families.
In 50 years the whole developed world will be run by women. Women can already do all the things men can do except heavy lifting, and the need for that is rapidly disappearing in our society. Of course a few chosen men will still be needed for stud service, but the rest…
Carol's hair was an undyed brown, longer than the average length of the female residents’, and she wore her skirts shorter, just above the knees. She more than held her own in the brains department with the intelligent and educated residents.
“Hello, Lillian; hello, Tess,” Carol said, shaking hands with both of us. She seemed to know every resident by name, even though there were several hundred of us. She smiled and her face lit up, giving her a grownup prettiness, enhanced by her stylish glasses. “Please have a seat. Would you like coffee?”
Tess declined but I accepted. I rarely turn down coffee. “Black, please.”
Carol poured from a small coffee maker on the wooden credenza behind her large desk into a china cup and served it to me, complete with saucer and paper napkin.
She said, “First, let me extend my condolences on the passing of Gerald. I know that both of you were at the bridge club meeting when it happened. Something like that is always a shock.”
Tess nodded. “It was a terrible shock. We didn't know him that well, but he seemed to be in good health.”
“So you weren't among the ladies vying for his attention,” Carol said with a smile.
With the dearth of single males at Silver Acres and the plenitude of single females, the men usually had no trouble finding female companionship.
“Nothing against Gerald or any other man at Silver Acres,” I said, “but why should those of us who were used to steak settle for hamburger?” I had been resigned to the single life for some years.
Carol chuckled and said, “I'm going to get serious for a minute. And I need to ask you both a question. Did either of you know that Gerald had a food allergy?”
That was news to me. I shook my head. So did Tess.
“Gerald never mentioned to you that he had such an allergy? And nobody else did, either?”
“As I said, we didn't know him very well,” Tess repeated. “We just played bridge with him.”
Where was she headed? I asked, “Did a food allergy have something to do with his death?”
“Yes,” Carol said. “That's why I'm going to talk to all the people who knew Gerald, especially those who were present when he died. The coroner's office did an autopsy because Dr. Wacker from our clinic found that his windpipe had closed up, a symptom often related to food allergies. His body also showed other reactions, which suggested food allergies. They brought on the heart attack that actually killed him.”
“What could cause your windpipe to close up?” Tess asked, putting her hand to her throat and making gagging noises. Tess is somewhat of a hypochondriac.
“That, of course, is the question. Lunch was served at the bridge club, as you know. Gerald's stomach contained some of the food. They analyzed the contents of the serving dish. Among other things, it contained shellfish. It appears that Gerald was highly allergic to shellfish and it caused the membrane surrounding his trachea, or windpipe, to swell, closing it off. He couldn't breathe.”
“What a horrible way to die!” Tess exclaimed.
“You say it was shellfish?” I said. “It looked and tasted like a tuna casserole to me.”
“It fooled me, too,” Tess said.
“Unfortunately, it also fooled Gerald,” Carol said.
“How do you know the shellfish got him?” I asked.
“You probably remember that when you applied to live here you had to fill out some questionnaires.”
“Reams of questionnaires,” I said. “It was almost as bad as doing income tax.”
Carol smiled. “Some of the information requested is about your medical history. And one of the questions is about allergies. Gerald stated that he was allergic to shellfish. He didn't say that it was a life-threatening allergy, but since we always have a menu for the food served in the dining room it would have been easy for him to avoid shellfish there.”
“But your staff did not prepare the lunch,” Tess said.
The bridge club had its own lunch committee.
“At least you won't be sued,” I said.
“Probably not, but it's just so frustrating,” Carol said, showing emotion for the first time by snapping the pencil she always played with. “It could have been prevented. And I feel guilty that this happened in my territory.”
“It's not your fault, Carol,” Tess said, soothingly. “Don't take it personally.”
“So, have you found anybody who knew about Gerald's allergy to shellfish?” I asked.
“You're the first people I've asked. But I intend to question all the members of the lunch committee. In fact, I'm going to talk to everybody who knew him. We're convinced it was an accident, but I just want to make sure there aren't any loose ends.”
“It's just rotten bad luck,” Tess said. “An act of God.” She considered. “But I would think that Gerald would certainly have asked what the dish contained.”
“He probably didn't even think about it, since it looked like a tuna casserole,” Carol said. “I saw the leftovers and it sure would have fooled me.”
“But you don't have a life-threatening allergy,” I said. “In a case like Gerald's, even a probability of one in a thousand isn't good enough. You have to eliminate all risk to be safe.”
“Lillian was a professor of mathematics at Duke,” Tess said.
“I know,” Carol said, and I was sure she did. “By the way, Gerald was also a college professor.”
“Where did he teach?” I asked.
“The University of California at San Diego. It's in La Jolla, right on the beach. He was a professor of economics. In fact, he won a Nobel Prize.”
“Whew!” I breathed. I had never dreamed of winning a prize like that.
“I read about it,” Tess said. “Recently. I think it was in Time Magazine. We have so many accomplished people here it must have slipped my mind. The article said it was the 25th anniversary of his prize and the subject is more pertinent today than ever.”
“What did he win the Nobel for?” I asked.
“Something to do with money…”
“Well, of course there's a cash award that goes with the prize.”
“No, I mean he wrote about money. Currencies. And with the instability in the world's currency markets, that's why his work is important today.” Tess sometimes fooled people. She was smart for having been “just” a housewife.
“I hope somebody has the answer,” Carol said. “After what some of the third-world countries have gone through, recently, with their currencies depreciating so much as to be almost worthless.”
There was a knock on the open door; Carol raised her eyes and said, “Come in.”
I recognized the good-looking man who strode into the office as Joe Turner, whose title was something like Facilities Manager. He said, “Excuse me, Ladies. I have to get this requisition signed by the boss-lady or we may find ourselves with a backed-up sewer system.” He nodded to Tess, but not to me. What did she have that I didn't have?
His bare arm muscles rippled as he gave Carol the document. She glanced at it briefly, signed it and returned it to him. He pivoted on a large work-shoe-clad foot and strode out of the office, leaving an aura of masculinity behind. He was one of the men who will be expendable in 50 years. I'm glad I won't be around to see it.
“Now that is what I call a hunk,” I said.
“Lillian!” Tess said.
“I agree with you,” Carol said, smiling. “Why do you think I hired him?”
Tess had a disapproving frown on her face so I changed the subject. I asked, “Does Gerald have family?”
“He doesn't have any children. And of course Mrs. Weiss has been dead for a number of years. In fact, he had no close relatives. I'm told that his will leaves most of his money to charity. By the way, Lillian, I understand you were the one who discovered that Gerald's bridge hand when he was stricken was 13 diamonds.”
