Episode One

Episode Two

Episode Three

****

Marge Alderwell liked doing dishes by hand, at least some of the time. She found it relaxing. She liked the feeling of warm running water and she liked a task that could be completed successfully every time, as long as the water was warm enough and the dishes not left unwashed for too long. She looked out the window across the parking lot as she scrubbed.

Steve Hartinger was out on his balcony, watering his plants in his bathrobe. Which he doesn't seem to want to be bothered tying, Marge noticed. True, he was wearing boxer-style under shorts, which weren't much different than regular men's shorts, really ... Anyway, at least he takes good care of his plants. Though I wish he didn't have to wave at me all the time, like he knows I can see him.

Marge heard the shower stop, loudly and abruptly as usual as Grady must have been stepping out and getting ready for his big day at the home improvement store. Of course there was precious little they needed to do, or even could do, to maintain the interior of a two-bedroom condo. Certainly nothing that required frequent trips to the home improvement store. But maintenance shopping and projects were Grady's therapy, and who was Marge to deny it to him. Besides, they had the nicest set of custom-built shelving units in their large bathroom of any other unit at Rosedale.

As Grady came waltzing into the kitchen (okay, not waltzing, exactly, but not lumbering, stomping or shuffling either), Marge looked out the window again and noticed Mike, the superintendent of the complex, walking around the parking lot with a screwdriver. Why wasn't he wearing his utility belt if he was fixing something - wouldn't that have been easier?

She asked Grady if he wanted another cup of coffee, which he didn't. (She know he wouldn't, but of course she had to ask.)

"What are you going to do this morning?" he asked.

"Oh, the usual. And don't forget -- Didi's tonight."

Marge had almost forgotten, but putting away the coffee cups reminded her of the plate she still needed to return to Didi. And now dinner. How had she gotten herself involved in this? Of course Didi's just looking for allies, Marge thought. Marge had agreed to announce Didi's candidacy in the newsletter, since it was truly news (and not exactly a secret). Of course, nobody else had ever used the newsletter in that way before (and obviously she'd give equal time to anybody who wanted their candidacy announced, but nobody else ever did). But she thought Didi was interesting, in her own way, and she was dying to see what Didi had done with her condo.

"See you later," Grady said, on his way out the door.

"Bye, honey," she replied, and thought about what she was going to wear to Didi's.

Episode Four

Episode Five

******

"But Burt, you've known about this dinner all week. Can't Janie watch the grandchildren?"

Didi paced around the kitchen holding the cell phone with one hand and rummaging through the refrigerator with the other.

"Well, I told you why this was important to me. You could have at least told me earlier," she told him.

Burt's family ties were a constant source of annoyance in their relationship. It was admirable, of course, that his family was important to him, but his obligations almost always got in the way of the things Didi wanted to do, and tonight was no exception.

"Well, listen, I can't talk much longer. They're going to be here in twenty minutes and I still have to set the table." There wasn't much point in complaining to Burt. He was always sorry, but he always did whatever he wanted to just the same.

She hung up the phone and finished preparing the roast. As she glanced out the window into the parking lot, she noticed Lacey Grundle riding her expensive ten-speed bike up to her garage and opening the garage door to put it away.

No wonder nothing ever gets done around here, Didi thought. She spends all her time riding around on that bicycle she doesn't have time to get defective light bulbs replaced or follow up on leaks in the basement that have been going on for years now.

She placed the roast carefully in the oven - Marge and Grady were sure to be impressed with this dish, especially the sweet potato and pear combination - and started setting the table.

Upon glancing out on the balcony, she noticed that her Sansivera was looking a little dry. She stepped out onto the balcony and looked around for her watering can. It took all of ten seconds to realize it was gone - stolen by someone.

Well, no wonder, she thought. The security lights don't work, the place is falling to pieces. She knew more than ever that the condo association needed leadership. Real leadership.

*******

Lacey changed out of her riding clothes but didn't bother showering. Nobody would be smelling her tonight (thankfully!).

