All the Single Ladies (15 page)

“So, what are you doing Saturday night?”

“Well, hopefully I'll have a place to live by then,” I said.

“Why? What happened to your midcentury brick façade ranch?”

“Listen to this.”

I told him the story and he offered me the other side of his bed.

“I mean, I know we've only been on one date and this may seem somewhat forward, but I promise I wouldn't . . . you know, you can trust me.”

He was laughing so hard and I thought, He sure is quick on his feet.

“Yeah, that's a great idea! I'll be right over!”

Men.

I told him that I was on my way to Suzanne's to help her figure out what to do to keep Miss Trudie safe and that I'd call him as soon as I knew where I'd be staying. My face was hot. I was really looking forward to seeing him again more than I'd admit. Suzanne and Carrie were wrong about Paul with the last name that had a curious spelling that in my opinion didn't match the pronunciation. Was he a nerd? Yes, if the definition of nerd was well educated, successful, interesting, and funny. And apparently he got my motor going. This was a curious developing story in the long-­dormant Department of Moufky Poufky. I think you know what I mean.

I pulled into Suzanne's driveway and got out. Pickle watered the grass and then she lunged, dragging me up the front steps. She knew Lassie was in the house. I rang the doorbell. A few minutes later I rang it again, and just as I was pressing it, Suzanne appeared.

“Come in! Come in! Sorry it took me so long. I was deeply engrossed in one of those reality shows on weddings. It was the segment on the flowers, and I didn't hear the bell until just now. I keep forgetting I can watch everything online.”

“Oh, it's no problem. I do the same thing.”

I stepped inside with Pickle and unattached her leash. She made a beeline for the kitchen, where she thought Miss Trudie and Lassie might be found.

“Miss Trudie's upstairs in her room, darlin'!”

Don't you know Pickle turned around and headed straight for the stairs? My dog was a genius.

“Too bad she doesn't know how to make herself at home, right?” I said. “She's too shy.”

Suzanne giggled and said, “Let's get us a glass of iced tea.”

I followed her to the kitchen.

“Where's Carrie?”

“She wanted to stop by Bits of Lace before they closed.”

Bits of Lace was a high-­end boutique that sold beautiful lingerie.

“Really? I had similar thoughts this morning.”

“Honey, she's a woman on a mission. You know that last guy she met from that dating ser­vice? You won't believe this. His name is John.”

“Another John?”

“Well, he goes by ‘Mike,' but his middle name is John. The poor thing doesn't understand he's doomed. Anyway, he's all she talked about all day long. She'll be home soon and I'm pretty sure you're going to hear the whole story about him. So, what's new with you? How was your day?”

She handed me a tall glass of tea.

“Thanks. Well, I had dinner last night with Paul.”

Suzanne's eyes grew large.

“Tell me this minute! How was it?”

“Really pretty wonderful, to be honest. I mean, I like him. We went to The Obstinate Daughter . . .”

I gave her all the details about dinner and of course I told her about Paul's relationship with Kathy and why it ended. And that he would be useless in trying to solve the mystery of Kathy's estate. She was just smiling and listening.

“I'm seeing him again Saturday night,” I said.

“Well, good! But this is very interesting. You know, I've been thinking. I wonder what Kathy was hiding?”

“Hiding? What do you mean?”

“Things just don't add up. I mean, along comes a really smart guy who's supernice. Not my type, mind you, but the kind of guy who would appeal to most women.”

“What's your type?” I said.

“Oh, please, I only like men who are more trouble than they're worth, as you know. Anyway, he has some money and he adores her. He even converted to Catholicism, and shortly after that, just when he's ready to pop the question, she dumped him. And they didn't even have a fight? Why did she break up with him? It just doesn't make sense.”

“He says she had a phobia about commitments. But who knows.”

“You're right. Who knows?”

I said, “Well, like my mother says, in time, all will be revealed. Want to take a walk around to see what we can do for Miss Trudie's safety?”

“Let's do it. You want more tea?”

“Sure,” I said.

