Getting Old Is Criminal Part 4

When she looked back at the window, the disgusting figure was gone.

Dora climbed out of her recliner, so she could meet Jack at the door. She s.h.i.+vered in disgust as meet Jack at the door. She s.h.i.+vered in disgust as she thought about what that Peeper had been doing outside her window. None of her soap friends she thought about what that Peeper had been doing outside her window. None of her soap friends would ever behave in such a disgraceful manner. would ever behave in such a disgraceful manner.

As soon as Dora opened her front door, Jack hurried in. "I just got home. What is it? What's hurried in. "I just got home. What is it? What's happened? Are you all right?" happened? Are you all right?"

Dora smiled, imagining that she was one of the characters on W characters on World of Our Dreams. It was nice It was nice having a cop living in her building, especially such having a cop living in her building, especially such a handsome and attentive one. a handsome and attentive one.

SEVEN.

MAYBE MEN ARE.

FROM MARS.

Night two. Is this going to be my way of keep

ing track of my loneliness?Luckily I was so jet-lagged last night that, except for my nightmares, I didn't have time to record my first night without Jack. Not that I ever had a night with with him. I fell asleep after a dinner I couldn't eat and woke up in the morning with a headache. Or was it an ache in my heart? him. I fell asleep after a dinner I couldn't eat and woke up in the morning with a headache. Or was it an ache in my heart?

Night two is not off to a good start. My usual routine is to watch the ten o'clock news and then read until my eyes close, but I have no desire to watch TV or open my book. I have to pull myself out of this. I'm driving myself crazy. I'm acting like a teenager.

I look at the phone. Staring at it doesn't make it ring. Ring, I demand silently.

You make the call.

Great. The phone is talking to me.

No, I can't.

Do it. You know you want to.

Mind your own business.

Just reach out.

It's after eleven o'clock.

Ooh, he's a big boy. I bet he stays up 'til at least eleven thirty, maybe even midnight. eleven thirty, maybe even midnight.

I need sarcasm from a phone?

Call him up!

All right. Stop nagging.

I can't believe I'm having a conversation with myself as a phone. I reach out tentatively for the receiver. I dial Jack's number, then quickly hang up before I reach the last digit.

Coward.

Shut up.

I pace. I sit down on the edge of the bed. I get up again. I dial again. It rings. And rings. And rings. Then his answering machine picks up. I hang up, fast. He's not home. Where is he after eleven o'clock at night? Where would he have gone? None of us seniors ever venture out past nine p.m. I'm about to dial again, but what's the point. What if he's in the shower and didn't hear the phone? A memory flashes into my head of Jack dropping his lavalava as he was about to get into the Jacuzzi with me. For a brief moment I see his body and feel faint with longing. And then to miss it all. Because of my stupidity. I had to put the girls first, didn't I? Oh, this is torture. I wait ten minutes; the hands on the clock are moving much too slowly. He's got to be out of the shower now. I dial. Get the same result. No shower. Face it. He's not home. Or even worse he's there and doesn't want to talk to me. I hang up on the answering machine. I will not leave a message.

Now I'm wide awake. Angry. Frustrated. Annoyed. First at him and then at myself. I head to the fridge for something to eat. Anything. Luckily nothing appeals to me. Carrot sticks won't do it.

Jack, where are you? Call me, d.a.m.n it!

"Now, you sit on this bench," Evvie tells me the next morning. "You'll be able to see and hear everything."

I sit down. "This is your idea of a date?"

"No, it's his, and I didn't want this date in the first place. I need you to help me out."

"So why didn't you say no?"

"Because I'm stupid. So stay here and drink your coffee and do your crossword puzzle. Look inconspicuous."

I can hardly be inconspicuous since I'm six inches away from the picnic table at which Evvie is supposed to wait for Sol Spankowitz. We are seated in a gra.s.sy area near the duck pond-which places us directly in the path of everyone walking to the pool, meaning they can't miss us. Sol's idea, I'll bet, to show off having a date with Evvie.

Evvie pinches me. "Tell me to run now while I still have the chance."

"Why isn't he taking you out to a restaurant?"

"Probably because he's cheap. The man is an idiot. Uh-oh, speaking of idiots, here he comes."

"Well, at least he's on time. That's a good trait in a boyfriend."

"Don't say anything nice about him; do me that favor."

"I promise." But I can hardly keep my face straight.

