Getting Old is a Disaster Part 11

Bella giggles.

Evvie asks, "What's so funny? We're watching a serious movie. They're about to hit the iceberg."

"I can't help it. Two nights in a row I get to go on a sleepover." Bella burps, and then giggles again, holding on to her expanded tummy. "Maybe I shouldn't have had three different desserts, but how often do I get to eat peach pie, chocolate cake, and strawberry shortcake in the same night?"

Ida huffs. "You didn't have to stuff yourself."

"Well, it was gonna spoil."

"So what," Ida answers. "It's disgusting watching you pig out."

Sophie grins. "I'm with Bella. I loved having all those different main dishes. I vote Evvie's cabbage rolls were the best."

"Thank you ever so much," Evvie says modestly.

"And besides," Sophie adds, "what if we're stuck here for days and run out of food? We might need to feed off our own fat-I read that somewhere."

"But where's that adorable Leo DiCaprio and the cute English girl?" Bella wants to know. "Where's the love story?"

Evvie corrects her. "That's the much later version, in color. This one is from the point of view of a young man who worked on board."

"No kissing, no naked painting?"

Evvie shrugs. "Sorry."

A Night to Remember is interrupted for another update on our own catastrophe. is interrupted for another update on our own catastrophe.

Sophie groans. "Just before my favorite part, where the captain starts shutting down the emergency doors."

"We interrupt this broadcast for a special report," says the announcer. And now for the third time this evening we are getting a repeat of the same fifteen-minute doc.u.mentary. The Eleven The Eleven Worst Florida Hurricanes in History Worst Florida Hurricanes in History flashes on the screen, once more preempting our movie. flashes on the screen, once more preempting our movie.

This program has been playing in between the actual on-the-spot news reports happening on our own streets. "Here we go again," mumbles Evvie, sitting next to a lamp; she'd been trying to read a book and watch the movie at the same time. "If it isn't another depressing news flash, it's this thing. They're ruining our movie."

Ida is knitting. Sophie and Bella are holding up skeins of yarn, forming them into workable b.a.l.l.s for Ida.

I keep playing over and over in my head the trip Jack and I took to Key West to be alone. I think of the warm feelings I felt for him. I wish Jack had been able to stay with us. I want his nearness and his comfort.

The phone rings. I set out for the bedroom to answer. It's probably not any of our families. We've spoken to a few of them earlier. My daughter, Emily, worriedly called much earlier from New York and so did Evvie's Martha. We a.s.sured them that we are fine. But are we?

Sophie's son didn't call, but she's not surprised-her jeweler son in Brooklyn is very selfish and uncaring. I can't go into what Ida is thinking. She has family but there is a huge rift that she refuses to speak about, and she never hears from them. As for Bella, as she says, she's an orphan. And Enya, well, there is no family left for her anywhere since the end of the last World War.

I'm sure it's Jack on the phone. He's already called twice. As long as the phone lines stay open, I feel connected to him, and I need this connection, to know he's safe.

In the background I hear stentorian tones: "In

1919 Key West was. .h.i.t by the most powerful hurricane in its history. The storm killed more than eight hundred people. In 1926 . . ."I shut the door to block it out. "h.e.l.lo, dear, everybody still in one piece?" I ask, keeping my voice cheerful.

"About the same. Except for a few battles about who gets to control the TV, the ladies are holding up. Of course, Dora keeps wanting to tell us what's happening on her soaps and all she's worried about is will she be able to see tomorrow's episodes."

"And what about dear Louise?" I say icily. "Is she still pretending to be terrified, so she can hold your hand?"

Jack laughs. "Meow," he says. "You're jealous. Admit it."

"Maybe a little, since she's the one with you right now."

There is a pause. "I wish it could have been otherwise."

"Shh, take care of your little harem." I pause. "Just keep her out of your bedroom."

Jack laughs. "I promise to restrain myself."

I hear a deafening sound from his end of the line followed by a woman's scream, then, "Jack, get over here quick! I need you!" I recognize Louise's voice.

His voice tightens. "Something's happened. Better check on it. Hold on, be right back."