We refilled our glasses. We went from room to room, picking up small throw rugs, moving ottomans from the end of club chairs and putting them against the walls. I pointed out extension cords and door saddles that could be potential hazards. We went upstairs and stopped at Miss Trudie's room.

“Miss Trudie? Lisa's here. Can we come in?”

“Of course! Since when do you need an invitation on a silver platter?”

“Please! I just wanted to give you warning,” Suzanne said, and shook her head. “You might be watching a naughty movie or something.” She winked at me and I smiled.

“Hey, Miss Trudie!”

“Hey there, Lisa.”

As we stepped farther into her sitting room, Pickle looked up from Miss Trudie's lap. Then she put her head back down. Miss Trudie, who was running her hand over my dog's back, smiled up at me. My dog was mesmerized.

“Lisa offered to have a look around and help us make the house safer.”

“Why? You think I'm too old to walk now? That I can't see where I'm going?”

“No, ma'am,” I said, jumping in. “But if the house is safer for you, Miss Trudie, it's safer for everyone. Now tell me, what's the matter with that?”

She stared at me, the skin all around her eyes pleated with decades of memories, and her initial anger melted into a sort of resignation. She sighed deeply.

“I may as well face the facts. I'm ancient,” she said. “Every bone in my body knows how old it is and they all creak and complain like a choir singing off-­key. To be honest, even getting up from the—­well you know, the place where we
sit
in the bathroom. Even that can be a risky event.”

“Well, then we are going to do something about that,” I said. “You know, there are very simple devices that can make life a whole lot easier.”

“Like what? Those horrible-­looking metal bars you grab to rise from the throne? Not in
my
bathroom, thank you very much!”

“They're not all like the ones you find in a handicap bathroom at Burger King,” I said.

“What were you doing in Burger King?” Suzanne said.

“Eating a Whopper Junior and washing my hands,” I said. “About once a year I give in to—­”

“Temptation,” Miss Trudie said. “Whopper Juniors and Krispy Kreme donuts are the work of the devil.”

“Yes, ma'am, they are,” I said.

“All right,” Miss Trudie continued. “Just nothing institutional-­looking, okay?”

“I'll show you everything first,” I said. “How's that? In fact, some of these companies make beautiful things.”

“Fine,” she said.

In Miss Trudie's bathroom we confirmed the fact that her shower had no grab bar and there were none near the toilet either. And I knew from experience that she should have lever faucets to make turning the water off and on simpler. And the bath mats were slippery.

“Probably better to get her ones with nonslip rubber backing. They sell them anywhere. I'll get some catalogs of grab bars and other things.”

“That would be great,” Suzanne said.

“Let's look at the soles of her shoes,” I said, “because she shouldn't be wearing anything that can slide, causing a fall.”

“Right! Gosh, I'm so glad you know all this stuff.”

“Me too.”

We checked out Miss Trudie's shoes and she had several pairs of sandals with leather bottoms.

I took a pair and went back to Miss Trudie and sat down next to her. I put my hand on her chair and Pickle moved toward me and gave my knuckles a lick.

“Thanks, baby,” I said.

“Who are you calling baby?” Miss Trudie said. “Not me, surely.”

I had to smile then.

“No, ma'am. My dog's my baby. Miss Trudie, I have to ask you to do something for me, okay?”

“What's that?”

She and my Westie were thoroughly lost in whatever old television show they were watching.

“Well, you see these shoes?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, until further notice, I don't think you should be wearing them.”

I told her why, and when I was finished explaining her mouth and jaw were tight. She was annoyed.

“Do you know what old ­people worry about?”

“No, ma'am. You tell me.”

“They worry about losing privileges. First, nobody wants you to drive. Then the doctor tells you he needs to run a test on this and a test on that. Every time I turn around somebody in the doctor's office wants blood. Now it's my shoes?”

“And long dresses too.”

“Why?”

“Because you've taken a ­couple of spills. When you lean forward your long skirts and dresses drag on the floor.”

“But my legs are so ugly. I don't like to look at them.”

