Manager of retirement home discovers that two residents are missing and there is a hungry alligator on the premises.
Lunch
“Hey Marty, give me a hand with this chicken wire, will you? I need to get this first coat of stucco done before it gets dark.”
Don teetered his way along a hastily constructed walkway around the low main building of the Paradise Palms Retirement Village, as if taking a sobriety test. Trying to keep his balance with his big belly acting as a rudder, his arms were stuck out at the sides like a penguin’s. A large scaffolding had been erected around the three-story building to the left and was staffed with stucco workers, three to a wall, working as fast as they could, applying a finishing coat to what Marty and Don had done yesterday.
OK, Bubba, I’ll be right there, after I finish the center board here.”
The landscapers were busy putting rows of flowers in shades of red, yellow and purple in the ornamental beds. Two swarthy men in slouch hats and overalls were wrestling with an enormous sundial, trying to get it in place in the center of the plaza. The verge was punctuated every fifty feet or so by a huge date palm. The sweeping black tarmac drive looked like it was about to melt in the intense, damp Florida heat. The archway it ran under looked like a motel reception area. Alongside the drive were parking spaces, for the visitors, of course. The residents of Paradise Palms Retirement Village, none of whom had moved in yet, were mostly too old to drive. Their families had long since taken their car keys away from them, or tried to, anyway.
The board of directors of Paradise Palms had ordered the developers, Vista Housing Corporation to get finished by Thursday, eight AM the day of the grand opening or they’d have to start paying a fine. Today was Monday and the prospects for completion didn’t look good, even if work continued through every night. Every unit in the complex was rented and had been reserved for months. On Thursday a barrage of walkers, wheelchairs and Cadillacs was expected.
Lucy Clark, the newly appointed admissions director, stood at the front door from the inside looking out sadly, and gossiped with Lourdes Rodriguez, her assistant.
“Do you think they’ll be finished by Thursday? It’s Monday now, for heaven’s sake.”
Lucy had never had an important job before and she could feel her newfound prestige slipping away from her. She folded her arms and uneasily shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she chatted nervously with Lourdes.
Lourdes, however, was more interested in taking an uninterrupted cigarette break than listening to Lucy’s “ain’t it awful” comments and was getting irritated because she was blocking her way and talking at her.
Her patience finally exhausted, she said, in her Cuban voice, with its lisping s’s,
“Escusse me, Miss Lucy, I need to go ou’side.”.She looked past Lucy’s non-stop motor-mouth with longing, imagining the pleasure of that cigarette, even if it did have to be smoked in the midst of building rubble...
“Oh, of course, Lourdes. I’m sorry. Go right ahead. Am I in your way? I’m sorry.”
Lucy Marie Clark’s smile was too bright. Her blond hair, straight out of the bottle, was lanker than she liked. Her forty-two years had not been kind to her. She was a little blowsy and had always fought to maintain a reasonable weight. That extra ten pounds would not go away and right now her clothes were a little too tight.
Pleasing people was very important to her and she became anxious when they did not accept her overtures right away, feeling immediately inadequate and being certain that people didn’t like her. She went into orgies of apology at the slightest provocation. Admitting mistakes was something she’d always been good at. She prided herself on accepting responsibility. Saying she was sorry was something she knew how to do.
Children of clients were always a problem. They could be aggressive and tried to shout her down much of the time. She knew she caved in too easily and was used to agreeing with people. Other people’s opinions soon became hers. “Uh-huh” and “Yes you’re right” were her stock in trade.
Most of her working life had been spent as a secretary, typing other people’s letters and filing other people’s papers. So when she had a chance for this job as admissions director, at three times her secretarial salary, she jumped to accept it, but was sorry right away. The trouble was, she still felt like a secretary, like she didn’t deserve a promotion. And now this! This delay. People telephoning everyday, being rude and shouting at her.
“Is the apartment ready yet? My father can’t drive anymore and needs to be able to ride a bus to the store. You’re being very unhelpful,” said Mrs. Gates, the day before yesterday.
Lucy was crushed and went in the ladies’ room to have a good cry. She had another call yesterday from an irate daughter whose anger over the phone soon dissolved into tears.
“I’m going crazy with my parents living with me! My husband’s ready to divorce me. I shouted at my mother yesterday. My father overheard and complained of chest pains. I almost had to call 911. They’ve got to finish! We’ve already paid. Please help me.”
This “Please help me” touched her to the core and she kept the woman on the phone, sympathizing with her and asking about her husband.
