Page 22 of In Pursuit of Love & Clout

An old woman is sitting up on her bed, waiting for us, when Allie unlocks the door to her room. Mrs. Johnson was probably a real beauty back in her day, her silvery hair carefully arranged in rollers on top of her head. Her alert eyes meet mine as I step inside.

“Oh,” she says. “Who is this?”

“Mrs. Johnson, this is Sophie,” Allie introduces me. “It’s her first day.”

“Hello, Sophie,” the old woman says to me. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

I smile. I like this woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.”

“You have nice hair,” she says. “That’s a good sign; none of these people know how to do my hair.”

I look her over. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “It looks pretty good to me.”

Mrs. Johnson scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you’re new. I’ll play along, and we can complain about these people later when we’re alone.”

Allie gives me a look, and I try to hold back a laugh.

“What would you like to wear today, Mrs. Johnson?” Allie asks. The old woman pauses to think about it, her head tilted to the side.

“I think I’d like my green jumpsuit today. Thank you, Allie. Oh, with my leopard brooch.”

Allie shows me to a small closet where beautiful clothes are hung up neatly on copper hangers. She pulls out a green jumpsuit and hands it to me.

“I’ll help Mrs. Johnson out of bed, and when we come back from her shower, you can help her get dressed. Okay? And you can find her leopard brooch in her jewelry box on the dresser.”

I nod, grateful that I don’t have to help the old woman shower on my first day. I expect Mrs. Johnson to lean heavily on Allie, but as they leave for the bathroom, the woman is walking tall and proud. I wonder how old she is. Probably in her late eighties. She looks pretty good for her age, I have to say.

While they’re gone, I admire the luxurious fabric of Mrs. Johnson’s clothes. She’s obviously a woman who takes great pride in her appearance. I think I’m going to enjoy working with her. I go through the most gorgeous pieces of jewelry I think I’ve ever seen in my life until I find the right brooch. I wonder what sort of life Mrs. Johnson used to lead with things like these.

They come back after only a few minutes, and Allie gives me an expectant look. I walk over to Mrs. Johnson, and together, we get her into the jumpsuit. I fasten the brooch on her lapel, and she seems pleased with the placement.

“Now, if you would do my hair,” she says. “I like it in loose curls.”

“Alright,” I respond and stand behind her as she sits in front of a mirror on the wall.

I carefully remove the rolls from her long, white hair, and it cascades down her shoulders. I’m not used to seeing old women with hairstyles like this; most tend to keep their hair short.

Mrs. Johnson hands me a brush and tells me to go through her hair carefully. I brush through the long locks gently, making sure not to disrupt the curls. When I’m done, she reaches for a bobby pin, and with hands that are shaking ever so slightly, she pins her hair away from her face. She looks like a movie star from the forties.

“You look great!” I tell her, and I really mean it. She smiles at me, then turns to Allie.

“I like this one; make sure she sticks around.”

I then help her put on some red lipstick, finishing off her look. When we move onto the next resident, I turn to Allie.

“She must be popular with the men around here.”

Allie laughs. “You have no idea. They all want to marry her. You’d think they’re still in their twenties with the way they’re prancing around.”

Most of the other residents are a bit more run-down than Mrs. Johnson, but they all welcome me and tell me that they hope I’ll like it here. I help some of them get into wheelchairs, and a few want me to read the newspaper to them before it’s time for breakfast. Food is served in the dining hall, and I get to meet some more of my new coworkers as we all gather together.

“You get to eat, too,” Allie says. “We sit with the residents and keep them company, so Pauline wants us to share a meal with them. Makes it seem a little bit more relaxed, you know?”

I get food? On the job? This is looking better and better by the minute! I’m sitting next to an older man who looks like he’s well over a hundred years old. His mind is calm, though, and he seems to enjoy talking. Before the meal is up, I know every name of his grandkids, as well as his great-grandkids.

“My oldest great-granddaughter is expecting,” he says. “Can you believe it? I’ll be a great-great-grandfather. I’m much too young for that.”

“Oh, yes,” I agree. “You can’t be a day over seventy.”

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