This story is part of the collection, Demons and Other Inconveniences. If you like it, grab the whole book.
THE FOLLOWING is true.
Mostly true. Well...if you drive down a certain highway in southeastern North Carolina, you will find a nursing home plopped down right next to a travel agency…and there is nothing else in either direction for miles. Weird? Not in the south.
That much is true. The rest is pure speculation...but it might be true. It might be close enough.
12:00pm Monday.
ROLLING MEADOWS, it says on the sign. You might as well call it A Great Place to Die and just be done with it. I should disown this sorry, ungrateful shit for planting me here. That's what he's doing, planting. That’s what you did with vegetables, right? But I ain’t a vegetable yet. I could still kick his ass if I had to, but that wouldn’t do any good. He’d still be an ungrateful shit, but then, he’d be an ungrateful shit with a sore ass.
The drive out was boring and tedious, but at least it was long. There were two whole lanes of traffic to watch, all of it hugged by trees that went on for miles, hours it seemed. Finally we pulled in and the first place I saw was Plane and Simple Travel. The wooden sign has got this palm tree and an orange sun carved into the corner underneath that stupid name. Regardless, it is that business I’m hoping we visit.
I’d spend my life savings to ship my wrinkled ass to Tahiti or Maui. One of those places where I could die an old drunk with a grin on my face, a cocktail in one hand and some bikini-clad jailbait in the other. My heart would give out before my funds, but that’s not to be the case. No, we’re next door at the heart attack hotel where my loving son will leave me claiming, ‘it's for the best, Pop.’
Shit.
Who puts a travel agency next to the Alzheimer Estates anyway? It’s a sick joke if you ask me. The sickest joke I can think of. Bastards. Maybe the Plane and Simple folks will book me a trip to the graveyard so I don't have to hang out too long. Then we can call this a very annoying layover.
As they shuffle me through the front double doors to the center of the building, I smell it. This place stinks like sour breath, institutional food and piss. Welcome home, Jimmy.
My son walks to the reception desk which is guarded by a flabby woman who wears an ugly set of scrubs. They're covered with ducks or some such nonsense. The two start out with the usual pleasantries which will no doubt end with my incarceration.
“Mr.?” she says looking at my ungrateful son. She draws the word out, holding the errrr as if it might pull the answer out of his mouth.
Come to think of it, he isn’t ungrateful. In fact, I’m sure he’s very grateful. Grateful to be unloading the old man on this shithole, grateful I’ll be swimming in a sea of blue hair and false teeth. I'll be doing fucking crafts for fun and gambling over who dies next. I’d bet they play poker and ante with butterscotch pudding cups. I think I’ll make him a nice ashtray out of turds. It’ll look nice on his desk at the office. Flabby is still holding the Misterrrrrr.
“Aldridge. James Aldridge. I am his son, Bill. We have an appointment at 12:15?” he answers.
Chubby duck lady peers over her glasses at a clipboard and smiles again. Her name plate says Lucy, but I prefer chubby duck lady.
“You sure do. Right here it is!”
She looks back up at him, never me. I guess since I have no say in this matter, I have no say in this matter.
“If you’d follow me into the parlor, I can get you started on paperwork and then the administrator, Dr. Williams, will be by to introduce herself.”
Great. First I give up my house. Now, he drives me out to the middle of nowhere just like a stray dog nobody wants, and to top that—I’ve got to wait around in the parlor. Who the hell has a parlor anymore? Funeral homes, that’s who. And what’s the difference. Nothin’ but a bunch or corpses in here waiting around to die. Why couldn’t it be a sports bar? I could have a cold beer and annoy a busty cocktail waitress or something. I’m a breast man.
I know what that paper he’s filling out says. It’s asking for me to surrender my dignity and he’s going to hand it to them with a grin on his face.
Asshole.
Maybe if I crap myself they’ll just put me in the special wing with the crazies and the vegetables. I can stay drugged and get sponge baths from the young nurses until I pass away. One lousy fall down the front steps and an old man is doomed to the linger-longer.
Wait a minute, who is this?
She’s tall, with her brown hair tied into a messy bun and she has smart-glasses on. I love the brainy ones. Her name tag says ‘Williams’ if my eyes don’t deceive and is pinned to a silky blue blouse which to my utter joy is undone one button too far. Must be the boss-lady.
“Hello all! I'm Dr. Williams. You must be the Aldridges. How can I help you today?”
