Getting Old is a Disaster Part 15

"Yeah, right. I'd much rather be sharing my son's one-bedroom house on his lumpy couch in the living room, and taking away his privacy at the same time."

"But . . . but Sophie and Bella are staying with me. They're still frightened and don't want to be alone."

"They're not alone. They have each other. Or they can bunk in with Evvie or Ida. Or any of the fifty willing people at the meeting. Any more excuses?"

He gazes at me imploringly. I think of the man I accompanied to Key West with such love light s.h.i.+ning in his eyes.

"None." I melt into his arms. "What a fool I am."

He hugs me tightly. "And now all of Lanai Gardens knows it."

"It will take a little while until I get Soph and Bella out."

"I'm known for my amazing patience."

We kiss long and deeply. "Say it," he says. "Come on, it will only hurt for a minute."

I look into those gorgeous eyes. "Jack Langford, will you live with me?"

He lifts me up and whirls me around. "It's about time, babe."

And once again, the sound of applause, as who knows how many of the fifty are outside the clubhouse, kvell kvelling at our love scene.

Jack bows to them, then attempts to pull me into a run. But I stop him. "In my hurry I left my sweater in the clubhouse."

He says, "Go get it and meet me at my old building. I want to see if anything's happening." He takes off, and I attempt to pretend indifference as I pa.s.s my amused audience.

I expect the clubhouse to be empty, but as I'm about to step inside, I see Evvie and Joe. From the look of them, they're in the middle of an intense conversation. I should leave, but can't stop myself from listening.

Evvie is shouting, "What are you trying to do to me? I'm having a nice retirement, and you barge in."

Joe speaks softly, pleadingly. "Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg? I will if you want me to."

Evvie softens slightly. "No, I just want you to go away and leave me alone."

"And I want to make up for what I did to you in our marriage."

She backs away slightly. "So apologize already and get it over with. No, don't even bother. I accept your apology in advance. So, go back to New York."

"I hate the weather, I can't take the cold anymore."

"I'm sure our daughter will make sure you're nice and warm."

"No, I can't go there . . . I mean, I won't. I don't want to do that anymore. It's a small house. They need their s.p.a.ce. It's not fair to them."

"So go live with your your relatives. I'm sure your sisters will be thrilled to have you." relatives. I'm sure your sisters will be thrilled to have you."

His voice climbs higher a notch. "I don't want to, Evvie. I want to be with you! I need you, Evvie. I love you!"

This stops my poor sister in her tracks. She gasps in astonishment. "Joe, please . . . don't." Then angrier, "Don't you dare say that to me!"

I back away from the door. I can't bear watching anymore.

21.

The Skeleton

Ihurry to meet Jack at his building. By now, what's left of the structure is yellow-taped. In the sharp sunlight, I look up to the crushed second floor. It looks even worse than it looked on that first gray morning. I shudder to imagine what might have happened.

He's not in front. I become aware of people hurrying to the rear, and I follow them. There's quite a crowd hanging around behind the yellow police tape, including Stanley Heyer and Abe Waller. I see Jack, and I join him, not wanting to miss a thing.

I watch the cops. Besides Morrie Langford and Oz Was.h.i.+ngton, there's a medical examiner and a team of police. They're all in hip boots, what with the ground still muddy from the storm. The sun is out, but it's weak, barely illuminating the scene. The cops have brought their own powerful work lamps.

At the bottom of the cave-in, which seems to me about five feet deep, a couple of the gloved policemen carefully bag the skeleton and place it on a pulley.

Once the remains are hoisted out, the cops gather up what else might give them clues as to what happened to this person so long ago. They send up bag after bag of their findings. Other cops carefully lay the items down on a large tarp on the ground. We try hard to see what's there. Looks like a few sc.r.a.ps of fabric. Some shredded, sodden pieces of paper. When they retrieve a gray ma.s.s of something that looks like metal, Stanley gasps.

