeah," adds Evvie. "Look at her phone. She still has a rotary."

Jack turns to me questioningly.

I sigh. "Next thing I'll 'need' to get two lines, and then we'll need a cell phone. And then maybe a fax machine and then maybe a photocopier. Not to mention a computer. A whole lot of new things to have to take care of."

Sophie agrees. "And learn. I've learned enough already for one lifetime."

Evvie jumps in. "Stuff just complicates your life."

"Besides," I say, indicating this impossibly small space, "where would I put it all?"

"But if you're running a business, you need business equipment," Jack argues.

"I guess," I say without enthusiasm.

"I promise I'll set it up for you so it will be very easy to use." He reaches down into the box and takes out another small package. He opens it and hands the contents out. "Business cards. Nice, huh?"

I examine them. They read:

Gladdy Gold and Associates

Senior Sleuths to the Senior Citizen

"Very nice," I say, not to be polite, but because they are. "Give me the invoices and I'll pay you back."

"It's a gift . . ."

I get testy. But I stop my mouth before I say another negative word. What? Am I crazy? Here's a man who says he loves me and I haven't the sense to say thank you when he gives me a gift? I smile and say, "Thanks, Jack, I really appreciate it."

His face lights up. I'm beginning to remember what having a man in one's life means. He reaches over and takes my hand.

There is a deafening silence in the room. Bella tries to fill it with some noise. "So, what's new, Jack?" she asks. "How is your adorable son?"

"Morrie's just fine," he answers.

Morrie is Morgan Langford, the policeman who became very involved in our lives before I met Jack.

"I'll bet he's very busy with all those assaults and batteries," Sophie comments.

Jack tells her, "Guess so. Crime is a twentyfour/seven kind of business."

I look at Jack, who is looking at me, and the girls are looking at us staring at one another. Finally Evvie takes the hint. "Come on, girls. Let's leave the lovebirds alone."

One by one they wrap what's left of their lunch contributions and file out without a word. Naturally, I feel guilty and call after them. "Take a nap. We're going to be out late tonight."

They mumble their OKs but don't look back.

I close the door and turn to Jack. With a slight edge of sarcasm, I say, "Alone at last."

He comes over to me and pulls me into his arms and kisses me soundly. It feels wonderful.

"I should apologize for them--"

He stops me with another kiss. "Nonsense. I think they're cute. Mean, but cute. They're protecting their territory."

I shake my head in wonder. "Don't you just love coming over here?"

"It's a shade better than a root canal."

I start clearing the table.

"Ida gives new meaning to 'if looks could kill,' " he adds. "I can almost feel the bagel cutter piercing my heart. Hey, gorgeous, before I forget. Guess who wants to have dinner with us on Friday night?"

"George Clooney, I hope."

"No such luck. Will you settle for Morrie? He actually has a night off."

I fake a sigh. "Too bad. But why would your son want to spend a 'date night' with two old fuddy-duddies?"

"He's between girlfriends."

Jack helps me carry everything into the kitchen. "What hit this place?" he asks.

"Just the girls organizing lunch. And talking at the same time."

"They really got to you today, didn't they? I mean, more than usual, with my being here." Jack pitches right in and starts to load the dishwasher. "By the way," he says, "Ms. Don't Like Progress, how come you have a dishwasher? How come we don't have to wash every little dish by hand?"

I swat him with a towel. "It came with the apartment, as you very well know, since you have the same model.

"The girls make me feel like I'm a naughty teenager and they're my disapproving parents. And they watch me to make sure I behave." I hand him the rest of the dishes.

"It's too late. They already assume you're not behaving."

"Not Ida. She's in denial."

"Then let's get married and I'll make an honest woman of you."

"Jack. You promised."

"I haven't asked you in one whole week."

"It won't solve the problem."

"Then let's just live together."

I pretend to look horrified. "What, live in sin?"

"Move to my place. Since it's the same model, you'll feel instantly comfortable."

"And deal with the jealous widows of Phase Six?"

"Let's move to Chicago. Or better yet, Alaska."

"I can't. They need me."

"I need you, too."

"They need me more." This is a game we play over and over. Like my dear best friend, Francie, and I used to do, I think sadly. God, how I miss her. Oh, how she would approve of Jack.

The kitchen is now spotless. "You're good around a house," I say.

"So keep me. I'm available."

