Floridian nights, p.26
Floridian Nights, page 26
“Great. Saves money.” Of course. How could he have forgotten that angle? “Makes it more of an adventure, too, meeting Julia’s grandmother.”
“If you say so, kid.” Whoops, there it was again, out loud this time. “Sorry about that.”
“Ah, I guess it’s okay. I think I’m beginning to like it.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
Rick shrugged. “That was last night.”
•
Bubbeleh was almost as effusive about Gary’s arrival with Rick as she’d been when he’d come with Julia. But there was a bad moment right at the beginning, when he was doing the introductory honors: “Bubbeleh, this is Rick Fennell. Rick, this is…” Gary turned to the older woman. “This is terrible. I’ve forgotten your real name.”
She laughed merrily. “Good! That’s because everybody calls me Bubbeleh.”
“Boob-uh-lah?” Rick pronounced uncertainly as he shook her hand.
“No, Bubbeleh,” she said sweetly.
“Bubble-uh,” Rick repeated, mangling the pronunciation again.
“Bubbeleh,” Gary said acidly, his tone reflecting his rising annoyance.
“It means Grandma,” Bubbeleh added, not exactly accurate.
Rick brightened. “Is it okay if I call you Grandma?”
“Of course. If your own grandmas don’t mind.”
“I don’t think they would. They’re both dead.” Bubbeleh laughed while Gary glowered. He thought Rick was coming off like a rude, crude hick.
Once they were in her apartment, Bubbeleh gestured, with no particular emphasis, to the hide-a-bed in her living room and said to the two of them, “That’s where you’ll sleep.” Gary had slept in it with Julia, but he assumed Bubbeleh knew this was a different situation.
When they had gotten settled, Gary asked her, “What time did you wanna go to the track?”
“Actually, if we wanna make the first race, we should go very soon.”
“And do we wanna make the first race?”
“I’d like to.”
“Then we will. How soon?”
“Now?”
“I didn’t know you were such a wild gambler, Bubbeleh.”
“Age has its privileges, Gary.”
He laughed. “Let me just splash some water on my face, and we’ll–”
“Uh, Gare?”
“What?”
“Can I see you for a minute?”
The way Rick asked this, in front of Bubbeleh, was exceedingly awkward. Seething, Gary answered, “Sure. I’m just gonna use the bathroom sink.”
The kid followed him in. Gary closed the door behind them, turned to the sink, and washed his face. Not until he grabbed for a towel did he growl, “What is it now?”
“They gamble on these dog races, don’t they?”
“Say what?”
“They gamble on these dog ra–”
“Well, of course they do! Where were you brought up, a barn? You think people go to the dogs for their aesthetic appeal?”
“The what?”
“Forget it.”
“I’m not a gambler, Gary. I don’t wanna go.”
That did it. Gary threw down the towel with which he was vigorously rubbing his face, and turned on Rick with a fierce, low voice. “Listen, you little tight-ass. We’re going to the track with this nice old lady who’s putting us up, and we’re gonna have a good time. You think you’re too good to gamble, don’t gamble. But we’re both going, and you’re not gonna spoil the fun for her or for me. Keep your goddamn Minnesota morality to yourself.”
Rick looked shocked, but he said nothing, just turned on his heel and walked out of the room, closing (but not slamming) the door behind him. Gary thought briefly of running after the kid, then decided it would be better for him to give it a minute. It made him nervous, though. Had Rick stormed out of Bubbeleh’s apartment, in yet another of his dramatic gestures? Had he said something to her?
Neither scenario had materialized when Gary returned to the living room. Bubbeleh and Rick were having a perfectly pleasant chat about the fact that this was his first trip to Florida. But Rick wouldn’t look at Gary.
As they readied to go, Gary noticed the car keys were missing from where he’d put them down, and said so. “I got them,” said Rick, still avoiding his eyes. “I’ll drive, and you two sit in the back. You haven’t even had a chance to visit.” It was such an eminently sensible suggestion that Gary would seem silly if he objected.
