Chapter Fifteen
A motorized whine alerts me Jan’s heading my way, the basket of her scooter coming into view a moment before she wheels through the open doorway and into my office. “Did you see it?”
There are a great many things I’ve seen during my month-long stay at Lakeview, so I’m going to need her to narrow it down a bit. “See what?”
She lifts a crinkled newspaper page off her lap, and my gut plummets to the beige Berber carpet.
All in all, the Body Positivity Presentation went well, which was what I told myself when I strolled over to the reporter afterward to thank her for coming and mention other exciting plans we had for the property.
But when she was so fixated on the hand-sanitizer guy, her first question whether he’d given this Sophia person an STI and if it’d been at one of our notorious oldies orgies, I completely lost my cool and kinda, sorta yelled at her.
More of a stern speaking to, honestly. It felt incredible to get off my chest, the ire I held for clickbait articles and the tabloids that hungrily leaped at the news about King EZ and the panties heard round the media world.
Great, now I’m feeling guilt over helping him, even though the advice I gave could’ve been found through a simple Google search.
As for whatever article Claudia Caldwell chose to write, I’ve been alternating between hyperfixation and extreme avoidance, afraid I’d be fired as soon as it ran.
It’s why I gave in to the grannies, unplugging and fully experiencing the botanical gardens over the weekend.
Thanks to a little peer pressure, I brazenly turned off my notifications and Google alerts to prove that I could, even though it’d made me twitchy.
And hey, at least all the flowers made it easy to relive Noah down in the dirt, giving me an impromptu lesson on the pink rose mallow plant.
I hold my breath as Jan snaps the paper and reads aloud.
“Mia Andrews, Public Relations Manager said, ‘At Lakeview, we take pride in actively combating ageism in all its forms. We firmly reject the notion that elder generations are too old for consent or intimacy. Not only are we committed to a more inclusive narrative, our programs also emphasize safe sex education and body positivity, right along with pickleball tournaments, craft nights, and highly competitive bingo. That’s what makes Lakeview Retirement Village the best place for seniors to be on vacation forever.’”
Jan rolls closer, fast enough I’m debating diving out of the way before I end up with tread marks across my shins. “That slogan is perfect! How’d you come up with it?”
My mouth falls open, but I just blink, as I’m instinctively sure I shouldn’t give the real, uncensored answer: I was pissed the reporter was turning our inhabitants into objects, the exact opposite of the event’s purpose, and in that moment, I didn’t give a fuck.
So basically, I’m becoming the very thing I’ve been sent here to fix.
“I’m pleased as punch right now, hopeful in a way I haven’t been in a long time,” Jan says, rolling the paper in her palm and tapping my shoulder with it. “Must’ve been a good crowd. How soon do you think we’ll see a spike in residency?”
With the readership of the Herald Sun divided by the square root of retirees flying south for the winter, I have no earthly idea. “As stated in my publicity plan, we’ll predominately be focusing on turning around the reputation and polishing the image in this first stage.
“Next, I’d like to throw an open house. Last night proved we can draw a crowd and garner publicity.”
In a strange twist of fate, inviting the journalist to the seminar had worked. My diatribe was a result of my frustration and the media’s obsession with the sex lives of celebrities and senior citizens coming to a head, but along the way, I’d accidentally stumbled on the perfect marketing strategy.
After all, the only people who wouldn’t want to be on vacation forever are weirdo workaholics like me.
…
“I don’t know.” Arlene’s voice drifts from behind the thick curtain of the dressing room, over to where Grandma Helen, Wanda, Rita, and I are seated on a cushy upholstered bench with giant buttons that don’t serve any function.
“Come on out and let us see,” Grandma Helen bosses.
“That’s another thing I don’t know. I’m not sure I want anyone seein’ me in this outfit, not even the mirror in here.”
I check another line of boxes and hit the little trashcan icon, clearing my inbox of every email I’ve dealt with so I can better see what’s left. “If you don’t feel comfortable,” I say, opening up the press release draft I’ve been working on, “that probably means it’s not the right outfit.”
The other three women on the chaise glare at me as if they hadn’t sent a text at 6:07 this evening, informing me the workday was officially over. They then ordered me to meet them down the street at Elegance and Grace Clothing Boutique. And to hurry.
A woman wearing a flowy, tiger-print caftan with a bejeweled broach greeted me upon my arrival, snowy locks pulled into a super high, Ariana-Grande-style ponytail—I only hoped I could slay a look that hard in my sixties.
I haven’t seen any of the articles Arlene took into the dressing room, but as I’d passed the racks of clothing, I noticed flashy was the overall theme. With the fabrics bright and neon and the prints extra busy, the pieces were showstoppers, if not missing a tad of the advertised elegance.
“Say something,” Grandma Helen hisses. She gives my shoulder a nudge in case it wasn’t clear she means me, imploring me to do the very thing most people want me to do and “fix it.”
“Perhaps if I’d been apprised of the objective going in,” I whisper-yell.
“If you didn’t remain at the office so late,” my grandma claps back, “perhaps we would’ve had the chance to tell you that Arlene’s trying on outfits for her upcoming date.”
“The first date I’ve had in fifty years,” comes her muffled reply through the curtain. “That’s a half a century! Which is why I can’t wear this or anything I already have in my closet. Or anything at all.”
“Now you’re talking,” Wanda says, bouncing in her seat. “That’ll make you very popular.”
