Getting Old Is to Die for (20 page)

"I never held you to that. The odds were too much in my favor. So relax and enjoy."

They stand for the anthem.

As soon as they sit down, Tim says, "Now your girlfriend will never find out you were fried. It's a win-win situation."

"Yeah." More like lose-lose, Jack thinks.

Jack and Tim jump up again with the thousands of others as the Yanks come running from the dugout.

Jack feels fantastic. The years seemed to fall off. He's going to enjoy every minute. What's the line--eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die? Or something like that. He takes another big bite out of his ballpark dog.

It finally sinks in.
So Gladdy's coming in tomorrow. Now what do I do?
Never mind. It reminds him of one of Gladdy's favorite expressions, borrowed from Scarlett O'Hara:
I'll think about it tomorrow
. And that's what he intends to do.

First, let's play ball!

31

GLADDY IN NEW YORK

E
vvie and I have a lot to talk about on the flight. Mostly about will we or won't we tell our daughters about our unhappy emotional state and the men who brought us grief. Our plan: Enjoy the kids and grandkids. Enjoy being back up north, where we grew up. Find fun things to do.

At the airport, we find the ground transportation area. I leave Evvie with the van driving her up to her daughter Martha's home in Westport, Connecticut.

The cabbie who is taking me into the city seems normal. At least I hope so. I smile, remembering cabdriver stories. New Yorkers collect these and treasure them to share at cocktail parties. One of my favorites was about the driver who went through a red light. I was a bit shaken when we missed a group of pedestrians by inches. When I pointed out his scofflaw behavior he made one of my never-to-be-forgotten comments of all time. Assuming I was a tourist, he said, "Listen, lady, in my town a red light is only a suggestion." I got out at the next suggestion.

Of course there were the crazies. I'll never forget driving over the Brooklyn Bridge in a blizzard with the driver who told me he was on antidepressants and described his dream; he would turn the wheel and go over the side of the bridge, and all his troubles would be over. I started babbling idiotically about how spring would soon be here and the flowers would be pretty and the sun would be shining, all the while clutching my door handle.
Don't let this be the night he acts out his dream.

I realize I spoke too soon. I've got another Looney Tune. Here we are just turning off the Triboro Bridge and the driver pulls up to a curb and jumps out of the car, wielding a gun. In an accent I don't recognize, he says, "I be soon return." With that, he locks me in the car and starts running back toward the bridge.

Swell. I suppose I can get another cab, maybe. I can call 911 on my cell. I am sure getting attached to this cell. But the police will think I'm the crazy one. Locked in a taxi, with a cabbie toting a gun, running along the bridge? And besides, it's late, and I don't know how long I'd have to wait for another cab, and besides, I don't want to stand alone outside on a dark, empty street in a neighborhood I don't know. Forget all that; my luggage is in his locked trunk.

By the time I finish trying out my nondecisions, my vigilante cabbie gets back in, stows his weapon under his seat, and relocks the car. He turns around and, with a half-toothless smile that tells me he comes from a country with poor dental care, reports in whatever his accent is: "I a
politzia
in mine country. I see police chasing man on bridge. I go help arrest him."

My first thought is, Lucky the police didn't shoot this lunatic running toward them waving a gun.

My second thought is, If they did shoot him, he has the trunk keys and I'd be stuck in this taxi forever.

Welcome home.

My daughter's apartment is mostly dark. I let myself in with my own key. I assume Emily will be in the kitchen waiting up as she usually does when I come to visit. Some good gossip over
rugallah
and coffee! Light on, yes. But no Emily. There is a note telling me there is cold chicken in the fridge, if I'm hungry. They had a long day and had to get some sleep.

Welcome home?

I wake up to noises. The muffled sound of the coffee grinder whirring with something being held over it. Then the clatter of dishes and whispers of "Be quiet" and "Don't wake Grandma." One eye opens and I can't believe I'm seeing seven
A.M.
on the bedside clock. On Sunday? Are they crazy? I bury my head under the pillow and try to fall back to sleep, but finally, after fifteen minutes of twisting and tossing, curiosity gets the better of me.

Pulling on my robe, I stagger into the kitchen and voice my opinion. "On Sunday? Since when do you get up early on Sunday? Why is everyone up? Good morning."

I get a chorus of good mornings back. Then--

"Golf," says Alan, rushing by me sipping at his scalding coffee. "Gotta grab a sunny day while we still got 'em." And he is gone.

"Soccer," says Lindsay, looking adorable in her lavender uniform. She and brother Patrick are stuffing Pop-Tarts down their throats. "Our team is in second place! H'ray!"