On the drive to the Bonita Springs dog track, Gary and Bubbeleh discussed Julia – though not in any depth – while Rick contributed to the conversation only when he and Bubbeleh addressed each other. Gary wondered if the old woman was beginning to notice.
They drove through an already-filling parking lot to the entrance of the grandstand, so that Bubbeleh wouldn’t have to walk far. Gary got out with her, then leaned into the back seat and said to Rick, “You are coming in after you park the car, aren’t you?” He was rewarded with a sour sidelong glance; thus goaded, Gary goaded further: “The grandstand’s only a dollar. But we’ll be in the clubhouse. It’s two. Do you need–”
“I got it,” Rick said stonily, revving the motor and thereby threatening to decapitate Gary if the latter didn’t close the door.
Bubbeleh enthusiastically grabbed her program and began checking it out even as they rode up the escalator. Gary generally preferred the open air of a grandstand to the smoky confines of a clubhouse, even the fairly classy, glass-enclosed space here at Bonita Springs. But night temperatures were now (finally) dipping below seventy degrees down here, and it wasn’t good to expose Bubbeleh to that.
“I like the 6 and 7 dogs in the first race,” she said with finality as they took their seats.
Gary peered at his program and studied the detailed, coded information it provided. “Why? They look like two of the worst dogs in the race.”
“Because I like the names.”
He checked their names. “Peevish Prince and Double Dutch. You like alliteration?”
“No. My husband’s best friend in the Army was named Dutch–”
“–and Prince is your favorite rock star.”
“What? No, you silly. I just like the sound of that name.”
“Not very scientific, Bubbeleh.”
“It’s as good a system as any.”
“You’re probably right.” He was watching the tote board, which changed far more rapidly than it did at horse tracks. “But your dogs are 16-1 and 35-1 at the moment.”
“I know. But I think I’m right.”
“You win often?”
“No,” she conceded with a giggle. “So what’s your system?” She asked this just as the still-sullen Rick arrived, and sat down on Bubbeleh’s left, away from Gary.
“First I check on how a dog’s been doing lately, whether it’s been improving, that kind of stuff. Then I use an old dog player’s trick.”
“What’s that?” Bubbeleh asked.
He leaned into her conspiratorially, though he still spoke loud enough for Rick to hear him, too. “I wait for the post parade, and watch to see which dog – uh – takes care of business right before the race.”
“Oh, Gary, you don’t!” said Bubbeleh with a full-fledged laugh. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“You bet on the dog that poops?”
“Usually. After all, they’re a little lighter. And they almost always finish in the money.”
“Then you must do well.”
“Naw, I usually lose money.”
“Then how can it be such a good system? You just said they finish in the money.”
“But I only bet to win.”
Still amused, Bubbeleh turned to her other seatmate. “And what’s your system, Rick?”
“I don’t have one, Grandma,” he said, averting Gary’s gaze.
“Haven’t you ever been to the dogs?”
“Huh?”
“To the races.”
“Oh. No. Never.”
“Oh! Then you might have beginner’s luck.” She shoved the program at him. “Who do you like in the first race?”
Rick scanned the program with little apparent comprehension, and finally said, “Number 7, I guess. Peevish Prince.”
Bubbeleh grinned and turned to Gary. “You see? That’s my choice, too.”
“Why?” Gary asked Rick, who turned to look at the track as he responded,
“Just sounds like a winner.”
“I need to bet on two of them,” Bubbeleh prodded Rick.
“How come?”
“It’s called a quinella.”
Apparently that was an adequate explanation for Rick. He perused the program once more. “I like number 6,” he said at length. “Sleepytime Clover.”
“Why?” Gary pressed.
“Don’t know,” Rick answered to Bubbeleh.
At that point the trumpet sounded for the post parade, and the dogs, resembling large, elongated rats, were led out. “Isn’t that the same song they play at horse races?” Rick asked Bubbeleh.