“I don't like mine either. But! It's better than looking at them in a cast, though, isn't it? Listen, you're lucky that you didn't get hurt, you know? Okay, you're a little banged up, but you didn't break a hip or have a head injury. Those kinds of accidents are very bad news.”

“Oh, ho! You think I don't know that? They can be a one-­way ticket to the Pearly Gates!”

“That's true. So what I want is for you to understand the advantage of certain kinds of footwear and clothing. Leather bottoms, bare feet, and socks don't create enough friction on bare floors. If you'll just consent to wearing rubber-­bottom shoes, you'll increase your safety by over thirty percent.”

I spoke to her as sweetly as I knew how, in the same voice and with a dose of humor that I would've used with my own grandmother. She didn't respond, so I continued, hoping she was processing what I was telling her in a positive way.

“Get Suzanne to take you shopping for some cool linen pants and comfy shirts. There's great stuff out there. Eileen Fisher is a brand that makes a bunch of things I think you might like. Not terribly expensive if you catch a sale and it's very fashionable, like you!”

I smiled at her. She was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled and winked at me.

“Suzanne? Come in here!”

Suzanne was still in the closet.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“I want you to take all my long dresses and all my leather-­bottom shoes over to the Goodwill in Mount Pleasant first thing tomorrow. Then I'd like you to go shopping for some new clothes and shoes that won't break my neck. I intend to see my hundredth birthday, if that's all right with everyone.”

“Sure! That will be fun!” Suzanne said.

There was nothing wrong with Miss Trudie's cognitive skills.

“And, Miss Trudie,” I said, “our handyman from Palmetto House can install pull bars and replace door saddles for you. He's a retired policeman and very good with his hands.”

“A policeman? Well, at least I won't have to hide my candlesticks! Suzanne, please bring me my pocketbook, sweetheart.”

Suzanne handed Miss Trudie her purse, and Miss Trudie took out her wallet.

“Now, I don't want to hear a word about this,” she said, handing Suzanne her MasterCard, “but I want you to take Lisa and yourself out to dinner anywhere you want to go. Where's Carrie?”

“She should be home any minute,” Suzanne said, looking at her wristwatch.

“Well, take her too! My treat.”

“Why?” Suzanne said. “You know you don't have to—­”

“Because you girls are so nice to me and I'd like to do something nice for you.
Capisce?
”

“She dated an Italian count when she was a young chick,” Suzanne said.

“I certainly did,” Miss Trudie said, smiling. “He was a hunk too! Now you girls run along and let me and my little friend enjoy my show.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Suzanne and I went downstairs to the kitchen to refill our glasses.

“Well, thanks, Lisa, for all your great ideas. You probably just added another year to her life.”

“My pleasure. Maybe more. She's really great, you know. Anyway, I'll be glad to help you get her organized. We should probably change her faucets too. You know, to swing arms?”

“Oh, gosh! Good idea! She's got some evil-­looking knuckles. It must hurt like holy hell to try to turn the faucets.”

“That was my thought. Anyway, you don't know of anyone looking to rent an apartment, do you?”

I told her what happened with my rental and Debbie Smith and my whole tale of woe.

“That's terrible!” she exclaimed when I was done.

The front screen door slammed and there was the distinct rustle of shopping bags. Carrie had returned.

“What are you going to do?” Suzanne said.

“I'm going to find a place to stay, that's what. One of the other nurses at Palmetto House has a sleeper sofa. She offered it to me until I can find something.”

“You can't sleep on a pullout bed! You'll ruin your back!”

“Well, it would only be temporary.”

Suddenly Carrie was there in the kitchen, almost bursting with exuberant smiles.

“Hey! Y'all! How're you, Lisa?”

“Great!” I said. “How're you?”

“I'm in love again! Isn't the world such an amazing, wonderful, magical place?”

Suzanne rolled her eyes and I giggled.

“What'd you buy?” Suzanne asked.

“It's not an indulgence so much as an investment,” she said, pouring herself a glass of tea, gulping half of it down nonstop. “Lawsa! I was so parched! Want to see?”