Standing in the Rainbow

  The bad news: This spectacular event had certainly ended a remarkable political career. The good news: Hamm Sparks had always wanted to go as high in the world as he could—and he had. And as usual, the rest of the men had just been along for the ride.

  But as it turned out, there was one man who had not been along that night.

  Cecil Figgs had failed to show up at the time they were scheduled to leave and they had left without him, which was fine with him. He was having too much fun. He had left the car keys with Rodney, and Cecil figured he could always fly home.

  He woke up in New Orleans two days later in a seedy hotel in the French Quarter with a bad hangover. His young companion was gone but had left a note.

  Dear Ramon,

  Thanks for the good time. Call me the next time you are in town.

  Love,

  Todd

  Cecil always used the name Ramon Novarro when he was out of town. When Cecil suddenly realized it was Tuesday and that he had missed taking his mother to the eye doctor the day before, he felt sick with guilt. He would have to call her right away, but not before he had a cup of coffee. Cecil dressed and walked next door to eat breakfast and figure out what he would say to his mother, who was sure to be upset. Shortly before his first sip of coffee he picked up the Times-Picayune newspaper someone had left on the counter. When he saw the front page he almost fainted.

  HAMM SPARKS, FOUR COMPANIONS PRESUMED DEAD

  The article underneath the pictures of all five men, including him, said the police believed the missing men had most likely been murdered and as far as they could tell, it looked like the work of professionals. At the moment they were questioning several men in St. Louis with Chicago mob connections.

  What little hair Cecil had stood up on the back of his head. He had no idea what had happened. After he got over the initial shock of the whole thing, his first instinct was to run and call his mother. But then he realized that if someone had been out to kill them and found out he was still alive, they might try it again. Desperately, he tried to figure out what to do next. While he sat before his cold coffee in a dilemma, pondering his future and perhaps his impending murder, it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Wait a minute, he thought. In the middle of this seeming tragedy there was another part of it he had just realized. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead, or at least everyone thought he was. For the first time in his life he was free. Free to be who and what he really was. He would no longer have to lead a double life, always looking over his shoulder, afraid of getting caught; always terrified he might upset his mother or disgrace the family. He’d have to die to do it. It would be a big price to pay but he figured it would be worth it.

  In the end, the man Hamm and the boys had taken the meeting with in New Orleans said nothing. He could not afford to have his name involved in any scandal. Mr. Anthony Leo of St. Louis did wonder what had happened to the boat and his missing dynamite but he was certainly in no position to say anything and for years continued to wonder but kept his mouth shut. The man who’d sold Rodney the illegal Cuban rum said nothing and the man who’d sold Cecil the stolen formaldehyde certainly said nothing. And Cecil said nothing.

  In fact, there was no Cecil. From that day forward, nobody but himself knew that Miss Anita “Boom Boom” De Thomas, gorgeous headliner at the famous My Oh My Club in New Orleans, Louisiana, was the sole survivor of the late Mr. Cecil Figgs of Missouri. Cecil had been given an opportunity that few people in this world ever get. He had been shown an open door that led to a new life and he had walked through it to the other side and there was no turning back. Mother Figgs and the entire Figgs clan were left a small fortune and the warm memory of a good son and he was going to have a good time the rest of his life. He had only one major and painful regret in leaving Cecil behind. It had just about killed him not to be able to plan the governor’s funeral. It would have been the triumph of his career. Oh, well.

  Time to Say Good-bye

  MACKY COULD READ the handwriting on the wall. Long before he said anything to Norma, he knew he just could not compete as a small hardware store. Three different malls had sprung up, and now with the brand-new Home Improvement Center in one and Wal-Mart and Ace Hardware in the other, he had lost business. Most of his old customers had tried to stay with him but with so many new people moving in and the prices being so low, he was losing them one by one, and as he told his friend Merle, “Hell, I can’t blame them, I’d shop out there myself.” Selling out and retiring had been in the back of his mind but he had not had any serious thoughts about it until lately. But events tumbling upon one another had brought him to the moment when he actually sat down and talked with her about the prospects of selling their house.