“How would you know?” Gary needled him. “You’ve never been to the races.”
“Oh, look, Gary!” Bubbeleh said, perhaps in an effort to ease tensions. “Look at what that dog’s doing.”
“ ‘Dooing’ is right,” Gary cracked as he observed a large, almost white dog relieve itself. “Number 2,” he added drily. “How appropriate.” Bubbeleh burst into hearty laughter, and Gary thought he even caught a smile on Rick’s face before the kid quickly looked away. “We’d better bet, if we’re gonna.”
“Rick, do you mind taking my money to the betting window?”
“I’ll take it,” Gary said hastily.
“No, Grandma, I don’t mind,” Rick told her, to Gary’s surprise.
She handed Rick her two dollars. “It’s 6 and 7. The quinella,” she reminded him.
“Got it.” He rose.
“Are you taking Gary’s bet, too?”
He almost looked at Gary then, and said to the air between Gary and Bubbeleh, “Number 2.”
“Two dollars. To win,” Gary said.
“Got it,” the kid replied, already bounding up the stairs.
“Lemme give you the money,” Gary called after him.
“I got it.”
“He’s very nice,” Bubbeleh said, with considerable emphasis, after Rick was out of earshot.
“Right,” Gary said glumly.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I’m wondering if it’s gonna work out with him and me.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Well, there’s the age difference, for one.” He looked over at her. “Surely you noticed it.”
“I guess he’s younger than you, isn’t he.”
Gary snorted. “You guess? How old do you think he is, Bubbeleh?”
“I’m terrible at ages, Gary.”
“He’s twenty-two.”
“Oh. And how old are you now?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Ah-hah. I thought Julia was older than you.”
“Don’t you think that’s a big difference?”
She seemed to think about it, but only for a bit. “Well, no. From where I sit, it doesn’t seem like so much. Irving was nine years older than me, and we were very happy–”
“It’s different now. Life moves faster. We’re basically from different generations.”
She laughed again. “You’re all the same generation to me. Young.”
That coaxed a smile from Gary. “You’re too much.”
Rick came back with their mutuel tickets about a minute before post time. The dogs were being led to the canine equivalent of the starting gate. As he handed Bubbeleh her ticket, she stood up, smoothed her clothes, and said, “Why don’t you sit in the middle, Rick?” with such natural ease that he could do nothing else, though he twisted his body slightly away from Gary.
“Why are they putting them in boxes?” he asked Bubbeleh.
She seemed deliberately not to respond, so Gary did: “So they can concentrate on the race when they break from the gate.”
Rick shifted ever-so-slightly back to hear Gary’s answer, since the crowd was already beginning to make a lot of noise. Just then a bell rang and the track announcer intoned, “He-e-e-re comes Sparky!”
“Sparky?” asked Rick.
“A mechanical rabbit,” Gary explained, pointing to it. “They chase it.”
“What happens when they catch it?” They were almost shouting now, as the race was on and the crowd, Bubbeleh included, was yelling.
“They never do.”
The dogs sprinted smartly up the backstretch, except for one that hit the fence or another dog, and fell ass over teakettle. A subdued murmur ran through the crowd as people tried to make out the errant greyhound’s number. The animal’s condition was much less an immediate concern than whether or not it was one’s betting choice.
“That dog’s hurt!” Rick cried.
“Number 4,” Bubbeleh said in a dismissive, clipped voice.
“They fall all the time,” Gary assured him.
In no time the dogs were headed for the homestretch, and for a moment, numbers 6, 7, and 8 were battling for the lead.
“Omigod!” Bubbeleh screamed, “Omigod!” She turned to Rick and shook him. “We might win! We might win! Oh, if it’s 7 and 8, I’ll just kill myself!–”
“But you bet on 6 and 7–”
“She was betting on 7 and 8 before you talked her out of it.”