I listen with the phone glued to my ear. I hear women's voices crying out all at once. They sound terrified. But I can't make out what they're shouting.

Jack's phone goes dead.

I try redialing, but no luck. I can't get through. A copy of Evvie's list is on the dresser. I dial Abe Waller's number. Surely he'll know what's going on in their building. The phone continues to ring. But no one answers.

I try Stanley Heyer across the courtyard. His line is busy. In a panic I call the next number on the list, of someone in the Y Building. A man named Charles answers. I've never met him. I ask him to look out through the slats in his window and see what's happening in Z. He does so. He reports back that all seems okay. Lights are still on. I thank him and hang up.

I want to run out the door and get over there now! But I don't dare. It's not possible anyway. I'd never make it. Maybe it's nothing too serious and the women were overreacting. Maybe, I pray . . .

I go back into the living room, sick with worry, but I don't intend to say anything. My group's scared enough, and there's no sense causing a panic until I know more. I pull myself together and try to hide my dread. The moaning and groaning sounds, mixed with whatever things are smas.h.i.+ng outside our door, add to my fears.

The girls are mimicking what the announcer is saying. They've memorized these words from earlier broadcasts. "In 1928 Okeechobee; 1935 the Keys; 1960 Donna; 1964 Cleo. Betsy, Andrew . . ."

"I wish they'd name a hurricane after me," Sophie says wistfully. "This year we're gonna get Arthur, Bertha, Cristobal, Dolly, Edouard, Fay, Gustav . . . who makes up those names anyway? And why do they make them up in advance? They have names picked out all the way through 2012." She counts on her fingers. "Twenty-one names. Does that mean they're expecting twenty-one hurricanes to hit this year? Oy."

Ida says, as she untangles a knot in her yarn, "I read somewhere that three different ancient civilizations all predicted a comet would hit the world in 2012. That's the day we're all supposed to get killed, so why sweat it now?"

Sophie groans. "Why do you always have to be such a truthsayer?"

"You're trying to say soothsayer, soothsayer, but you mean but you mean naysayer, naysayer," Evvie corrects.

"Whatever."

Ida makes a face. "I'm only telling you what I read."

Evvie climbs over the sleeping bags to find the remote, when suddenly the TV switches to one of our local broadcasters. He's huddled inside a restaurant doorway, clutching his mike, his hands shaking, his voice quivering. Behind him a group of onlookers peers into the camera, too frightened to make faces the way people usually do when they manage to squeeze their way in front of the camera.

"We are in Melina's Greek Diner on University Drive right off Oakland Park Boulevard. We can hardly believe our eyes. The corner streetlight fell moments ago and the street sign just . . . blew away!"

The camera s.h.i.+fts and now we are witness to what's going on outside the door, from their point of view, as the announcer continues to report. We see what he is saying.

"We are on generator power, as all lights are out in the entire neighborhood. Trees are tumbling haphazardly down the streets as water from broken mains turns this usually busy intersection into rivers!"

"Those poor people," Bella says. "How are they gonna get home?"

Even as the newsman continues to speak, the lights in my living room flicker and everyone responds nervously.

On the TV, we see fire trucks racing by, sirens screaming, gus.h.i.+ng up huge puddles as they pa.s.s the cameras. "The store windows are exploding," the announcer's frantic voice shouts. "Everyone, move back!"

Sophie gets up on her knees and points at the TV. "Oh, no, across the street, look-there goes Bagel Bites!"

Bella utters a small scream. "A car just floated by. Did you see?"

We watch as a wrought-iron bus-stop bench at the corner falls over. The announcer is fading in and out. Their generator light is dimming and we can hear people screaming as the front gla.s.s panes blow out. The sounds and sights are terrifying. Suddenly the picture is gone.

A voice tells us, "We now return to our original broadcast . . ." And A Night to Remember A Night to Remember is back on again. Just in time to see and hear people screaming and running for the lifeboats as the is back on again. Just in time to see and hear people screaming and running for the lifeboats as the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic starts taking on icy water. starts taking on icy water.