“I could use a prostrate exam if you don’t mind. It’s a little chilly, but if it’s gotta be here, it’s gotta…”
“Dad!”
Bill is such a pussy. I’m just trying to break the ice here is all. I’ve got to live with these people.
“It’s quite all right,” Dr. Williams says to him, “Spirited, aren’t we Mr. Aldridge?” to me.
She doesn't even hint at a smile. I think she wants me. Who wouldn’t? There’s nothin’ sexier than a pissed off septuagenarian.
“I can be if you like. Not as good as I once was, but as good once as I ever was.”
I wink at her. Her lip curls up into the slightest of smiles, and just as I’d hoped, my dick curls right along with it. As good once as it ever was. Joyous, I wink at Bill.
“Dad!”
“Just like to see that hair down around those shoulders,” I say.
“Dad!” he shrieks again. Pussy.
Well, we’ve established he knows who I am. Now if he’d just show some respect and take me home.
“Its fine,” she says to him.
“Maybe, Mr. Aldridge, if you pay attention and behave, I’ll wear my hair down one day.”
Now I get it. She’s playing me, a tease who likes to rev the old man’s engine just to watch me squirm. Either way this is the closest I’ve been to sex in better than four years.
The doctor continues, “You gentlemen can call me Jan.”
She holds out her hand and I shake it gladly. Long thin fingers, well manicured nails and no wedding band. I might could live here after all. I introduce us since he was busy gawking at her cleavage. Can’t knock him for that.
“Jimmy. This is my son, Bill. We aren’t speaking right now. You can tell him I said ‘Go to hell’.”
I won't talk to that prick. These dizzy spells won’t make me forget he’s putting me here to die. It’s just as well. I couldn’t live with him or his prude wife. She has a huge ass and a constant look of disapproval on her face.
Jan smiles, looking at Bill. “I’m sure he gets the message. Shall we take the tour? The rest of this paperwork can wait.”
I nod and notice Bill take another look at her breasts. Dumbass. If I taught him anything, it was 'don't get caught staring'. If I noticed, surely she did. I hope she doesn’t think he gets his stupidity from me. That definitely comes from his mother’s side. She was a brilliant angel, God rest her—eight years she’s been gone—but the men in that family? Dense as forged steel.
“Which side is the produce on?” I ask.
That one startles her. She turns, ready to scold me, and I’m just glad she gets the joke. That means we have similar senses of humor, even if she plays offended. Plus, I could use a good spanking.
“They are people, Mr. Aldridge. They may be worse off than you are physically, but most of them are mentally superior. Of that I’m certain.”
Touché. I knew him lookin’ at her tits was going to ruin things for me. Then again, she could fasten one more button and those things wouldn’t be staring back at everyone.
“Right, right, people. I know. I would just prefer to stay with folks who can still rock n’ roll if you know what I mean?”
Her stern look softens a little and that wry smile is back.
“I understand. It does take some getting used to, but rest assured, you will be living on the rockin’ side of the house. At least for now.”
This sounds like sarcasm. I like sarcasm. I’m also smart enough to know this tour may be the longest amount of time I’ll ever spend with the luscious Dr. Jan Williams. I watch her hind end wave as she walks and don’t care what she says, but I get her drift.
The nickel tour wanders through a building that is shaped like a capital E. The bottom of the E being the produce department , and the place I will avoid like a fat girl at the prom. The center line of that E is where the entrance and public area are located and the top line is for those of us who are here because our kids suck. There is a courtyard where the residents (I say convicts) can get some fresh air, away from the stink, and a dining room which resembles a prison mess hall or a high school cafeteria only with none of the joy or raging hormones. I personally can’t wait to watch them spoon feed the cabbages.
“And this, Mr. Aldridge...”
“Jimmy,” I interrupt.
I despise 'mister'. Sounds formal. I'm not fuckin' formal.
“Okay…Jimmy. This will be your room. You’ll be alone here for now, but roommates are sometimes a necessity. My advice is to find someone here you’re compatible with and pair up. We’re quite accommodating with those assignments.”
Accommodating. That is a word I enjoy associating with the lady doctor. As I’m dreaming of her in skimpy lingerie, my miserable son chimes in with a laugh.
“Compatible with him?” he says.
She gives him eyes for the interruption and he clams up like a scolded child. Sheesh.
“As I was saying, that might be somewhat easier than having a stranger assigned to you.”
“Is there a woman like you I could shack up with?”
