text: Blanket Party Vickie Riggan 2895 words “Is no one going to say it?” I asked looking around the room at the curious faces of three of my best friends. “You know you’re all thinking it. Am I the only one willing to state the obvious? Roberta took a long draw on her cigarette hiding her face behind the exhaled smoke. Rhonda focused on the fingernail she had been diligently tending with a worn-out emery board. Mary Jo looked me square in the face and started to giggle. “Sorry about that, but you know I always giggle when I’m nervous.” “You also giggle when you’re drunk,” Roberta chimed in. Rhonda stops grinding down her nail to add, “And when you’re sober. When don’t you giggle?” Now everyone is laughing especially when Roberta admits she’s glad to be wearing peepee pads, the mere mention of which sets Mary Jo off again and the whole room is roaring with laughter. Even I have joined now because this is my tribe. These “sisters” that I have bonded with since moving to The Glades. The Glades is our carefree final home for an active senior lifestyle to enjoy our golden years. Or so the brochure wants you to believe. Don’t get me wrong, I have come to love it here. At first, I missed my big house and perennial garden but my knees and hips don’t miss climbing the stairs to the second floor bedroom and I’ve come to love container gardening. Bob is off most days playing golf with his new friends or at home sleeping in his recliner. But the best part for me has been finding my tribe; girls who think like me. Yes, I said girls. There might be a wrinkled old lady in my mirror in the morning but she’s hiding a wild and dangerous 21-year-old underneath. Even more dangerous now than when I was 21. If I get crazy now and get caught what can they do to me? I wear bifocal contact lenses, my teeth are implants, my boobs are fake (rebuilt after the originals were sliced off with the cancer). I mean, I’ve survived so much bad shit that I didn’t ask for, why not take a chance on surviving shit I plan for. “Ladies,” I raised my voice and my glass, “a salute to sisterhood.” Glasses clinked as the girls chimed in. “I’ll drink to that. Me too. Me three!” Then I set my glass down and began to speak in a serious tone. “Back to my original statement. If no one else will say it, I will. We have to give a sister a hand.” The others looked around confused looks on their faces. “Who are you talking about, Terri?” asked Rhonda. Other voices started to chime in, but I silenced them. “It’s Sally Wright, the cute redhead at 316 Rose Lane. They bought June’s place after Carl died and she had to move in with her kids back in Indiana. Poor June, taking care of Carl through his cancer nearly killed her. After the funeral and the medical bills, she had to sell out to dig out of debt,” and with that, I raised my glass again and offered a toast to keeping the life insurance paid up. Mary Jo giggled so hard she choked on her gin and tonic. Roberta raised her hand like we were back in school. “So may I ask what Sally Wright needs our help with?” “Is it cancer?” Rhonda asked with a tired look. Her first two husbands died from the dreadful disease - one lungs, one brain. Fortunately, her third husband only has heart trouble she reminds us of often. “Not dementia. I hope you’re not suggesting we all jump in to help her with that. I went through it with my mom. In the end, we had to put her in a home. It’s a 24/7 job,” added Roberta. “No, it’s worse, I’m afraid,” I added as I sat down my glass. “He’s a bully,” I admitted seriously. All the girls nodded. “There is nothing worse.” “Wait a minute,” Mary Jo interrupted, “maybe she’s ok with being bullied. I mean if they’ve been married a long time and she hasn’t done anything about it before, why should we get involved?” The other girls looked to me for a response. “That’s why I called you all over here. I ran into Sally at the grocery and invited her to happy hour. She got this panicked look in her eyes and said “No, her husband wouldn’t allow her to.” A loud groan erupted in the group. Roberta stood up rattling the ice in her empty glass. “Anyone else ready for a refill?” Everyone held their glass out. Once the refills were done and everyone returned to their seats, Rhonda said, “Mary Jo’s right. Why should we get involved if she’s used to it?” “That’s just it. She’s not.” I could see I was confusing everyone. “After I got home and put away groceries I took some snickerdoodles down to the office for Marge, the girl on the front counter.” “You mean information central? “Roberta snapped. “It’s true. She knows all. She sees all, and she tells all.” “Exactly,” I said. “So, I explained that I ran into the new girl Sally Wright at the bakery department and she seemed really nervous for some reason. After that, I just nibbled on a cookie and listened. Seems that Sally and her husband, Gary have only been married 2 years. She was married to her high school sweetheart for over 40 years. Then one day he steps out of the shower, walks into the bedroom where she was laying out his clothes