emphasis. I have always believed that it’s best to put people in their places as quickly as possible—first impressions are lasting impressions.
“Well, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I saw the car outside and thought perhaps it was burglars and—”
“Burglars in a Jaguar?” asks Michael. “And parked in the driveway, in broad daylight?”
“I…I wasn’t sure. And no one told me that anyone was moving—”
“Were you given some sort of responsibility for this property?” I ask, ready to lash into her for the state of the refrigerator if by chance she says yes.
“No, well, not officially. But I used to check on Emma from time to time. You know how neighbors are… We look out for each other.” She smiles, as if that’s going to make everything just peachy. Perhaps she expects me to invite her in for tea and scones.
“Thank you for checking on my mother,” I say in a crisp, haughty tone. “Your assistance in that regard is no longer necessary.” I start to close the door, eager to be rid of this nosy old lady who has no sense of propriety, not to mention boundaries.
“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Don’t you remember me?”
“Remember
you
?” I take in an exasperated breath. “Why on earth would I?”
“I’m
little Bea
,” she says with a pathetic smile. “You used to baby-sit me.”
I open the door wider and take a step forward to see her more clearly. Surely this old woman doesn’t expect me to believe she’s the cute little redhead I used to watch occasionally for spending money. Good grief, that girl was at least ten years younger than I.
“Really, it’s me. I used to live next door with my parents. Remember Audrey and Harry? Well, I grew up, got married, and moved away. But about twenty years ago, my husband left me for a newer model. Then I moved back here to help with Dad after Mother died. Dad had diabetes and terrible eatinghabits. I tried to get him to eat healthy food, but he died two years ago.”
I give her the blankest stare as I attempt to assimilate all this senseless information she seems determined to thrust upon me.
“I used to visit with your mother,” she continues, as if she might go on forever. “Emma liked my company. Sometimes we talked about you, Claudette. She was proud of you. She told me all about your acting career and the important people you knew and how you married some hotshot movie producer.”
“Director,” I say in a flat tone.
“Don’t you remember me at all?”
The truth is, I’d like to say,
“No, I do not remember you,”
but for some reason I am unable to do this. So I nod. “I do remember a little Bea…but I’m having a bit of difficulty recognizing her…I mean,
you.
”
She laughs. “Well, we’ve all gotten older. Although I must say, you look well preserved for your age. Weren’t you about twelve years older than me?”
“Eight,” I lie.
“Well, you look darn good. I wish I’d held up like that. But then I suppose all you high-rolling Hollywood types can afford to sashay off to fancy spas and spend millions on facelifts and tummy tucks and lipo treatments that take off the years.” She chuckles. “Just to make the rest of us look bad.”
I clear my throat. “Uh, well, it’s been nice to see you again, Bea.”
“And this is your husband?” she persists. I almost expect her to open the screen door now, perhaps use her stained deck shoe as a doorstop.
“No,” I tell her. “My husband passed on a few years ago.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Boyfriend, then?”
I glance at Michael, and he just smiles patiently. I turn back to Bea and, pulling my dressing gown around my neck as if I’m trying to hide something, say, “Yes, you found us out. This is my boyfriend Michael, and you are disturbing our beauty sleep.”
She giggles, steps back, and says an embarrassed good-bye.
“Come along, darling,” Michael says in a loud voice before he closes the door.
“Good heavens,” I say to him as we go to the
“Well, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I saw the car outside and thought perhaps it was burglars and—”
“Burglars in a Jaguar?” asks Michael. “And parked in the driveway, in broad daylight?”
“I…I wasn’t sure. And no one told me that anyone was moving—”
“Were you given some sort of responsibility for this property?” I ask, ready to lash into her for the state of the refrigerator if by chance she says yes.
“No, well, not officially. But I used to check on Emma from time to time. You know how neighbors are… We look out for each other.” She smiles, as if that’s going to make everything just peachy. Perhaps she expects me to invite her in for tea and scones.
“Thank you for checking on my mother,” I say in a crisp, haughty tone. “Your assistance in that regard is no longer necessary.” I start to close the door, eager to be rid of this nosy old lady who has no sense of propriety, not to mention boundaries.
“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Don’t you remember me?”
“Remember
you
?” I take in an exasperated breath. “Why on earth would I?”
“I’m
little Bea
,” she says with a pathetic smile. “You used to baby-sit me.”
I open the door wider and take a step forward to see her more clearly. Surely this old woman doesn’t expect me to believe she’s the cute little redhead I used to watch occasionally for spending money. Good grief, that girl was at least ten years younger than I.
“Really, it’s me. I used to live next door with my parents. Remember Audrey and Harry? Well, I grew up, got married, and moved away. But about twenty years ago, my husband left me for a newer model. Then I moved back here to help with Dad after Mother died. Dad had diabetes and terrible eatinghabits. I tried to get him to eat healthy food, but he died two years ago.”
I give her the blankest stare as I attempt to assimilate all this senseless information she seems determined to thrust upon me.
“I used to visit with your mother,” she continues, as if she might go on forever. “Emma liked my company. Sometimes we talked about you, Claudette. She was proud of you. She told me all about your acting career and the important people you knew and how you married some hotshot movie producer.”
“Director,” I say in a flat tone.
“Don’t you remember me at all?”
The truth is, I’d like to say,
“No, I do not remember you,”
but for some reason I am unable to do this. So I nod. “I do remember a little Bea…but I’m having a bit of difficulty recognizing her…I mean,
you.
”
She laughs. “Well, we’ve all gotten older. Although I must say, you look well preserved for your age. Weren’t you about twelve years older than me?”
“Eight,” I lie.
“Well, you look darn good. I wish I’d held up like that. But then I suppose all you high-rolling Hollywood types can afford to sashay off to fancy spas and spend millions on facelifts and tummy tucks and lipo treatments that take off the years.” She chuckles. “Just to make the rest of us look bad.”
I clear my throat. “Uh, well, it’s been nice to see you again, Bea.”
“And this is your husband?” she persists. I almost expect her to open the screen door now, perhaps use her stained deck shoe as a doorstop.
“No,” I tell her. “My husband passed on a few years ago.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Boyfriend, then?”
I glance at Michael, and he just smiles patiently. I turn back to Bea and, pulling my dressing gown around my neck as if I’m trying to hide something, say, “Yes, you found us out. This is my boyfriend Michael, and you are disturbing our beauty sleep.”
She giggles, steps back, and says an embarrassed good-bye.
“Come along, darling,” Michael says in a loud voice before he closes the door.
“Good heavens,” I say to him as we go to the
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