Silence, but I can feel my son’s eyes growing wide and bulging. Her face is stone.
“I’ll take my chances.”
Grinning, I turn to show her my good side. Her smile is a very clinical courtesy, as if I’d just asked her on what aisle I might find the toilet paper. Maybe I should throttle back on the charm.
“Okay then, I'll leave you two alone so you can settle in. It was…interesting to meet you, Jimmy. Bill. I'll be in touch.”
With that she is gone, leaving me alone with him.
“Dad, it's not so bad here. I think you'll be just fine.”
“Fuck you,” I say.
“I’m trying to help. I don’t know what else to do for you. We don’t have room at the house and I want you to be comfortable. I’m afraid of what might happen…”
He's trying to smooth things once again and I am staring at the wallpaper, still thinking about Dr. Williams in that lingerie.
“This is as good a place to die as any,” I say.
“Dad…”
“Just get my bags. Let’s get on with it.”
I fan him out the door and sit down on the bed. He doesn’t argue. The bed, if you can call it that, is lumpy and has rails like a hospital gurney. I guess that's for when I can’t make it on my own, they can tube me up and roll me straight to the produce stand. Sitting on the bed, I get a look at my present and future surroundings. Home sweet home.
Ugly wallpaper with flowers. This ain't no grown man's room. If there’s a bright side, it is the following: There's cable, my own shitter, and I don't have to do anything I don't want to. Bill drops my bags and tries to hug me. I bob and weave like Ali or Holyfield or…hell, who watches boxing anymore?
Once I’m sure he’s gone, I lie back and lace my fingers behind my head. The pillow is nice, even if the bed is lumpy, and the Cussler western I’m reading plus the warm sun on my face put me right to sleep.
*****
“NAME'S EVIE.”
What? I'm taking a nap. It’s the first pleasant thing that's happened to me since my waste-of-oxygen son left and now somebody is gonna interrupt me? If it’s craft time, I’m going to choke someone. I sit up, feeling the aftermath of the lumpy mattress in my lower back.
“No. Name's Jimmy. Who's askin'?” I groan.
“I'm Evie. You eat yet?” she continues in an odd disconnected fashion.
“No.”
I sit up and lay my book aside.
“Well, I thought you might like ta meet sum' tha other inmates. Maybe get some o' that mess they tryin’ to call suppa'. An zip ya pants, will ya?”
Inmates? A gal after my own heart. A black gal, too. Never tried a black woman. I zip my khaki putter pants—unsnapping and unzipping slightly is an old napping habit—and right my creaky old bones to ease off of the bed.
“What are you in for?” I joke.
“Killin' a man.”
The leathery dark skin on her face is wrinkly and as stern as a mother superior's. Her eyes burn into mine. I haven't been caught off guard like this in since the last time I got laid.
“Dat's a joke, son. Relax.”
She pats me on the shoulder with her paper-skinned paw and attempts a smile. It looks more like pain. I shamble along beside her, wishing she'd pick the pace up and trying to decipher the odor coming from the dining hall. It's not pleasant.
“How old are you, Evie?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
She wrenches her old neck around to eyeball me. I imagine she perfected this version of stink-eye about eighty years ago—perhaps even invented it. It is quite effective.
“I'm probably yo' great granny. Taught me plenty o' white boys how to lay the pipe back in my day.”
“I really want to hug you right now,” I say.
“Do and you be drawin’ back a coupla stubs, Jimmy. I ain't playin',” she gives another agonizing smile. We are going to be fast friends.
So this is cruising Rolling Meadows main drag? This place is hoppin’. As I suspected, there are a couple nurses spoon feeding a carrot and a cucumber on the left. I hoped they would do that in the room, but I suppose it gets them out and amongst people. What had Doc Tits said? Mentally superior? On the right there are just a few still-mobile folks braving the menu. They’d be doing us all a favor if they just put cyanide in the salt and pepper shakers.
Looking at the platters on the tables, I see a meat substance, some green beans and a dinner roll. Drinks vary by their owners. Coffee is the only thing that smells good.
Evie takes her place at a round table which seats four. I sit across from her. In the third occupied space is a man with white hair and the thickest black eyebrows I have ever seen. His wheelchair tucks nicely under the table making it almost invisible. He nods.
“How are ya', partner?” I say, staring at the plate set in front of me by a random orderly.
