Chapter Two Welcome to Sunnydale
Chapter Two
Welcome to Sunnydale
Tempe, Arizona
Seventy-two-year-old Frida Larsen listened intently to the melodious voice of the thirtysomething woman dressed in a beige linen suit.
The young woman was attractive but not glamorous and had a pleasant but businesslike air to her.
She stood next to a large screen as she clicked through the slides and explained the advantages in investing money in the Sunnydale Securities Firm.
“We will allocate your monthly expenses and make sure all your bills are paid on time. This is a service I am certain you can appreciate. You don’t have to worry about writing out checks and balancing your accounts.
Our service will provide the necessary transactions each month while you experience your retirement playing golf, tennis, or simply enjoying whatever strikes your fancy each and every day, worry-free.
In addition, we will also allocate funds into a separate interest-bearing account so you will continue to make money on the money you already have. Our program is seamless.”
Frida raised her hand. “Do you mean you will be investing our money?”
“We can certainly provide that service in a separate account we will set up for you.”
“And what is the fee?” Frida asked.
“We charge a minimal fee of twenty dollars per month, per account.” The woman smiled broadly.
Frida furrowed her brow. “If I am understanding you correctly, if I have only one account, then it’s only twenty dollars per month.”
“That is correct.” The woman continued to smile. “It’s less than a dollar a day to have the peace of mind knowing you will never have to pay late fees for bills you may have overlooked. We take the worry out of it.”
Frida nodded and looked at the dozen others staring blankly at the front of the room.
“I have prepared a packet of information that outlines our simple program. I have also included my business card and wrote my private number on the back. I want my clients to be assured they have a direct line to me at any time.” She looked around for more hands.
“You don’t have to worry, because all of our conversations are strictly confidential.
” She checked the room one more time. “Thank you very much for your time, and I look forward to working with each and every one of you. Have a lovely evening.” The woman walked to the door, her quiet assistant at the ready with the brochures.
As people were leaving, the well-manicured woman clasped each attendee’s hand in both of hers, intimating a personal connection.
Frida was still befuddled. She had recently moved to Sunnydale at the urging of her daughter and son-in-law. They wanted her to be close by, but not too close, and they wanted her to be in a safe environment. Sunnydale provided both, all within an hour’s drive from where they lived.
A man with a friendly face approached her. “Hello. My name is Henry. Henry Pushkin.”
Frida was startled at first but appreciated his kind eyes. “Hello yourself. I’m Frida Larsen.” Frida was five feet, five inches tall, with an average build. Her white hair was cut in a pixie style that surrounded her big blue Nordic eyes.
“New resident?”
“Ya. Just got here a little over a week ago.”
“Well then, welcome to Sunnydale,” he said, beaming. “It’s always nice to see new faces.”
“Thank you. How long have you been living here?”
“Going on two years.”
“And how do you like it?”
“It’s quite nice. There are a lot of activities, good food and service.” Then he hesitated.
Frida could sense there might be a but coming. Then nothing. She wasn’t quite convinced. “But?” she put it to him boldly.
Henry chuckled. “You are rather perceptive, now, aren’t you?”
“Women’s intuition, and I’ve been around long enough to have accumulated plenty. I try to put it to good use.”
Henry was charmed. He also wanted to steer the conversation in a different direction so as not to scare off the new resident. “I don’t mean to sound forward, but are you married?”
“No. No. I’ve been a widow for several years.
I used to live in Minneapolis, but my daughter and her husband wanted me to be closer to them.
This was the perfect solution. At first everyone thought it was foolish to rent, but my money is in a fund, and I’d like to keep making a little money.
” She paused. “My daughter will get what’s left over, but in the meantime, I might as well enjoy myself! ”
He chuckled. “I totally agree. I realize most homes appreciate in value, but it can take years. And then what? I might as well keep earning money on my money while I’m still kicking!”
It was Frida’s turn to ask. “Married?”
“Widower. Ten years. Originally from Colorado, but the winters were getting into my bones.”
Frida laughed. “I know the feeling.” She paused. “You still haven’t told me about the but.”
“But? Sorry. I was having a senior moment.”
“Don’tcha find the words senior citizen a little, oh I dunno, boxing us in?”