Oz and Morrie turn to him. "Something?" Morrie asks.

Stanley is shaken. "It looks like a piece from one of the helmets my men wore on the site."

Oz lifts the yellow tape for Stanley to enter. "Come and take a closer look," Oz tells him.

Stanley nervously moves toward the wretchedlooking items on the tarp. "Yes, it could be."

Now Oz and Morrie talk in lower voices, but my hearing is sharp and I hardly miss a word.

Oz comments, "The cloth looks like it might have come from a plaid s.h.i.+rt. We'll know better when we have it a.n.a.lyzed at the lab."

"Remind you of anything?" Morrie asks Stanley.

He sighs. "Yes. One of my workers went AWOL the day before we poured the concrete."

Morrie says, "It could save us a lot of trouble if you can remember his name."

"Johnny Blake. When we first saw the skeleton, I had a hunch and went through my old records. He was new on the job. My foreman, Ed Luddy, hired him while I was away on business."

"Could you describe him for us?" Oz asks.

Stanley shakes his head. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I never met him. By the time I returned, Ed told me he hadn't shown up one day. I didn't think anything about it since we hired a lot of itinerant types who took off the moment their part of the job was done."

"Where's Ed Luddy? We'd like to talk to him," Oz says.

Stanley says, "Dead nigh on seven years. Lung cancer got him."

"Anyone else still around who might remember?"

Stanley manages a wry smile. "You're talking to an eighty-five-year-old man. Do you imagine any of those other men are still with us?"

The cops place the bags and tarp in a van. Morrie and Oz remove the equipment they brought. Morrie hands Stanley a card. "You think of anything else, call me. I'll be in touch with you after the lab work is done. Might take a while."

The show is over and the onlookers scatter. Morrie and Oz come over to us.

Oz says, "Are congrats in order? Hear you two lovebirds are setting up house together."

I look at my love, amazed. When did he have time to report this news update?

"True," says my Jack proudly, putting his arm around me. Showing off now that he's captured his prey. Me.

"And I was so happy with you living with me," Morrie jokes. "So was my girlfriend. She loved having you around on her nights over."

Morrie winks, and I of course turn and blush. I grab Jack's hand and pull him away with me. He and I walk back to my place, hand in hand. All around us is a new kind of chaos. Tow trucks haul away battered cars. Resident men clear the streets of rubble, filling all available Dumpsters. Resident women come in and out of apartments, tossing damaged items. Everyone calls out to friends and neighbors. Who was lucky to be spared? Who wasn't? Cheerful voices and resigned ones.

Lanai Gardens is determined to rise again, and I've also got a new future to look forward to-living with Jack.

22.

Days of Adjustment

A ll in all, damage to Fort Lauderdale was less ll in all, damage to Fort Lauderdale was less than expected. With the exception of Z building, thankfully no apartments were destroyed. But major repairs may take at least a year. Life will be different from now on.

With the changes going on around Phase Two, you almost need a scorecard. What's good and not good: We have electricity again. Though the phones are erratic, cell phones are working overtime.

We did reach our families and everyone knows we are fine. They were sad that Jack lost his apartment, but delighted he is going to live with me. The unspoken question is-when's the wedding?

I get through to Conchetta, and learn her large family suffered only minor damage. She informed me the library will open again after the volunteers finish picking up all the bookcases and reshelve the salvaged books and tape the broken windows. No mail delivery yet. Some cars are operational and those are busy carrying neighbors to and from the places they need to go. Mine is still functional, but it reminds me of a big hunk of metallic cottage cheese, irrevocably dented. Publix, our big supermarket, is a mess, but the sign outside promises the store will be open for business soon. Our banks are open. Sophie bemoans the loss of her beauty shop-gone for good.

What's obvious is a sense of excitement with all the comings and goings. No lolling about the pool these days (the bottom is cracked). We are a beehive of productivity.