He sets another plastic tray in front of Eyebrows. I grimace at what passes for food as the orderly in the scrubs walks away to get another tray. Eyebrows says nothing, just the nod.
“That's Androcles. We calls him Andy,” Evie says, filling me in.
Andy nods and smiles at the sound of his name. He picks at the food on his plate.
“He's Greek. Don't speak no English. That keeps him right quiet though, so I like 'im.”
“Hey there, Andy. I'm Jimmy,” I say offering him a hand.
He shakes it and returns to quietly picking at his food.
Evie eats every bite chewing deliberately, but doesn't say another word.
I drink my coffee, eat my roll and wait for my life to end.
6:45 am Tuesday
THIS MORNING, I wake to the soothing sounds of Rhonda. Not The Beach Boys, just Rhonda. The first thing I notice about her through my blurry eyes is that she's round. Not flabby like the duck lady, but round. Putting on my glasses doesn't change the fact.
“Can I help you?” I rasp.
She peers at me and a look of bitch, please on her face.
“No, honey. I've been cleaning up after old farts for years. I can handle it.”
She dumps the trash and checks in my bathroom.
“You look pretty clean in here. Anything I can do for you, Mr. Aldridge?”
I must look shocked because she adds, “Your name is on the door, hon.”
Of course it is.
“Tell me who you are and why you're in my room,” I say.
She nods.
“Fair enough. I'm Rhonda, honey, and I was born and raised just up the road. I'm a nurse, but I like to check behind the orderlies.”
She holds a gloved hand to her mouth and whispers, “They miss things.”
I hold my hand up, mocking her, and say, “No shit?”
She laughs. It’s a pleasing sound.
“Hello, Rhonda,” I say and sit up.
“I'll get outta your way now, shug. You get your business done and come on down for breakfast. Best meal they serve here!”
“Tough to fuck up an egg, I guess,” I say, half awake.
Rhonda leers at me and my profane mouth. “Uh-huh,” she says, unimpressed.
I guess shit is okay, but the f-bomb curdles her milk. Whistling as she initials a chart by the door, Nurse Rhonda is gone in a round flash. Then, as if by magic, Evie is standing there. I suppose this will become routine.
“You ready, son?”
“Ready? I just woke up.”
“Aw, who you got to be pretty fo’?”
“Well, you Evie. I thought I might put the moves on you this morning.”
She laughs. “Son, ain’t no moves I ain’t already seen, refused and buried. You can’t handle all this no how.”
She waves her hands, presenting all this as a spokesmodel might. I find myself grinning.
“ C’mon now, Jimmy boy. I'm ninety-seven years ol'. Can't wait round all day,” she looks at her watch.
“Lemme get dressed and wash my face.”
Evie steps aside from the door and I overhear her talking to Rhonda.
“You teach him right, hon, ya hear?” Rhonda says.
“Don't you worry, baby. He ain't gon' be no trouble,” Evie says in her wise way.
The two share a sisterly laugh.
My morning piss isn't the joy it used to be. Trickle, trickle, drip...drip. I splash water on my face and grab a Chicago Bears sweatshirt from my closet. Evie appears back at the door while I slip on my shoes.
“I heard you talkin' bout me,” I say with a smirk.
“Don't think I'm in love, fool. Somebody got t' show you the ropes.”
“What ropes? I think I'll be fine.”
Her face stiffens more than I thought possible and she grabs my arm with a surprisingly firm grip, leading me off toward the smell of sausage and coffee.
“I been here a lotta years, Jimmy Aldridge. Don't think fo’ a second you ever gettin' outta dis place. Not alive no how,” she says.
My stomach turns at the thought. I guess it just hadn't hit home until now.
“Is like a prison, this place. An' you needin' learn the rules before Edgar com' an' get ya.”
I knew I should’ve punched the largest man in this joint, assert my manliness. Who knew the largest man would be this skinny thing from the slave days. I bet she personally thanked President Lincoln for freeing her.
“Edgar?”
I’m not scared of anyone named Edgar. And I don't take well to threats. Whoever Edgar is can kiss the palest chunk of my smelly back cheeks.
“Don't you worry none, you'll see him come round soon enough.”
*****
A CROWD COMES to breakfast, at least compared to last evening's meal. I suppose you learn the menu and what's good to eat after a time. The eggs and sausage look and smell decent and there's biscuits and coffee. I see Andy and meet a few others, but only Andy, Evie and I sit at our table.
“Hello, Mr. Aldridge,” I hear. The voice is behind me.
