Cheating at Solitaire (23 page)

Madelyn waved at her eldest daughter, dismissing her completely as she returned to Rosemary's room, closing the door on Julia and her laughter.

"I guess you heard about the commando thing?" a voice came from behind, and Julia turned to see her sister. Julia used the back of her hands to wipe her eyes as she remembered that she was in a hospital.

"I'm a terrible person," Julia admitted.

"I laughed, too," Caroline soothed. "It just didn't hit me until I was on the elevator."

"What are you doing with that?" Julia asked, pointing to the laptop computer that Caroline was carrying.

Caroline sighed. "Now that Ro-Ro has come face-to-face with her own mortality, it's more urgent than ever that we—"

"Finish the memoirs?" Julia guessed.

Caroline nodded. "Chapter fifteen, the Cairo years. At least it can't go on much longer."

"Oh, I don't know about that. There's a lot to cover yet. Mom swears she's over ninety."

"I thought she was eighty-six," Caroline protested.

"Yeah, and she has been for a while now."

Lance came out of Ro-Ro's room and quickly shut the door behind him. He joined Julia and Caroline, and Julia thought she had seen mangled lion tamers on the Discovery Channel who looked better.

"I don't care how many drugs she's on," he said. "Someone needs to up the dosage."

"If it makes you feel any better, she's not wearing panties," Caroline told him.

A look of revulsion crossed his face. "I can
honestly
say that doesn't help."

"Caroline? Caroline?" Madelyn came running out of the room, then stopped short. "There you are! She's just remembered a joke she heard a sheikh tell at an embassy party. Bring the computer quick before she forgets the punchline."

With a roll of her eyes, Caroline followed Madelyn and disappeared into Ro-Ro's room.

Coming to visit an old friend in the hospital was a major social undertaking. After all, the Georgias were all wearing hats and carrying coordinating purses when they got off the elevator.

Georgia A. was wearing a royal blue suit with a high-collared white blouse—not black, the color of mourning, but a somber, respectful choice just the same. Miss Georgia had gambled with her ensemble, daring to wear pants. Georgia B. was gun-metal gray from head to toe and looked like a cement truck.

Seeing Lance and Julia, they bolted forward. "Darling, how is she?" Georgia B. wanted to know.

Before Julia could answer, Georgia A. cut in, "I was there when the ambulance came. And when I saw them wheel her out, oh, it just broke my heart. Broke my heart in two."

"I'm sure it was very upsetting," Julia said.

"Oh, in-deed," Georgia A. said, drawing the word out.

"She's going to fire that maid, you know," Miss Georgia chimed. "I know I would. She didn't even dry Rosemary's hair before they loaded her in the ambulance—very uncouth."

Someone should tell her about the panties,
Lance thought.

"Well, everyone's talking about it," Georgia A. said. "The news should really run something—

after all Rosemary's done."

"Maybe I should call Channel Eight?" Miss Georgia offered.

"Of course, the club should be notified," Georgia A. said.

"Let's make a list, and—"

"Ladies," Julia cut them off. "She's fine. You can go see her if you'd like."

"Thank you, dear," Georgia B. said, laying a soft hand on Julia's arm. "It's nice she has
family.'"

Georgia A. and Miss Georgia nodded their agreement, then they moved slowly down the hall and disappeared.

Lance settled himself in one of the chairs with a copy of
Sports Illustrated
that was six months out-of-date.

"Are you good here?" Julia asked him. "Because I should probably . . . "

He studied her, waiting for her to finish, and when she didn't, he just shooed her away with the magazine. "Go. Have fun," he mocked.

Julia rolled her eyes at him and headed toward Ro-Ro's room.

A doctor was in there now. Julia pushed the door against his long, white coat, prompting him to step forward and allow her to slide inside. Between Ro-Ro, the three Georgias, Caroline and her computer, Madelyn, and the doctor, the room was more than a little crowded.

"Julia, dear," Madelyn rushed to make introductions. "This is Dr. Tompkins. He's the Chief of Staff. He's just been in to check Rosemary's vital signs."

The Chief of Staff,
Julia thought.
So there's at least one benefit to having your name on the side
of the building.

