Quite the Lady

         She stared through the big picture window to the courtyard below, watching for Sheila to round the corner nearest to the street. There had been occasional phone calls, but three years passed since she saw her daughter. She tried to imagine how much her grandchildren had grown. She still thought of them as toddlers, though they would be quite a bit older than that.

         “I hope it won’t be too awkward,” she told herself as she anxiously re-fluffed the sofa pillows.

         Wondering if the apartment was too hot, she checked the thermostat. She was always cold, and looking out into the bleak Minnesota winter made her want to turn the heat up a little more, but she resisted, lest her visitors complain that the apartment was too hot.

         For the fifth time in as many minutes, she glanced at the clock. They were late. She knew the visit was not a priority on Walter’s list of things to do. Over the years, her rancorous relationship with her son-in-law improved some, only to blow up again at some thoughtless comment, whether uttered by him or her. It’s not that she really cared about Walter’s feelings. He clearly thought little about hers. However, poor Sheila, caught between her husband and her mother, seemed unable to side with her on anything.

         She walked into her spotless kitchenette to check again on the coffee and plate of Snickerdoodle cookies. A pitcher of cold milk for Suzie and Dan stood in the refrigerator. No one else was around to disturb the treats, but she wanted them to be perfect for the children. It was important.

         Not long ago, she wouldn’t have cared what Walter, Sheila or anyone thought about her, the condition of her apartment, or whether she could bake cookies without burning them. However, since about a year ago, when she had that incident with the stove, she knew that Sheila worried about whether she should live alone. An involuntary shiver trickled along her spine when she thought of the places Walter would put her, if she could no longer live in her own apartment. Sheila would want her to stay with them, but she knew it would be fine with her son-in-law if she died homeless in a cardboard box. She promised herself that in the future, she would not tell Sheila about any more mishaps.

         Money was getting tight, though. She used the last of her eggs on the Snickerdoodles, and spent the last of the month’s food budget on the milk for her grandchildren. Her social security check wouldn’t arrive for another two days, but if she was careful, she’d make it.

         A wistful smile tried to appear on her lips, but failed as she remembered the weekly card games she hosted for a group of her friends. Cigarette smoke filled the apartment while whiskey filled every glass. Her favorite game was Poker, but she loved to play Euchre almost as well. Whatever they played, there was always a little wager among her friends. Most of them traveled with her and shared the stage in the old days on the circuit. They didn’t seem to mind the fleecing they took from her during each visit. Her winnings kept her from feeling the pinch when she lost her pension.

         However, they were all gone. Bill died first. At 57, he wasn’t even the eldest of the group. That honor went to Amory, who passed the same year at 59, three days shy of his 60th birthday. Both of them suffered sudden heart attacks, but after years of heavy smoking, the only surprise to her was that her time with them would be so much shorter than she expected. Over the next few years, the rest of the twelve people passed. They lost Nate to cancer, Margie, the only other woman in the group, died just last year of emphysema. She was the last of the group, who once appeared on the same bill in theaters throughout the United States.

         Their passing did nothing to make her quit her own bad habits, though. “I keep trying,” she thought ruefully, as she wished again for a cigarette. She resisted lighting up, because she didn’t want Sheila to know she was smoking again, despite the doctors’ dire warnings. She still loved her Crown Royal, too. But she didn’t want to give Walter the satisfaction of hearing Sheila tell her once again that she shouldn’t be smoking or drinking at her age, especially since he smoked heavily, and only quit drinking after five trips to rehab.

         Not that it mattered. The last time someone suggested she quit smoking, she said, “Leave me alone. I’m old.” At well over 85 years old, and all her friends gone, she really didn’t care if she lived longer. In fact, she knew the cancer growing in her own left lung would take her life before summer, but it wasn’t soon enough in her opinion.

         She hung onto the sweet memories, back in the old vaudeville days when Bill and Nate good-naturedly vied for her affection. Each thought the other was kidding, but she enjoyed an intimate relationship with both of them, making the long, hard nights of the theater circuit a bit easier.

         She looked in the mirror in the hall, and saw a gray haired, bent old woman with thick glasses. However, she could almost see the strikingly beautiful young woman she once was. On stage, she played the piano and performed a song and dance routine with her former husband, Andy. She was restless in her marriage, but adapted very well to the rigors of performing on the road. Though her marriage didn’t survive, their friendship did, as well as their act. He often told his friends that she was “quite the lady.” She never knew fore sure whether Andy meant it as a compliment. Sadly, Andy was gone, too, as well as Reb, the man she married when she was 55.

         She missed talking to her friends about the old days. There was no one in her life who would listen to her stories. Sheila was interested, of course, but Walter hated hearing her stories about the theaters and the famous people she knew. He told her all too often that people who perform in the arts were bottom-feeding scum, who didn’t know about making a real living. She supposed Walter could never understand that what she and her friends did on stage was demanding, exacting and physical work. Far from glamorous, it was every bit as hard as the job Walter held for 35 years in the auto factory.

         The last time she saw Sheila and her grandchildren, she started to tell them about the New York theaters, the most famous in which she appeared. Walter cut in.

         “They don’t care about that crap,” Walter snapped. “Is that all you have to talk about, your glory days? Those days are gone. Get over yourself.”

         “Why don’t you let them decide for a change?”

         “I don’t have to ask them. It’s the same story you always tell, anyway,” Walter said in his sneering, whiny voice. Never mind that Walter always told the same stories, too, mostly bragging about how he cheated his way through World War II.

         She saw Sheila put her hand on Walter’s arm. Her daughter knew Walter’s rudeness could start something even more unpleasant. It happened so many times before.

         “Let me guess. You are the only one in charge of the remote at home.” She could feel the heat rushing to her face, and imagined it was crimson with anger. “Do you always determine what Sheila can hear and what you decide is unworthy? You’re an ass. You’re an ass and a controlling son-of-a-bitch.”

         "Sheila, come on. We're leaving." Walter stood up. Her daughter and her family never returned. During the next three years, she had talked to Sheila on the phone, but there was always some reason why her daughter and grandchildren couldn’t come for a visit.

         She stood up, walked over to the picture window onto the darkening courtyard. The security light flickered on , as she watched for Sheila to round the corner. But she knew they wouldn’t be there today. With a sigh, she closed the curtains walked into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and reached for a cookie.

         Perhaps she will see them next week.