“I told you to call me Jimmy!”
I respond without turning, knowing it's the good ol’ Doc Tits.
“Yes you did,” is her curt reply. “I trust you slept well and have met some of our tenants?”
I turn with a smile, “Inmates, I believe, is what Evie calls us.”
“Yes, Evie is quite the character, isn't she? Don't know how anyone could get so mean in just a hundred years.”
She pats Evie on the shoulder and Evie pats her hand in return. Dr. Williams wanders off, ass wagging. I watch and take out my frustration on the eggs.
“She's a good woman, Doc Williams. Pretty too,” Evie says.
Andy is watching the doctor walk away as well.
“Andy here got quite a crush on her.”
I sip my coffee and we sink into the quiet. The conversation consists of chewing noises and the tinkling of cheap silverware.
Halfway though my dry biscuit with butter and apple jelly, I notice Andy's eyes are round as saucers and those wooly caterpillars that sit above them are arched as well. I set my coffee cup down, steeling my nerves for my front row seat to his final exit.
“Charon,” he whispers with a thick Greek accent.
He reaches both hands out and taps me and Evie on our hands at the same time. I look up and see an orderly. Nothing special at first glance, but the longer I stare, the stranger that orderly seems. Evie pinches my wrist with her old fingers, getting my attention.
“Don't you look at him,” she whispers. “That's Edgar.”
“Charon,” Andy repeats never taking his eyes off the boy.
“Does that mean Edgar in Greek or something? What the hell is he saying?”
Andy looks nervous, shaking more than is his usual frequency. I look back at Edgar.
He's a thin kid with long hair that’s dyed a horribly unnatural black, the way some wear it these days. He is as pale as cottage cheese, covered with acne and his skin looks clammy. His eyes are wide set and hollow, as black as his hair and his brow furrows like he has something to worry about. What the fuck is this slimy kid worried about?
Between the flaps of his unbuttoned hospital smock I see a black shirt with a skull on it. Classy. Other than his creepy stalking mannerisms and a probable STD, I don't see what the attraction is. I look at Evie for answers.
“I'll 'splain later, but outside, not here. He might hear us.”
Evie's face is stoic as usual but she keeps a sideways glance at this Edgar, never losing his whereabouts. Andy looks down at his plate and mumbles something that I take as prayer. I continue to watch Edgar, his black painted fingernails pissing me off. In seventy-six years I never did see a need for a man to paint his fingernails or wear makeup like a woman.
Edgar slinks around the cafeteria as if he's looking for something—slinks is what he does, not walks or shuffles the way teenagers do, but he slinks—and then settles on the three of us.
Evie and Andy look at their plates as he approaches. I stare directly at the freak and wonder if he’ll look back, if he has the balls to say shit to Jimmy Aldridge. Not today girly boy with your fag nails and your bottle-black hair. The toughest thing about you is probably your breath. He gives me a disinterested nod and a greasy smile through oily locks of black hair…and he passes right by. I see Evie cross herself.
Both of my breakfast mates turn their heads and follow him with their eyes. Our table is vibrating, either from Andy’s incessant shaking, or from their combined anticipation of some impending event. Edgar stops one table over, and I can feel the anxiety drain out of them. They sigh in unison, but Andy's prayer continues.
Edgar places his hand on the shoulder of an older woman and she says something to him. Once she is done speaking, he turns and walks out, giving me a wink.
“Strange lookin' guy, this Edgar,” I say as I resume eating my biscuit.
Evie's eyes finally break from their vigil.
“Meet me in the courtyard after suppa’. I tell you all 'bout Edgar.”
With that, she stands up and walks to the next table, placing her hands on the woman Edgar spoke to. I watch Evie lean down, hug the lady and then kiss her cheek before she shuffles out of the room in her determined way. Andy finally finishes his prayer and looks up. I offer to get him more coffee and he nods. For the rest of the morning, we sit together in silence and enjoy our drinks.
*****
THE REST OF MY day is lazy. Cable sports keep my attention between a pro bowling tournament and the world's strongest man contest. All those steroids have got to wreak havoc on a man's wedding tackle. I skip lunch but stop in the parlor to see if anything is going on. A few convicts huddle together with cards and backgammon but nothing commands my attention. At dinner—or suppa’ as Evie words it—I eat alone wondering what the hell happened to my companions.
