Secrets of the Old Ladies’ Club

Every person in the room watched as Regina entered on the arm of her son, Dr. Lawrence Whitmore. It wasn’t her beauty that attracted their attention, although she was very lovely in a regal sort of way. She was wore a powder blue dress with matching jacket and navy blue pumps. Her short white hair was perfectly styled and she walked slowly with her head held high. In her left hand was a box of chocolates, assorted varieties. A handsome middle-aged man, very similar in appearance to herself, guided her gently by her right elbow through the room. His commanding presence was the sight that mesmerized the residents of Heritage Memories Retirement Village. He was tall and his gray pin stripped suit perfectly complimented his wavy prematurely silver hair. These old folks seldom had the opportunity to see the owner and proprietor of their residence in person. Yet, here he was, in the flesh and with his mother beside him as well. Now, that was a sight and everybody already knew how it would end. Dr. Whitmore would show his mother to her apartment, pay a visit to the administrative offices to deliver a how-great-the-staff-is pep talk, and then he would disappear until the next time. The next time; whenever that would be. Afterwards, Regina would hold court in the dining room and recount the day’s events. A few of Heritage Manor’s residents would sit in attendance, feigning interest, while everyone else in the common dining room went about the business of selecting their supper entrees and sides dishes. She put on airs, everyone thought, just because her son owned the place. She’s snooty, some said, especially after her boy takes her out for the day, which doesn’t happen very often. Later, when in her own apartment, she sat at her petite Queen Anne lady’s desk and opened her journal to a blank page: “June 1st, 2008 Larry Jr. picked me up today and brought me to see my new great-granddaughter, Penny. I didn’t even know Taylor was pregnant. I haven’t seen them since last Christmas. The baby looks like me. I miss her already.” The door to Regina’s apartment opened and Stella Morgenstern-Taub crossed the threshold followed by the strong scent of her newest rose scented perfume and her tiny Yorkshire terrier, Camille. The orange and black African print caftan she wore swirled around her full figured body and settled with a poof of air as Stella plopped into the armchair next to Regina’s antique writing desk. Camille jumped on Stella’s lap and crawled around in circles until he found just the right spot to lie on. “Don’t you ever knock?” Regina looked over the top of her reading glasses at her uninvited guest. “Hell no, why would I do that?” Stella asked, smoothing her shoulder length salt and pepper hair. Regina and Stella had a long history together beginning over 30 years earlier when both ladies worked at Southeastern Bell. Regina was a long distance operator and Stella filled the role of information operator. Oh, she was sassy, that one, Regina remembered. A person could hear Stella laughing and joking with customers from any point in the long room crowed with switchboards and buzzing voices. “It’s not like I don’t know what you’re doing. So how did it go today?” Stella began. “Did he take you out to eat? Did he part with any of his precious money to buy you a gift?” She ran her right ring finger along the garishly red line bordering her thin lips. For years, Regina tried to convince Stella that lining her lips with bright color the way she had did not make her mouth look plump and youthful. “Who the hell needs plump lips at our age?” Regina argued time and time again. Eventually, Stella’s resistance convinced her to give up the effort. Regina’s eyes glanced at the journal on her desk. She closed the book softly and faced her friend with a sedate smile. “It was fine, just fine. Yes, we went out to eat. He took me to the Piccadilly. Then he took me to the hospital to introduce me to my new great-granddaughter. After that, he took me to Dillard’s at the mall and bought me some new underwear. Do you need to see them?” Regina answered in a sweetly sarcastic manner. “What’d you eat?” Stella asked as she picked through the box of chocolates sitting next to Regina’s journal. “What?” Regina furrowed her white brow, annoyed Stella was helping herself to her candy. “What’d you eat at the Piccadilly? Did you have the liver and onions? I love the liver and onions. Did you get one of those big cat-head biscuits? I love those too. Oh, the carrot soufflé! Yesss! And I always get a dessert when I go to Piccadilly, which never happens unless I can bribe Cicely to take me.” Stella rattled on. “Didn’t you hear me? I told you I have a great granddaughter. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “Of course, I heard you and I know what it means. It means we are getting old. I never thought that would happen, did you? But just look at us. Here we are living the grand life in a fancy-shmancy old folks home. It means that the years have just flown by,” Stella waved her hand as though she was casually dismissing her life. “You don’t get it. I said I have a new great grandchild and I didn’t even know my own granddaughter was pregnant! How could they not tell me something like that? Sometimes my son acts as if I don’t exist!” Tears welled up in Regina’s eyes. “Is she married?” “What? She‘s just a baby!” “Is Taylor married? Maybe he didn’t tell you because she isn’t married.” Stella reasoned. While considering the possibility, Regina looked down at her seventy-six year old hands and pretended not to see the age spots dotting them. “I don’t know if she is married. Nobody said anything one way or the other. All they wanted to do was take generation photos - my son, his niece and her baby, and me. Four generations.” Regina looked relieved. Stella made a good point. Maybe that’s why Larry Jr. didn’t tell her ahead of time that she was going to be a great grandmother. Taylor must not be married. Good grief, what did they imagine she was going to say? Did they think she was going to disapprove or have a stroke? Regina was beginning to lose the numbness that stunned her heart when she was handed this sudden surprise. “What’d you tell ‘em?” Stella wanted to know. “What?” Regina directed her attention back to her friend. “What’d you tell ’em? Dammit, are you deaf?” Stella persisted “I didn’t tell them a thing, smarty. I just pretended to know all about it. By the way, Estelle, it’s not an old folk’s home, “ Regina interjected. “Don’t get your new panties in a knot, Gina. Now your whole family is going to think you’ve gone senile because they know they didn’t tell you about the new baby. And for your information, Missy, we live here and we are old. It’s an old folk’s home!” Stella dropped a half eaten chocolate back into the box. “Why do you let Junior give you this crappy candy anyway? Didn’t I tell you they give me the fudgie shits?” “PLEASE do not let your dog lift his leg on the way out,” Regina ordered. She wrinkled her nose at the still suffocating, undeniable scent of roses lingering in Stella’s wake. Now that her friend was gone, she could get back to the business of feeling sorry for herself. Her thoughts turned toward her daughter and her heart ached. They were so close, she and Renee, as close as a mother and daughter could be. It wasn’t right, Regina mused, that Renee had to grow up never knowing her father. Fortunately, her daughter was resilient and inordinately sensitive. Even as a child, the youngster was able to sense her mother’s struggle with sadness and regret. Assuming the role of comforter to her became second nature for the girl. Her unexpected death was a monumental shock to everyone.