  Pretty soon Macky and Norma started sending off for brochures of retirement communities. From the pictures of the good-looking silver-haired men and women standing around having cocktails, playing golf, tennis, and swimming, it looked like fun. “Your home away from home, only better,” they said.

  As it turned out, the decision was made in less than forty-eight hours and it had nothing to do with anything that was planned. Verbena and Merle called in a fit. They had a nephew who was living in a gated community in Vero Beach and he had just found out that a house was coming up on the market in a few days and he’d called to see if they were interested. He said that it was one of the best retirement complexes down there and if somebody moved fast, before the Realtors found out about it, they could buy it from the owner, a friend of his, and not have to pay the commission.

  After Macky got off the phone he told Norma all about it. “But the bad news,” he said, “is we have to make up our minds right away. Merle said there are people waiting in line to buy it if we don’t.”

  Norma panicked. “Oh my God . . . do we have time to call Linda?”

  “Yes, honey, go on.”

  After ten minutes Norma handed the phone to Macky.

  “Daddy, what do you think?”

  “It’s up to your mother, whatever she thinks.”

  Norma threw up her hands. “You always do this.”

  “Well, Daddy, it sounds like a good deal to me. If you get there and don’t like it, you can always turn around and sell it but it sounds like you have a chance to get a nice place at a good price. I think you would always be sorry if you didn’t take advantage of it. Do you know anybody other than Verbena’s nephew who lives in Vero Beach? Anybody you could ask?”

  “No.”

  “Let me call around and I’ll try and find out something.” Twenty minutes later she called back. “Daddy, listen to this: Vero Beach, Florida, Indian River country home, home of famous Dodgertown, USA.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Daddy, it’s where the L.A. Dodgers have their spring training. You and Mother can go and watch the Dodgers play.”

  The next afternoon Norma called Linda. “Well, honey, we did it. Your daddy and I have just bought a pig in a poke. He’s told the man yes. I just hope to God we don’t get down there and find out we’re in the middle of a swamp.”

  “Great! Aren’t you excited?”

  “I don’t know what to think, it all happened so fast. I just hope your daddy made the right decision.”

  After they packed up and sold everything, it was time, as Merle had said, to shake the dust off and see some new scenery. When Merle and Verbena had moved to Florida they had flown, but Macky decided to buy a Minnie Winnie and see the country on the way down. He bought a captain’s hat and hung a sign on the back that said THE CHUCKLEHEADS and the next day he put Norma, Aunt Elner, and Sonny Number Four in the back and took off. Macky was excited. He had remembered all the little charming, out-of-the-way cafés his family had stopped at the last time he went to Florida, in 1939. But as he soon found out, things had changed. For days all they saw were Burger Kings, Taco Bells, McDonald’s, Jack in the Boxes, and Cracker Barrels. Norma said, “Macky, there are no more little places and Aunt Elner and I don’t want to get ptomaine poisoning
just so you can take a trip down Memory Lane.” The one place he did find, Norma refused to go in. “Let’s just go to the Cracker Barrel, where we know it’s clean and the food is good.” The road was not as he remembered either. It was nothing but a blur of huge trucks. There were almost no cars anymore. It seemed like the entire country was nothing but trucks following other trucks. Every town looked exactly like the last. Every gas station had the same mini-mart inside. It was hard to tell one state from another.

  In Vero Beach, the man had said to look for a shopping center with a big Publix drugstore, but every shopping center they passed had a big Publix drugstore and Macky finally had to stop and ask directions. A man poked his head in and said, “Sure, go about five miles up past the Winn-Dixie and take a sharp left, right into Leisureville.”

