Going Out in Style by Gloria Dank Page A

he’ll come visit us less if everyone he knows around here is dead. What do you think?”
    “I think you should drop it.”
    “Okay.”
    “You’ve got enough on your mind with Mr. Whiskers, don’t you?”
    “Mr. Whiskers can go to hell.”
    Maya raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
    “Never write about rodents, Maya. Remember that. Never write about rodents.”
    “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
    The funeral was held on a bright, clear, sunny day. Most of the residents of Ridgewood came to the church service. Mrs. Whitaker had been a favored citizen of the town; most people knew of her if they did not actually know her personally. There was a long, seemingly interminable sermon, the organist played a sad hymn, and everyone wept. Jessie enjoyed herself thoroughly.
    “So
nice
to have a good long cry,” she said, burying her face in the folds of a huge white handkerchief. “So
nice
 … don’t you agree, Gretch?”

    “Hush, dear.”
    Afterwards the family and a small group of friends went out to the cemetery to see Bella Whitaker laid to rest, then back to the house for a quiet reception. Great-aunt Etta smiled grimly as Snooky came up to her and kissed one wrinkled cheek.
    “So you’re back in town for a while, are you, boy? Don’t approve of the way you flit around from place to place. Unhealthy, that’s what it is. You should stay in one place, marry and settle down. You can afford that, can’t you?”
    “Pardon me, Aunt Etta. For a moment I thought my older brother William was in the room. Strange acoustics in here.”
    “Oh, well, the young never listen to the old,” she said philosophically. “No, no, they never listen.”
    Susan Whitaker came up and gave Snooky a kiss. Her eyes were swollen and red, but she still managed to glow with a kind of animal cheerfulness and vitality. She was dressed in black velvet, with a simple strand of pearls. Her hair was twisted back into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. “Snooky, how wonderful to see you. Even at this awful time. Has Aunt Etta been picking on you?”
    “The old always pick on the young,” grated Aunt Etta. “It’s their only interest in life.”
    “I want you to come and say hello to Albert,” Susan said, taking Snooky’s arm. As she pulled him through the crowd, the musicians in the corner began picking their way with obvious trepidation through the Dvorak Piano Quintet. George Drexler, the leader, was playing with intense concentration and beating time in the air with his viola. Occasionally he could be heard saying in a loud, hoarse whisper, “Bar sixty-four! Bar sixty-four!” as one member or another of his little group lost their place. His large mournful eyes were half closed in ecstasy.
    “Just look at him,” Susan said with loving exasperation. “You haven’t met George yet, have you, Snooky? The man lives for his music. I’ve never seen anything like it. I asked him to bring some friends and play for the reception, and he has to go and pick something none of them has ever tried before. The only saving grace, thank God, is that nobody is listening. Albert, say hello, will you?”
    Albert was standing with Gretchen by the buffet table. He was looking pale and distraught. Snooky shook his hand and said, “Albert, I’m so sorry. Really. Sorrier than I can say.”
    “Thank you, Snooky. Have you met my friend Gretchen?”
    As Snooky and Gretchen shook hands, George couldbe heard saying in a loud whisper, “Bar ninety-three! Bar ninety-three!”
    Meanwhile, Great-aunt Etta had not been idle. She had taken a firm grip on Bernard’s arm, effectively preventing him from bolting, and was now saying in an aggrieved tone,
    “Don’t like it one bit. Not one bit. I don’t like having strangers all over this place—why, it’s like my own house. No, I don’t like it.”
    “I can understand that,” said Bernard with feeling. There was not much in this world that he disliked more than