5

MRS. GOLDBLUM AT HOME

Dear Mrs. Goldblum [the letter said],

After repeated telephone conversations with you regarding your late husband’s employment with Horowitz & Sons, I am forced to reiterate the facts in letter form in the hope that the matter can be put to rest.

You informed us that from the time of your husband’s death in 1970, until February of 1984, Bernard Horowitz issued certain sums of money to you. You informed us that these payments were from your late husband’s pension plan.

If Mr. Horowitz did indeed make these payments, he did so out of his personal funds. Nowhere—and I have personally gone through every file—is there any record of a pension fund being set up for your husband. In fact, no employee at Horowitz & Sons had a pension fund with the company.

In conclusion, Charger Industries has absolutely no obligation to the estate of the late Robert Goldblum.

I hope this answers your questions.

Sincerely,

Phillip S. Robin

“Hey, Mrs. G,” Rosanne said, coming into the kitchen,” Amanda gave me—Mrs. G, are you okay?”

Mrs. Goldblum lowered the letter onto the table. “I’m quite fine, thank you.”

Roseanne edged closer. “Bad news?” she asked, nodding toward the letter.

“No,” Mrs. Goldblum said softly, slipping the letter back into the envelope it arrived in. “There is some lovely chicken salad for your luncheon. It’s in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks,” Rosanne said. She looked at Mrs. Goldblum a moment longer and then went over to the refrigerator. “Are you gonna wants yours on lettuce or in a sandwich?”

“No, thank you, dear. I’ve already eaten.”

Rosanne frowned slightly. “Well, you sure eat fast then, since I’ve been here all morning.”

“No, thank you, dear.” Mrs. Goldblum rose from her chair and, taking the letter with her, made her way toward the living room. Her hip was quite stiff today and she wondered if she shouldn’t be using her cane. And she wondered if she shouldn’t get over her keen dislike of having such a thing in the house.

Carefully, she sat herself down at her secretary.

Now then. The letter.

Mr. Robin is wrong, Mrs. Goldblum thought. She pulled out the tissue in her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. Oh, why do one’s friends have to die? If dear Bernie was still alive, none of this confusion would have ever taken place.

No pension plan—indeed.Does this Mr. Robin think Robert hadn’t planned for his retirement? Of course he had! Bernie told me that he had—right in this very room. Why, every month like clockwork, a check arrived from Horowitz & Sons for $416. And right on the check it said, “Pension Benefit—Estate of Robert Goldblum.” What is wrong with this Mr. Robin?

What was she going to do now? Should she go to a lawyer? But how to find one? How to pay for one?

Right now she had a little over left in the bank. The rent would be due in two weeks. That would leave $320. There was the doctor’s bill that was overdue and Mrs. Goldblum was supposed to go back to see him this week. Well, that was out of the question. How could she face him with an overdue bill? And the dentist. Oh, dear. Such a jumble; how much was it she owed him? Eighteen hundred dollars?

She would have to call Daniel. If she could locate him. The last time she had tried to call him, a recording said that the number had been changed. Did he give her his number last weekend?

No, he hadn’t.

Mrs. Goldblum’s cat, Missy, came sauntering in. Missy purred, arched her back and rubbed against Mrs. Goldblum’s leg. “Hello, Miss-Miss,” Mrs. Goldblum said, dropping her hand beneath the desk of the secretary. Missy rubbed her face in Mrs. Goldblum’s hand. “Yes, you are my good girl.”

There was no point in calling Daniel, Mrs. Goldblum realized. Her son wouldn’t be able to help her. But maybe he could. Maybe he could come and straighten all of this out—

She didn’t even have enough money to send him a ticket.

Well.

She would go to the bank and look in the safety deposit box again. There must be some bond or stock certificates left. Just to tide her over until this pension business was cleared up. “Oh, my,” Mrs. Goldblum sighed out loud. It seemed impossible that there was no money left. Where could it have gone?

Oh, dear. This was a painful question she really hadn’t meant to raise.

—$50,000 for Daniel’s video business.

—$25,000 for Daniel’s video business to stay afloat.

—$10,000 or Daniel after the business failed.

—$16,000 for Daniel’s credit card problem.

—$20,000 for Daniel’s late child-support payments.

—$4,000 for Mrs. Goldblum’s lower plate.

—$5,000 after Daniel’s ex-wife’s and children’s pleas for help.

And that was only the last year and a half.

Mrs. Goldblum closed her eyes, choosing not to think back any further than that.

Mrs. Goldblum flexed her hands. It was becoming a little more difficult to ignore these days, the arthritis. Particularly on humid days. It made one think in different terms. That is when they want you to go into a home, Mrs. Goldblum thought. When you speak of it taking sixteen and a half twists to open a six-ounce can of cat food.