The meal is baked chicken and rice and it tastes like it might have already been eaten once. I need to mark this one off my menu for future reference. Glancing at my watch I see it is only five minutes from the end of the posted dinner time and decide to make my way to the courtyard for my date.
My tour included the explanation that the courtyard is off limits after dark, so I didn't have much time to find out what Evie was up to. I've heard tales on the news of orderlies raping and torturing the elderly. Trash like that should be forced to eat their own diseased organs. If that's what goes on around here, my shithead son will be hearing about it. So will Doc Williams and the twins. As I pass through the glass door overlooking the courtyard, I have no idea what Evie will tell me. But I’m prepared for some good ol’ fashioned bullshit.
“You early. Good thing, I’m ninety-seven. I ain't got no patience lef’.”
Evie is sitting on a concrete bench with a brand new do of hair.
“Hairdresser come today at lunchtime. You like?”
She looks like a q-tip with a wrinkled brown stick.
“It makes you look fifty years younger!” I say.
“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. “I was somethin' at forty-seven.”
She laughs and waves me over patting the bench. I sit feeling the cold concrete through my thin pants. I’m grateful for the fresh air, the scent of pine trees, and dread going back into the stink of old and dying. She looks each direction and then meets my eyes with hers.
“Edgar is not of this earth.”
“I'll say. Did you get a look at those fingernails?”
“No joke, Mr. Aldridge. He death's angel.”
I open my mouth to interrupt and she shushes me with a single finger.
“I know you think you got somethin' ta say, Jimmy-boy, but don't. Lemme finish first.”
I sit back with a sigh and get ready for the show.
“You know what ‘Charon’ mean?”
“No,” I answer. “The word Andy kept saying? It must mean fruitcake or something in Greek.”
“It's the ferryman,” she corrects. “The ol' Greeks believe the ferryman carry the newly dead cross that river Styx and into the afterlife.”
This old bat is twisted. I smile involuntarily and stifle a chuckle.
“Edgar touch ol' Claudine dis mornin’ at breakfast. That his way of tellin' her it's time to go. You jus’ watch.”
I'm intrigued now by Evie’s brand of crazy and can’t wait to see what yarn she spins next. That said, I have to call bullshit when I smell it. I have lived too long not to start an argument. That’s about all I have left.
“He's just some confused kid. He'll grow up one day and get a real job, realize all the bad decisions he made, and then get divorced and turn alcoholic, just like the rest of us.”
“No, baby. He got a job. Work fo' his daddy over next door.”
“Next door?”
She looks past me and I turn to see Plane and Simple Travel.
“The travel agency?”
“That's what they call it,” she says.
“They?”
I’m sucked in now. Waiting for the punchline, some sort of initiation into the linger-longer. I’m rushing a fossil fraternity. Evie frowns and it isn’t much of a stretch from her normal look.
“Death is his daddy,” she says. “He come over here whenever one of us ready to go. Then he ferry us away.”
Fantastic. I'm gonna listen to this for the rest of my living days. If Bill ever comes back to visit, I might just kill him, ferry him away to Edgar the Pimpled and Daddy Death. My dream is interrupted just as my hands close on Bill's neck by the sound of a vehicle and the stream of headlights in the dusk. It's a rescue vehicle. I look at Evie who’s face is sad, but also smug.
“You see?” says Evie.
“What's that, an ambulance? Who's it for?”
“Weren't no siren. My guess is it's fo' Miss Claudine.”
“So the ambulance takes her, not Edgar? It's just a coincidence, Evie,” I say, trying to sound logical.
“No, hon, that just to take her body. Claudine walked over with Edgar an hour ago. I seen it with my own eyes.”
*****
I WALKED BACK inside, unsure whether to trust ninety-seven-year-old eyes and almost ran into Rhonda at the front desk.
“Who’s the ride for?” I asked.
“Miss Claudine,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
My blood cooled to arctic levels.
“Really?”
”It's true,” she says. “It looked like she just went to sleep after breakfast and didn't wake up.”
“You find her during your rounds?”
“Yes. It’s so sad. It’s happened to me dozens of times over the years, but I still hate it when my folks go,” she says with a sniff.
“Yeah,” I say.
She nods and wipes a tear.
I still don't believe Evie. I can't. She's just a crazy old bird trying to rope me into some strange fantasy. Me and Andy the non-talker. On the other hand, there is nothing else goin' on here aside from cribbage and adult diapers. And she and Andy seem legitimately frightened by the 'ferryman'. It might be worth checking into her story just to see what's what. I can start with Edgar tomorrow. I'll corner that little shit and find out what his problem is. Come to think of it, this Scooby Doo shit could be the most fun I’ve had in years.
