“And we have various service levels and residence options to match your grandmother’s needs and lifestyle, all within our campus community.” The brunette again, talking faster as if to prevent any pause where Claire might interject a “but.”
“And once your grandmother moved in, she would never need to leave campus,” the blonde said. Claire figured the subtext here was ‘no more ferrying Grandma on errands.’ “We have our own barber and beauty shop, gift shop, swimming pool, tennis courts, exercise facility, movie theater and ballroom. There’s even a convenience store, plus our own grocery shopping service. And of course, we offer twenty-four hour a day nurse coverage.”
Claire was finally rescued by the appearance of a middle-aged couple pushing a querulous old lady in a wheelchair who wanted to know why she couldn’t have three tickets for the fishbowl instead of one. With the attention of the two employees diverted, Claire quickly opened the door to the lounge. Inside, a half dozen couples fox-trotted to the music. They were greatly outnumbered by several dozen women watching them with barely concealed envy. In their flowered skirts, lacy blouses and pearl earrings, the ladies waited to be asked to dance, but the only men in the place were already on the dance floor. One glance at the room put flesh on Nova’s dire statistics about the dearth of older men.
Nova and Charlie waved from a small table in the back. Claire made her way toward them, but Nova continued to wave. Claire realized the older woman was trying to snag the attention of the harried-looking waitress behind her.
“While we wait for Frank to show up, I’m going to order a round of Singapore Slings.”
Looking at her watch, Charlie protested, “Nova, it is only eleven thirty,”
“So? The day’s not getting any younger, and neither are we. My doctor’s always going on about me about my habits, but I’ve managed to keep my figure and my teeth, and my eyes are still pretty good – and there’s not a lot of people my age who can say that.” Nova realized whom she was talking to. “Present company excepted, of course.”
A ripple went through the room. The three women turned in time to see a short man enter. He wore a polka dot bow tie, a crisply pressed short-sleeved white shirt, navy pants and white-leather loafers. All the women straightened up and began to murmur to each other. Several called to him or waved. With an easy confidence, he strolled to the nearest table, his posture ramrod straight, and bowed low before the three ladies who sat around it in wicker chairs. All three smiles widened, until he reached out his hand to the chosen one, leaving the other two behind.
“If you had not guessed, Claire, that is Frank.” Charlie said flatly.
Claire tried to match up the seventy-seven-year-old Frank with the one photo she had seen of him at twenty-six. His red hair had faded to pale ginger, and his freckles had blended in with his age spots. He was now dancing as smoothly as any Arthur Murray instructor, with showy steps and little flourishes.
The music ended, and Frank returned his partner to her table, then held out his arms to the next woman at the table. She went into them eagerly. In another four minutes, he repeated the process. As Claire, Charlie and Nova women drank their sweet Singapore Slings, they watched Frank work the room like a bee going from flower to flower. Everywhere he went, women clamored for him, calling out his name, offering to cook him dinner, to play tennis with him, or to take him to the new movie playing that night at the Rec Hall. It wasn’t difficult to eavesdrop, since many of the women had the projection of those who were slowly going deaf but resisting hearing aids. Frank responded with nods, pointed index fingers, winks and half-promises, never letting any one of the women claim him clearly as her own.
Finally, Frank approached their side of the room. He gave Nova a little wave. Claire rated two appreciative blinks, as if he couldn’t believe she really existed. But when his gaze came to Charlie, Frank froze for a split second. Then he came over to their table.
“Charlie – is it really you? How long has it been?” He took her right hand, but instead of shaking it he made a show of kissing it.
Charlie pulled her hand back. “A long time.”
“Are you still in the old neighborhood?”
“Yes. Still in Multnomah Village. And you?”
“I have a little house near West Portland High. I finally retired when I turned seventy. Insurance adjustor.”
“Isn’t that near Howard’s house?” Nova asked. She leaned forward, her hand rising to her throat. Claire and Charlie exchanged a glance, both thinking that Nova clearly had Howard in her sights.