“What about the pond around the other side? Do they want us to drain it, asked Hector Martinez, one of Dave Sturgis’ maintenance men.
Dave Sturgis, the superintendent of the Paradise Palms building project, felt himself on secure ground when asked about a construction question. There was nothing he liked better than nails, drills and big pieces of wood. Sweat suited him. He felt a certain competence and satisfaction in supervising his team of mostly Hispanic workers. However he was not so sure about aesthetic questions, like how things were supposed to look. If he was asked to give an opinion on anything to do with landscape procedure, he was lost and started babbling. That’s why the question of the pond eluded him, confounded him.
Lucy asked him one day, “Do you think the pond on the other side is gonna look nice? What are they gonna do with it?”
He was mute. Questions like these left him in a cold sweat. He had no idea. It was a pond. That’s all he knew. He scuffed his feet, got a far away look in his eye, and said,
“Gee, I don’t know but I’ll find out. All I know is that it’s connected to the swamp.”
It was the gardener’s business, not his, but in the end, he made an appointment with Miles Allred, the landscape designer for Paradise Palms and saw the drawings, a pond, the very pond they were talking about, overhung by luxurious growth, surrounded by a wooden walkway and a bench at its far end.
Work continued on the buildings and grounds at breakneck speed, for the next few days, around the clock and, to everyone’s amazement, Paradise Palms Retirement Village was ready for habitation on Thursday, the sixteenth. The grounds were still unfinished and looked pretty bleak, but at least the main building was clean, furnished and decorated. Eight of the living units were ready to be occupied.
Sure enough, the cars began to arrive at eight AM to discharge their passengers. Except for the walkers, wheelchairs and occasional still-mobile person supported by a cane, you could imagine they were foreign potentates arriving for a UN conference. But if you took a closer look, you were quickly brought down to earth. This place was one step away from being a nursing home.
The lobby was large, square and was bordered with benches, which were already filling up with people manning their walkers like rocket launchers. There were a couple of squabbles going on about a man taking up too much space with his wheelchair. The attractive orange speckled marble floor of the lobby looked as if it had been on location for years. Nobody could have guessed that the finishing touches had been put on it yesterday. Twenty-four hours ago, this room was still a mess of saw horses and rubber hoses.
A middle-aged couple were about to get on the elevator with an old couple, obviously their parents, who could still walk, although the woman needed the occasional elbow-assist. An old woman with a walking frame and a man in a wheelchair also wanted to get on the elevator. The middle-aged woman graciously offered to make room for the old couple and helped them on the elevator. She smiled and pressed the button for the second floor and said to the woman, “There, isn’t that better?” The old woman clutched her walker and said, with a scowl, “No, it isn’t!”
In the midst of all the chaos in the lobby sat Lucy Clark and her assistant, Lourdes Rodriguez at the rosewood front desk. Lucy tried to smile and look efficient but just looked distressed and put-upon. The scene was like a nightmare check-in at a child’s day camp, except there wasn’t a youngster in sight. Lourdes, whose language skills were not very good at the best of times, looked especially Latin today and applied her lipstick, her eyebrows arching high, with the aid of a mirror in her rhinestone-encrusted gold compact. She professed to understand almost nothing. When a woman, someone’s daughter, asked her a question, she stared at her, uncomprehendingly, fingered her compact, and went back to applying her lipstick, saying, “Que?”, and pointing toward Lucy.
Gradually, in the course of the day everyone got moved in. The eight units in the first building were filled and two slightly larger apartments in the main building on the second floor were occupied. Many harassed-looking middle-aged children were in evidence during the day, walking in and out, opening and closing the trunks of their cars, carrying boxes and bags full of treasured possessions. A few sad-looking and disoriented old people were wandering aimlessly around the lobby, picking up magazines, and just as quickly putting them down. One couple was scrutinizing the shuttle schedule for the next day’s trip to the supermarket. The intensity with which they examined it led one to believe it might have something to do with national security. Assorted people and workmen carried heavier pieces of furniture to the different locations.
The dining room was in the main building and by late morning people were again lined up on the benches, this time waiting for lunch, which was still an hour away. Lucy clucked over the cooks in the kitchen. They were preparing a meal for the first time. Everyone was nervous. The brand new stainless steel counters and sinks would finally be put to use. On the menu was beef, boiled till it was very tender indeed, all the better to be masticated by denture wearers, mashed potatoes and gravy and a choice of two vegetables, broccoli and corn. Dessert was strawberry parfait, followed by optional decaf or herb tea. All menus were nutritionally approved and no extra salt was used in cooking.