9:15am Wednesday
BREAKFAST WAS CRAP.Not literally, but not far off—so much for the best meal of the day. Come to think of it, I haven't eaten lunch yet, so it's still subjective. Edgar hasn't shown his bony ass for work yet, so I can't spy, but I did get a peek at the schedule, and he’s due for his shift of terror any minute. Actually he's late, which is not at all surprising to look at him.
I haven't seen Evie either. Maybe she's pissed that I laughed at her story. After ninety-seven years, she should be able to handle rejection. I'll track her down later, after I find Edgar.
But speak of the devil…and he appears.
That slimy shit is right down the hall near my room and I'm in here in the parlor watching seniors argue over gin rummy. What's he doing down there, unless he was in my room looking for me? Could I be so lucky he's come to take me to that great strip joint in the sky?
I stand up and walk to the entrance of the parlor, just across from the reception desk and wave at Lucy who smiles back. No ducks today on her chubby ass.
“Hi Jimmy,” she says and then looks at Edgar with disdain. “Mornin' Edgar.”
He gives her a nod but doesn't acknowledge my existence. If not me, then who? The only room beyond mine belongs to…
Evie.
My heart jumps into my throat at the off chance she was right. Or at the off chance he's some damned old lady rapist. I jog down the hall to save the only interesting person in the joint.
“Slow down,” Lucy bellows, “you'll give yourself a stroke!”
I can't. I rush past an orderly I haven't met yet and stop at the last door. Evie's room. Her chart is blank for the day, so Edgar didn't log his deed, whatever it might have been. My chest burns from the short sprint and I take a second to capture my breath. One deep inhale-exhale later I step into the room and there she lies. Evie, sleeping peacefully.
“Hey, lady. It's past nine, don't you think you ought to get up?” I ask, out of breath.
Silence.
“Evie.”
I approach her and feel suddenly guilty. She was right about the whole creepy thing and the last thing I did was laugh at her. Reaching my hand out, I prepare for the touch of cold skin and no pulse. I'd felt that some years ago when my wife passed. I lay my index and middle finger on her neck to feel for a pulse and close my eyes.
“What in the hell you think you a-doin'?” she says.
I feel her impossibly wrinkled hand clamped around my wrist and open my eyes to see the fire in hers.
“I thought you were...”
“You saw Edgar leave my room and thought the worst?”
She laughed and her smile wasn't pained this time, but joyous.
“He gotta touch me. I pretend I'm sleepin' and he go away. Done it before, I s’pose I’ll do it again. He may be the ferryman, but he ain’t too bright.”
She gives me a wink.
“I know he'll catch me one day. It's sweet that you concerned fo' ol' Evie. You believe me now?”
“I guess I do,” I say.
“Good. Now g’won and shoo. Meet me out the courtyard in a few minutes. I got me an idea.”
She wants to prove her story to me. What could it hurt? Not like my ungrateful Bill is coming today for a visit, even if it is Saturday. Maybe bring me a sub sandwich, or some home cookin'. He’s probably at home gettin’ it on with ol’ fatass. What a picture that makes. I hope it goes on their Christmas card. No, I'll go hang out with crazy Evie and the mute-on-wheels.
*****
”BEAUTIFUL DAY, ain't it?” I say to get her attention.
“Yassir! One thing never change in this world. A beautiful day is always sumthin' special. If I live me a hundred mo’ years, I still believe that.”
Evie pats the same concrete bench. This time when I sit down, it's warm in the sun.
“Now what's on your mind?”
“I want you to go with me. I want you to see I'm right,” she says.
“What are you talkin' about?”
“I ain't gon' be round forever, Jimmy Aldridge. Somebody got to tell the new folks. Show 'em those ropes, eh?”
I nod.
“So you want me to go where exactly?”
“Next door. Go with me this evenin'. You see what I’m talkin’ ‘bout then.”
It’s a stupid idea. Such a stupid idea. I would never break into a business. The game is interesting, and the investigation almost fun. The creepy story just adds to it, but I’m not going out and breaking laws because she’s crazy. I’m just not quite ready for the straight jacket.
