Page 7

SEVEN

“ A nd now, I am ready to receive your ovation,” Cookie says.

“I’m sorry?” Eddie says, perplexed.

She sighs, smoothing the fur-trimmed coverlet over her legs. “Perhaps this isn’t true out in the hinterlands,” she says, “but here in New York City, after a showstopping rendition of a Cole Porter classic such as ‘Anything Goes,’ it’s customary to applaud in appreciation.”

“I—” Eddie utters, not sure what she’s just said.

“Clap!”

It’s a command, delivered emphatically like a child might after performing a cartwheel, and Eddie obeys, raising his hands and clapping. For emphasis, and to be polite, he whistles.

Cookie responds by clasping her hands under her chin and fluttering her eyelashes. “Well, how about that! A standing ovation! I feel like Judy Garland at Carnegie Hall.”

Judy Garland? Does that name ring a bell? Eddie will look it up later. He claps a few more times.

“Oh, it’s nice to have an audience. I chose that number especially for you, Lollipop. Because anything does go in this joint. And I do mean anything.”

Eddie smiles uneasily, not sure what to do next. Should he approach? Shake her hand? He can’t believe she’s nearly a hundred years old. He’s met his share of centenarians at Sunset Ridge, but none of them were anywhere near this youthful or energetic.

“Don’t be shy,” she says, and it’s the first of many times that Eddie will wonder if she is reading his mind. She reaches over to switch off the old-fashioned turntable on the powder-pink nightstand. “Your Cookie is a little eccentric, that’s all. They used to call me strange, or crazy, or even mad, but now that I’ve lived so long they call me eccentric. Sounds important, don’t you think? Like an artist, or a fashion designer, or”—she flutters her eyelashes—“a movie star?”

Eddie can see that she’s fantasizing like he does. Common ground, and to see it puts him at ease.

“But whatever it is, eccentricity or madness, it keeps me young.”

She raises a red-lacquered fingernail—so shiny that Eddie wonders if it’s still wet—to fiddle with her spit curl. “Now then. About my outfit. Do you like it?”

“It’s very nice,” Eddie says.

“Nice?” Cookie clutches at the layers of beads draped around her neck. “Nice? Try again.”

Eddie searches for another word, a bigger one. “Beautiful?”

“Keep going.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Stunning?”

“More!” Her eyes are sparkling, broadcasting delight.

“Gorgeous?” He’s beginning to melt.

“Keep going!” she exclaims, jubilant hands in the air.

“Splendid? Captivating?” Eddie offers, playing along. The words are flowing now. The banter feels good. “Awe-inspiring! Devastating!”

Cookie beams. “Oh, you are a handsome one. Like a young Randolph Scott. With a little bit of Billy Haines.”

More names he’s never heard. Eddie shifts from one foot to the other, uncertain how to respond.

“Just say thank you,” she suggests, reading his mind again, and then, without waiting for him to comply, she says, “And what’s your first impression of your Cookie? Besides stunning, gorgeous, splendid, captivating, and so forth.”

“I, uh, I think you are—”

She interrupts. “Be careful. I’m warning you, if you say feisty or sharp as a tack or anything followed by for your age , I’ll send you back where you came from faster than you can spit.”

“Never,” Eddie says. He’s learned about these phrases at Sunset Ridge. They’re right up there with ninety-nine years young and spry . Insulting.

He thinks for another moment, searching for words until he finds one that fits. “Lovely,” he says, confident. “I think you are lovely.”

She considers, taps her chin, and then nods. “All right. That will suffice for a first impression. You may stay. Go and put your things in the closet, where you’ll sleep.”

He cocks his head at her.

“Oh, it’s not really a closet. But it’s not really a bedroom, either. A den maybe, or I don’t know. A boudoir. But we call it the closet, because it’s filled with secrets.” She widens her eyes exaggeratedly and holds a finger to her lips. “But don’t worry. It’s plenty big enough for you. You’ll sleep on the fainting couch, of course.”

“The what?”

“The fainting couch.” She widens her eyes even more and scans him, head to foot and back again, all five feet eight-and-a-half inches. “Yes, you’ll fit just fine. And you’ll love the fainting couch. It’s upholstered in zebra. Zebra print, of course. Not real zebra. I’m not Elsie de Wolfe.”

All these names. All these words. Elsie de Wolfe. Randolph Scott. Boudoir. Fainting couch. He shrugs in hapless confusion.

“Don’t worry. We’ll discuss Elsie later,” she says. “Now, be sure to keep your bag tucked out of the way so Albert can vacuum in there. Do you know Albert?”

Eddie thinks. Isn’t that the man who called a few days ago? “No, I’ve never met—”

Cookie interrupts. “He comes every day to help with the big things. Change the sheets, take out the laundry, do my makeup. And vacuuming. He’s big on vacuuming. Just adores it. He can be a little prickly, but he only barks, never bites, unless of course you mention his hair, of which he has none. Bald as a bat! And very touchy about it. But he’s family. We were married once, you know. Imagine, a husband twenty-five years my junior!”

“I never knew you were married,” he says. Or that bats were bald, but he doesn’t say that part.

She reaches under her coverlet and draws out a hand mirror, crusted with rhinestones. “I’m full of surprises. Ninety-nine years’ worth. Now, go put your things away and wash off that Wyoming residue. It’s depressing.”

“Colorado,” he says. “I’m from Colorado.”

“Yes, yes. All those rectangles out west. Who can keep them straight?”

For a split second Eddie considers defending his home state but Cookie’s eyes are sparkling, and he is charmed. “I’ll go put my things away,” he says.

“Right across the hall,” she says. “The chamber of secrets. Maybe you’ll add your own.”

He turns to go.

“Wait!” she chirps. She taps the side of her face. “You haven’t even kissed me hello.”

Eddie, relieved to have more direction to follow, approaches the bed and leans down to kiss her cheek. Her skin, powdered and blushed, feels so delicate against his lips, so thin, like it could slip right off. Up close, he really sees her ninety-nine years, and a twinge of tenderness sweeps through him.

“There, that’s lovely,” she says. “Just like me. And one for the other cheek, please. For luck.”

She turns her head and Eddie complies.

“Perfect. Oh, it’s good to have you back.”

“Back? But I’ve never been—”

“I said,” she interrupts. “It’s good to have you back. Home.”