Free The Sunset Gang by Warren Adler Page B

birds."
    "Better watching birds that fly than birds that
flounce," Bernice said.
    "What's that supposed to mean?" Harriet Feldman
said. She was very sensitive about references to predatory females. Jokes and
sly references about widows inflamed her.
    "I'm not referring to you, Harriet." Bernice
called her tile and they all paused for concentration. "Sometimes we have
to protect our men."
    "Who would want those alte cockers?"
    "They may not be what they used to be." Bernice
smiled. "But sometimes they rise to the occasion." The women
snickered. "You'd be surprised at some of these dirty old men."
    Seymour could have been a fisherman or a birdwatcher, or a
philanderer or a cardplayer or a what not, Bernice thought, not without some
odd sense of security, since she could always be sure that her husband would be
predictably contented with his nose in a mystery book, or poking around in
bookstores and libraries looking for more. Occasionally, though, this activity
of her husband exasperated her. Unless there was a discussion of mystery books,
their writers and characters, Seymour Shapiro made a boring companion. At the
frequent gatherings of her friends, the mah-jongg players from her afternoon
game, the canasta players from her thrice-weekly games or her cronies from
around the pool, and their husbands, those that had them, Seymour would sit in
a corner and mope. In the midst of animated conversation he would pick up a
mystery book and turn the pages, but she would always pluck it out of his
hands, although she was careful to save her admonishment until later.
    "It's impolite to do that in company," she
scolded.
    "I was bored."
    "Be bored," she said. "But don't be
impolite. These are my friends."
    He nodded docility, knowing she was right. Reading mysteries hadn't always been an addiction. Actually he hadn't had that much time
before. Teaching high-school physics had absorbed his energies for nearly forty
years in the Englewood, New Jersey school system. Because he was conscientious,
some said dedicated, he had taken examinations home with him for marking and he
had spent long hours tutoring his pupils in the mysteries of light and sound
waves, the displacement of water and air, and other scientific phenomena. It
was only when he arrived in Sunset Village that he had acquired this new
passion, mostly out of a need to escape from the isolation, the lack of daily
purpose, and as he characterized them, the inanities of most of his wife's
friends. At first Bernice had been offended, openly upset with him, yet fearful
that she had pushed him to make the wrong decision on her choice of their place
of retirement. She loved Sunset Village. She loved her friends and the pace of
life there, and she could pursue her interests in an atmosphere that she
genuinely enjoyed. Except for the sun, the life she led was not much different
from that in Englewood. But Seymour had had his work in Englewood.
    "This is one place where you can't be
antisocial," she told him. "Force yourself to make friends. You are a
bright person. Surely there are some friends you could find, some hobby to
pursue. You don't even like the pool or the activities at the clubhouse."
    "It's just not my cup of tea."
    "Then what is?"
    "I'll find something," he promised, feeling the
void created by the absence of his old life--the school, the children, the
exams. But what he really felt he kept inside of himself. He did not want
Bernice to share the burden of his rootlessness. Nor did he dare convey to her
his feelings about her life, her friends. Maybe he was a bit of a snob, he
thought. He hated games, and he could find nothing in the conversation of her
friends or their spouses that could engage his interest. The women were
empty-headed yentas and he could not find any common denominator among the men.
Yet he did enjoy the idea of his wife's contentment and happiness, although he
despaired when he contemplated the future, the squandering of precious time,
the prospect of more