An episode of "Gracious Gardens" (short story 25)

  Over a year ago, as an exercise, I started writing one short story a week. This was something Harlan Ellison (I think) suggested to one of his fans, his reasoning being "You can't write 52 bad short stories in a row." I'm not sure about that, but here's one of those stories.

*

Gracious Gardens is a soap opera for senior citizens. It's on TV or the web or cable or something. You've seen it. As you know, it takes place in a two story nursing home and hospice care facility in the Baltimore-Washington corridor called Gracious Gardens. Actually, it’s three stories if you count the basement, but that’s underground, for storage only, secured by sophisticated electronic locks, and only accessible by a special key card.

Stay tuned the latest episode...

On the first floor, in the nursing care wing, Alfred Jones is alone with Stanley Johnston in Alfred’s room. No one calls him by Alfred, he hates that. Everyone calls him Jonesy, even the staff, well except for the very busom, very uptight, and very by-the-book Mrs Margery Farnsdale, the head caregiver. She insists on Mr Jones. 

 Jonesy is an 82 year old with a bad back, prostate problems, and heart arhythmia. He walks with a walker, but that’s really just an act. He can walk fine. Stan has bad knees, poor circulation, and high blood pressure. Stan uses a cane. 

 “Stan the Man! I got percoset, tylenol with codeine, vicodin, generic cyallis, viagra - the real thing, twenty-three joints of medical marijuana –” Jonesy says. 

 “Give me a vicodin, three cyallis pills, and two joints,” Stan says. 

 “You got it. Who’s the lucky lady?” Jonesy asks. He gets the pills and joints from a hidden compartment in his dresser and hands them to Stan. 

 “Brenda,” Stan says. Stan hands Jonesy a roll of bills. 

 “Have fun,” Jonesy says, counting the bills and then putting the money in his hidden compartment. “Leave the door open,” Jonesy tells Stan as he exits. 

Leslie Smart enters and shuts the door. “At it again?” she snaps. Leslie has diabetes and cancer but as far as Jonesy knows the big C is in remission. 

 “I provide a public service,” Jonesy says. “How are you, Lee? Did your screening come back okay?” 

“Public service my ass.” 

 “What did the sonogram say?” 

 “It said fuck you,” Leslie says and hobbles to the door. “Leslie, what was it?” 

 “Fuck you, you fucker.” Leslie opens the door and leaves. Jonesy uses his walker to get out to the hallway. He watches Leslie limp away. 

Bill Harding comes up behind him and pats him on the shoulder supportively. Jonesy turns and greets him. “Hey, Bill.” Bill’s had a series of mini-strokes but gets around with a walker. He thinks and speaks okay but has problems processing TV. Somehow the audio and video don’t sync together in his brain. 

“Wanna talk?” Bill asks. 

 “Not in my room,” Jonesy says, heading to Bill’s room next door. Bill follows him in. 

 “I heard her cancer’s back,” Bill says. 

 “She told you?” Jonesy asks. “No, she told Marge. Do something for her. Flowers, whatever.” 

 “She wants a puppy.” Bill laughs. 

“No way in hell. They aren’t even getting a comfort dog in this place. Marge is allergic to dogs.” 

“That battleaxe? I thought she was bulletproof.” Jonesy says. 

 “Everyone's got a chink in their armor, Jonesy. Maybe even you” Bill hands Jonesy a roll of bills. 

“What can I get you?” 

 “Vicodin." ...
It’s 2:15am and Jonesy’s alarm buzzes him awake. He pulls out a small flashlight, flicks it on and pulls an ID smart card out of his hidden compartment. The picture on the face looks nothing like him. Because it isn't. He pockets the flashlight, cracks open his door and looks out. He knows the shift change is now and they are having a staff meeting of the guards, so no one is monitoring the security. He goes down the hall to the “No Admittance” door and swipes the smart cart. It clicks up and he slips down the stairs to the basement. He cracks open the basement door and walks to the storage room. He opens it and swipes the card again on the refrigerated medicine cabinet. He grabs a few pills from each of the bottles and puts each different type of pill in a separate baggie. Then he retraces his steps and hides the stolen pills in his hidden compartment. 

Lastly, he grabs a huge wad of cash from his stash of bills and stuffs it in his pocket. It’s all his money, and he’s been saving for awhile. He uses his walker to go out to the front desk. A bald guy, in a Gracious Gardens monogrammed jacket, is manning the phones. 

 “Busy night, Smooth?” Jonesy asks. 

 “Hey Jonesy, what are you doing at this hour? It's past curfew.” 

“I gotta request.” 

 “Shoot.” 

 “A puppy for Leslie. Flowers for Marge. White roses.” 

“Roses for Marge?"

"So she'll stay quiet about Leslie's puppy."

"About that puppy? No way.” 

 Jonesy pulls his roll of bills on the desk. “Count it.” Smooth counts it and whistles softly. “Wow.” 

“You and the missus can take a trip with the kids.” 

 “What kind of puppy?” 

“The cute kind. And deliver it tomorrow night after lights out.” Smooth nods. 

Jonesy hobbles back to his room with his walker. He’s crying. Everyone's got a chink in his armor. Even Jonesy.