Sol is practically bouncing along the path, he's that happy. He carries a yellow wicker picnic basket with pink ribbons, something I'm sure his late wife, Clara, bought. He wears one of his inevitable bad-taste outfits, lime green checkered pants, a striped orange s.h.i.+rt, and unmatched socks. I'm beginning to suspect he's color-blind.

"Good morning, good morning, O princess of the Dawn." He tries to kiss Evvie's hand, but she snaps it away before he can touch her.

Sol is oblivious to my presence, which is good, because this is a scene I wouldn't want to miss: my usually unflappable sister, dealing with a man who's gaga about her, a man she despises. I pretend to look at my puzzle while I hide my grin.

Romance at our age is fraught with pitfalls. Boy, am I ever aware of that with Mr. On-again-off.a.gain Jack Langford. But while my blissful life with Jack Gold was cut tragically short, Evvie survived an unhappy marriage and a bitter divorce that left her never wanting to go down that path of hurt again. She's been skittish ever since. She's dated on and off through the years, but no guy has ever really touched her heart. This is the first time in many years that my sister has been willing to take another tenuous shot at dating. Albeit, one forced on her. Sol is not a good starting choice, I fear.

"How come we aren't going to a deli or something?" I hear Evvie ask. She looks at the wicker basket with fear and loathing.

"Because the deli has come to you. It's a beautiful day, why should we be indoors?" Never mind that almost all the delis we know have seating outside. And besides, everyone prefers eating indoors in the air-conditioning. With that, Sol opens the basket and removes two lumpy paper napkins and two bananas. And two bottles of water.

Evvie looks disgusted. "This is it?"

He unwraps the napkins to reveal two bagels sloppily filled with cream cheese.

"Bagels with a schmear," he says proudly. "I made them myself." He hands her one.

"This bagel is ice cold." Evvie immediately drops it on the table and pushes it back to him.

"Fresh out of the freezer. And I filled up two bottles I had in the house with water from the sink. Who needs that fancy overpriced water they sell in Publix?"

Evvie moves slightly away from him. "The bananas are black."

"Ain't you never heard of blackened bananas? That's like blackened chicken. A delicacy."

"Yeah, I heard of them," she mimics. "They're the ones I always throw out."

Sol begins eating with gusto. Evvie shakes her head over and over again. She is mumbling something under her breath. It sounds like, "Please let this be over with already."

Mary Mueller pa.s.ses us, carrying her crocheting, on the way to the pool. She stares in amazement. "You and Sol, an item?" she asks Evvie.

"Pretend you don't see us. It's an optical illusion."

I can't help it. I giggle. Evvie throws me a dirty look.

Sol is finished eating. He wipes his hands on the soiled napkin that originally held his bagel. "That was spectacular. I love breakfast en brochette."

"En brochette? What are you talking about?"

"It's French for being outdoors." Sol gets up. "Let's go."

"I haven't eaten yet," Evvie says spitefully. Not that she'd ever touch that mess.

Sol quickly grabs her portion and tosses it into his picnic basket. "You can have it after."

Evvie stands up, too. "After what?"

Sol winks at her. "You know."

"I know what?"

"We'll go to my apartment, and . . ." More winking. His eye looks like it's in spasm.

Evvie gapes at him, astonished.

I give up pretending to look at my puzzle. I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"We had breakfast; now it's time to you-knowwhat."

Evvie's face has turned as red as her hair. With a voice as icy as the bagel, she says, "Tell me exactly what 'you-know-what' is at nine a.m. in the morning."

Sol is getting a little testy. "Hey, I brung you a bagel and a schmear. What more do you want? You owe me."

Evvie crosses her arms. Her eyes have narrowed to slits. "Just exactly what do I owe you?"

Sol is getting uncomfortable. "You know."

She is yelling now. "I don't effing know, effing know, so tell me!" so tell me!"

He beams. "The F word. I, personally, wouldn't say such a thing but it's so cute coming out of your adorable mouth." He moves crabwise around the picnic table, arms outstretched to embrace her.

Evvie's had it. She smacks him across the face. "Cheapskate!"

At that moment more of the swimming group walks by. Hy and Lola, Tessie, the Canadians. They all stop and stare.

Tessie breaks rank and runs over to Sol, her love gleaming in her eyes. "Bubbala, what did she do to you?" All two hundred fifty pounds of her towers over him as she strokes his few strands of hair. what did she do to you?" All two hundred fifty pounds of her towers over him as she strokes his few strands of hair.

Sol, now befuddled, sees the crowd forming and makes a run for it. His shoelaces are untied, forc ing him to hop and skip down the sidewalk, a rather odd sight.

When he's gone, everyone turns back to Evvie.