Frank seemed to wince, and for a moment Claire could imagine him as he must have been fifty years ago, short, frail, and always overlooked. “He lives a few blocks away. We don’t really run in the same circles.” He turned his attention back to Charlie. “Charlie, you still look wonderful, if I might say so.”
“You’ve become quite the dancer. We were watching you out on the floor.”
Claire felt a flash of sympathy at Frank’s sudden flush, the redhead’s curse. He hid his embarrassment by turning his attention to Claire. “And is this lovely young creature your granddaughter?” He leaned forward and gave her an appreciative smile.
The back of Claire’s neck prickled, as if she were being watched. Then she realized that 36 pairs of eyes were shooting daggers at her. “I’m a friend of Charlie’s.”
“Yoo-hoo!” Wearing a wide grin, Jean appeared behind Frank. “I thought I might find you here.” Her arms were overflowing with bags, boxes and brochures, which she let fall into the last empty chair at their table. She had obviously made the best of her time on the Riverwalk campus.
Claire made introductions all around. “This is my mother, Jean. Jean, this is Nova, the woman Charlie came to visit, and Frank, another old friend of theirs.”
“Nova, you are so lucky to live here! Look at all the free things I won. I’ve got the magic touch today!” Jean began to hold up items from the pile on the chair, showing off each one before moving it to the table. Most were emblazoned with the Riverwalk logo, an arc suggesting a bridge over three squiggles that represented the complex’s non-existent river. “I got a pen and pencil set, a gift certificate for a free golf lesson, a six-pack of Ensure in the chocolate flavor, a rubber ball you’re supposed to squeeze when you feel stressed out, another coupon for a free bang trim at the beauty salon – did you know they have a beauty salon right here on campus?” Jean rattled on without pausing for an answer. “Another gift certificate for a free meal here when I buy one of equal or greater value, and one of those rubber grippers for opening jars.” Jean plopped into the now empty chair with a sigh, her hands still fondling the things on the table before her.
Frank leaned forward. “If you would be so kind as to excuse me for interrupting, Jean, but might I ask you a question?”
Claire winced to see her mother simper. “Certainly.”
“I must have misunderstood Claire. It can’t be within the realm of possibility that you would be her mother. You look more like her sister.”
With a quick exchange of glances, the other three women at the table commented wordlessly on Frank’s too obvious flattery. Jean, however, was glowing. She dropped her eyes, then looked up at Frank under her lashes – no mean feat, as even sitting, she wasn’t much shorter than Frank. She held out her hands toward him, wrists together, miming someone waiting to be handcuffed. “Guilty as charged.”
“I can see where her daughter gets her beauty.” Frank turned back to Claire and executed a little bow. For a guy who had grown up poor in Portland, Oregon, he seemed to have adopted the manners of some obscure European nobleman. “Would you care to dance, miss?”
“What?” Claire looked around to see if he was talking to Jean, then giggled nervously. Suddenly she was in seventh grade again, where she had endured the humiliation of both towering above all her dance partners and of having feet that were not only size ten, but both left feet. She still remembered the terror on little Billy Reese’s face when she caused them b
oth to topple over during an out-of-control polka. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I can’t dance.
“Oh, yes, you can. You’ve just never had the pleasure of having a good partner.” Was Claire imagining it, or was there was the faintest hint of a leer in the old man’s voice? Not knowing what else to do, Claire stood up. He had to crane his head to look at her. Frank gave her a brisk nod and a smile, then turned and went toward the dance floor. Claire followed, wishing she were anyplace else. Wearing her old Nikes, jeans and a short-sleeved sweater, Claire was surrounded by the swish of nylons and full skirts. She felt like a Cinderella who had arrived at the ball without the help of a fairy godmother.
Once on the floor, Frank turned and took her in his arms, his grasp surprisingly firm and sure. She had thought he might hesitate to hold close a stranger – and one nearly forty years younger at that – but clearly he had no qualms.