for a party they were getting ready for, and he just dropped dead from a massive heart attack right in front of her.” “Ooooh, damn,” Roberta cried. “Better than cancer,” Rhonda added matter-of-factly. “So, then,” I continued, “according to Marge she knew Gary from church and his wife had died the month before. Sally was lost without a man to take care of.” This elicited a groan from the group. “I could draw her a map. Too bad she didn’t come to see me,” Roberta added snarkily. “Oh, Bert, don’t be so cynical,” remarked the ever-romantic Mary Jo, “maybe it was meant to be.” “More likely he just needed another victim,” I stated. “Bullies don’t just become bullies overnight. It’s in their DNA or something. He probably bullied his first wife to death.” “So, what else did Marge tell you,” Rhonda said trying to get back on topic. I continued with the Marge report about how he told her which activities she was allowed to participate in - no water aerobics because she didn’t need to be in a pool hunching and spreading her legs in public where anyone can see. This one really bothered me because my doctor prescribed the aerobics to help me with my balance issues. Then I went on about the “marching orders” as he calls them. “Three meals a day always at the same time. She has to prepare a menu a week ahead and he approves it then gives her an allowance for the groceries, plus he takes her to the grocery store and waits in the car for her. If she’s not done in what he thinks is the right amount of time he goes in looking for her.” Roberta stopped me there. “That’s enough. I’m convinced. He’s a bully. I’ve seen it before, but what do you, what does she expect us to do?” “Is he type 1? If he’s a diabetic, I can help get rid of him. I know a few things she can do,” Rhonda offered. From her years as a nurse, I imagine she does have a trick up her sleeve. “No, I don’t want to kill him. Then Sally will be all alone again. That’s not what she wants. Marge says Sally told her about how kind he was the first few months of their marriage. She just wants that Gary back.” “Oh well, why didn’t you say so before now? Let me run home and get my magic wand and we can run over to their place and I’ll clunk him on the head and be done with this,” Roberta added with a laugh. That started Mary Jo giggling again. Rhonda applauded and smiled. “Well, since I know your magic wand is a Louisville slugger, I think we should veto that plan,” I said trying to bring everyone back to a serious tone. “I was thinking more along the lines of a blanket party.” Blank faces looked back at me over the highball glasses. “Okay, let me explain. In boot camp, we had a girl with long hair who refused to cut it and never got it put up right to pass inspection. Every inspection she would fail which meant the company failed, which meant we didn’t get liberty that weekend. The first time it happened we offered to help her, but she refused. The second time we warned her we would be helping her in our way if she didn’t do something. The third time we gave her a blanket party - after she went to sleep in the barracks, we threw a blanket over her head and took her to the showers where a couple of girls took scissors to her hair while the rest of us held her down.” I stopped to take a swallow of my sangria while the others thought about my explanation. Mary Jo spoke first. “So, you think we should sneak in to their bedroom, wrap Gary in a blanket and cut his hair to make him treat Sally better?” “No,” Rhonda’s voice rose excitedly, “we drug him, we beat the crap out of him and tell him he’ll get more of the same if he doesn’t start treating his woman right.” Her eyes gleamed and I could see she was thinking about what supplies we would need to get him in a state we could handle. I almost choked at seeing how easily she came up with that plan. One of these days I need to ask her exactly what kind of nursing she practiced. “I have something in mind along those lines without the assault and battery charges. Marge also told me that Sally is going back to Tennessee to help with the birth of her new grandbaby. We strike while Sally is away, so that she has no involvement. In fact, if we do it right she will never know what happened to change him back to sweet, adorable Gary.” Roberta groaned, “Just let me whack him a few times with my magic wand, please.” “No,” I answered, “we aren’t going to lay a hand on him. Rhonda I’m leaving the key part of the plan up to you. We need him out enough to be able to walk and maybe look a little drunk, but we don’t want to harm him other than maybe a heck of hangover the next day.” “And then we beat him?” Mary Jo asked with a giggle. “No then we load him into his own truck and take him out to that strip club on the edge of town and make sure he has a good time with several of the girls there, with our help of course,” I explained. “So this blanket is wrapped in blackmail, I see,” exclaimed Roberta. “Count me in but make sure I have copies of the pictures!” After all the laughter settled down, we set to work