They pause as each man is about to move toward a different airline. toward a different airline.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the tip, Grandpa. Safe traveling." Grandpa. Safe traveling."

"And to you, too, sir."

They nod at each other, two such men of the world, each recognizing a kindred spirit. world, each recognizing a kindred spirit.

EIGHTEEN.

OUR DINNER WITH THE.

RICH FOLK.

A t dinner, Evvie glances over to my table. Our t dinner, Evvie glances over to my table. Our eyes meet in satisfaction. How gorgeous everything is. The dining room shines with dazzling gla.s.s chandeliers, sparkling dinnerware, starched napkins-or serviettes, serviettes, as the waiter p.r.o.nounces it as he places one in my lap. Evvie is in heaven. She, too, is sparkling as she chats with her tablemates. as the waiter p.r.o.nounces it as he places one in my lap. Evvie is in heaven. She, too, is sparkling as she chats with her tablemates.

The people at Wilmington House take dressing for dinner fairly seriously. The women are all in c.o.c.ktail dresses. The men wear suits and ties. The room is quiet except for very low conversation and soft elevator music playing in the background.

I look around my table. No one is smiling. The woman next to me introduces herself as Lorraine Sanders. She sits head high, body stiff, her lips pursed as if she's eaten something sour. In a matter of moments she informs me that her husband had lived here with her, but he died three years ago and she still misses him terribly. She points. "You're in his seat." With that, she touches the back of my chair as she gives me a resentful look.

As if I am sitting on his ghost. I wonder if she dusts it off every day. Oy.

Seymour Banks, tall, thin, not much hair, overly polite, in the next chair over, announces he lost his wife four years ago. He sighs long and hard.

Anna Kaplan, sweet-faced, shy, and somewhat heavy, says her husband died five years ago, but she informs me that doesn't mean she's gotten over it, either. With that, the hankie comes out of the pocket for many mournful sniffles.

I have the feeling they know one another's woeful stories by heart. I am aware they are all wearing dark colors as opposed to the brighter outfits all around the room. Lucky me. I guess they've put me at the bereavement table. And for a moment I suspect Hope Watson did that on purpose. I wouldn't put it past her.

After those p.r.o.nouncements, my companions stop talking or even looking at one another and focus on their meals.

I glance over to Evvie's table, where she is smiling and animated in conversation. Leave it to her. Wherever she goes, she turns it into a party. Though I doubt even she would be able to warm up my lackl.u.s.ter group.

I am reminded of one of Evvie's and my favorite scenes in a much-loved Woody Allen movie, Stardust Memories. W Stardust Memories. Woody is riding on a train filled with sad, drably dressed, pathetic-looking people. They are filmed all in black and white. A train pa.s.ses theirs. It's filmed in color. Gorgeous, young, happy people drinking champagne and laughing. The expression on Woody's face says it all.

A marvelous cinematic moment, and I feel I'm living it now. Wait 'til I tell Evvie later. She'll get it immediately.

Hope Watson taps her fork gently against a gla.s.s and the room stills. "Good evening, everyone." Everyone parrots, "Good evening, Hope." I can't believe it. Sounds like kindergarten.

"Some of you have already met our latest arrivals. Let me formally introduce them to you. At table five is Evelyn Markowitz of New York City and Fort Lauderdale." Evvie is urged to stand up. She does and she receives polite applause. "Evelyn's hobbies are writing articles and attending movies, plays, and all forms of entertainment. I'm sure she will find much of that right here on our own campus. In fact, tonight we are showing a wonderful old cla.s.sic, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in Adam's Rib. Adam's Rib. Perhaps she'll do a movie review for us." Perhaps she'll do a movie review for us."

Evvie instantly responds, "You bet I will."

"Well, then, we'll be looking forward to that."

Evvie smiles broadly and sits down.

Hope turns to me. "At table three, meet Gladys Gold." I am urged to stand. "She is also formerly from New York, but then again, so many of you are." That gets polite laughs. "She has just recently arrived in Florida. I know she'll be happy not to see snow anymore. I hope you left your furs behind."

I smile the saccharine smile that Hope seems to bring out in me.

"Gladys enjoys reading and walks on the beach, and sometimes writes poetry." Again a smattering of applause. Evvie created my so-called bio. I just pray n.o.body asks me to recite a poem.

My tablemates acknowledge me briefly with little enthusiasm.

Hope is not through. "And before I forget, let me remind everyone of the monthly mixer this Sat.u.r.day night. Ladies and gentlemen, get out your fabulous finery. It will be a gala evening for one and all." There is applause and murmuring at this announcement.

Whew. That's over, we're back to dinner. And what a meal it is. Gourmet, all the way. The chef comes from France, I'm told. I can't help but think of the girls back home. I hope they took a cab and went out for an early-bird special tonight. Then I wouldn't feel so guilty.

I make one more stab at dinner conversation. "Will you all be at the mixer?"

Anna continues eating as she speaks. "What for? My Harry won't be there for me to dance with." She sounds so pathetic. "Those others think they can still find love. When you're old, it's over."

"Ditto for me." Lorraine studies the dessert card. "We've already had our share of happiness. I stay in my room and put earplugs in so I won't hear the noise."