“Yes, I completely agree. We live in a world where people don’t want to be labeled, yet every day there is a new one that we have to adhere to. I still haven’t mastered the pronoun thing. When I went to school, ‘they’ was plural.”
Frida chuckled again. “I know whatcha mean. What if everyone wore a name tag? Personally, I don’t care what anyone’s preference is in how they live their lives. As long as they are decent and kind.”
“Another thing we agree on. I’ve learned that life is too short to be judging other people unless you’re on a jury.”
Frida smiled. “See? Now I agree with you.” She paused. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“What did you think of that presentation back there?”
“Oh, that? They do it a few times a year. It’s their pitch meeting.”
“And do you participate?”
“Me? No. I go to see if there are any newcomers.”
“Mission accomplished,” she said, and grinned. “You know what that presentation reminded me of? One of those shopping networks. Did ya ever notice they use the ‘you don’t have to worry’ phrase for every item they have on the air?”
“Shopping networks are not my thing, but I believe you.” He motioned for them to walk toward the roundabout.
“Sometimes I channel surf and will stop if I spot something I think I need. I have to tell ya, I laugh when they say ‘you don’t have to worry about’ whatever, whether it’s sheets and pillowcases or a car battery.
Sheets? I don’t think I’ve ever worried about my sheets.
A car battery? Maybe, I might if I was stranded on a country road somewhere, but I don’t lose sleep over it. ”
Henry laughed. “You’re a pip, Frida Larsen.”
“I’ve been called ‘spunky,’ too.” Frida felt her face flush a bit.
It was the first time since her husband passed away that she had an easy conversation with another man.
It was refreshing. She hoped there were a few more people like him.
Not that she was looking for a mate, just someone to chat with. Take a walk. Have a meal.
They continued toward the gazebo in the middle of a small park that sat in the center of the roundabout drive.
“How are you adjusting to the weather?” Henry asked. He gestured for her to take a seat.
“Uff da. It sure is hot during the day. Nights aren’t too bad, so I’ve been told.”
“That’s true for a good part of the year, but summers can be brutal, even at night.
I don’t want to alarm you, but next month will be a doozy.
The first year I was here, they showed someone actually frying an egg on the sidewalk.
You don’t see too many people walking around.
Everyone wants to stay in their personal meat lockers,” Henry joked.
“Ha. That’s a funny one. I have to admit, being used to the cold, I do keep my thermostat around sixty-six.” She winced. “There aren’t rules about that, are there?”
“Not that I know of.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
“So tell me, Henry Pushkin, we never got around to that dangling but, and don’tcha tell me it was one of those moments.” She gave him a slight nudge with her elbow.
“At the risk of sounding irrational, let me just say this. While I think this setup is a good idea for some people, especially those without families, it sometimes gives me the heebie-jeebies knowing the next step is on the other side of those trees.” He gestured toward the long line of Italian cypress trees that served as a high hedge.
“Although they do a magnificent job in keeping the different facilities separated, sometimes I feel as if it’s a dark cloud looming in the horizon. ”
“Isn’t that just life?” Frida asked, wide-eyed.
“Good point,” Henry responded. He was about to continue when he noticed a flicker of light through the hedges. “Wait here.” He got up and walked quickly toward the cypress trees. He parted a few branches and peeked through. Then he stepped back slowly and returned to where Frida was sitting.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” He let out a huff. “At least I don’t think it’s anything.”
“But …”
“Ah, that word again,” he said, grinning.
“Yes, and?”
“I probably should not be telling you this, or you may think I just escaped from an asylum.”
“That would make the story even more interesting.” Frida egged him on.
Henry looked at her for a beat and then said, “Okay. You asked for it. I often take walks at night. Wandering the premises. They don’t encourage us meandering about, but I sometimes have trouble sleeping, and a walk usually helps.”
“And?”
“And I’ve seen some very late-night traffic pulling into the side of the other buildings. Always around three.”
“I don’t understand,” Frida replied.
“Me either. That’s my point.” He shrugged. “Probably my imagination running wild.”
“How often does this happen? You, going for a walk? Seeing mysterious cars? Or your imagination getting the best of you?”
Henry snickered. “You probably think I’m a bit mad.”
“Not yet.” Frida liked the comfortable exchange.