One by one the girls turn away from the screen. Our real disaster has trumped the movie. They are all silent. Enya moans, shaking her head from side to side. We all turn as strong winds whistle eerily through the uneven slats on the windows.

Evvie mutes the TV. "Enough," she says. "Let's do something else."

"Like what?" Sophie asks.

"I don't know. Talk about stuff. Somebody pick a topic," Evvie answers.

I jump in, wanting to get their minds off what just happened on streets that are barely a mile away. "How about telling a funny story about yourself."

They look at me, blank expressions all.

After a few moments, Evvie says, "Okay, I'll start."

With that, Bella and Sophie start pa.s.sing out candy and other a.s.sorted junk food.

When we are all settled, Evvie begins. "During the war I got a job singing in this bar in Brooklyn. I was only sixteen but I lied about my age. And on a Friday night, after one of my sets, this old guy sidles up to me and tries to pick me up. He uses the corny line, 'Hey, girly, haven't we met before?' and I look at him and I look at him and finally, I say, 'You know, we did meet years ago.' Now he's getting all heated up. He says, 'Yeah, where? Did we have a hot old time?' And I tell him, 'We met on Boynton Avenue in the Bronx. I was a kid and you were my babysitter. Herby, you old cradle robber, you!'

"Herby was so embarra.s.sed, he backed up and ran for the door. I yelled after him, 'How come you're not in the army?' "

The group is entertained and distracted. Bella claps. Evvie turns to see my frown.

"You sang in a bar when you were sixteen and you never told Mom and Dad?"

"Oops," says my adventurous sister, grinning at me.

Sophie raises her hand like a kid at school. "I got one. I got a story."

All eyes turn to her.

"Remember when we all had to wear girdles?"

There are sighs of uncomfortable memories at that. Bella comments, "We had to wear them every day. Even if we only went to the mailbox."

"Even if we were skinny," Ida comments.

"I was the Corseteria's best customer," continues Sophie. "One day I saw this picture in the paper of a crowd of women burning their bras."

Ida nods. "In the sixties."

"Well, I was living in a cute house in Long Island at the time and I took all my bras and girdles out to the burn barrel in the yard and set fire to every foundation I owned. However, I didn't take into account that the rubber in the garments and the plastic stays would start the smelliest fire you could ever imagine. The fire trucks came and my neighbors hissed at me. When Stanley came home that night, he had a fit. 'Why, why, did you do it?' he screamed.

"I put my hands on my hips and said, 'Because I'm a feminist now.' He looked at me and screams, 'Well, you're a fat fat feminist, so put your girdle back on.' " feminist, so put your girdle back on.' "

The girls and I are awash with laughter. I even see a tiny smile appear on Enya's face.

Bella waves at us. "Me, too. Me, too. Could I tell a s.e.x story?"

We look at her in amazement. Bella?

"Must you?" says Ida.

"Go ahead," says Sophie, patting Bella on the back. "Ignore the man-hater."

Ida, on the other side of her, shoves her elbow sharply into Sophie's side.

"Ouch," Sophie cries.

Bella manages to stand up. "Well," she says in her wispy little voice, "my Abe never undressed in front of me. And I never undressed in front of him. He went into the closet and I went into the bathroom."

Incredulity on every face. The things you don't know about your friends. We push forward to hear better. Even Ida.

Bella continues, "I must say I was curious about what he did in that closet, so one night I got in with him." She beams. We wait, openmouthed.

"And?" Sophie says to encourage her before her short-term memory loss kicks in and she loses track of what she's saying.

"And from then on we had the best s.e.x ever in that closet."

Sophie screams with laughter. Evvie and I join her. Even Ida loses it. And Enya is actually smiling.

Bella adds in all innocence, "I must admit, we did smell like mothb.a.l.l.s when we got out."

"I love this," Evvie says. "Speaking of s.e.x, you wanna know the first time I did it?"

I squint at her. "I'd certainly like to know, big mouth."

"Well, if you feel that way . . ."

"I could live without any more of your stories," says Ida.

Sophie pinches Evvie. "Come on, tell us."