Lucy lifted each lid of each pot to examine the contents and the progress toward dinner. Her heart sank as she viewed the boiled beef. It was gray and just didn’t look appetizing as it was, but she was afraid to make her feelings known to the chef, who looked irritable. The kitchen certainly was not her responsibility but she had the uncomfortable feeling that if everything didn’t go perfectly today, her job would go up in smoke.
In Lucy’s absence, Lourdes manned the front desk, was frowning and trying to look as sullen as possible so nobody would ask her questions. She hated questions, mainly because she had to smile and be helpful. Telephone calls were the worst because nobody could understand her. They would say, “What?” or the polite ones would say, “Would you repeat that please?” She’d say it again, there would be silence and then the party would hang up. Today she felt even less inclined to be nice than usual because she had a nagging toothache.
“Can I use the phone? I have to call my son. He left me here. I said I didn’t want to come so he just left me here.”
“Que?”
“Don’t you speak English?”
“Que?
“Lourdes, let me handle this,” said Lucy, who had just walked up to the desk. “Can I help you, dear?
“I want to call my son.”
“You don’t have a son. Eunice.”
“I don’t?”
“Why don’t you go upstairs with Ralph? Dinner will be served soon.”
“All right.”
The dinner gong sounded and the row of old people, which had been pressed against the lobby wall suddenly came to life, They shuffled and rustled, stuffing tissues into side pockets, folding spectacles, snapping them into cases. Only four tables had been set up in the dining room so far.
Eunice and her husband, Ralph, who by this time had come back downstairs,
were the first to grab a seat while the other tables were being arranged.
“Ma’am and sir, we’re not quite ready. Could you wait a few minutes?”
Shara, the waitress, tried to be polite but the exasperation showed on her face and she slammed two glasses of water down in front of them.
The old man adjusted his hearing aid.
“We’ll have the boiled beef…and rolls. Don’t forget the rolls.”
Shara dashed back in the kitchen to place the order. She was breathing hard and continued putting glasses of ice water on the other tables as fast as she could, trying not to feel too uncomfortable. Her feet were already hurting.
“Mike and Luis, could you hurry up with those tables? We’re already behind and people are seating themselves.”
When they saw Shara’s red face and heard her anxious voice, they got slower, not faster.
“Guys, move it dammit! Now I’m pissed off.”
Pandemonium reigned. The first lunchtime was a disaster. After it was all over and people had gone back to their rooms, Shara started to calm down. Her fellow waiter, Miguel said, “Jesus, I’m dying for a cigarette. Want to join me out back? You looked like you were gonna pass out there for a while.”
“I’m all right now. I think I’ll stay inside and just lean against this wall and rest. Thanks anyway.”
Lucy, who had been walking around smiling, even though she felt anxious said to Shara, “Where did those old people go? Did they finish their lunch?”
“Yes ma’am. I heard them say they were going for a walk. The old girl isn’t cooking on all four burners, is she?”
“Now Shara, we’ll all be like that, some day.”
“Not me.” She flashed a smile at Miguel, who had come back from his cigarette break and was clearing tables.
Eunice and Ralph walked down the path, arm in arm. The vegetation on either side of the path had been newly planted but it looked like it had been established for years.
“Are you all right, Dear? Do you want to rest?”
“I wanna go shopping. Is it snowing, yet?”
“Come on, sit down. You’re tired. Look at this nice bench.”
Ralph shuffled over to the concrete bench, overlooking the pond and pulled Eunice with him. She looked around, anxiously.
“Where are we? Who are you? Take your hands off me!”
“Let’s sit down for a while.”
After thrashing her arms around, Eunice sat quietly on the bench, looking straight ahead. Her tired, gray eyes were lifeless and swimming in the fluid of dementia. To look at her, one would never think she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three months ago. She appeared quite normal, but had been going steadily downhill recently and now didn’t know where she was or who she was with.
Ralph, who had stubbornly insisted on caring for her, said, “Listen to the frogs, Mother. They’re singing you a song. Rib-it, rib-it. Do you hear?”
“I want my shoes.”
Where had they gone? Lucy was panic-stricken. This was all she needed to end a horrible day, to lose two residents.
“Go and look in their room, Lourdes. I’ll listen for the phone.”
With a bad grace, Lourdes lumbered off to the elevators, grumbling under her breath.
Ten minutes later, she came back down, smelling of nicotine.
“The door was lock. I don’ know where they wen’.”
