Life at an assisted living facility inspired Candace Arthuria to write this fictional retirement community tale. She and her husband lived there for more than seven years before he passed from Parkinsons’ complications. “I was younger than most of the residents but managed to make good friends, particularly two women who couldn’t stand each other,” she says. “One was good at Scrabble and didn’t like the fact that I helped the other, who wasn’t so good. She said it was two against one. We hung out in the tavern and the activity room until they passed away. I will never forget the laughter.”
Janet tripped over the carpet one last time as she trudged towards the double doors. Somehow, she’d never gotten around to hardwood floors. She paused for a minute, surveying what only yesterday had been her cherished home, but was now a large bland vacuum of unfurnished spaces. At least she would never have to climb that staircase again. Funny how something once conquerable had morphed stealthily into a danger zone. Gone were the sounds of Frank’s snoring and the pesky drips from the 20th-century faucet.
It was a new day, a time for young people to recreate the joy that had long ago resided in this place. Outside, she closed the doors behind her and handed her keys to the lady of the house. Just in time, she intercepted the giant tear that was champing at the bit to cascade down her cheek. One last look at her burning bush—now their burning bush—as bright and vibrant as ever. Janet had planted it herself on a sunny and hopeful spring day. But now, there was no looking back.
She drove slowly to the new apartment, a mere 10 miles, but a lifetime away. Old people sat outside on prefab verandas. What in the world was she doing here?
One voice rose above the murmur.
“Good afternoon, young lady. Welcome to Evergreen Arms.” Holy cow, it was Paul Newman. Or at least an acceptable facsimile. Janet slipped on a coquettish smile as a couple of old bats looked her up and down.
“I’m Don. May I show you around? The dining room is just down the promenade.”
‘Oh, thank you so much, Don.’ (She very nearly called him Frank.) ‘I’m Janet. But I wouldn’t want to trouble you.’
“No trouble attall. I don’t mind that you call yourself Janet.” They grinned and flirted ad nauseum to the disgust of the other residents. Obviously, he knew she’d already had a tour.
She sure is a fast mover, one of the old bats said. No grass growing under her big feet.
They stopped in the Tavern for scotch and soda – comrades at heart. Janet wondered what else they might collaborate on. In just short of an hour, Don took hold of her arm and escorted her to her new apartment. Janet switched her shapely tush all the way, doing her best impression of the bawdy Mae West, a shameless film star of her grandmother’s era.
“Remember, dinner is served between 4:00 and 7:00, Janet. So, I guess I’ll see you later.” She had expected a dinner date, but managed to hide her disappointment. After unpacking a few of her things, she donned her favorite dress—a scoop neck, but showing no cleavage. Janet reached for her pearls to cover the bare skin.
At 5:47, she sashayed into the dining room like a prom queen in search of her king. It was a nicely appointed eatery with forest green drapes and tablecloths. The open seating presented a perfect opportunity for Don to join her. She scanned the faces above the lumberjack shirts and sighed with relief. He wasn’t there yet. The staff assembled around her table with a bouquet of freshly-cut flowers and announced her arrival to the residents. There were welcomes and applause from everyone except the old bats. Janet sneered at their cotton knit tops and khaki capris. She really did feel like a queen!
Before long, a beautiful young woman came through the east entrance. Her violet eyes scanned the room just as Janet’s had a short time before. A few seconds later, the woman was greeted by a gorgeous older man. Their arms were entwined as they walked to their table. He appeared to be her father until they giggled and flirted like Janet and…Don! That dirty old geezer pulled out the kid’s chair and wrapped his wrinkly arm around it. The dog!
Minutes later, his young date’s push-up bra appeared to be malfunctioning. She was having a hard time putting things back in place. To make matters worse, another old geezer made a special trip over to see the show with his tongue hanging out like a dog in heat. Don nearly blew his top and the men began to fight. The staff intervened to break up the fisticuffs, begging the question, How much do they pay these people?
Janet’s instinct was to give Don Juan a good slap, not because he was a pig, but because he had played her like an old violin. Even at the height of humiliation, she imagined herself a Stradivarius.
A few tables away, the old bats beckoned for Janet to come over and join them. To save face, she complied with the ladies and pulled up a chair. They were ready and waiting to give her the lowdown. Kinda like a senior orientation. I’m Mary Beth. This is Shirley and Margaret and Ruth. We could have told you he’s an old hound. You oughta see him without the rug. I see he has his girdle on today. It’s a wonder he can breathe. Who does he think he’s fooling? Just stick with us. We’ll give you the dirt on every old coot in this place. And after a few sips of her Margarita, Janet was happy to be among friends. She forgot all about Don and his jail-bait hussy.
As the young woman struggled to adjust her plump boobs, a scrawny little man with greasy slicked-back hair charged through the entrance wielding a big brown cane. When he spotted his daughter, he limped to the table in rage.
“Patty, for Christ’s sake, what are you doing with this pervert?!!” He snatched off her fake hair and attempted to drag her from the table.
“I’m a grown woman, Dad! You can’t tell me what to do!”
“The hell I can’t!” He grabbed one of her breasts and tried to shove it back in place like squeezing two pounds of potatoes into a one-pound bag. Devastated, Patty acquiesced, and father and daughter slinked out of the room, undoubtedly never to return. With his parting words, he cursed Gomorrah. “You call this a retirement community? This place should be shut down!”
The old bats doubled over in raucous laughter, forcing the server to close down the bar. And swerving ever so slightly, Janet traversed the lengthy corridor and unlocked the single door. With a guilty smile she thought, That was so much fun. No cooking, no cleaning, good food, and riotous entertainment. She kicked off her heels and fell across the bed. Boy is it good to be home!
Another fun fictional look at retirement living:
‘A Man on the Inside’: Insights on Senior Communities
Also from Candace Arthuria: Movie Night with Grandma