At first Claire watched her feet, as well as the other dancers, while also trying to remember whatever bits she hadn’t repressed of that seventh grade PE class. She counted silently, attempting to memorize the patterns and anticipate what she should do next.
Then Frank’s whisper reached her from somewhere below her ear. “Stop thinking about where you are going to place your feet. Let my hands tell you what to do.” He continued to talk to her, not about how she should move, but instead making observations about the nice weather, recently released movies, and favorite vacation spots. It was the kind of conversation that she could simply mumble an agreement to, or chime in with a brief comment if she felt inspired. Claire stopped watching her feet, stopped thinking about what part she should move next, stopped trying to stay oriented to the rest of the room. She simply concentrated on the top of Frank’s head and the low murmur of his words and his hands putting subtle pressure on her back. To her surprise, she found that she was dancing as smoothly as if she were in a dream or a Ginger Rogers movie.
“So what do you do for a profession?” Frank asked.
“I used to be a custom plate verifier for the state.”
He pulled back and looked up into her eyes. “You mean you’re the one who approves vanity license plates? Like that one guy who wanted VIAGRA?”
That plate, requested by a man who had gotten rich from his Pfizer stock, had ultimately been turned down, a decision covered extensively by the Oregonian as well as most of the local radio stations. Claire’s old boss had rejected it on the rather dubious grounds that it violated the department’s ban on license plates that promoted “controlled substances.”
Claire didn’t feel comfortable talking about Viagra with a man who might be old enough to need some, so she said, “I liked the clever plates better. The ones you have to spend some time figuring out. Like ML8 ML8 on a white VW Rabbit. Or MTNST on a red sports car.” As she spoke, Frank spun her away from him, then reeled her back. Miraculously, Claire didn’t miss a step. “You’re such a smooth dancer. I guess you were right – it really is all in having a good partner. No wonder the ladies are all vying for your attention.”
The music stopped, but Frank made no move to change partners. When a new song began, he again began leading Claire through her paces. Staring down at the top of his right ear, she noticed a streak of what she realized was orange lipstick.
“You know, when I was in high school, no one would date a little runt like me. They were all embarrassed to be seen with me.” Frank’s voice roughened with emotion. “My social success is a vengeance against everybody.” He cleared his throat and then changed the subject. “So is Charlie thinking of moving in to Riverwalk?” Frank didn’t pause to give Claire time to answer the question. “I don’t think I quite caught the connection between you two.”
“She’s my roommate. And my friend. I understand you knew her a long time ago, when she first came to Portland.”
“Did anyone ever really know Charlie? She was always very reserved. It’s funny, but in my perception she hasn’t changed. She’s still the glamorous refugee who moved into the neighborhood and set all the housewives a-twitter.”
Claire, who had only known Charlie with white hair, was reminded again that Charlie had once been young, younger even than Claire was now. “It sounds like she really stirred things up.”
“There weren’t many Jews in Portland. Then she comes here with that kinky hair. No bigger than a child but clearly a woman. And she has that German accent, only she is the good kind of German. Until they met her, I think some people thought Jews had tails and hooves and all the accoutrements. At first she stayed mostly to herself. I myself didn’t get to know her well until several years after she moved here. And then later, um,” he paused, and Claire knew he was thinking of his sister’s death, “our little group drifted apart. So she and Nova have stayed friends all this time?”
“Nova sends Charlie Christmas cards, but I don’t think they’ve seen each other for years. But something happened recently that Charlie wanted to ask Nova about. Something that reminded her of the past.” Claire’s words came slower. Elizabeth Ellsworth’s death wouldn’t be an abstraction to her brother, an interesting conundrum to ponder. Instead, it might well be a wound that had never healed.
“What about the past?”
“Um….” Claire hesitated. Was she imagining it, or did Frank’s hands tense against her back as he waited for her answer?
“Was it – was it about my sister?” Frank’s step stuttered, and for a moment Claire accidentally pressed her body against his.
They both stepped back an inch or two, and Claire was suddenly conscious of the room again. “I’m afraid so,” Claire said.
