“No, but the staff keeps us posted. Not that I want to know, but gossip runs rampant around here.”
Frida let out a guffaw. “You know what they say about gossip?”
“It’s impolite?” Henry gave her a widely accepted answer.
“It’s not gossip if it’s true!” Frida howled.
Henry chuckled, then continued. “Everything from the shenanigans of the floozies and lotharios who live here, to the employees. I hear there’s a head nurse at the long-term center who they refer to as ‘Nurse Ratched’.” Henry was referring to the cold, heartless nurse inOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. “Aside from the telltale chatter, we’re usually made aware if someone has ‘left the building,’” he said with air quotes.
Frida rolled her eyes. “Oh, is that what ya call it?”
Henry sighed. “Perhaps having your mortality staring you in the face every day is not the most uplifting.”
“But you can’t even see the building.”
“Ah, but I know it’s there.” Henry stood. “Maybe I’ve watched too many crime shows, but how is it that the cars always come at three in the morning?”
“That is a good question. How often have you seen this?”
“It’s been at least once a month for the past several months.” He thought again. “Yes. Same time, each time. The reason I know this is because when I returned to my room, I noticed the neon green numbers on my alarm clock. The second time, I checked my watch. A reflex, I suppose.”
“I’d certainly be interested in skulking around.”
Henry balked, “Seriously?”
“I am a big fan of mysteries.”
“Good to know.” He paused. “How would you like to go for a nightcap?”
Frida flinched slightly, not sure what that implied at Sunnydale.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” He checked the time. “The wine bar is open until eleven.”
“I would be delighted.” Frida felt relieved. She was betwixt and between as to whether or not this charming, nice-looking man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair was coming on to her, or if he was simply being hospitable. She decided on the latter. Hewashospitable.
He stood and held out his hand to assist her in getting up. Not that she needed it, but she appreciated the gentlemanly gesture. When she stood next to him, she reckoned he was just under six feet tall, and close to her age. Two or three years older, tops.
They entered the wine bar and took a seat at a small cocktail table against the foliage that separated it from the main lobby. Frida leaned closer. “Tell me something. Who are the floozies, and what lotharios should I be mindful of?”
“Oh, you will be able to recognize them immediately. The women look like Blanche fromThe Golden Girls. They still wear the same hairdo they had thirty years ago. Possibly forty. Bouffant, and enough hair spray to hold a Boeing engine in place.”
Frida hooted. “Funny, yet not so funny.”
Henry cleared his throat. “You get my drift. They wear too much makeup and perfume, and fuchsia lipstick.” He gave her a wry smile. “With our diminishing senses, I suppose that’s how they get a man’s attention. A version of bells and whistles.”
Frida suppressed a cackle. “You are quite the wit, aren’t-cha?”
“I don’t mean to be crass or mean-spirited, but sometimes it’s the only way I can entertain myself. I believe it’s called ‘observational humor,’ and as long as I can still observe, I’m ahead of the game.”
“How’s your sense of smell?” Frida joked in return.
Henry lowered his voice. “Sometimes something smells a little fishy.”
“Like the imaginary lights?”
“Dear Frida. Number one. Lights don’t smell. Number two, they are not imaginary.” He paused. “I invite you to take a walk with me one evening.”
“How will you know when the UFOs are going to appear?”
