seems to be back with us and Ida's no longer number one.
We travel down a long, elegantly carpeted hall to arrive at what must be Linda Silverstone's office. Wall-to-wall bookcases. Buttery leather chairs, each with its own Tiffany-style reading lamp. Lovely selections of artwork. I spot Linda's books displayed along a bottom shelf, next to a wall with her framed awards and degrees. All in all, a room to impress. Through the back windows I can see what must be a huge, elegant garden.
And finally, there is the elusive Linda seated behind her desk, a gorgeous French antique with gilt-edge trim. I wonder if it's an original.
Linda is what one would call a handsome woman. Not beautiful, but regal-looking, seeming younger than her sixty years. From the pictures in their books, she resembles her austere father.
We stand in the middle of the room, waiting for permission to sit. Or not.
"So you got your wish," Linda greets us sarcastically, her face held stiffly, her voice pinched and slow. "You may be sorry. Sit."
We quickly scramble for seats.
Marjory moves close to her side and attacks. "You had no right to bother Dr. Silverstone with your ridiculous calls."
Ida is about to argue. I quickly squeeze her arm and whisper, "A little honey first, honey..."
I meet Linda's piercing look. "Please forgive us for the drastic methods, but you do make it difficult to make contact."
Linda whispers to Marjory. Marjory says, "Dr. Silverstone wants to know how much her father is paying you to spy on her. She says she'll double it for you to mind your own business."
Ida can't stand another second. "Hey, just who do you think you're talking to?"
By now I'm aware something is very wrong. Why isn't Linda speaking for herself? Evvie looks at me; I can tell she's thinking the same thing.
Marjory, the mouthpiece, charges, "I'm talking to five elderly busybodies who have no right to impinge upon her privacy."
Suddenly I realize Linda's head is quivering up and down and from side to side.
"Are you all right?" I ask.
"No, I am not all right!" Linda's voice is equally shaky; the words come out slowly and with great difficulty.
With that Linda is helped out from behind her desk. Marjory positions her behind a metal walker and places a tartan plaid blanket around her shoulders. We become aware that her entire body is moving convulsively. Marjory is about to speak again, but Linda stops her with a glance.
She is very hard to watch. Bella and Sophie want to turn away, but the expression on my face tells them not to. Ida and Evvie are as startled as I am.
Now I realize what it cost Linda to keep such control when we first walked in, but not anymore--she lets us have it, full blast.
Her body writhes, her face contorts, her head bobs every which way as she struggles to get the words out. "Not a pretty sight, is it, all these tics and tremors?"
For a moment, none of us speak. "May we ask what's wrong with you?" Evvie asks gently.
"Parkinson's."
Sophie gets excited. "Just like that actor, Michael J. Fox!"
Linda admits sadly, "Yes. Like him." She indicates to Marjory to speak.
"Linda's illness has progressively worsened this year. She no longer goes out in public."
My eyes tear up. "Your parents don't know, do they?"
She shakes her head with a spastic motion. "I don't want them to know."
"So that's why you refuse to go to their party?" Ida asks.
Now it's a shaky nod.
Marjory continues. "Now you understand why she cannot appear at a function where probably a hundred people will show up."
Sophie's voice is tentative. "But Michael J. Fox is on TV and a million people can see him shake...."
To our shock, Linda starts to cry. Marjory reaches over and pats her shoulder.
For a long moment, none of us speak.
Linda indicates she wants to talk again. It takes a very long time for her to get all these words out but she is determined to explain. We have to concentrate hard to understand her.
"Do you know what it's like to have parents like mine?
We travel down a long, elegantly carpeted hall to arrive at what must be Linda Silverstone's office. Wall-to-wall bookcases. Buttery leather chairs, each with its own Tiffany-style reading lamp. Lovely selections of artwork. I spot Linda's books displayed along a bottom shelf, next to a wall with her framed awards and degrees. All in all, a room to impress. Through the back windows I can see what must be a huge, elegant garden.
And finally, there is the elusive Linda seated behind her desk, a gorgeous French antique with gilt-edge trim. I wonder if it's an original.
Linda is what one would call a handsome woman. Not beautiful, but regal-looking, seeming younger than her sixty years. From the pictures in their books, she resembles her austere father.
We stand in the middle of the room, waiting for permission to sit. Or not.
"So you got your wish," Linda greets us sarcastically, her face held stiffly, her voice pinched and slow. "You may be sorry. Sit."
We quickly scramble for seats.
Marjory moves close to her side and attacks. "You had no right to bother Dr. Silverstone with your ridiculous calls."
Ida is about to argue. I quickly squeeze her arm and whisper, "A little honey first, honey..."
I meet Linda's piercing look. "Please forgive us for the drastic methods, but you do make it difficult to make contact."
Linda whispers to Marjory. Marjory says, "Dr. Silverstone wants to know how much her father is paying you to spy on her. She says she'll double it for you to mind your own business."
Ida can't stand another second. "Hey, just who do you think you're talking to?"
By now I'm aware something is very wrong. Why isn't Linda speaking for herself? Evvie looks at me; I can tell she's thinking the same thing.
Marjory, the mouthpiece, charges, "I'm talking to five elderly busybodies who have no right to impinge upon her privacy."
Suddenly I realize Linda's head is quivering up and down and from side to side.
"Are you all right?" I ask.
"No, I am not all right!" Linda's voice is equally shaky; the words come out slowly and with great difficulty.
With that Linda is helped out from behind her desk. Marjory positions her behind a metal walker and places a tartan plaid blanket around her shoulders. We become aware that her entire body is moving convulsively. Marjory is about to speak again, but Linda stops her with a glance.
She is very hard to watch. Bella and Sophie want to turn away, but the expression on my face tells them not to. Ida and Evvie are as startled as I am.
Now I realize what it cost Linda to keep such control when we first walked in, but not anymore--she lets us have it, full blast.
Her body writhes, her face contorts, her head bobs every which way as she struggles to get the words out. "Not a pretty sight, is it, all these tics and tremors?"
For a moment, none of us speak. "May we ask what's wrong with you?" Evvie asks gently.
"Parkinson's."
Sophie gets excited. "Just like that actor, Michael J. Fox!"
Linda admits sadly, "Yes. Like him." She indicates to Marjory to speak.
"Linda's illness has progressively worsened this year. She no longer goes out in public."
My eyes tear up. "Your parents don't know, do they?"
She shakes her head with a spastic motion. "I don't want them to know."
"So that's why you refuse to go to their party?" Ida asks.
Now it's a shaky nod.
Marjory continues. "Now you understand why she cannot appear at a function where probably a hundred people will show up."
Sophie's voice is tentative. "But Michael J. Fox is on TV and a million people can see him shake...."
To our shock, Linda starts to cry. Marjory reaches over and pats her shoulder.
For a long moment, none of us speak.
Linda indicates she wants to talk again. It takes a very long time for her to get all these words out but she is determined to explain. We have to concentrate hard to understand her.
"Do you know what it's like to have parents like mine?
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