A Regular Joe. Jennifer Drew
could stop by. Don’t pay any attention to Admiral Gamble. It’s her job to keep this place shipshape.”
Gertie flung Pops a withering glance, then focused on Mattie. “See what I mean? Now he’s got most of the bedpan crowd referring to me as ‘The Admiral.’ Deal with him, Mattie. I’ve had enough of him for the week.” She spun around, then turned back to Mattie. “By the way, I saw that original painting and decorative shelving you designed for Arthella Lambert. It’s so gorgeous. Could you do something for me in greens and maroon that will enhance the colors in my living room furniture?”
“Sure, Gertie, stop by the store when you have time and we’ll work out the details.”
“Thanks.” Gertie’s smile faded as she hitched her thumb toward Pops. “It’s time for your weekly talk about behavioral modification. Your grandpa’s memory only lasts seven days—tops.”
Mattie trailed after Pops, who had turned toward his room, propelled along with the aid of his three-pronged cane that lent additional support for his arthritic knees.
“The bad boy of Paradise Valley strikes again, so I hear,” Mattie commented. “What prompted this most recent rebellion, Pops?”
Pops half turned, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “So now you know what I went through during your teenage years, Shortcake. How do you like reversing roles?”
It was impossible for Mattie to remain irritated with her feisty grandfather. He was right, of course. She had given him a few gray hairs while she struggled through adolescence to reach adulthood.
“So this is payback time, is it?” she asked as she looped her arm around his waist, then gave him a fond peck on the cheek.
“Don’t be doing that around here,” Pops grumbled. “You’ll give all these broads who have the hots for me ideas, don’t ya know. Good thing I carry a cane so I can fight off the feminine attention I’ve been getting.”
Mattie giggled. “I guess it’s true that ladies, no matter what their age, love outlaws. You, being the rebellious ringleader that you are, draw all sorts of attention around here.”
“Well, somebody has to buck the system,” Pops commented as he veered toward his room. “You try eating that slop served on trays and on the plates at the cafeteria. Hell, you wanna know how many ways you can prepare and serve prunes? Have lunch with me tomorrow, Shortcake. I guaran-damn-tee you’ll join the ranks of rioters who are craving a decent meal.”
“Last I heard, a proper diet contributed to health and longevity,” she countered as she watched Pops ease a hip onto his bed. “You know perfectly well that the main reasons you’re here are to adjust your dosage of arthritic medication and balance your diet to prevent diabetic flare-ups. You can’t move back in with me until your doctor gives you a clean bill of health.”
Pops pulled his wire-rim glasses from the bridge of his nose and cleaned the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “So I have a real weakness for fried foods and red meats. So shoot me, Shortcake. What’s the point of living if you can’t enjoy yourself occasionally?”
It was hard to argue with a seventy-eight-year-old redneck who believed in taking each day as it came and making the most of it. “Is the food here really that bad?” she asked as she sprawled warily in the worn-out recliner Pops had insisted on bringing from home.
“Dog food has more taste,” he declared as he shoved his glasses back in place. “The oven-broiled steak they serve here is so tough my dentures come loose when I eat. The smothered chicken tastes like wet newspaper. The beans are cooked to death, and the fat-free desserts taste like wax. Shall I go on?”
“No, I get the picture.”
Pops glanced toward the open door to insure he wasn’t overheard, then leaned toward Mattie. “Here’s my plan, Shortcake. You can slip food to me when you come to visit. You can bring it to my window before you come through the main entrance. No one will be the wiser. Fred, Ralph, Herman and Glen are willing to pay you if you’ll do the same for them.”
Mattie nodded pensively. “I see. You want me to become an accomplice for the Roland Gang.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “You catch on quick, smart girl that you are.”
“Pops, I have a reputation to uphold in Fox Hollow,” she reminded him. “I manage a store for a corporation.”
“So? I have a reputation to maintain here, too,” he assured her. “These old folks—”
As if he wasn’t one of them, she thought to herself.
“—depend on me to lead the way and fight their battles. I bring problems to attention and see that the necessary changes are made. Old folks want and need respect, ya know. We don’t like being put out to pasture on crummy rations. Ask me, boredom and feelings of uselessness are the two leading causes of death around here.” He hoisted himself off the bed, then grabbed his cane. “Let me show you something, Shortcake.”
Mattie frowned curiously when Pops gestured toward the landscape painting and knickknack shelf she’d brought to give his room a homey appearance.
“See this stuff?”
“Yes, but—”
“Just keep it in mind, then come take a gander at this.” Pops shuffled from the room, leading her next door.
“Hey, Fred, my granddaughter is here,” he called out.
Mattie poked her head inside the generic room to see one of her grandfather’s cohorts perched on a straight-back chair, staring through the slats of the miniblinds that covered the window. “Hi, Fred. How’s it going?”
“Lousy, but thanks for asking, girl.”
“Just popped in to say howdy,” Pops said, reversing direction. “Poker at ten o’clock tonight? Your place, right?”
The bald-headed Fred perked up considerably, then winked at Pops. “Right. I almost forgot this was Friday night. One night’s about the same as another around here.”
When Pops returned to his room, he pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and displayed the ace of hearts for Mattie’s viewing discomfort.
“Pops! For heaven’s sake! Those cards have naked women on them,” she grumbled, offended.
“Sure as hell do,” he said, undaunted. “I asked Herman’s grandson to pick them up for me during his last visit. I plan to give the gang a cheap thrill tonight…and don’t give me that look, Shortcake. Ain’t a man in the Roland Gang who hasn’t seen a naked lady a few times in his life. We’re all World War II veterans. Those island women we came across when we were stationed in the Pacific didn’t wear blouses. And you know what else? A bunch of men in our unit pooled some money to buy them brassieres to preserve their modesty. You know what those women did with the contraptions we gave them?”
“No, what did they do, Pops?” she asked, smiling.
“They used them to haul coconuts two at a time,” he informed her.
Mattie cackled. Her grandfather had always been a source of amusement to her.
Pops tucked the racy cards into the pocket of his trousers, then settled himself more comfortably on the bed. “The point of taking you to see Fred is that his room has only the barest of necessities. The place doesn’t feel like home to him because it doesn’t look like home. There’s nothing on the walls, no memorabilia, no family pictures. Zilch, nada. I had to throw a tantrum to get permission to hang your artwork and the shelves in here. I shouldn’t have had to do that. We’re paying hard-earned money for room, board and medical care. Yet, this chicken coop looks like a halfway house for criminal offenders. This place needs your touch of interior decoration to provide some stimulation and aesthetic beauty. If every patient demanded the right to personalize their living quarters we could get some results. That’s my next crusade.”
Mattie cringed