She poured a cup of hot tea and turned on the computer. If she started the import procedure in the next few minutes, the database could be updated, tested and backed up by eleven and she'd still be able to get a good night's sleep before heading into the office tomorrow to deal with upgrading the desktops. One of these days, she promised herself, I'm going to get an entire weekend to myself without having to dial in.

When her desktop came up she used the company's remote client to access her work computer and launched the necessary applications. She purposely avoided checking her e-mail: no sense making this any more painful than it has to be. She started the backup process on the current data store and walked into the kitchen to deal with the dishes and glasses that had accumulated since about Thursday.

As she loaded the dishwasher, the front door buzzer sounded. Oh God, she thought, not tonight.

"It's Mrs. Patel," said the voice on the intercom. "I just need to talk to you for a minute."

Resigned, Lacey buzzed her in. Condo business, of course. Something stupid, something trivial, something else that she would have to deal with. Lacey knew that Didi was planning to run against her for condo president at Wednesday's meeting, and part of her would have loved to hand the whole thing over to someone else. Lord knows the job isn't glamorous and she'd been doing it for three years now.

But Lacey's competitive nature just wouldn't allow her to be beaten by someone, especially Didi Prescott. She could only imagine that life at Rosedale would be like under the Prescott regime - mandatory lights out at ten, new regulations for window boxes and porch furniture, laminated hall passes ... No, she was not going to lose an election to Didi Prescott.

Dari Patel knocked and Lacey opened the door. Lacey smiled wearily and invited Dari in.

"You told me we could park the station wagon in front of the garage until we finished unpacking, didn't you?" There was a slight note of accusation in Mrs. Patel's tone, as well as a quivery kind of frustration.

"I'm sorry ..." Lacey said, trying to remember when, exactly, they'd discussed the Patels' station wagon.

"We have a lot of boxes - and furniture - and we still have some painting to do in the living room and the guest room. It's only been a week or so ..."

"I don't understand, Dari. What's the problem?"

"Didi Prescott. She left a note on our car telling us we weren't allowed to park it in front of the garage except on a temporary basis. I was going to talk to her myself, but she's so arrogant. I've never met anybody so arrogant."

Lacey decided to tread carefully.

"Well, Didi's fond of rules. That's for sure. Listen ..." Lacey began but was cut short by the phone ringing.

Normally Lacey would have let it go to voice mail, but there was a chance it was one of the network guys calling to have her hold off on the import because somebody was working in the database. She picked it up.

"Hi," came the voice at the other end, tentative and sheepish (and more than a little hungover). Not now.

"Yes, can I call you back a little later," she told him. "I've got somebody here ..."

"I just wanted to say," Mike began, clearing his throat a little, "I don't want things to be weird with us, you know. I mean, Sarah's coming back later and I ..."

"That's no problem," Lacey said with a somewhat forced, cheerful tone (for Dari's benefit). "No problem at al, really."

"I mean," Mike continued, "I had a great time. I really did. And I really like you, Lacey, as a person."

"Yes, yes, of course you do. I know that," she answered. As a person, she thought. What else would he like her as?

"I just want to hear it from you, Lacey," Dari told her. "If Didi says anything again, I want to be able to tell her that you said it was all right."

"Of course it's all right, Dari," Lacey told her. "But do you know how long you're going to need to park there? It is a little tight with all the other cars ..."

"I don't know, Lacey!" Dari said, getting a little impatient. "If I could park it in the garage now, I would, but I can't until they finish painting. There's still plenty of room between the station wagon and the other cars in the parking lot. Honestly!"

"I understand, Dari ..."

"Don't patronize me because I'm Indian, Lacey! I've lived in this country longer than you've been alive!"

"So we're still friends, right?" Mike asked.

"Dari, I'm not ..." Lacey told Dari, "I just need to tell Didi something if she asks me ..."

"You sound mad? Are you mad?" Mike asked.

"I would tell you something to tell Didi Prescott, but I'm too much of a lady. Thanks for nothing!"

