The 50-Plus Condo Collection

Chapter 2

“So, are we set for seven thirty?” Eneida Sanchez asked as she stood by the office door.

“Yes, I will be at the clubhouse on time,” Rachel said as she marked her desk calendar. “And so will Tia and Olivia. I already confirmed with them.”

“Great! Then I’m off to work. See you then.” Eneida Sanchez walked her round hips out the door of the condo’s office. Blessed with generous physical attributes, her very curly black hair bounced around her pretty face as she moved.

Rachel and Eneida had hit it off immediately upon meeting at the pool, even though there was nothing obvious they shared in common. Eneida owned a no-kill animal shelter and was an active advocate for animal rights. Due to her devotion to needy animals and her children, there hadn’t been much time for her husband. Consequently, they divorced quite a few years prior to her moving to the condo.

Although still involved with the shelter, Eneida was finally in a position to hire a man to do the day-to-day management of the facility after she was bequeathed a large sum. He lived on the premises where she once had resided. But now she was enjoying life on the beach and the smell of the salty air after so many years of kennel odors. She acquired friends at the Breezeway, one of whom was Rachel, and enjoyed her time off after so many years of relentless physical labor. Life was good.

“Good gracious! It’s hot out there,” Loretta grumbled as she slipped past Eneida and continued into Rachel’s air-conditioned office with a check in her hand. “I don’t remember Nevada ever feeling like this. It’s just too humid.”

Loretta patted at her coifed gray hair, which was done up into a massive bouffant with a twist in the back. A sparkly comb anchored the mass, and the aroma of hairspray wafted through the office. As thin as a dime and always appearing sophisticated, the elder lady was decked out in a peach colored pantsuit. Rachel couldn"t help but think Loretta should dress lighter if she was going to complain about the humidity.

“I have the condo fee here,” Loretta said, placing the check on the desk. “Your husband did a fine job with my toilet. It doesn’t run all night and keep me awake anymore. I have such a hard time sleeping as it is, I don’t need an aquatic serenade."

“I’m glad your sleep is no longer being disrupted, Loretta.” Rachel made out a receipt for the woman. “If you have any more problems, please let me know. I’ll send Joe back up.”

“Thank you, dear. You’re a darling.” Loretta made her way back to the lobby and then into the heat of the day outside.

The phone rang. Rachel picked it up, half expecting to hear from Joe.

“I’ve had enough of those feuding fools next door! I’m going to call the cops if you can’t hush them up.” Penelope Hardwood didn’t even state her name, deciding to just blast her discontent into Rachel’s ear.

“What’s happening now?” Rachel asked, knowing who she was talking to.

“Marc is yelling at the top of his lungs at Lola and she’s screaming like a cat with its tail caught in a buzz saw. They’ve been going at it off and on all night and here it is, ten o’clock in the morning.”

“Have you tried banging on the wall? Sometimes people get embarrassed thinking neighbors are hearing them fighting and then they shut up,” Rachel said, offering her best suggestion.

“I’ve banged until my hand is bruised. That awful man is going to kill her. That’s the only way there’ll be any peace for me,” Penelope said, followed by a deep sigh.

Penelope was a long-time resident in the condo. As Rachel’s self-appointed confidential informant, the old lady kept Rachel up to date on all the happenings in the condo, reporting regularly on any inappropriate behavior of her neighbors. Her age now showed in her stooped posture. Wrapped in a sweater even when it was ninety-five degrees outside, Penelope seemed to always be at the right place when something was happening. Everyone knew she blabbed everything she saw and heard to Rachel.

“I’ll come up there and speak to them. You stay inside your apartment, Penelope, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll stay right here,” she promised. “But you have to do something.”

“I’m on my way,” Rachel said, hanging up the phone and locking her office as she left.

Rachel took the elevator to the eighth floor. When she exited, she could hear the ruckus. Banging noises spilled onto the outside walkway, making Rachel think Marc was bouncing his wife off the walls. Lola’s shrill screams split the air outside, followed by crashing noises, as if to suggest she was throwing breakables at her husband. Rachel wondered why no one had called the police. Apparently only Penelope cared what was happening in that apartment.

Rachel loudly banged on the front door with her fist. “Open up! It’s Rachel.”

Silence followed the demand, then the door slowly opened. Lola stood beside the door, her brown hair ruffled up and falling half into her face. A black eye had formed and the other lid was winking closed. The woman’s nose was red from dried blood and her lips were swollen. Lola was a sight to behold.