“What are you talking about, Mother?” Daniel had yelled on the phone.

“About using the can opener, dear. About feeding Missy.”

“Do you think I called all the way from Chicago to talk about a cat?”

“I am simply answering your question, Daniel. You asked me how I am and I’m telling you how I am.”

“You’re talking about can openers and cats!” he had cried.

Rosanne breezed into the living room, breaking Mrs. Goldblum’s train of thought. “Before I forget again,” she said, holding out a large Saks Fifth Avenue shopping bag, “Amanda bought the wrong kind of shower curtain and can’t return it and wondered if you’d like it.” She pulled it out of the bag for Mrs. Goldblum to see.

It was a pale pink. Mrs. Goldblum liked it very much indeed and reached out to touch it. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her.”

“Well, I don’t know, Mrs. G. Seems to me if Amanda was thoughtful she wouldn’t always be buyin’ the wrong stuff. ‘Member when she gave me the watch? ‘Member?”

“I’m not sure that I do,” Mrs. Goldblum said.

“Aw, sure ya do, Mrs. G,” Rosanne said. “When I told her to get some Windex and she came back with a watch? This one?” She held up her wrist.

“Oh, my, yes, now I recall,” Mrs. Goldblum chuckled.

Rosanne watched her for a moment and then shrugged. “So, ya want me to hang this up?”

“Would you, dear? Is that too much to ask? I do think it would look lovely in the bathroom. Don’t you agree?”

Rosanne smiled at her. “Yeah, Mrs. G, I agree.”

When Rosanne left, Mrs. Goldblum returned her attention to the desk.

After a few moments of consideration she decided to file the letter in one of the pigeonholes and look at it again tomorrow.

She heard soft purring. Missy was back, looking up into the eyes of her mistress with all the charm she possessed. It worked. Mrs. Goldblum picked her up, sat Missy in the lap of her dress and petted her. Within seconds, white hairs from Missy’s chest jumped to Mrs. Goldblum’s navy-blue dress. But not to worry, Mrs. Goldblum still had the Miracle Brush she had purchased at Woolworth’s some twenty years before.

“Mrs. G, come see!” Rosanne was calling from the bathroom.

“I have to go see Rosanne,” Mrs. Goldblum said, giving Missy a little shove. The cat jumped down and Mrs. Goldblum slowly, stiffly got up from the chair.

“Mrs. G?”

“I’m coming,” Mrs. Goldblum said, walking down the hall. She reached the bathroom door, held onto the molding and peeked in. “Oh, my goodness, isn’t it lovely.”

“Yeah,” Rosanne said. In her hand she was holding the old shower curtain and liner.

“But,” Mrs. Goldblum said, gesturing to the floor, “where did this rug come from?”

“Oh, that,” Rosanne said, looking down under her feet.

“It came with the shower curtain. You know, like it’s a set.” Pause. “It does kinda look good in here—made Amanda’s bathroom look like a whorehouse.”

“Rosanne!”

“House of ill repute.”

Mrs. Goldblum looked concerned and touched at her glasses. “You don’t think...?”

“Aw, no, Mrs. G. It looks great. Very feminine, Mrs. G. Very you,” she said with additional emphasis. “And did you see here? These little towels that match? And there’s a soap dish.”

Mrs. Goldblum stepped in to feel one of the hand towels. “They are very pretty.”

“Well,” Rosanne said, moving around Mrs. Goldblum, “I’m gonna chuck this thing.”

Mrs. Goldblum caught her arm. “Oh, must we? Couldn’t we use it—”

“Ya can’t use this thing for nothin’, Mrs. G,” Rosanne said, pulling the old shower curtain away from her. “It’s gonna walk on its own legs in a minute.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Goldblum said. She let go of Rosanne and refocused on the new shower curtain. “I must reimburse Amanda for these things.”

“She said you’d say that,” Rosanne said. “So I’m supposed to tell ya that if you won’t just take ‘em, then she’ll just give’ em away to somebody else.”

“Well then, I suppose I must accept them as a gift.”

“I would if I were you,” Rosanne said, moving down the hall.

“I shall write her a thank-you note,” Mrs. Goldblum decided, turning off the light in the bathroom. She walked slowly down the hall to the living room.

“Hey, Mrs. G,” Rosanne called from the kitchen, “you oughtta come see this—the cat’s laughin’.”

Mrs. Goldblum frowned slightly. “No, dear,” she said, “I believe it may be fur balls.”

“Be what?”

One second, two, three...

Oh, yuck!”

Mrs. Goldblum smiled as Missy came bounding into the living room, feeling much better now and quite ready to play.