Getting Old is a Disaster Part 3

"Are you sure?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes!" he cries out dramatically. "Shout it out. Be strong. Who cares if the whole world knows!"

"Gladdy. Jackie. h.e.l.lo down there." We hear Bella's lilting voice from up above. We look and she is half-hanging out of her Florida back room window on the third floor. "Morrie got done early and he's already here. We're waiting for you two lovebirds to finish sparking."

Sparking? I haven't heard that obsolete word since the 1930's. Is Jack really turning purple, or am I imagining it?

He sputters, "How do they do it? How do they always know where we are and what we're doing?"

I grin. "They just do. That's what makes them such good private eyes."

I call up to Bella, "We're on our way."

I start to walk toward the front of the building.

"Come on, Jackie, your cover's blown. Now's your chance to tell the whole world, including your son, that we're sleeping together tonight."

Young, handsome Detective Morgan "Morrie" Langford is waiting for us, seated at a patio table on the lawn, with my girls gazing at him adoringly. Which makes him most uncomfortable. He is dressed casually for his lecture today. Chinos and a cotton plaid shirt and a tie, instead of the usual suit.

Whenever I gaze at him, I see the young man my Jack used to be. Many a proud grandma in Lanai Gardens has shoved photos of their unmarried granddaughters into his unwilling hands, hoping to make a match. He hasn't ever followed up. Very wise, I'd say. I've seen some of those granddaughters.

Spotting us, Bella and Sophie immediately jump up and take each of Jack's arms and cuddle into him. They lead him to an empty chair. Poor darling-trapped again.

Morrie is clearly surprised to see his father being greeted so familiarly. But before Morrie can open his mouth, Jack waves his arms at him, warning him. Don't ask. I'll fill you in later. Don't ask. I'll fill you in later.

Our police detective shrugs. I guess he isn't used to seeing his dad fl.u.s.tered.

"Hand Morrie what we've got," I tell Evvie in my business voice. She takes the article as well as the envelope and offers both to him.

"Thanks," he says. He briefly glances at the article, then places the papers in his shirt pocket. "We'll look into it." He changes gears. "So, girls, how are you all?"

"Wait just a minute. Not so fast," I say. "After all, Grandpa Bandit reached out to us. us."

"Don't bother your pretty little heads. It's minor stuff."

I persist. "Maybe we can help you catch him."

"Don't waste your energy. This is small potatoes."

Evvie chimes in. "But according to that newspaper article he's robbed six banks. Isn't that a big deal?"

"This is police business," Morrie says severely, obviously trying to end the conversation.

Don't bother our pretty little heads? Translation: We should mind our own business. What a put-down. Yet again our earlier successes as private eyes mean nothing. And why? Because of the usual prejudicial att.i.tudes-we're old, and a.s.sumed senile. And invisible. Who would take us seriously? Even Morrie still doesn't get it-and he's seen us in action. But that's precisely why we succeed-people don't see us as a threat. They a.s.sume we've lost our marbles. That's why they're careless of what they say around us. And then we nail them.

"But it's our case," Sophie says stubbornly, as she refills Morrie's gla.s.s of iced tea.

He's just as stubborn. "You have no case."

"Yes, we do, now." Bella says sweetly. She

reaches over to pick an imaginary bit of lint off his shirt.

Morrie is getting hot under the collar. "You have no client. A client meets with you face-toface."

Bella smiles at his naivete. "Now, isn't that silly? If he met with us, we'd know who he is."

Sophie jumps in. "Yeah, and we wouldn't have a case anymore."

"Where is it written that he hired you?" Morrie crosses his arms, determined not to let us steamroll him, which we are about to do.

Ida points. "In the article that you just pocketed. In his very own handwriting. He wants us to catch him, not you."

"Yeah," says Bella. "If he wanted you to catch him, he'd have written to you."

Morrie's face stiffens. Jack shakes his head, trying to signal his son. I can tell he's warning him to get out while he can. But Morrie blunders on. "So where's your retainer?"

Bella smiles. "Silly. We work on a handshake deal." She stops to think about what she's said. "That is, we'll shake his hand when we find him."