Sophia bursts out of the dressing room at the far end, announcing her presence—to me, anyway—and wearing a magenta and turquoise wrap dress with a southwestern motif.
“If I could go back to my twenties, I’d install full length mirrors on every wall and walk around naked.
” She twirls in our direction, the skirt of her dress flaring much like the flashy red salsa dress I’d poured myself into, and then cranes her neck to study the backside of the dress in her reflection.
“Don’t you listen to them, Arlene,” Rita hollers, and then she lowers her voice to a whisper. “What she needs is confidence. We need to make her feel…”
“Beautiful,” Wanda says.
“Like a force of nature,” Grandma says.
Sophia follows right on her heels. “Like she just stole someone’s man and doesn’t feel bad about it.”
We grin and chuckle and Rita nods. “All of the above,” Rita says.
“Let’s do all of that.” Arlene pokes her head from out behind the curtain she keeps draped across her with a white-knuckled fist. “No one’s ever thought that of me, not even back when I considered myself sort of pretty in my twenties. ”
Whoa there. That’ll get me to drop my computer in a flash.
“Nuh-uh.” I’m out of my chair and across the narrow hallway, stopping a yard short so Arlene still has plenty of personal space.
“In the words of Taylor Alison Swift, our Patron Saint of Female Empowerment, we don’t do that anymore, remember? ”
Growing up, my mom was always on a new diet, unrelentingly critical of her body and every pound she gained, which trickled over to me.
There were also several times in that stretch between middle and high school where I’d be seated at our tiny kitchen table, and Mom would walk by and deliver a harsh “observation.” So I could know where I needed to improve, she claimed—upset by my welling tears.
What it did was undercut my confidence and teach me to be small.
A lump attempts to form in my throat, so I quickly stop strolling down trauma lane and return my focus to Arlene.
“Our bodies are merely our vessels, remember? They’re intricate and wondrous and house our extraordinary souls, yet they’re the least interesting thing about us.
It’s not our purpose in life to lose weight and look pretty. ”
I gently place my hand over the top of Arlene’s, not pushing her to drop the curtain, but assuring her we’ll ooh and ahh and tell her she’s gorgeous and brave. That any guy would be so lucky as to get to spend an evening with her.
Unless the guy doesn’t deserve it, then heaven help him, he’ll have the Cronies and me to deal with.
“Okay, I’ll let y’all see,” she says reluctantly, though she doesn’t release her grip.
At long last, she nods and uncurls her fingers from the curtain. I sweep it aside, revealing Arlene and her new outfit with a flourish.
“I don’t know,” Arlene repeats, but this time she has half a foot over the threshold, her extremely flowy and colorful outfit on display.
“Well, we do.” Wanda bounces on the balls of her feet as she claps. “The dress fits perfectly, and I love the peek-a-boo slit. Check out those gams.”
Rita whistles on Wanda’s behalf, as she’s never been able to, and Arlene’s cheeks blaze pink.
“You look absolutely marvelous,” Grandma Helen says, and I didn’t realize she’d stood and come closer until her voice is near my ear and I get a very distinct finger poke between my shoulder blades. “Or happy or whatever Mia allows us to say.”
“How do you feel?” I ask, ignoring the teasing jab and earning a round of exasperated huffs for veering off-script.
“Self-conscious.” Arlene’s body language conveys the same, her blue eyes cast down as she tugs at the springy fabric.
Anytime she adjusts, the slit at her knee falls open and then she bends to deal with that to straighten and fuss with the shoulder straps.
“I’m not sure this is me. Lately it feels like I don’t even know who I am anymore. ”
“I get it. Big changes leave me spinning, and I felt similarly when I lost my job. I’m not a fan of the unexpected, but at the same time, look where it’s brought me.
” I pivot and smile, slinging my arm around my grandma and flashing smiles at Wanda and Rita before I turn it back on Arlene.
“Here with all of you. Discovering I can sometimes like where the unexpected leads.”
“But the journey’s the best part,” Wanda says, and I accidentally roll my eyes.
Arlene catches it and snickers, easing up for the first time all evening, so I stand by my snark.
Then Grandma Helen demonstrates where I got my snark from by arching an eyebrow and saying to me, “Journeys are more enjoyable when you don’t treat them like a race.”
“Joke’s on you, I hate races too.” I pull a face, stopping just short of sticking out my tongue.
My grandma shakes her head and releases a melodramatic sigh, and I laugh and wind my other arm around her in a side hug.
“Just giving you a hard time, Grandma. Like I said, I’m happy my journey has brought me to Lakeview and spending time with you.
I’ll even go so far as to admit I like having a few hours in the evening to chill and hang before bed. ”
I incline my head and rest it against Grandma Helen’s. “There, see? I’ve learned.”
“Let’s not get too carried away,” she says, a warm rasp to her voice. “I’ll believe it when I don’t catch you making to-do lists during TV time.”
My jaw drops, and then we’re all giggling.
I’m still antsy AF in the quiet stretches, incessantly spinning about how to raise occupancy by 23 percent, but these women are working their magic on me—they’re making me forget my blunders and faults so that I can actually enjoy the lulls.
Which is why this time, I slide my phone into my purse of my own accord, then I go and handpick a few outfits for Arlene, throwing my entire self into finding her a look that’s a little out of her comfort zone, but still suits her.
And I smile to myself, a bit wickedly, that I’m totally selecting an outfit for Noah’s grandma to go on a date.
Maybe if I pick one sexy enough, he’ll even come and yell at me.