PAWNS, QUEENS, KINGS

After getting oriented for a couple of days and setting up his apartment, Harris found himself at the Friday 3:00 PM Happy Hour. Tiny glasses of inexpensive white and red wine were served while listening to live entertainment that was brought in every week for exactly one somewhat happy hour for the residents. Harris’ assigned “buddy”, Armando, had told him they needed to attend this event. “It sets up my whole weekend,” he told Harris. When Harris opened his apartment door at 2:55 to see Armando in a red, pink, and white plaid jacket, beige slacks, as well as white and orange saddle shoes, he was stunned. When the smell of Old Spice followed Armando’s movements, Harris said, “You didn’t tell me I had to dress up for this thing.” “Hey, the ladies like it. Just watch.” Harris and Armando strolled toward the main lobby which opened into The Ridge’s common living room. Chairs had been taken from the dining room and arranged in rows next to sofas facing the piano. Harris and his buddy sat in the third row, with Armando taking the end seat. Harris had walked behind him from the hall to the living area and noticed him strutting peacock-like, smiling and waving to the other residents who had arrived before them. Of the 40 or so seated residents, nearly 30 were women. Some were nicely dressed for the occasion, others wore their daily attire, including Diana with her four hats. The afternoon’s entertainment was provided by Frederica, who sang show tunes accompanied by recorded music played through one small Bose speaker. When she opened with Bali-Ha’i from South Pacific, the quality of the music and Frederica’s voice surprised Harris. Both were better than he’d expected. What also surprised him was when Armando stood early in the song next to his chair and begin moving his arms and hips a little with some semblance of rhythm. Harris watched Armando as he kept inching forward to the edge of the first row, apparently both to be more noticed and to scan the faces of the ladies. Harris watched as some ladies smiled, while some leaned into a neighbor, said something, and shook their heads. Many women resisted looking in his direction, appearing to care less what Armando was up to, or deciding to avoid eye contact. Harris wasn’t sure what to make of all this, but sat back to observe and enjoy this new experience. He helped himself to a glass of red wine the staff brought around on trays. When Frederica was into her second number, Some Enchanted Evening, Armando took the back of the wheelchair situated at one end of the first row with a woman in it whom Harris had not yet met, and began to roll her around in front of everyone in dancing motions. Armando did his best Fred Astaire leg movements, while moving the woman and her wheelchair back and forth, punctuated with little turns and wheelies. These antics no one could ignore. Clapping and laughter came from some of the those seated. Frederica, momentarily stumbled with the lyrics, apparently not having seen Armando in action before. Harris laughed throughout the dancing wheelchair performance, but only a week later discovered that the wheelchair dance was a regular Happy Hour occurrence. During the next 50 minutes, Harris sat back and took it all in. His initial thoughts alternated between this is friggin’ bizarre and how charming. While it was much too early to make an assessment about his decision to move into The Ridge, he was already vacillating between what have I done and seeing possibilities for fun and uncomplicated companionship. Looking around the room, Harris, at 69 years old, realized he was the youngest at The Ridge. Outside of Armando, who seemed just a couple years older than himself, everyone else was deep into their 70’s, if not 80’s or 90’s. Before that thought could slide him into a funk, Harris’ wandering mind was jarred back to the present during All That Jazz. Frederica was well into her set and had loosened up. Clearly, she enjoyed performing and loved her selected tunes. During this number, with top hat she pranced in front of the onlookers while singing. At one point during the song, she started snapping her fingers while singing and dancing. At the other end of the front row was another wheelchaired female whom Harris did not know either. Frederica, playing to the crowd, went toward that woman snapping and prancing and singing for everything she was worth. The wheelchair-bound woman sat stoically watching this performance not clapping, nor singing along, nor smiling approval. Suddenly, during a brief non-vocal musical bridge, the seated woman blurted out, “Stop snapping!” Frederica, in this case, never missed a beat, turned and kept high-stepping toward the other end of the row. Harris howled as did a few others who witnessed it. For Harris it triggered something else. He knew right then that this place was going to be different than any other portion of his life. At this very moment there seemed to be some possibilities for, if not happiness, at least contentment. He was good with that. When Frederica ended her set with Whatever Lola Wants, and thanked the group for their nice response and participation, she apparently misinterpreted the kind closing applause as an encore call. She said, “Okay, if you insist. But just one more.” Before she finished the final note of Cabaret, Harris and some others were standing just to make certain the music would truly end.