Lucy felt like crying. She’d had a terrible day and felt exhausted….and now this! She was still behind the desk and picked up the phone.
“Dave, this is Lucy Clark. You know, Lucy Clark at the front desk. Can you help? Two residents have wandered away and I can’t find them. Maybe one of your people could look around the grounds?”
“Don’t worry, Lucy, I’ll take care of it. Your voice sounds shaky. Cool it.”
“I will,” she said, tearfully. “Please call me if you hear anything. I’ll die if anything happens to them.”
“Manuel, you and Jose get on the tractor and look around the grounds. A couple of the old people have gone missing. Lucy,….Ms. Clark just called. She’s all upset.”
“OK, boss.”
Manuel and Jose went right over to the pond they had just today finished landscaping. A huge alligator lived here and everyone worried about there being no railing. The walkway hadn’t been built yet, even though the bench was already in. They waited a few minutes and the alligator surfaced, his back rough, like a rotting log. Just his eyes
showed. They had named him/her Fidel, and had seen it many times before today. He’d swum in from the swamp and had decided to make the pond his home. Today was different, however. Fidel seemed to wear a satisfied smile and had a sneaker hanging from its mouth, a new-looking gray sneaker with fold-over Velcro fasteners! Manuel and Jose, pale and without a word, immediately turned their electric vehicle around and headed back to the work shack.
“Boss, Meester Fidel, the alligator, he eat those old people and still have shoe in his mouth,” said Manuel, excitedly.
“Get the rifle and go kill him,” said Dave, thinking, Geeze, I don’t need this.
Lucy will be crazy.
“Lucy? This is Dave Sturgis. Are you sitting down? Listen, I think the alligator got your old folks. I sent Manuel over with the shotgun to shoot it…Lucy. Are you still there?”
A female Spanish voice came on the line.
“‘Allo? Miss Lucy, she on floor.”
Dave hopped on one of the electric patrolling carts and sped over to the pond. Manuel had already shot the alligator. The rifle gun was propped up in the cart. He and Jose were already knee-deep in water and pond sludge, trying to manhandle the alligator up onto the pond’s edge. Its white belly was exposed and Jose was already fingering the hunting knife he had attached to his belt.
“Did you find anything else besides the shoe?”
“No sir, not yet. We have to cut him open now,” said Manuel, his eyes gleaming.
Dave got back on his cart and drove around to the front entrance, dreading his confrontation with the probably hysterical Lucy. When he arrived, Lourdes showed him to the back office, where Lucy lay on an orange couch, moaning, as if she were in the greatest physical agony. Lourdes had wet some paper towels and put them on her forehead. While Dave looked at Lucy in disgust, Lourdes stood beside him and said,
“Mees Lucy very upset.”
“I can see that!”
Lucy sat up a little, dislodging the paper towels, which fell in her lap. She was pale as death and her lank blonde hair was plastered around her face.
“What are we gonna do, Dave?”
“We? I’m sorry. This happened on your watch. I’ve done my part.”
Dave angrily turned, as if to leave. Lourdes stood statue-like and expressionless.
“Dave, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. What am I gonna tell their son? He’s coming tomorrow with his wife and two children.”
“Tell him the truth, that they went out for a walk and never came back. Being in Fidel’s stomach is as good a way to go as any.”
Lucy flopped down on the sofa again and wailed,
“I need a drink.”
“Seriously,” said Dave. “Do you remember what the old man had on his feet?”
“Sneakers, I think. Gray sneakers. Yes, I remember them walking out.”
Lucy began to cry again. She looked positively queen-like as she said to Lourdes’
“Give me one of those tissues, will you, Lourdes?”
There was a timid tap at the office door. It slowly opened. Lucy, Dave and Lourdes watched as Ralph stuck his head around.
Lucy screamed
“Ralph!”
The door closed again. Dave went to open it.
“Is Eunice there too,” said Lucy. “I was so worried about you.”
She sat back down on the sofa and burst into tears.
“We came around the other side of the building,” said Ralph. “Had a very nice walk. What’s wrong?”
“I thought Fidel ate you.”
“Eh? You’ll have to speak louder,” he said, cupping his ear with one hand while he adjusted the volume control of his hearing aid with the other.
Her grandma always said she had “the blessing”, and to always use it for good, but sometimes there is shame in fame if a person can’t handle it. Don’t let the Boo Hag ride ya
An alcoholic, miserly attorney reluctantly defends a black man from a false resisting arrest charge. He then discovers damaging information against the cops and two cronies, and embarks on a battle to keep himself and his client alive.