*****
EVIE IS CONVINCING. It must be her enthusiasm. The plan is to sneak out the front doors (the center of the E) while Lucy is distracted and walk to the travel agency. Not much of a plan, but we can work with it. To many dance moves and us old folks get lost forgetting the steps. I figure while I'm there I can call a cab and book the first flight out of this hell. At least it won't be a wasted trip.
I'll have one last adventure with the Queen of De Senile, entertaining as she may be, and then camp out on a beach somewhere and sip tequila while Bill scrambles around looking for me. Worst case I'll end up back here after some charming under-their-breath talk between the Plane and Simple folks and Tits Williams.
I'm sure inmates have lost their happy thoughts and wandered next door on occasion. They probably have a protocol for it behind the desk on a clipboard. They call it Operation Geezer Gone or some shit. One of the orderlies might wrestle me to the ground. Once I’m detained, they'll phone Bill and decide what to do with me. That's fine; I'll get another chance to tell him what a disappointment he is. Maybe he'll bring his fat-ass wife with him. I have several words stewing for her as well.
6:05pm Wednesday
I’M ALL SWEATY with anticipation when I hear her.
“You ready?”
Evie stands at my door with a hat on, dressed like she's going to church.
“Sure. Let me ask you a question, Evie. How’s Andy gonna know what to do? Do you speak Greek?”
“Don't you worry none ‘bout Andy. He sharp.”
She winks and waves her hand at me to follow. We walk to the front and I see Andy sitting right next to the reception desk. Lucy is busy ignoring him. She's been at work since before nine this morning and I can't blame her for not being chatty.
Evie leads me in through the side door of the parlor. She pulls me over by the main door which sits just to the right of the entrance and halts me with a hand signal and pleading eyes.
CRASH!
“Oh my! Mr. Kostopoulos! Andy, are you ok?”
That's Lucy's voice. I don't know what just happened, but Evie is two steps ahead of me and I follow without looking back. The entrance doors are automatic and slide open quietly enough that no one else notices. I wonder how we'll get back in since visiting hours are over at 7:30pm and the front doors lock. I hope Evie has that all worked out. Of course, I’m certain they would open the doors for some resident inmates who happened to be on the wrong side of the glass after hours.
Evie keeps walking to the edge of the property and stops.
“What the hell did Andy do?” I ask, scrambling to catch up with her, but keeping one eye on the front door to Rolling Meadows.
“He fell out his wheelchair,” she responds as if it's no big deal.
“Wha?” is all I can manage.
“He don't even need that chair. He jus' lazy. I see him walkin' round his room all the time. Don't fuss none ‘bout him, he fine.”
Her jaw is set and she pulls me in the direction of the Plane and Simple Travel Agency. I feel like an outdated outlaw. We trot across the lawn of 'Rolling Meadows' and into the parking lot next door where we can take a minute to relax knowing no one is chasing us down. Evie saunters right up to the front door.
“You're just goin in the front like that?”
“Don't know no other way t' go? You see another door?”
She has a point. There's one car in the back. Might be a rear entrance, but it would be no less conspicuous than the front door. There can’t be more than one person working in there anyway.
I watch Evie smooth out her dress and fix her hat in the reflection of the front glass. She looks at me with one last deep breath and we pull the door open. A bell rings, notifying the employees they have a customer, and as we walk in a voice greets us.
“Hello, Evie,” it says.
A tall nondescript gentleman extends a hand to her and she smiles as she takes it. That's when it dawns on me her story was absolutely true. That's why she's wearing church clothes. That's how he knows her name.
“Edgar!” he says, “I need your assistance.”
“Right there, dad,” a disinterested voice answers from the back room.
Edgar enters, this time without the smock, but still wearing the same skull t-shirt. He must have a dozen of them. He still has oily hair and black fingernails. My spine locks. Evie looks at me and speaks.
“Thanks fo’ the help, Jimmy-boy. You all right.”
Edgar puts his hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. His stare is cold … emotionless.
“It's not your time, Mr. Aldridge. That will come soon enough.”
He shoves me out the front door and tumbles the lock behind me. I stand slack-jawed staring at the building for a moment and then gather my senses. Suddenly, neither Bill nor his prude wife and her huge glutes matter to me. I need to get back to help the new folks. I need to show them those ropes, as Evie said. I need to check on Andy.
As I walk back toward Rolling Meadows—home for now, I see the ambulance pull away from the back of 'Rolling Meadows'. I know it's Evie inside. At least I know that Evie’s body is inside.
Her soul just took the ferry.