"Listen, I just think we both ... oh, I think that's Sarah now. I'd better go. I'll call you during the week." And with that, Mike hung up.

"Dari ..." Lacey called, but she was already out the door.

Episode Six

*************

Didi stood in the hallway outside the tenants' door and composed herself. She took a deep breath and knocked, firmly but gently.

The door opened suddenly. Marty Gomes stood in the doorway in a black t-shirt with the name of some rock group and their logo on it (the typeface was very strange and the letters slightly worn, so Didi didn't have time to make it out, and certainly wouldn't have heard of it, anyway). Marty gave Didi a "patient" look.

"Hi Marty," Didi began. "Listen, I know it's only seven thirty, but it is a Sunday night and ..."

Marty shifted onto his other foot.

"I'm having some people over tonight and the music is coming through pretty loud. I wonder if you could turn it down, just a bit?"

"Sure, Didi. No problem," Marty responded. He maintained his expression, which seemed vaguely like impatience, even though if anyone had the right to be impatient ...

"Thanks. It's just that I have people coming over and it's a little distracting ..."

"No problem, Didi."

"Great. Thanks."

Didi took a quick look past Marty where Selda, Marty's girlfriend, was putting potato chips into a bowl. Uh-oh - it looked they were having "guests" tonight, too.

Didi smiled and left and Marty closed the door, quickly but not too loudly, behind her. She waited for the music to go down and, after a few seconds, it seemed to. She started to walk downstairs.

**********

Lacey Grundle sat on her sofa, in the middle of an unexpected call.

"No, it's fine. I was just - working," she told the voice on the other end of the phone.

Lacey hadn't talked to Greg since before Christmas. She wasn't expecting to hear from him any time soon, and especially not today. But here she was, talking with him, filling him in on recent changes at work and hearing about his latest trip to Dubai.

"I was just saying to myself, just tonight, that next weekend I am keeping all to myself. No dialing into the office, no condo business ..."

There was a momentarily silence, and Lacey wondered if this indicated Greg was about to tell her the reason for his call. Then he did.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Lacey replied, a little shocked. "Really. I liked your Mom. A lot."

Lacey settled into a reclining position on the couch. She did like Mary, actually. She was bright and funny - and used to introduce Lacey to people as her "daughter-in-law" even though she and Greg were only living together.

"When is the funeral?" she asked.

***********

The door to Didi's unit was open by the time Marge and Grady made it up the stairs. Something smelled good - Chicken Tetrazini, I think, was what Didi had mentioned she was going to make. She could smell garlic.

"Come in," Didi called from the kitchen. She was turning off a timer. "Have a seat in the living room and I'll be right in.

Nice, Marge thought. Everything from the antique-framed oil painting over the sofa to the Crate and Barrel bookcases (white) to the Shaker-style entertainment center. And immaculate, too. But then, Didi had a service that came once every other week. ("Must be nice," Marge thought.)

"Burt couldn't make it," Didi informed them. She turned to Grady, first: "Scotch and soda?"

Grady nodded.

"How about you, Marge?" Didi asked. "Glass of wine?"

"That sounds nice," Marge replied.

Everything looked about the same as last time, Marge thought. For some reason she thought Didi had mentioned doing some renovations, but everything looked the same. Suddenly, there was a jolt, a kind of big, thumping sound. It came from upstairs.

"Oh my God," Didi said, "I told them ..."

She looked plaintively at Marge and Grady, handed Grady his scotch and went back to get the wine glasses for herself and Marge. "It's the tenants," she informed them, as if that said it all.

"These walls are kind of thin," Marge offered sympathetically.

"I don't even know what kind of work they do," Didi told them, handing Marge her wine. "They're home all the time. Anyway, let's sit down."

Didi sat down at the other end of the sofa Grady was already sitting on, and then realized that this left only the arm chair for Marge, who wasn't about to sit down between them. Then, suddenly, she remembered something and passed out coasters.