“Hi, Rachel,” Lola said casually, as if her appearance was perfectly normal.

“Lola, you have to know that you two are making a huge racket up here. I’m surprised no one has called the cops on you.” Rachel stood back with her hands on her hips, looking sternly at the middle-aged woman.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were being that noisy,” she said, at first looking embarrassed, then her face split into a sheepish grin. “You know how it is, couples have little spats.”

“This sounded like World War Three, not a little spat. Really, how can you stand there and tell me that? Don’t you think your neighbors have ears? Most all of them wear hearing aids.”

“Well, I don’t know, I guess things got out of hand.”

“Where is Marc? I want to see Marc right now,” Rachel demanded. There were times she felt like she was running a kindergarten for elderly delinquents.

Lola’s eyes grew wide with fright. Her swollen lips began to move but nothing audible came out.

“Marc!” Rachel called as she pushed past Lola, stepping into the entryway. “Come out here and talk with me.”

The apartment was rank. Pasta sauce? Sausage?

Pasta sauce? Sausage?A tall rangy man slinked from the guest bedroom and stood with a helpless look on his face.

“The neighbors are complaining about all the fighting you two do up here. This time it’s really out of hand.”

Rachel noted he was a bit disheveled. His normally slicked-back hair hung around the sides of his slim face, and his shirt was open, revealing skin. Bare feet peeked out under his jeans.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were so noisy that others could hear us discussing things,” Marc said.

Rachel didn"t allow him an inch of excuse. “Discussing? I could hear you clear down at the elevator yelling at Lola. And she was screeching. There was no discussing going on.”

At that point, Rachel let her eyes fall around the living and dining room area that flowed into each other. Broken glassware and food were littered all over the carpeting and dark smudges were on the walls where the two must have been doing some scuffling. Gouges in the wall were evidence objects had been thrown. On another wall she saw red marks that Rachel assumed were blood, or maybe pasta sauce. One chair was tilted on its side and a couple tables looked skewed.

Looking more closely at Marc, Rachel could see he had a cut by his right eye, a b****y, swollen lip and his left eye was starting to swell. He reeked of sweat and motor oil. Must have been some discussion.

Must have been some discussion.“I’m appalled. Look at the two of you!” Rachel shouted. “Lola, you’re a sight!”

The woman trembled as she braced herself against the wall. Her shirt was half ripped open and barely hung from her shoulders. One flip flop clung to a foot and her shorts were torn partially away from her body. A large bruise was forming on one hip and a jagged cut was visible on her forearm.

“You can’t tell me this wasn’t a bad fight; I can look at the two of you and see what happened here. And the neighbors have all complained.” Rachel glared at the two as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to decide what to do next. “Look what you’ve done to this apartment! It’s a mess!”

“We’re sorry,” Marc said, nervously rubbing one arm with his hand. The heart tattoo on his upper arm looked like it had an additional arrow crossing through. No doubt, Lola contributed to that cut.

“Yes, sorry,” Lola mumbled.

“The Morgans own this apartment. They’d be furious to see it in this condition.” Rachel was growing angrier as she spoke. “Is this how you two get your jollies? Is this some sort of a pleasure trip for you? I’m serious, is it?”

Silence followed, and then Marc answered.

“Well, maybe. Sometimes.” He shuffled his feet around as he looked down. “But this time it, well, uh…”

“He got jealous,” Lola interjected. “I think he got loopy from watching too many movies and then exploded because the grocery boy carried my bags to the car. He was in the car, waiting. He thought the boy had the hots for me.”

Marc Rogers owned a motor cycle shop in town that sold all the accessories one could need. Rachel turned her gaze on the business owner who one would presume had some common sense. Maybe even an inkling of decency.

“Really? You got jealous of a boy? A grocery boy?” Rachel still had her hands resting on her hips.

“Sort of.”

Rachel let out a big sigh of frustration, releasing her resting hands. “You two need counseling. Big time. I strongly suggest you get some professional help or I’ll have to take this up with the owners of this apartment and the condo board. And maybe the police.”

“We can do that,” Lola eagerly said.

“Do it,” Rachel commanded. “Immediately. I want to see proof that you’re attending counseling sessions, or so help me God, I’ll turn you in. This is your last warning.”

Both of them nodded their heads enthusiastically, just like two bobble heads.

Rachel marched from the apartment and into the elevator. She was really looking forward to being with her friends. This had been a tough day.