Morrie is behaving oddly-for him. He's usually not so nervous around us. He's hiding something. I wonder what's going on. I can tell by Jack's expression he has the same impression.

"Look," Morrie blurts as he stands up, "somebody is pulling your leg. Somebody you know sent you the clipping as a gag."

That stops us for a moment, then Evvie glances at me, both of us remembering. "Take a look in the envelope," she says. "You missed something."

Puzzled, Morrie opens the envelope and sees the tiny green feather. By the way his face goes from tan to red to gray, we've hit gold.

"That wasn't in the newspaper, was it?" Evvie says knowingly. "That's the information the police kept back."

"Bingo," I say. "Your bandit has thrown down his gauntlet, so to speak. In fact," I add, "do us a big favor, since we're so old and helpless, mail me a list of the banks that our client robbed, and their addresses."

Morrie is sputtering by now. "Wait just one minute . . ."

He's right, of course. The police don't want civilians pursuing cases on their own. They want cooperation and information, not meddling. Or interfering in a way that might compromise their investigation or their evidence. It's not just the bandit who's thrown down the gauntlet; so has Morrie, wanting us to keep out of it.

We are at an impa.s.se.

Jack says, "Son, why don't you and I grab a cup of coffee and let the girls do what they are so good at-finding out anything and everything they set their minds to."

With a last glance at me, he winks and the two men take off. That is, as soon as Jack can get Sophie and Bella to let go of his arms.

I call after him, "Jack, you have an announcement to make. Remember?"

He grins. "Enough excitement for one morning. Later."

I laugh. The girls want to know what's so funny. I give them the same answer: "Later."

5.

Early Birds

The girls are not happy. They're dressed for go ing out but so far they are getting nowhere. We stand in front of my building waiting for Jack to pick us up. It rained all day and there are puddles everywhere, so we are grouped in a tight circle under the eaves, where the ground is dry. Sophie's pantsuit is a study in peach. From top to toes, she is every shade imaginable. Even to her latest hair dye, sort of peachy brown. Bella is also monochromatic-all in pale gray, which matches her hair as well. The two of them color coordinate whenever we go out. Evvie, on the other hand, is in one of her many flamboyant caftans-a riot of color, no pastels for her. Her hair is still red, but the gray is coming back slowly. Ida-well, Ida dresses as if she's standing under a thundercloud. Very dark. Plain. No frills, no jewelry for our Ida. I'm in my usual beiges, tans, and whites, with a coral blouse and silk scarf.

We are already late. Bella couldn't find her gla.s.ses. Sophie couldn't decide between her beige flats or her peach sandals. It's already four-thirty, and I told Jack to be here by four. It's our first outing as a couple with the girls and I'm nervous enough about the outcome. The girls are already grumpy, not a good sign.

Much tapping of feet and glancing at watches. Finally Jack's vintage Cadillac casually pulls over to pick us up, just before five.

"Hi, ladies," he says, getting out and opening all the car doors. The girls climb in, not looking at him. Ida mumbles, "It's about time."

Jack looks at me and I shrug and say, "Go ahead, ask it. I know you're dying to."

"Why does anyone want to eat at four-thirty?"

"You'll see." I realize that Sophie and Bella have already scrunched their way into the front seat, so I don't get to sit next to my "date." I struggle to fit myself in back with Evvie and Ida. Thank goodness the Caddie is large and roomy.

We stand on the long, long, long, long line snaked around the strip mall parking lot adjacent to our favorite deli, the Continental, and apparently everyone's else's, too. Ida taps her foot. Bella, as usual, peers into every store window as we pa.s.s. Evvie is using my back as a desk, scribbling her latest movie review for the next issue of her Lanai Gardens newsletter. Jack stands next to me, his shoulders slumped, his eyes gla.s.sy. The line is hardly moving.I gesture at the crowd. "Now you know. Short lines at four. Chaos after five."

Sophie adds, "And the prices are lower."

Bella pipes up, "And the kasha varnishkas sell out fast."

"I am more than willing to go somewhere else and pay whatever extra it costs." Jack is sweating. He takes his jacket off.

