When the Larry King program was over, it was time. She closed her eyes. Larry, do you have a moment? Ida? For you? Of course I always have time. What’s the matter? I’m embarrassed to say it. Come on. We’re old friends. What is it? Larry, something happened that hasn’t happened in a long time. I couldn’t believe it, really. I’m all ears, Ida. I had a Whoopee moment.
Not looking at her, Abe wheeled slowly around the room, turning off lights. He was pleased by a familiar stirring in his genitals. He knew he had to go slowly. There was so much for them both to get used to—their unfamiliar bodies, him with his missing leg. How would Ida react to that? She hadn’t minded when they lay together at Seven Oaks—she in her nightgown, he fully dressed. Abe took off his clothes except for his underpants and climbed onto the big bed next to her. He heard her nervous gasps.
At Seven Oaks, every-day aches and pains –arthritis, neuralgia, muscular cramps, headaches, GI spasms, and back twinges– were recognized as part of the price tag attached to the accomplishment of old age. But that didn’t mean that discomfort should be accepted. The drawers and cabinets of the residents were stuffed with every pill and potion—branded and generic–made by the pharmaceutical and alternative medicine industries.
The waiter appeared carrying two plates. The contents were hidden under metal covers. Lifting the lids simultaneously, he announced, “Oysters Rockefeller.”
Charlie kept a straight face. “Fine. Very good.”
Abe led Estelle up the cellar stairs. The kids, who were scattered up and down the drive and recovering from the shock of Nutty Moie bursting among them, were dumbfounded all over again. “Hey, hey, it’s Estelle… Look at Estelle… Moie got Estelle… Estelle are you okay? Are you okay?”
She was black with coal dust from head to toe. But she amazed them with an odd sort of smile. Not a “Ha, ha” smile. But a “Look what I did” smile. She told them in a whispering voice, “We were playing a game. It was fun. For a while.”
Danny Schwartz and his Wolverines playing the Charleston and Ida flying across the floor, hands clapping her knees, hop, hop, hopping across the floor, Gilbert flailing his arms and matching her hop for hop. And the band never stopping. Danny Schwartz, shouting encouragement. The other dancers cheering in a circle around them. She could do this all night, never tire, never want to stop.
Abe Hirsch had been cited for speeding—in his wheelchair—through the long, cream-colored corridors of Seven Oaks. The head social worker, Mrs. Rhea Feldstein was defending him in a meeting to which Abe had been summoned.
First time: It hurt. Ida bled – to her surprise and dismay. She didn’t know that was what happened; she told Charlie who was upset that she was upset.
First day: Breakfast in bed. Charlie buttered and sliced her toast and fed it to her, square by square. “Open up now, little sweetie,” he said, and she laughed and did as he told her. Now this was fun, at least.
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