Apparently ignoring Gary’s dig, Rick shouted with real excitement, “Look at that dog coming from behind! He’s gonna catch all of them.”
“It’s number 2,” said Gary with glee. “C’mon, baby, let’s go!”
The crescendoing cacophony drowned out Bubbeleh’s groans as the 6 and 7 dogs faded visibly in the last few yards. At the wire, the 8 dog – Double Dutch – held off a determined challenge from Gary’s number 2. Incensed, Gary ripped his mutuel ticket apart; inquiries were unheard of at dog races. “So much for beginner’s luck,” he said to Bubbeleh.
“Do they bring them back in down there?” Rick was anxiously asking her, pointing to the area where the dogs had been led onto the track.
“No, further down the track.”
“I wanna go see if that dog who fell is okay.”
“Rick, they fall all the time,” Gary repeated, but the kid was already well on his way.
Bubbeleh shook her head and smiled at Gary. “He’s really sweet.”
“Yeah. But he’s no Becker, is he?”
She seemed brought up short by the comment. “Becker was nice, and he’s nice,” she finally ventured.
“Yeah, but Becker was special.”
“Well, of course. Becker was special to you. My Irving was special to me. Ira was special to Julia. Everybody’s special to someone.”
The mention of Ira and Julia gave Gary a major pang of guilt. “How do you think Julia’s really doing, Bubbeleh?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh, we talked after you left. She’ll be all right, Gary. It’s rough. You know that. We both know.”
“Did she say anything to you about moving?” He realized he had no right to mention that to Bubbeleh; what if Julia hadn’t?
But the old woman said, “Yes. A silly fantasy, don’t you think? But she’s entitled. You think crazy things at a time like that.”
“Did she tell you she wanted to move with me?”
“Yes, she did.”
“It was almost like she wanted to marry me.”
“Well, why not? She loves you and she was feeling lost.”
“But Bubbeleh, it would never work out–”
“I don’t mean I’m saying ‘Why not?’ I mean I could see that she would think ‘Why not?’ It was a foolish notion, but like I said, she’s entitled.”
“But wouldn’t you like me to marry your granddaughter?”
“I’d love to have you for a grandson, but in a way I feel like I already do. If it made both of you happy, sure. But I don’t think it would.”
“But you’d like to see Julia get married again to somebody, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure. But if she doesn’t, I’m not gonna think the rest of her life is a lost cause. There was a time I would have.”
“Have you become a radical feminist on us?” he teased.
“It’s just common sense.”
“I feel like I haven’t been there for her like she was for me when BB died.”
“She said you were more help than anybody through the summer, until you got sick.”
“But since then–”
“It’s different for everyone, Gary. She’s got other friends. And caring for friends – even family – it isn’t a contest. You just do what you can. You’ve got your own problems. You’re still getting over Becker.”
“Do you ever get over, Bubbeleh?”
Her eyes misted. “No. No. It’s been twenty-one years since my Irving died. You never get over. But you get on. You get on with your life and maybe you find something just as good, in its own way.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, I have. I’d like to have gotten married again, but you know what the chances of that were. Somewhere along the line I stopped worrying about being an old woman alone, and started to enjoy myself, with what God has given me. I’m fine.”
“I always thought so.”
“Hm,” she said, beaming at him with real fondness. “You know, you’ve got quite an opportunity here–”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ll pardon an old lady sticking her nose into your business…”
“It’s okay.”
“…but if you’ve been blessed twice in your life, I wouldn’t take it so slightly. Especially for you, now, with the times being what they are with that disease and all – oh! The second race is already starting!”
“Damn, I’m sorry. You didn’t even get a chance to bet.”
“It’s all right,” she shrugged, now looking at her program to pick a winner in the third race.
“Why do you think I’m ‘twice blessed’?” Gary persisted, even as Sparky came around the bend and the dogs broke into their chase.
“Because Rick’s so nice, and you love each other,” she said in a raised voice.