"Don't start again."

I hang the dish towel up to dry. He hugs me again. " 'So, waddaya wanna do, Marty?' " he whispers in my ear, replaying the famous line from the old movie.

"I don't know. Wadda you wanna do?" I play back.

"I want to make love to you, as if you didn't know."

"They're watching out their windows. If we don't go out, they'll know. Oh, God, listen to me. I'm blathering."

"If we do go out, they'll figure we went to my place. And they'll still
know.
Besides, they don't
know,
since you are too terrified of them to actually
do
anything. Therefore they don't really know anything."

"Yeah, but they
think
they know."

Jack shakes his head in disbelief. "They're starting to make
me
dizzy, too."

By now we are both laughing.

"So far you're only lusting in your heart. And I'm taking a lot of cold showers. What are you doing?" he asks me as I walk toward the kitchen window.

"Nothing . . ."

He grins. "I can't believe it. You're at the window so they'll see you're still in an upright position."

I actually blush.

"Look," he says, "the only sensible thing is to just get the dirty deed over with. Then you'll have a right to feel guilty."

"I know I'm being ridiculous."

He is behind me now, nuzzling my neck. It feels wonderful.

"They'll see you," I whisper.

"Good."

"All right already. Let's make a date and just do it."

I feel his body shaking excitedly as he continues to kiss the back of my neck. "Pick a place," he says. "Any place."

"But not around here."

"Try to keep it within a hundred miles, OK? Take your time. Don't rush. Take five minutes, even ten."

"Let's get out of here." I turn, pull him around in front of me, and push him toward the front door. "Just make sure you get me back in time for the stakeout."

When we walk out onto the landing and start for the elevator, I can feel the eyes watching us.

8

Death by Bubbling Spa

J
osephine Dano Martinson, sixty-one, practi

cally lived at the Boca Springs Health Spa. And
why shouldn't she? She certainly could afford it.
She exercised with her trainer three times a week.
Received a massage daily. Enjoyed weekly facials
at the salon. The treatments pummeled her into
youthfulness. She felt like she could live forever.

Alas, Josephine was wrong. Today was the last
day of her life.

It was the end of her daily regimen and she was
finally in her own private steam room, cold cucumbers relaxing her tired eyes, hot billows of steam
cleansing her pores. She mentally reviewed the details of tonight's dinner party. The creme de la
creme of Boca Raton society would be there to
contribute to her favorite charity, the Boca Raton
Opera. Of course they had to be entertained and
coddled before their tight purses would open, so
she was holding a "Las Vegas Night." Gambling
with sexy croupiers in low-cut outfits for the men.
A chance to show off new gowns for the women.
And lots of gossip, of course. How she loved entertaining. And how she loved showing off her gorgeous husband. Of course she had hired the
high-priced Los Ochos Cubanos band so that her
Bobby could parade his fancy Latin steps. And
make other women drool with envy. Wonderful . . .

"More steam, madam?" Her reverie was interrupted by a softly whispering voice.

"Turn it up, honey. You know I like it hot."

She could hear the hissing of the bricks as he
poured more water on them. He? Was that a man's
voice? In a women's spa? Instinctively she covered
herself as best she could with her towel, sat up, and
pulled off the cucumber slices.

At first she couldn't believe her eyes, then she
grinned. "Hi, what the hell are you doing here,
sweetie?"

He smiled back at her.

"Last time I saw you, we were both naked.
Come for an encore?" She let the towel drop
enticingly.

He replied by turning the steam up higher. It
was getting unbearably hot. Then Josephine noticed he was dressed in a janitor's uniform, and that
he wore gloves on his hands. Something was not
right.

He walked out of the steam room and closed
the door. She got up quickly, wincing from the heat
of the tile floor, and grabbed the door handle. Incredibly, he was holding it shut from the outside!

"Hey, this isn't funny!" She dropped her hands
from the burning handle. "Open the damn door!"

There was no response. She beat at the door
with her fists, shouting for help. The heat was unbearable. Her feet were burning. She could hardly
breathe. Terrified, she stared at him through the
misted window, her eyes pleading. "Why?" she
mouthed.

He smiled and sang to her. "Toyland, Toyland,
little girl and boy land . . ."

She saw no mercy in his eyes. She knew she was
done for. Her last, dying thought was
Somebody had better call the caterers . . .