on our plan. I didn’t ask Rhonda what GHB was or how she knew where to get it. I just trust her knowledge that it’s what we need to make our victim, let’s say, pliable. Six days later, while Sally was 3 states away Rhonda and I arrived at 316 Rose Lane with a plate of cookies and mugs of coffee. Gary was surprisingly hospitable and invited us in accepting the housewarming gifts and answering our questions about the new grandchild. He finished off a third cookie and washed it down with the coffee we brought and tried to get up from his chair. Rhonda grinned at me. Let the party begin! I found his truck keys on a hook by the door and the two of us walked him out the kitchen door into the garage carefully loading our “guest” into the back seat of his own truck. The drive out to the “Boobie Hut” (good grief what a name) took only twenty minutes. We pulled into the lot and parked next to Roberta and Mary Jo in Steve’s SUV. It took all four of us to get him out of the truck and stand him against the side. He kept sliding down and crawling back to his feet, with help. “How much of that stuff did you give him, Rhonda.” Mary Jo asked with a nervous giggle. “It’s not an exact science you know. He might have had a beer or something stronger before we drugged him, but I gave him enough to make him feel really bad tomorrow,” she said proudly. Finally we had him standing and started to formulate a plan on how to get him in the club to get the incriminating photos and whether to take him back home of leave him in the parking lot to add further insult when a siren whooped behind us. We froze. “This was not part of any blanket parties I’ve been to in my past,” I whispered to the others. “I got this,” Roberta spoke up confidently. “Just follow my lead.” “Good evening, ladies. It looks like you might be having some trouble with this gentleman here. Are one of you ladies married to him?” the deputy asked eyeing the situation with great curiosity. “No,” Roberta answered with the sweetest southern drawl I’d ever heard, especially for a California girl. “You see, he’s actually my friend Sally’s husband but she’s back home in Tennessee helping with the birth of their new grandchild. And well, as you can see, he decided to come out here and celebrate in his own, I guess you would say “manly” way. We were just heading home from Bible Study and Mary Jo said, “Isn’t that Sally’s husband stumbling around out there in that parking lot?” Mary Jo held back her giggles for this most important part of the sudden new plan. “That’s right, officer, I recognized the truck and then we saw him all drunk and trying to find his keys so we had to stop for dear Sally’s sake. I mean what would it do to her to get a call that her bullying, old husband was out drunk and watching hoochie dancers to celebrate becoming a grandpa?” I had to turn my head so the deputy wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. I’m not sure which was harder to believe, Mary Jo’s sudden ad lib to the story or Roberta’s sudden change of heritage. “Yes, sir, I even tried pouring some of my coffee down his throat to sober him up. He didn’t want to give us his keys or let one of us take him home. He said something about a woman knowing her place....” At that I let my voice drop off and looked the deputy square in the face. “What can we do?” “Well, ladies, you did a fine thing but why don’t you let me handle it from here. This man is obviously too drunk to drive tonight but we’ve got a cot downtown where he can sleep it off. While he’s a guest of the city we might just need to have a discussion with him about treating that wife better. I mean, really, out drunk at a strip club while she’s back home helping. Maybe it’s time he did some thinking about how he treats his lady.” The deputy was clearly taking over our plan. It was almost too good. “Do you need our help getting him to your car, officer?” Rhonda asked politely. The deputy beamed a knowing smile at the four of us obviously proud of himself for getting us out of a difficult situation. “Don’t worry yourselves. I’ve handled worse, Maam. You ladies should be getting home. It’s getting late.” We thanked him and began to walk away. I glanced inside the truck as we passed by to make sure we left no trace of our presence, then we all piled into Steve’s SUV , but Mary Jo was too nervous to drive. “Bert, you get us home. I need to sit in the back and collect myself.” Five minutes later Mary Jo started giggling loudly and pretty soon we all joined in. “Bible Study? Really? I can’t believe he bought that!” I said. Rhonda had an answer,” He was all of 30 years old if that. To him all old ladies drink iced tea and go to Bible Study. But I want to know when Roberta became a Southern belle?” As we pulled up to a red stoplight she smiled behind the wheel,” It just popped into my head, and well, it worked, didn’t it?” The light changed to green and we made the turn toward The Glades. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “it worked better than we had planned. Is no one going to say it?”