Part 2 (2/2)
Isn't he the clever one? Meet Romeo and Juliet of Transylvania.
”They're sitting on the couch in front of the TV and suddenly Hy puts his arms around her.”
Hy does just that. He pinches Lola for a response, and by golly, she says, ”Oh, darling, how nice.”
”His arm moves down her shoulder to her waist.” His actions continue to follow his words.
I pray he doesn't make his story X-rated.
He pinches Lola for the next response. I guess they've been rehearsing.
She goo-goo-eyes him and says, ”I love it, darling, keep going.”
Hy, the man and the character, is now moving down toward her bony hips. Believe me, I'm holding my breath. He wiggles his fingers along her legs.
”Oooh, aah,” she gurgles. ”Don't stop.”
His hand is moving dangerously close to noman's-land. I grin, amused by my thought.
Hy, the narrator, says dramatically, ”And Hy stops.”
Lola moans like she's got indigestion or something. But I think she is trying to act out ecstasy. ”Ooh, my precious, why did you stop?”
Hy lifts his hand aloft, using his sunscreen as a prop. ”Because I found the clicker.”
There is a long moment of quiet. Then, as one by one we get it, the applause builds to a smatter.
I hope this dangerous duo of daftness isn't going to be a regular act.
Suddenly there is a huge cloudburst and rain starts to fall. Hoorah, saved by the weather. We all
grab our things and run home before it becomes worse and we get soaked.
But when I reach my apartment, it hits me-what was different about the pool scene today. Someone was missing. Enya, our concentration camp survivor, who is always there, reading a book and never talking to anyone, didn't show up. She never misses a day. I hope nothing happened to her while we were away.
It was all confusion. Driving rain and impenetrable fog. Bodies pushed every which way, prodded by bayonets, useless struggling, nowhere to run, by bayonets, useless struggling, nowhere to run, lights zigzagging, pinning them down, their pathetic screaming turned into wailing. Clutching lights zigzagging, pinning them down, their pathetic screaming turned into wailing. Clutching their loved ones, their soggy flesh herded, smashed their loved ones, their soggy flesh herded, smashed together until they were one ma.s.s of seething humanity. Hopeless. together until they were one ma.s.s of seething humanity. Hopeless.
Enya wakes up. She knows she should get up, but she can't. Her body feels feels paralyzed. paralyzed.
The nightmares have come back.
4.
Dance Around the
Dumpsters.
Jack covers his ears against the noise of the garbage trucks as they empty the trash behind my building. It's early afternoon and once again I've snuck away from the girls to be with him. We have yet to get enough time alone to make some plans.
”I thought you were kidding when you said we should meet here,” he shouts.
Between the clatter of the garbage trucks and the heavy traffic on this back road and the ambulances that speed by in a direct route to the hospital across the way, we can hardly hear each other.
”Well, I figured no one would think to look for us in this place, but then again, I thought we were safe at the front gate,” I yell back at him. ”You've already learned there's hardly any way to have a private conversation around my girls.”
”We're not in jail, you know. We could have met off the premises.” He grimaces as one of the trash men heavily drops the lid of the Dumpster nearby.
”Yes, but we have a visitor coming soon, so it wouldn't have been convenient. Guess who.”
”Somebody I know?”
”Intimately.”
”Really? Morrie?”
I nod. He looks at me, surprised. ”My son, the cop, does house calls? I'm impressed.”
”Well. Not quite. He's giving a lecture in the main clubhouse on avoiding senior scams and I asked him to drop by afterward to chat with us about an odd letter we received from the man who calls himself Grandpa Bandit.
”I've already filled him in on the phone about the challenge thrown down to us. Naturally, Morrie's interested in the article sent to us with the man's handwriting on it. He's coming by to pick it up. Care to listen in?”
”Sure. Why not.”
I give him a hug. ”So, quick, let's get to our own agenda. We need a plan.”
”I have a plan. We go out to dinner. Afterward, we go to my place. Plain and simple.”
”You mean I sneak away and come over? I can walk this back route most of the way.” I pause. ”Wait, that's a problem. I have to tell someone where I'll be. If they keep phoning and I don't answer, they'll panic.”
”That's not what I mean. No more hiding. Tell them you will be with me tonight. All night.”
I am pleasantly surprised and a little shocked. ”Are you sure you want to go so public? You may regret it . . .”
He tips my chin up so I can gaze into his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes that I want to sink into. ”Chicken,” he says sweetly.
He knows what I'm thinking. He always knows what I'm thinking. We have yet to consummate our love. Not for lack of trying to find an opportunity, though.
”Be brave, my sweet,” he continues. ”Since you won't marry and make an honest man of me, then you have to deal with being a fallen woman.”
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