As I wander about I catch many snippets of conversation: Hy and Lola moan about no glaziers being available to replace their apartment windows. "I can't sleep with that draft," complains Hy.

"And I can't sleep with that draft from your mouth complaining about it," says his much-putupon wife. Seems to me like the dutiful wife is cranky from sleep deprivation."

Bella explains how she managed to get stuck with Dora Dooley as a roommate: "I don't know how it happened. She just followed me home. What could I do? So I let her in."

Evvie: "You never heard of 'just say no'?"

Ida: "You won't get her out again."

Sophie: "It'll take forever 'til they rebuild Z building."

Bella: "Oy!"

Dora, popping out of Bella's front door, announces, "I need a recliner. Why don't you have a recliner? How am I supposed to sit on a straight chair to watch my shows? And I need a blanky blanky to keep me warm. And why don't you have sweaters? I'm freezing in there." to keep me warm. And why don't you have sweaters? I'm freezing in there."

Bella, eyes like saucers, hurries back inside to wait on her demanding roommate.

Later in the day, Ida and I watch from across the courtyard as Evvie, Bella, Hy, and Lola greet their new second-floor neighbor with welcoming gifts of ca.s.seroles. Abe Waller is suitably grateful. He opens the door to his borrowed apartment, which is next to Evvie. Just then, on the other side of him, his other neighbor, Enya, appears, to see what's going on. Head lowered, she shyly says h.e.l.lo. Abe bows to greet her. Enya quickly retreats inside.

Their attention is drawn to the elevator as an excited Joe, lugging a bulging suitcase, comes out.

"Hi there, everybody," he says cheerfully. "Here's your other new neighbor."

All pivot to watch Evvie's response. But Evvie gives nothing away. She opens her door and hurries inside. Joe nods to the others and follows after her.

"He looks like a sad-eyed puppy," Ida comments to me.

From my balcony, another day: I'm with all the girls, and hands on hips, we watch Louise move into Q317, the apartment next to Sophie, which is only one apartment away from me. And three away from Ida. None of us is smiling as she turns her key in the lock and gives us a bright phony smile. "Anyone play bridge?" she asks, knowing d.a.m.n well what the answer is. The only one on the floor who does is-my Jack. If he dares to play bridge with her, I'm going along. I can play dummy. Yeah, right. Ha-ha.

This evening Jack is moving in-with nothing but a toothbrush and some hurried shopping for a few necessary items. Tonight my life changes forever.

I clean up my apartment. Well, sort of. Dirt is everywhere, on everything. The slats on the windows couldn't keep out what the fierce winds blew. The was.h.i.+ng machine room is working 24/7.

I do the best I can. The markets are low on fresh food. My first dinner alone with Jack will be catch as catch can. The girls are solicitous. They are aware of tonight's importance. They offer what goodies they have in their refrigerators.

Sophie and Bella call me just about every hour on the hour, for constant moral support. Bella spends a lot of time in Sophie's apartment because Dora is driving her crazy.

I wonder how Evvie and Joe are doing. It's two days now. Haven't seen her or Joe. I hope they aren't killing each other.

I dress up for dinner. Do my hair. Lather on the makeup. Then ten minutes later, I wipe off most of the makeup. Back to simple beige slacks and a white cotton s.h.i.+rt. I don't know how to behave. An old song pops into my head. Was it Sammy Davis, Jr., who used to sing "I gotta be me"? But who is "me" these days?

It would be nice to sit in the Florida room and have a drink before dinner. But my sunroom is a mess. The screens all blew out; furniture is strewn every which way. I guess now I should call it an open porch. Trouble is, everything is broken in there. My bookshelves, my reading lamp, my stereo, my family photos. All smashed. Most of it will have to be thrown away. Besides, all I have in the fridge is some lemonade. So much for the c.o.c.ktail hour.

I hear a knock on the door. Then it opens. All kinds of silly things run through my head. I gave him a key, but I guess he felt he needed to warn me. What do we say to each other? How am I supposed to act?