  They found the sign with the arrow that said WELCOME TO LEISUREVILLE CENTRAL, FLORIDA’S FINEST GATED COMMUNITY but as they drove in they saw row after row of little mint-green, oleander-pink, or lavender stucco houses that, Aunt Elner noted, were the same color as those candy mints that Miss Alma used to keep in a glass bowl by the cashier.

  As they drove in they did not see any vital, silver-haired, good-looking couples, as were shown on the brochure, standing around the pool, cocktail in hand, laughing and chatting with others of the same age with the look of “I’ve got the world by the tail.” All they saw was a bunch of people who looked old to them but looked young to Aunt Elner.

  They soon discovered that what had been advertised as Citrus View Patio Homes meant there was an orange grove across the street and a slab of concrete in the postage-stamp backyard. When they walked into their new home Norma was silent. The cottage-cheese ceilings were lower than expected and there were stains all over the mustard-gold shag rug, which did nothing to enhance the olive-green stove and refrigerator. The fact that the house had been closed up for three months and smelled like mildew did not help ease the initial shock. The walls were a dingy color described as champagne beige, popular in the fifties, as were the cheap aluminum sliding doors and windows throughout the house. Macky was already wondering how hard it would be to sell it when Norma surprised him, as she still could, by saying, “Oh, Macky, it’s not so bad. I can whip this place into shape in no time.” Sonny had no qualms about the shag rug and happily scratched away at it after depositing a welcome-to-your-new-home gift. They stayed in a motel until Macky could get the rug pulled up and have the walls repainted. Norma went to Sears and bought a new white refrigerator and stove and had Goodwill come and pick up the old green ones. Macky laid a new sheet of white linoleum on the floor in the kitchen and in the bathrooms. A week later, when the van carrying their furniture arrived from Missouri and everything was put in its place and the stucco house looked at least a little familiar, Macky sat down on his old chair from home and flipped up the leg rest and thought to himself, “Now what?”

  The next week a new magazine came and he stared at it and asked Norma, “What the hell is AARP? It sounds like a dog throwing up.”

  Norma said, “It’s a magazine from the American Association of Retired Persons. Everybody gets it after they hit fifty. It tells all about your senior citizen discounts.”

  Macky mumbled and went out to take a walk. What was going on? He was not ready to be a senior citizen—there seemed to be a national conspiracy to label anybody over the age of fifty-five a “senior” and move them on out of the mainstream. That’s not how he remembered it when he was young; an old man was not old until at least seventy-five or eighty and even Old Man Henderson had still been doing his yard at ninety-three, for God’s sake. Macky was still young; he had years left before he was old. Rest up for what, he wondered, to get ready to die? Take a short rest before you take the long one? Norma was sailing into the bay of senior citizenship with the wind to her back and with a smile on her face. But not him.

  Macky wandered around the complex. Not only was he in a different state, he was in a different world and he was lost. Lost in Leisureville.

  Seems Like Old Times

  AFTER A FEW MONTHS Norma had made a lot of new friends and Aunt Elner was as happy as a lark with all the bingo games they had down there. Sonny the cat was delighted to be living in a place with so much sand to dig in, but Norma was worried about Macky. As she said to Linda on the phone that very morning, “Your daddy is not adjusting to retirement.”

  Norma had been reading the volunteer-positions-for-seniors column to Macky, as she did every other day, and as usual he’d resisted her suggestions.

  “Norma, I’ve told you, I am not going to stand around like some old senile fart and welcome people to Wal-Mart, for God’s sake.”

  “I didn’t say Wal-Mart. There are plenty of places that retired people go to work for . . . McDonald’s . . . Burger King. Look, it says here you can even volunteer at the high school cafeteria or the library. They want seniors to set a good example to the young people. What’s wrong with that? At home you used to do all kinds of things for the community.”

  “That was different.”

  “How can it be different?”

  “It was my community; this isn’t my community.”

  “It is now. Young people are just the same everywhere—don’t you want to be a role model . . . be a good influence?”

