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looking very much, I hoped, not like myself.
    I heard a shuffling sound and turned to see Mr. Richardson, whose prostate I hoped had shrunk, and Benny, the usher from the movie theater, coming up the sidewalk. The building was level with the sloped walkway, and so there weren’t any front steps.
    They both stopped—and stared.
    I gulped loudly and tried to smile, although the makeup Goldie had pasted onto my face was nearly ready to crack. Suddenly I thought of Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire.
    â€œHello, sweetie,” Benny said.
    I couldn’t distinguish the tone. At first I thought he used it as if I were a thirty-something dressed for Halloween. Then he winked.
    There is a God.
    Mr. Richardson scuffled forward. “You’re new around here.”
    As if I had dementia and didn’t know that. I nodded.
    â€œCome on, sweetie,” Benny said, taking my hand from the door. He paused.
    I looked down. Goldie had forgotten my hands! They didn’t look over seventy. Then again, my eyesight had to be a thousand times better than the folks who came here. Benny was in motion again, opening the door for me.
    â€œWe’ll introduce you and get you a nice, warm cup of coffee.” He stepped aside. “With those hands, you look used to having someone take care of you.”
    I sighed.
    â€œPassed away, did he?”
    He who? Oh, my husband. “Several years ago,” I replied.
    Once inside, it looked as if the world were running in slow motion. Men sat at tables playing cards, chatting and laughing. A group of women sat in rows of chairs ever so slowly doing arm exercises instructed by a young guy in a black leotard. Maybe I could have come here as that? But no, I stood between the two elderly gentlemen, disguised as an aged female, yet felt as if I stood out like a tick on a white dog.
    I was introduced to everyone, fed melba toast sans butter, sugar-free cookies, and dried prunes. All was washed down with very weak coffee laden with Equal and nondairy creamer. My stomach flipped several times as I cruised the room by myself.
    There in the back row of the exercise ladies sat Sophie Banko, rolling her arms as if she thought the slabs of fat hanging off would tumble to the ground. At least I thought it was her. I had to lift up my fake glasses to be sure. Looked just like the photo in my file.
    Bingo.
    I’d introduce myself as soon as her arms thinned. I swung around in time to see Uncles Walt and Stash walk in like an Oreo cookie with a Helen Wanat filling sandwiched between the two.
    Suddenly I had to get out of there. I started to hurry, and then got a suspicious look from Benny. No one in this room except maybe Mr. Leotard traveled at that speed. I slowed, shuffled and tried to get to the door. Benny grabbed my arm and yanked me toward my uncles!
    â€œHello, fellas. Meet our new member.” He turned toward me with a look of horror on his face. I readied for him to say, “Your niece,” but all he said was, “I never got your name, sweetie.”
    â€œPau . . . Peggy. Peggy—” I felt the fake sagging boobs Goldie had fashioned sag a bit more. “—Doubtme. Peggy Doubtme.” I pronounced it “Doubtmay” as if I were French. “Real name is Margaret, but I go by Peggy,” I rambled nervously. “My mother, God rest her soul, refused to call me Peggy and when someone would call on the phone asking for Peggy, Mamma would say, ‘You mean Margaret .’” I chuckled. Alone.
    Uncle Stash took my hand and shook it vigorously. He winked and said, “Nice to meet you, Peggy.”
    I tried to ease backward so Uncle Walt wouldn’t get a direct look at me. He stood there staring.
    Oh, boy.
    Suddenly he took my hand from his brother’s and said, “Very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy yourself here, and don’t hesitate to ask me anything. Anything at all.” He dropped my hand.
    I gulped.
    He smiled.
    Did