"Skateboard for me," says Patrick, dressed like something from Mars in his huge black helmet, protective black-rimmed glasses, black knee and elbow pads, and all the rest of the paraphernalia.

Emily hands me a cup of coffee. "And guess who the designated driver is?"

That sounds familiar. "Wait a few minutes and I'll throw on some clothes and come with you."

"No time," Emily says. "Besides, I know you. When you come up to New York you always want a day to revisit your old haunts. So have fun. We'll see you later."

And the whirlwind whizzes by me with little cheek-pecks and lots of "Have fun"s and the kitchen is abruptly empty.

Huh? My night-owl daughter goes to bed early and my love-to-sleep-in-on-Sunday family are already out the door? And I want a day to myself? I told her Sunday was our play day. She didn't mention any previous plans. Oh, well, no use feeling sorry for myself. But I do.

I doctor my coffee the way I like it, toast one slice of wheat bread, sit down at their lovely oak table, and start to tackle the ten pounds or so of the Sunday
New York Times.
What bliss. Heaven.

Is this good parenting? Children and grandchildren so guilt-free, they leave Grandma to entertain herself? Or are they so used to being without me they don't need me at all? I always hoped my family would be independent, but this is ridiculous. Well, what should I expect? I call, give them one day's notice, and want them to change their already-made plans for me?

Well, yes. Actually.

Come on,
I tell myself.
Finish your coffee and fold the paper 'til later. Time to hit the streets.
I'm so excited, I can hardly wait.

It's getting cooler, a little brisk, a harbinger of autumn in the air, but the sun
is
shining. It feels so pleasant after Florida's heat and humidity. Walking the streets of New York is one of the great joys in life. A thousand things to look at. A twenty-four-hour nonstop drama for your entertainment. Never boring. It's always risky for me to come here. I tend to go through the same shopping list each time and compare what the city offers and what Fort Lauderdale doesn't. Stimulation. And excitement. New York has everything. Fort Lauderdale? Well, it's a nice easy life, I guess. And I always ask myself the same question. Why am I there when I could be here? Never mind. I have places to go, things to see, and plenty to do.

First stop is always Zabar's. This world-class deli is the place closest to where Emily and Alan live. I turn off Eightieth Street onto Broadway and there it is. And it's the usual early Sunday morning chaos--the store is full as always, cars double-parked out front, lines around the block. The most amazing selection of food delicacies to be found anywhere. If there is a cheese somewhere in the world, you'll find it here. Or a fish, smoked or otherwise. Coffee, teas, incredible breads--you name it, they've got it. I walk in and let the smells engulf me. It reminds me of a sign I once saw in a deli. It read: "If I could live my life over, let me live it over a deli!" And this is the deli of all delis. A perfect way to begin my day. With a cheese Danish in hand I happily continue on my way.

Broadway, then Columbus Avenue eventually gets me to Lincoln Center, and I pay my homage to all the operas, the ballets, the concerts, I ever saw.

And then traveling a familiar path in Central Park, of course I walk awhile, recalling a hundred little memories--from necking on a bench with my first Jack when we were courting to wheeling Emily in her stroller, boat rides on the lakes, summer concerts, and on and on. A sudden pang of longing for Jack Langford hits me, wishing I could someday share all of this with him, but for the moment I am putting all of my Fort Lauderdale life out of my mind and focusing only on New York.

I head over to the real Broadway and all the wonderful plays I saw that shaped so much of my learning, honing my sensibilities, molding my life's philosophies.

When my feet start to ache, I hop on a bus. Later, for variety, the subway or a cab.

A short stop at the famous Forty-second Street Main Library where I used to work. It's closed Sundays, but I say hi to Patience and Fortitude, the celebrated pink marble lions, now faded gray, that guard the entrance to that beautiful, stately structure. Being as old as I am, I remember our famous Mayor La Guardia changing the names of the lions from Lord Astor and Lady Lennox (after the library's founders) to Patience and Fortitude to inspire us to muddle through the economic depression of the 1930s.

I stop for lunch. In the old days I would have gone to one of those wonderful Automats, but that grand old tradition is long gone.

Then hello to my alma mater, Hunter College, on Sixty-eighth Street. I dreamed of a picture-postcard Ivy League campus, but reality gave me a school to which I traveled by subway and received a vast and varied education. When I think of all the knowledge--schooling and experiential--that I've acquired in my life, stuffed in my brain, I wish there were some way to download all I know into some younger brain and save someone a hell of a lot of learning time. Who knows, maybe the computers will do that one day, too.

Onward. I have a very busy day ahead. And when I get home, that family of mine better be there to greet me.

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