  He left the house and took a walk around the complex. It was only the end of November but some people had already put up their Christmas wreaths, brought with them from other parts of the country. The huge decorations, which might have looked fine on some door of a house in New Hampshire or Maine, looked bizarre in the glaring Florida sun, like an entire community had gone mad and decorated for Christmas in the middle of the summer. One pale orange house had put a fake snowman on the small front porch but had neglected to remove the pink plastic flamingo on the lawn. Macky knew by the calendar and by the ads that had already started on television that it was about to be Christmas but other than that, one day was no different from the next. All the earmarks of the season that he had gone by for the last sixty-two years were gone.

  At home he knew when it was fall. He smelled it. He raked it up in the yard. He and Norma had a routine. At the end of September she collected all their summer clothes and put them away in the bottom drawers and moved the sweaters up to the top. All the winter coats were brought from the back bedroom closet and put in the coat closet. Summer shoes were replaced with winter shoes. He could count on a month or so of everything smelling slightly like mothballs. Then when May came around, back they went. But this year the clothes did not change. Everything was still seersucker and short-sleeved. They only had a few sweaters but that was mostly for air-conditioning, not weather. Macky had read somewhere that a person’s ability to adjust was a sign of intelligence. So far he was failing the test. Not that he had not tried. In fact, at first he had been much more enthusiastic than Norma. But after the initial excitement, after he had done all the work on the new house, learned the neighborhood, and seen all the sights, it had slowly begun to dawn on him. Life as he had known it was all over. Life in a town where your family had lived for over a hundred years and everybody knew not only you but all your family was over. Here he was just another stranger. Just another transient. Nobody special. At home he had an identity. He was Macky Warren. Son of Olla and Glenn Warren. His father had owned and run the hardware store for fifty years, and then he had owned it and run it. For most of his life, whenever he had been anywhere where people did not know him and they had asked, as men do, What line are you in? he had been able to answer, I have a little hardware store back home. Now nobody ever asked what line he was in or what did he do. If they did ask, he had to answer by telling them what he used to do. What he used to be. Now what was he? Who was he? Just another displaced stranger trying to pretend that a get-together at the complex clubhouse was just like home only better.

  Aunt Elner was making so many new friends her own age that she was loving Florida but Norma had problems with Macky. She came in after one of her flower-arrangin
g classes and said, “Macky, I talked to my friend Ethel and she said that Arve went through the same thing and his doctor identified it as a male identity problem. And that what you need to do is to connect with your inner male.”

  “Oh good God, Norma, what did you tell her?”

  “Nothing bad, I just said that you were depressed, having a hard time adjusting to being retired. It’s not anything to be ashamed of, evidently a lot of men go through it. Anyhow, she talked it over with Arve and he went for help and she says it really helped him.”

  “Norma, Arve is an idiot. Do you really think that wearing gold chains and sticking a curly black wig on your head at seventy-five is adjusting? He’s a joke.”

  “All right, so he may be a little silly but he’s happy and isn’t that the point, to be happy? Anyhow I’m not going to argue about Arve; the point is she gave me this brochure for you to look at.” Macky took it and read where once a week, groups of men organized by Jon Avnet, Ph.D., gather to “reconnect with the warrior within, to drum, talk, weep, and tell their stories in a safe place.”

  He looked up at Norma and said nothing.

  The Ant

  MACKY WANDERED over to Ocean Park, sat on a concrete bench, and stared out at the blue water. The world he had known was gone. Not only was he living in an alien place, but while he had been busy all these years making a living, someone had changed all the rules. For all he knew, he might as well have gone to sleep and awakened on the moon.

  When he’d grown up, everybody had more or less agreed to a certain way of living. A certain standard. You didn’t lie, you didn’t cheat or steal, you honored your parents, your word was your bond. You didn’t try to weasel your way out of things. You married the girl. You paid your bills. You took care of your children. You didn’t cuss around girls. You didn’t hit women. You played by the rules and it was expected that you would be a good sport if you lost. You kept your house, yard, and yourself clean.