"No way," says Ida. "We refuse to be beholden to you. We are independent women and pay our own way."

"At least Evvie is smiling," he says, grasping at straws.

Evvie looks up from her notebook. "That's because I'm writing about George Clooney, that hottie."

After yet another ten sweltering, humid minutes, we finally get inside.

I see Jack glance around. He whispers to me, "Not many men here."

"You need reinforcements?" I ask.

"I might." He squeezes my hand. "I'd love to kiss your cheek but I don't want to embarra.s.s you."

I laugh. "Honey, in this place, embarra.s.sment knows no bounds."

We get our favorite waitress, Velma, formerly of Flatbush, Brooklyn. Thin as a blade of sawgra.s.s. Greasy hairstyle circa 1950's, very puffy and large. Nickname: Motormouth. The girls like her because she always makes sure to give them big portions of dessert. She is thrilled to see us.

As she shoves the menus at us, she says, "So where you guys been? I thought you all died."

"Not yet," Bella comments mildly. The girls are used to Velma's hyperbole.

"We took a vacation." Sophie bites off a chunk of sour pickle from a dish of coleslaw and a.s.sorted pickles already on our table.

Velma, not much of a listener, runs along her own track. "Boy, you missed some excitement around here. Edna Glatz from Hawaiian Gardens choked on a bone and almost expired before our very eyes."

"No!" Sophie and Bella chorus in horror, as Jack attempts to concentrate on the three-foothigh plastic menu.

"If it wasn't for our manager, Mr. Kay, who knew the Heimlich maneuver, we would have a dead duck on our floor. Instead of on a plate." She chuckles at her joke.

I can see other customers waggling their fingers to get Velma's attention, but Velma loves to talk and is on a roll. "And one day Mary Lou Feeney's great-grandchild upchucked on their table, all over the plat de jour plat de jour and her new flowered sundress. Don't ask." and her new flowered sundress. Don't ask."

"Could we order?" Jack asks morosely.

Velma is pulled up short by this interruption of her news report. She pretends to do a double take, as if seeing him for the first time. She turns seductive. Her idea of s.e.xy is batting her eyelashes.

"I didn't notice you have a man with you. And who is this Mr. Gorgeous?"

Jack blushes. I can tell that he's sorry now that he opened his mouth. Here we go.

Ida can't resist. "Meet Gladdy's intended. Jack, meet Velma."

Nor can Bella. "We're here to celebrate."

"Gedouddahere!" Velma screeches with excitement. She flashes a huge mouthful of horsy teeth at me. "Congratulations! This calls for an announcement!" She picks up a gla.s.s and a spoon and turns to the rest of the room. I grab her by her ap.r.o.n strings and tug hard. She turns back.

I glare. "No announcements. Please."

Velma reluctantly replaces the gla.s.s and spoon. She sniffs loudly. "I guess I'll take your orders now."

Dinner manages to glide along without too many annoyances. Sophie sends her chicken back-"Too tough." Ida complains her brisket is stringy. Evvie doesn't take her eyes off me while I'm looking at Jack and Jack is looking back at me. Usually I can read my sister's expression, but not tonight. Everyone's cheerful but there is an underlying tension. Kind of like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am on edge wondering if Jack is going to make his promised announcement about my going home with him tonight. I'm hoping he doesn't.The checks arrive. Velma gives them out one at a time, making goo-goo eyes at Jack when she hands him his. The girls get into their usual discussion about tips. They pull out their little tip chart and make their decision. Velma always gets their best. Twelve percent.

Jack says, "I really do want to treat all of you."

I add, "And I agree. In honor of our celebration tonight."

"Nonsense," says Ida. "I told you, we pay our own way." She reaches into her purse and takes out her share.

Bella follows suit, digging down into her pockets. She pulls out crumpled-up dollar bills along with many, many coins, which she counts aloud.

Evvie hands him her check and folds her hands. She smiles sweetly at Jack. "I don't mind being treated on occasion."

Sophie grapples through her purse. Then again. And again. She throws up her hands in disgust. "I can't believe it. I left my wallet at home."