"It's too bad about Burt, really, because I think you and he would have had a lot to talk about," she told Grady. Grady didn't respond.

"He handled the takeover of Bendel Brothers. You used to work there, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Grady confirmed. Marge smiled.

"Your place looks great," Marge said.

********

No new jobs at Morgen-Samuels, Steve noted. Not that he would have gone back there, anyhow. Not since the merger. It was all fucked up.

But he would need to get a job one of these days. The payout was good, but not that good. At least he wasn't paying child support anymore, now that the kids were grown. And Meg was remarried, which was mostly a good thing. Mostly.

He thought, briefly, about finding a new site to post his resume, but what was the point, really? He'd find something eventually.

He'd just finished typing in "www.freerepublic.com" when it started. First, the sound of a car stereo: a little too loud with a little too much bass. Then, within less than a minute - the awful screeching sound. He went out to the living room, walked up to the sliding glass doors, and then looked out across the parking lot. And there was Didi, on her balcony.

"Oh my God," Didi cried, "Oh my God." And then: "I knew it - I just knew it!"

She gazed, horrified, as the young man in the t-shirt and ripped jeans - whoever he was - got out of the driver's seat and walked around to examine the damage.

"I knew it!"

Episode Seven

Episode 8

"Dear Mr. Hartinger: We have reviewed your resume and would like to schedule an appointment for you to meet Mr. Charles Haggers, Director of Public Projects. Mr. Haggers has two available appointments this week, on Tuesday, ..."

"Hi Dad. Sorry I haven't written a lot, lately ..."

Episode Nine

*********************

Rachel did the dishes while Bonnie surfed the net from the computer in the guest room. On nights when Bonnie cooked, Rachel did the dishes and when Rachel cooked, Bonnie did them. But they both kind of preferred it when Bonnie cooked (now that her repertoire had expanded beyond the fried chicken and mashed potatoes she used to make weekly for her husband and her son).

Bonnie had the Acupuncture Academy site up on the screen and this time she wasn't going to hastily click the "Search" button when Rachel walked in to cover up her guilty crime. No, Bonnie's acceptance letter arriving in today's mail meant the time had come to talk it over. Sooner rather than later.

Bonnie heard the sounds that signified "finishing up": closing the dishwasher door and starting it up, wiping down the counter, the closing of cabinets. She listened as Rachel's footsteps, not exactly delicate, but pressing down on wood floors in an even, contented fashion, approached the guest room.

"Any last minute lobbying from Didi Prescott? An e-mail reminding us of our patriotic duty?"

"Just a note reminding everyone to attend the meeting tonight," Bonnie relayed, "and that we're voting on officers."

"Nice touch," Rachel noted. "Keep it nonpartisan, but get your name out there. I think I'll write in John Kerry just to bug her."

Bonnie smiled, but then her smile faded. This caught Rachel by surprise. She looked at Bonnie, who suddenly looked close to tears. Then she looked at the screen, but the official web site of the International Acupuncture Academy of Shanghai didn't set off any immediate bells. She then looked back at Bonnie.

"There's something we have to talk about," Bonnie began.

**************

After Dari Patel buzzed Didi Prescott in the front door, she gave their unit the once over, at least those parts the assembled unit owners would see. It looked good. Considering they'd only been living at Rosedale for two months, the place had shaped up pretty well. Although some of the women would no doubt find some of her décor a little "exotic" (meaning "Indian"), Dari had no intention of modifying her tastes to suit them. Besides, it wasn't nearly as "Indian" as, say, her mother-in-law's two-story high ranch in Schenectady.

Didi arrived at the front door with a big tray of something, covered tightly with tin foil. On second thought, it was a baking dish. Didi smiled perfunctorily then made her way directly to the kitchen.

"Do you mind if I go ahead and heat these up?" she asked.

"Let me help you," Dari offered, extending her arms to take the dish from Didi.