I'm afraid to ask Seymour. But he volunteers his response. He shrugs. "I come. I listen. I like the music. I don't dance."

Well, that was stimulating.

We are on our coffee and dessert when the dining room doors are suddenly flung open and a man appears. He stretches his arms out and says, "Oh, dear, I suppose I'm too late for dinner."

Everyone turns to look at him. Indeed, he is something to behold. For a man of seventy-five, he seems in excellent physical condition. He is about five foot ten, resplendent in a tuxedo and matching cape with a red lining and a black fedora. His glistening, dark, wavy hair is steel gray at the temples. His eyes are electric blue and for a man his age, he is utterly handsome.

He bows. In a plummy English accent, he says, "May I introduce myself? My name is Philip Smythe."

After dinner, as we are walking out of the dining room, Evvie purposely pa.s.ses me, grinning. She whispers, "Wow. What an entrance. Smythe doesn't look like he could murder anybody, except maybe onstage. With that outfit he should be playing Dracula in summer stock."

"Dracula killed his women, don't forget," I whisper back.

Evvie laughs. "In books and onstage, Glad, make-believe stuff."

"I can see his appeal. Every woman in the place is gaping at him."

"Looks to me like this will be a whole lot of fun. I intend to enjoy myself. A lot!"

Evvie hurries to catch up to the other residents heading for the screening room. "See ya at the movies!" she calls back to me.

NINETEEN.

NO FREE LUNCH.

So much for not being here very long. Three days of h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Gold, how are you? Fine, h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Gold, how are you? Fine, and you, Mrs. Markowitz? and you, Mrs. Markowitz? This pretending not to know each other is beginning to get tiresome. This pretending not to know each other is beginning to get tiresome.

After breakfast at our separate tables, I make an executive decision. I walk over to Evvie, who is just leaving the dining room. "Good morning, Evelyn."

Evvie is startled. I'm going out of character, but she's quick on the uptake. Nodding, she responds, "Gladys. Isn't it a lovely day?"

I pick up on her cue. "Nice day for a stroll." I indicate the patio doors.

"Why not."

And we go outside and out of earshot. "What's up?" she asks me.

"Nothing's up, sis. Let's become 'friends.' I'm tired of thinking up new ways to communicate. Then we can hang out together. Much simpler."

"Fine by me."

I smile. As the older sister by two years, Evvie does look up to me to be the leader. We've always made a good team. We think alike. I wish I could have found a way to make the girls understand that's why she was the right person for me to work with.

Together we scout the entire place. We check the grounds, the pool, the tennis courts, the bike path, and the walking trail around the lake. We cover the card room, the gym, the library, the TV room, the barbershop, the billiards room, the art room, and the snack bar.

Evvie gives up. "Where the heck is he? No sign of him anywhere."

Either he's skipped breakfast to sleep late or he left the premises. No sign of our guy. We've been trailing him since he got here. So far, nothing's been happening. He hangs around, socializes. Picking out his next prey?

We linger outside for a while. Evvie sits down on one of the cement benches that has the name of a rich contributor carved into its arm. "It's not going to be so easy keeping tabs on him."

"We need a different tactic." I sit down next to her and bend to touch the backs of my new Reeboks. They're rubbing against my ankles because they aren't broken in yet. Come to think of it, all my new clothes feel uncomfortable. I don't feel like me. Like I'm not in my own skin. This is a strange new experience.

"For example?"

"One of us has to get closer to him. Make friends with him. But we have to be subtle. Maybe one of us can get a.s.signed to his table and sit next to him at meals. Let's ask Hope Watson's help."

Evvie laughs. "Fat chance she'll accommodate us."

It's a tempting thought, though. To be away from my dreary tablemates. "At least she gave you a lively table."

"Some lively. All they talk about is the price of this and the price of that. Do you want to know the price of sable coats these days? Like they need them here. I really have to work hard to keep up with their a.s.sets."

"Smythe is taking his time picking out which old lady he wants for his next, maybe dangerous, love affair."

"Innocent love affair," Evvie comments. "Remember, innocent until proven guilty. Anyway, the longer he takes, the longer we get to stay here, which is fine with me."

"That, too."

We stretch out our legs and let the sun bake our faces. "Mmm," says Evvie, "I could get used to this life."

"Well, don't. Because we aren't going to have it forever."

Evvie stands and pulls me up, too. "Then let's take in every advantage. Race you to the spa."

We've been in the Jacuzzi and the workout room. We went into the indoor pool and actually swam a few laps. Now we're in the "relaxation room," lying on adjoining tables with long towels covering our bodies and rejuvenating mud packs over our faces. The soft music lulls us. The aromatherapy session on our backs earlier makes us tingle pleasantly.

Suddenly I feel Evvie poke my arm. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" I mumble blissfully.

"Listen!" She pokes me again.

I hear voices coming toward us. They sound familiar. The door opens slightly and we hear Hope Watson whisper, "And this is where we have our delicious facials."

I take a peek from out of the corner of my eye mask. Hope moves back out of the doorway, remaining in the corridor while her little tour group tiptoes in.

"Mahvellus, absolutely absolutely mahvellus," mahvellus," says phony potential client Sophie Meyerbeer. says phony potential client Sophie Meyerbeer.

"Just too lovely for words," agrees sycophant Bella Fox.