"Very nice to meet you," Julia said, offering the doctor her hand.

"As I was telling your mother, young lady—"

"Hump!" Ro-Ro decreed from the bed. "Walter, she is no spring chicken."

An embarrassed look flashed across Dr. Tompkins's face. Julia hurried to wave his worries away and then prompted, "You were saying, Doctor . . . "

"Yes. It seems your aunt is a very lucky lady."

Another grunt from Ro-Ro. "Luck, you say, Walter? Luck, has . . . " Ro-Ro's voice trailed off, then she snapped, "Evelyn, what
are
you doing?"

Every eye turned to Miss Georgia.

She was leaning over Ro-Ro, a curling iron in her hands.

"Well." Miss Georgia sounded guilty, as if she'd just been caught pinching a little of Ro-Ro's morphine for herself. "Rosemary, if I could just give you a little shape on the top, I know you'd feel much better." She looked to Georgia A. and Georgia B. for support, and they nodded in agreement.

As if on cue, Dr. Tompkins added, "The office of community relations
did
ask if you might consent to a photo, Mrs. Willis."
Photo!
Ro-Ro came to full attention. "After all, it isn't every day we get to treat our favorite patron," he finished with a fund-raiser's grin.

Ro-Ro surveyed the room. Julia thought she could see joy behind the old woman's scowl as she did the mental calculations, knowing she might get drugs, flowers, and press coverage all in the same day. "I suppose," Ro-Ro said slowly, "that if it will benefit the hospital, I might allow a few
tasteful
photos."

With that, Julia heard a familiar "thunk" as Miss Georgia's bag overturned, and Ro-Ro was lost in a whirlwind of Aqua Net and false eyelashes.

Every few minutes, Ro-Ro would mutter, "Evelyn, this is preposterous." But she still managed to pout, suck in her cheeks, and rub her lips together whenever Miss Georgia told her to.

Waiting for the elevator in the glass atrium that led to the rooftop garden, Lance readjusted his grip on the handles of Ro-Ro's wheelchair. Since she'd already succeeded in making two nurses and a photographer cry, none of the orderlies would push her. She hummed and grinned to herself in the sunshine. By Ro-Ro's standards, it was shaping up to be a pretty good day.

Julia, Madelyn, and the rest of Ro-Ro's posse were still examining the flowers on the roof—an amazing sight, Lance had to admit, and one he hated to leave in order to return the old woman to her room. But she'd insisted, and when Ro-Ro insists . . .

"Young man, when you go back to New York—which you will—you must visit Marjorie VanGundy. She was an acting coach, one of the greats. Mention my name and she'll see to you."

The doors slid open, and Lance eased her into the elevator, but all he could think was,
What
does she mean by
"which you will"?

He pushed the button, and they began their descent.

"Come stand where I can see you," she demanded. He complied. "You're too tall. Lean down."

He squatted. "There. That's better," she said, but Lance didn't agree, since he was starting to lose feeling in his calves.

"Do you know why I married my four husbands?" she asked.

A proper guess would have been, "Because you loved them," but Lance felt that was too easy, so instead he shook his head and said, "No."

"When I was young, you had to be married to have freedom. It may sound silly to you, but it's true. My husbands and I traveled the world; we met interesting people, we had fascinating lives. A single woman could not have done that in my time. But"—Ro-Ro cocked her head—

"times have changed.

An independent woman today, a woman like my niece, for example, would have
other options.

Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, meaning it.

"I know my niece well," Ro-Ro said. "We're very much alike. She has a good life, an independent life. I don't imagine that she has any reason to change it."

There was a ding, and Lance felt the doors slide open. He stood and began to push the chair into the corridor. "Yes," Ro-Ro carried on, but her tone was decidedly different. "Marjorie VanGundy might do wonderful things for you. But only if you mention my name."

Julia found her mother flipping through a magazine in the waiting area down the hall from Ro-Ro's door. She sat down beside her, handed her a cup of coffee, and asked, "Is Daddy back yet?"

Madelyn closed the magazine. "He left. Didn't Lance tell you?" "No."

"Oh, honey, they left." "They?"

"Your father and Lance. Didn't Lance tell you he was leaving?"