“Why is Charlie thinking about Liz after all these years?”
Claire pulled back from Frank a little more, enough to look down into his eyes. “Because a few days ago I found your sister’s engagement ring.”
He missed a step, but quickly recovered. There was a pause before he said, “You mean Allen resold the ring and you saw it in a jewelry store?”
“So your sister gave the ring back to Allen before she killed herself?”
“That’s what I heard. And isn’t that what you traditionally do when you break off an engagement?”
“Well, the ring’s turned up, but not in the way you might think. I was out running and saw something glinting inside an old wall. It might have stayed there forever if the chunk of mortar in front of it hadn’t fallen out. Instead, I caught a glimpse of the ring and managed to get it out.”
“The ring was in a wall?” He sounded confused.
“Charlie says it’s the Lisacs’ wall.”
“What? But that doesn’t make any sense.” His foot came down squarely on Claire’s toe.
“Ow!” Fueled by nervousness, Claire’s shriek was louder than she intended. Heads turned.
“A thousand pardons. I’m feeling a little discombobulated. Perhaps I need to take a break.”
With his hand under her elbow, Frank steered Claire to the edge of the dance floor. The magic that had allowed her to feel graceful deserted her, and she was again aware of how she towered over him, clomping along in her huge shoes. She felt like a barge being towed by a tugboat.
“I’m sorry I upset you, bringing up your sister unexpectedly like that.” Claire noticed beads of sweat at Frank’s hairline.
“No, it’s not a problem. Liz and I weren’t very close. I was five years older. In a big family like ours – there were eleven of us children - five years was a huge gap. We didn’t play together when we were kids, and as we grew older, we grew even further apart.”
But Claire remembered Charlie saying how Frank had hung around Elizabeth’s group of friends for at least that one summer, an integral, if uninvited, part of the group that picnicked and swam and listened to records at the Lisacs’ house.
Frank stopped and faced her when they stepped off the dance floor. “I was sure she had given the ring back to Allen. It doesn’t make any sense that it was in the wall.”
“Nova thought your sister might have put it ther
e because she was angry with Allen.” She made no mention of the secret Nova had carried for fifty years, that Elizabeth had been pregnant.
He thought about this. “Perhaps. Isn’t suicide supposed to be an act of anger? I think Liz must have been angry with all of them, all of the Lisacs. Or else why did she hang herself in a spot everyone has to pass under? Maybe she found out about him and Mary and didn’t want Mary to end up with the ring.”
This was an angle Claire hadn’t thought about. What if Elizabeth had turned up pregnant just at the time she realized her fiancé was involved with her sister? “So Mary was seeing Allen before Elizabeth died?” Charlie had said no, but it made sense.
Frank dropped his eyes. “Mary always said there wasn’t anything between them before. I was never certain.” He sighed. “Have you told Allen?”
“He and his wife are out of town and won’t be back for another week.”
“Where is the ring now?”
Claire watched his eyes widen at her answer. “In my pocket.” She pulled out the drawstring bag and took the ring from it.
Frank plucked it from her hand and eyed it closely, or as closely as the soft light of the chandeliers would allow. He was the first person she had shown it to who reacted critically rather than emotionally. “It’s a beautiful piece. I wonder, legally, who it belongs to.”
“Wouldn’t it be Allen Lisac’s? After all, Charlie says it has been in his family for generations.”
“But he gave it Liz. Wouldn’t it rightfully belong to her heirs?”
If even a few of her ten siblings had reproduced, the slices from the hypothetical pie of the ring would be as thin as slivers. “Sounds like a question for Emily Post,” Claire said lightly. She held out her hand, and, after a heartbeat, Frank gave her back the ring. “I’ll keep you posted as to what happens.”
He took a deep breath, then straightened himself up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be monopolizing you.” He began to steer Claire back to her table. When they reached it, he gave her a nod and said, “Thank you so much for allowing me the pleasure of escorting you on the dance floor.”