Getting Old Is Criminal by Rita Lakin Page B

slight exercise, leans toward his woman, informing her intimately, “Right away, I have to confess, I got psoriasis.”
    “How nice for you.” The woman in the purple pantsuit and Mickey Mouse T-shirt quickly moves as far back in her chair as she can.
    Another table. A very thin, intense man wearing a badly fitting forest green leisure suit, and a green tie with goldfish on it, leans over to a short woman with too much perfume and three pairs of glasses hanging around her neck. He whispers, “I’ve just joined Jews for Jesus. Would you like to hear about it?”
    “God, no.”
    And another: Oh, oh, here’s Ida.
    Her guy is hot to trot. He’s got his opening gam-bit prepared. Big smile with a mouth that is missing most of its teeth. “I’m a Gemini. What’s your sign?”
    “My sign tells me you should get up right now.”

    1 2 0 • R i t a L a k i n
    He stutters. “But there’s no music.”
    “Let me hum a few bars for you.” She sings.
    Badly, on purpose. “ ‘I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair . . .’ ”
    Her date sits there, paralyzed with fear. He closes his mouth.
    She shuts her eyes as if napping.
    And here’s Bella: “I wasn’t always like this. I was born a princess.” She sees me and waves. I walk away, leaving her in fairy-tale land.
    Evvie at her table: “I should have been a movie star. I should have been Doris Day.”
    A rather unattractive man replies in kind: “And I should have been Rock Hudson.”
    “In your dreams.”
    They both look toward the sound system, waiting for escape.
    There’s Sophie, already holding the hand of the nondescript man at her table. He looks dubious.
    She says, reading his palm, “You are going to meet a wonderful woman today. She is wearing a midnight blue, crushed-velvet dress, V neckline, with a matching fake flower in her hair.”
    Need I tell you what Sophie is wearing?
    The music starts again. I sit down on a bench and stare up at the basketball hoops and watch the balloons float around. What else have I got to do?
    I can think about Sophie’s medical troubles. Not solved. Irving and poor Millie. Where will that end? Not happily. The Peeper, still getting away with it. Not solved. And this difficult case of G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 2 1
    Romeo and Juliet. Either there’s no case at all, or—I suddenly shudder. Why do I have this strange feeling that we might be treading on very dangerous ground?
    Oy.

    SIXTEEN
    MOVIN’ OUT
    Why am I not surprised that there is a small crowd surrounding the mint green Cadillac parked in my usual spot? In fact, I’d be amazed if there weren’t. Never mind that it is early in the morning and Evvie and I want to get started for Palm Beach. The word got out, and hail, hail, the gang’s all here.
    Alvin Ferguson is a man of his word. He is send-ing us first-class. Evvie’s cab is also here, our plan being not to arrive in the same vehicle, since we are not supposed to know each other. Evvie is already having the driver store her fake Louis Vuitton suitcase in the taxi’s trunk and modeling her traveling outfit and sophisticated hairdo for all our onlookers. Everything we have is new and we get lots of oohs and ahhs from the women.

    G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 2 3
    Hy and Lola watch from their second-story balcony. Sol is walking around, kicking the Cadillac tires and doing other silly things men do. He is followed by Denny, who imitates Sol’s actions. The hood is open and they take turns examining the engine with knowing nods. Even a couple of the Canadian men have come out to stick their heads under the hood.
    I am also dressed in my new duds and have also been to the hairdresser. The bystanders admire my new trappings, too, as I put my suitcase in the trunk of the Caddy. They look me up and down; this other member of the newly rich. The comments begin.
    Hy calls down, “Fancy-schmancy. You sure you know how to drive a car manufactured later than