Julia saw the packed bag sitting by the fireplace. And there was Lance, sitting beside it.

"The cab's gonna be here soon," he said, standing up.

Julia allowed the door to slam closed behind her. She dropped her keys on a table and acted cool as she slid out of her coat and asked, "A cab? All the way out here?"

"It's really a shuttle, I guess."

"Oh. And your flight?"

"There's a six o'clock to Dallas. I can connect and be in New York by midnight." Lance took a step toward her.

"Were you going to say good-bye?"

"I was going to call you from the airport."

"Glad I made it back in time then," she said with a touch of sarcasm. She held out a hand. "It was nice knowing you. Good luck."

"Hey," Lance said, gripping her outstretched hand, pulling her closer to him. "You want me to leave. Remember? You want me out of your house and out of your life and . . . "

She wrenched her hand from his grasp. "So, what do you have lined up? Is it a play?" she asked with feigned casualness. "A movie?"

She saw him flinch, and she knew she'd hit a vein of truth.

"You can tell me," she said, wanting to ignore the alarm bells sounding in her mind. Then she looked at his bag on the floor and saw the corner of a script peeking out from the side pocket.

She pointed at the pages. "Where did you get that?" she asked.
Tell me I'm wrong, Lance,
she thought.
Tell me I'm wrong.

"Julia, it's not. . . "

"Don't tell me what it
isn't.
Tell me what it
i s "
she said, but then her eyes fell to the ashes in the fireplace, to what was left of her great secret, and she realized where the script had come from.
"He
gave that to you. Didn't he?"

Guilt spread across Lance's face.

"You didn't break in and throw his clothes in the pool. You lied to me." She sank into the truth, then whispered, "You lied."

"Julia," he said, "I did what I had to do."

Then another image came to mind. "You knew last night you were going back, and still you tried

. . . " Julia couldn't finish. She played through the scene again and again, wondering how she'd known that he would betray her, wishing that she hadn't been right. "Like I said, thanks for your help. Good luck." She bolted for the stairs, but Lance was instantly beside her, looking into her eyes.

"Just say you don't want me to go. All right? Just say it. Don't pick this fight, please."

"I'm not fighting. You're the one who wants to leave. I'm not standing in your way."

"Then stand in my way," he said. "If that's what you want, then stand in my way."

"What I want is my life back!" Julia cried. "I want my reputation. I want my career. I—"

"You are like a little kid!" he barked. "Spoiled. Used to having your own way—"

"Did I just hear you correctly?" she asked, her voice seeping with indignation. "Did you just infer that I am not a grownup?"

"Yeah." He nodded his head, defiantly. "I did."

"I've been on my own for fifteen years! I've built a dynasty! I've been on
Oprah’

Lance pointed to her grandmother's painting that still leaned against the wall. "Where are you going to hang your picture, Julia? You've leaned it up against every wall in this house. Pick one.

I'll drive the nail."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Thirteen cabinet knobs, Julia. Thirteen. You can't even commit to a two-dollar knob." He shook his head as the headlights of the shuttle washed across the widows facing the porch. "How did I ever expect you to commit to me?"

He grabbed his bag and walked toward the door. "Keep on playing solitaire," he told her. "Keep on staying up nights and wondering why you're too tired to get out of bed in the morning. Keep on laying out those cards, and then ask yourself when you're Ro-Ro's age if it would have been so awful to
put that painting someplace."

The car outside honked, and Lance glanced involuntarily toward it before turning back to her. "I don't have a lot of pride, Julia, but I can't hang around here waiting just because you're not used to other people's noise."

He opened the door, then stepped onto the wide-planked porch with its peeling paint and sagging center and started for the rickety stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he turned to her. "Good-bye, Julia," he said. "And good luck. I really mean it."

Julia watched him walk away.

She stood in the cold wind until the taillights of the shuttle disappeared. Then she went inside again, locked the door, sat in front of the fireplace, and shuffled.

WAY #88: Plan for your later years.

It's a wel -accepted truth that eventual y, it's the children who care for the parents. If you're
single, that likely won't be an option, so think about your future and long-term care. Final y,
create and stick to a savings plan that wil give you the financial security to keep your
independence as long as possible.