"That's okay," Didi responded, "it's easier if I do it." She then placed the dish down on the counter and started taking over the oven controls without asking. Granted, they all had the same kitchen set up, but still ... Dari certainly couldn't ever see herself taking over another woman's kitchen like this.

"It's just a little something I found in Food and Wine," Didi explained. "I hope you like them."

Somehow, Dari didn't think it really mattered to Didi Prescott one way or another if she liked them or if she didn't.

Episode Ten

Episode Eleven

Episode Twelve

********************

"My watering can!" Didi exclaimed.

"Your watering can?" Dari replied.

Didi picked up the brightly painted tin watering can with a sunflower painted on the spout. "Well, it certainly looks like mine. Where did you get it?"

"I got it at a yard sale. In Schenectady."

"Isn't that interesting?" Didi mused, "I got mine in Oaxaca." Didi stared at Dari for a moment. "That's in Mexico."

"That is interesting," Dari replied, taking the can back and placing it on the ground. "That must be where this one came from, too."

Steve Hartinger found it interesting, too.

"Say, Alex, can I give you a hand with these chairs? They go in the basement, right?"

"We'll take care of that," Dari offered. "I can't even think about cleaning up right now."

Somehow Dari's demeanor indicated, Time to go home, everyone.

"Are you sure?" Marge asked, coming back in from the kitchen.

"Yes, really," Dari replied.

Didi took one last look at the watering can - her watering can (it had to be), then said good-night.

********************

Bonnie was at her computer again, looking at next month's association expenses, when Rachel entered.

"So you're staying," Rachel said.

"I guess I am."

Rachel sat down on the guest room couch and waited for Bonnie to turn away from the computer and toward her. After a moment, she did.

"Are you happy?" Rachel asked, "I mean, that you're staying?"

"I don't know," was all Bonnie could say.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I've been happy, Rachel. I've been happy most of the time. But now ..." she trailed off. "I just want something else. I don't mean you. I don't mean ..."

What did she mean?

"I'm sixty-two years old and I've never done anything ... I mean, I raised a family, I worked as a secretary, I moved to Boston ..."

"Yes, I know," Rachel replied, "and I'm glad you did."

"Oh, me, too! Really. It's just ... I want to accomplish something. The idea of going to China to study acupuncture ..."

"You still can."

"I know. And I think I will. As soon as Lacey's better."

Rachel couldn't think of anything to say, so she put her arms around Bonnie - and secretly hoped Lacey wouldn't get better any time soon.

********************

Mike was approaching the end of the hall at Mass General, counting off Rooms 304, 306, 308 and saw Greg Beers outside of 310 talking on his cell phone.

"So if you could just leave the papers on my desk I'll take care of them first thing ..."

Greg looked up and noticed Mike.

"... in the morning. Thanks, Jan." Greg closed up his cell phone. "It's not pretty," he said, indicating the inside of the hospital room. Through the open door, Mike saw Lacey, unconscious, with a breathing tube.

"They think she'll be okay. I mean, they think ..."

Mike looked at Lacey, then concentrated on Greg.

"They'll know more tomorrow," was all Greg could say.

"Wow. I knew she had food allergies ..." Mike noted.

"God did she ever! Wherever we went she always had to ask the waiter a million questions: does it have peanuts? Does it have gluten? I think it was one of the reasons ..." Greg stopped himself.

"Listen," Greg told Mike, "I've got a few other things I've got to attend to. My mom just passed away, which is the reason I'm back here in the first place and ... do you have a cell phone?"

Mike reached around in his pocket and pulled it out, though he wasn't sure why.

"No, I mean - give me your number. I'll give you a call tomorrow and see if anything's ... you know, see what's up?"

"Oh," Mike replied and gave Greg the number.

"Thanks! Well, I'd better ... Thanks," Greg said and headed down the hall.

********************

Steve kept the lights off in his living room so he could peer through the blinds without being seen. Sure enough, the lights were on in the Patels' basement garage and there was a lot of movement. More, he thought, then just the putting back of a few folding chairs.

Episode Thirteen