Chapter Eight
The minibus was just that. A miniature bus that residents could use as transportation.
I had a feeling it was meant for those who were unable to drive, but it seemed that Ruby, Hollis, and many other residents used the minibus as a designated driver, because the thing was more like a party bus at happy hour.
We filed in and Ruby pointed to the bus driver. “Phil, this is my granddaughter, Vera. She’s the new activities coordinator, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing plenty more of her.”
The older man with curly black hair held his hand out for me. “My chariot is your chariot.”
“Did someone say a new activities coordinator?” a voice called.
“Gwen, turn your damn hearing aid down,” Hollis said. “Just because you can eavesdrop now with that little thing in your ear doesn’t mean you should.”
I turned and waved to the crowded bus of residents. “I guess this is my unofficial introduction,” I said. “I’m Vera, the new activities coordinator.”
“I’ve been requesting a nonfiction World War Two book club for the last year,” one man with tight round tortoiseshell glasses said. “Maybe this one’ll wise up and give the people what they want.”
“Could we get a second night of celebrity memoir book club?” asked a woman, her hair covered with a handkerchief to protect it from the desert wind. “That Eli is just cute enough to pinch.”
“His name is Dr. Buckley, you horndog,” Gwen snapped back.
And before I could say anything or receive one more request, Phil got on his intercom and said, “The wheels don’t roll until you’re in your seats, people.”
Ruby grabbed my hand and tugged me down beside her. “If we get seated before four o’clock, we can take advantage of happy hour and the Tuesday night half-off appetizers special.”
The man behind us sitting next to Hollis leaned forward and said, “Honey, do you have any experience with Facebook Marketplace?”
Ruby shook her head without turning around, but the man seemed so kind and sweet and had called me honey and I was an easy target when it came to pet names. I also recognized him as the man on the bench outside of Ruby’s apartment.
“I sold a couch online once. And I bought an office chair from some guy named Todd last summer, so I guess I have some experience.”
The man squeezed my shoulder, a gold ring on every finger. “I’ll be in your office bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Ruby gave me a look that said, Well, you did that to yourself.
When we arrived at Ta Molly’s, a restaurant that claimed to have the cheesiest tamale in the desert, it took about ten minutes to unload all the residents, wheelchairs and all.
But the restaurant staff was more than prepared for the crowd and Ruby was even on a first-name basis with our adorable waiter, Tally.
“Tally uses they/them pronouns,” Ruby explained as she introduced us, as though my grandmother even knew what that meant a few months ago.
“Sounds good,” I said, hoping this didn’t quickly veer into awkward territory for poor Tally.
“Thanks, Rubes,” Tally said.
“You tell me if that dick Ralph forgets,” Ruby said. “I tried to convince our driver to leave before he showed up, but no dice.”
I felt weirdly jealous of this waiter and the easy relationship they seemed to have with my grandmother. It was baffling, actually.
Tally smiled. “Pitcher of margaritas for you three?” they asked.
“I’ll actually have a sangria swirl if that’s okay,” I said.
Ruby turned to me, her brows arched impressively.
I shrugged. “I’m celebrating, right?”
“Indeed. Sangria swirls for the whole table!” Ruby said, and those of them that could hear her cheered loudly. And then to Tally, she whispered, “Put those on Ralph’s tab, would ya?”
The rest of my night was spent doing more listening than talking, and I wasn’t bothered by that at all. In fact, listening to Ruby’s lore was something I was very familiar with.
Ruby broke out onto the scene in the sixties as a scream queen in creature features. She had Mom in 1967 and then kept on working through the seventies in mostly slasher films that were more concerned with her willingness to go topless than her acting chops.
It was the early eighties before she got her big break with In the Family.
Critics called it the feminist response to The Godfather, which at the time was not a selling point.
Ruby played the matriarch of an Irish crime family when her husband fell ill and she continued to run the family business behind closed doors.
Industry talking heads were sure she’d sweep awards season, but in the end, the only nominees from the film were for the actors playing her ailing husband and one of her meathead sons.
Since then, there had been a handful of guest spots or cameos, but it seemed that no one was interested in seeing a sometimes-topless horror starlet having a Hollywood Cinderella story of her own.
And so, Ruby’s face hadn’t graced a movie poster in over thirty-five years, but I wasn’t about to be the one to remind my grandmother of that. Or of the fact that she was a grandmother at all.
The moment Ruby found out that Mom was pregnant with me, the first thing out of her mouth was “No one is calling me Grandma.” The second thing was “Who’s the father?” My mother’s answer was “Not someone who plans on sticking around.”
Anyway, I never did call Ruby by any other honorific than her name. Unless I was trying to annoy her or make a point. The word grandma invoked the same response as calling someone by their full name.
But for the most part, Ruby had always simply been Ruby.