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didn’t have time to record my first night without Jack. Not that I ever had a night with him. I fell asleep after a dinner I couldn’t eat and woke up in the morning with a headache. Or was it an ache in my heart?
    Night two is not off to a good start. My usual routine is to watch the ten o’clock news and then read until my eyes close, but I have no desire to watch TV or open my book. I have to pull myself out of this. I’m driving myself crazy. I’m acting like a teenager.
    I look at the phone. Staring at it doesn’t make it ring. Ring, I demand silently.

    4 8 • R i t a L a k i n
    You make the call.
    Great. The phone is talking to me.
    No, I can’t.
    Do it. You know you want to.
    Mind your own business.
    Just reach out.
    It’s after eleven o’clock.
    Ooh, he’s a big boy. I bet he stays up ’til at least eleven thirty, maybe even midnight.
    I need sarcasm from a phone?
    Call him up!
    All right. Stop nagging.
    I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with myself as a phone. I reach out tentatively for the receiver. I dial Jack’s number, then quickly hang up before I reach the last digit.
    Coward.
    Shut up.
    I pace. I sit down on the edge of the bed. I get up again. I dial again. It rings. And rings. And rings.
    Then his answering machine picks up. I hang up, fast. He’s not home. Where is he after eleven o’clock at night? Where would he have gone?
    None of us seniors ever venture out past nine p.m.
    I’m about to dial again, but what’s the point. What if he’s in the shower and didn’t hear the phone? A memory flashes into my head of Jack dropping his lavalava as he was about to get into the Jacuzzi with me. For a brief moment I see his body and feel faint with longing. And then to miss it all. Because of my stupidity. I had to put the girls first, didn’t I?

    G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 4 9
    Oh, this is torture. I wait ten minutes; the hands on the clock are moving much too slowly. He’s got to be out of the shower now. I dial. Get the same result. No shower. Face it. He’s not home. Or even worse he’s there and doesn’t want to talk to me. I hang up on the answering machine. I will not leave a message.
    Now I’m wide awake. Angry. Frustrated. Annoyed. First at him and then at myself. I head to the fridge for something to eat. Anything. Luckily nothing appeals to me. Carrot sticks won’t do it.
    Jack, where are you? Call me, damn it!
    *
    *
    *
    “Now, you sit on this bench,” Evvie tells me the next morning. “You’ll be able to see and hear everything.”
    I sit down. “This is your idea of a date?”
    “No, it’s his, and I didn’t want this date in the first place. I need you to help me out.”
    “So why didn’t you say no?”
    “Because I’m stupid. So stay here and drink your coffee and do your crossword puzzle. Look inconspicuous.”
    I can hardly be inconspicuous since I’m six inches away from the picnic table at which Evvie is supposed to wait for Sol Spankowitz. We are seated in a grassy area near the duck pond—which places us directly in the path of everyone walking to the pool, meaning they can’t miss us. Sol’s idea, I’ll bet, to show off having a date with Evvie.

    5 0 • R i t a L a k i n
    Evvie pinches me. “Tell me to run now while I still have the chance.”
    “Why isn’t he taking you out to a restaurant?”
    “Probably because he’s cheap. The man is an idiot. Uh-oh, speaking of idiots, here he comes.”
    “Well, at least he’s on time. That’s a good trait in a boyfriend.”
    “Don’t say anything nice about him; do me that favor.”
    “I promise.” But I can hardly keep my face straight.
    Sol is practically bouncing along the path, he’s that happy. He carries a yellow wicker picnic basket with pink ribbons, something I’m sure his late wife, Clara, bought. He wears one of his inevitable bad-taste outfits, lime green checkered pants, a striped orange shirt, and unmatched socks. I’m beginning to suspect he’s