Grace turned the sign around, but Frankie and she couldn't un-see it. She walked over to one of the vacant beach chairs, eased into it as gingerly as possible, and closed her eyes in contemplation.
"Those little shit eating bastards!" Frankie lamented while pacing frantically. "First, they convince us to go to that-that Geriatric Guantanamo! Then they sell our house less than a week after we move out!"
"I'm glad to see the circumstances haven't killed your gift for hyperbole," said Grace dryly.
"Nope. If anything, it's more alive than ever, Grace! They can't do this. We have rights!" Frankie replied.
"Well, unfortunately, our lawyers have taken the side of our ingrate children and you're dead," Grace sighed while rubbing her temples.
"I really wish I still had the yurt right now," Frankie said sadly.
"At least we don't live in a shoe like your double crossing fuckwad of a son," Grace scoffed. "Of course, now, we don't live anywhere…Would you just sit down already? You're making me more nervous!"
"I can't. You know I do all my best thinking on my feet…although some deep meditation could only help us right now," said Frankie sitting cross legged on the ground. She closed her eyes and began to chant.
"Oh, I am way too sober for this," said Grace opening her eyes and taking one of the many rattling bottles from her purse and pouring a couple of blue pills into her hand.
Even though Grace always found her roommate's chanting to be more of a headache than anything spiritual, it was nice to have something stable in her otherwise increasingly unsteady and uncertain life. No one had ever made her feel more cared for or given her life more excitement (for better or worse) than Frankie Bergstein. Other than the old hippie's chanting and the ocean waves, everything was silent, almost peaceful even. Until several minutes later…
"Excuse me, can we help you?" asked a lanky man who looked to be in his late twenties at most.
"What are you, a cop?" asked Grace.
"Um…no, I'm- is she okay?" the man said looking over at Frankie with concern.
"Oh, don't mind her. You get used to it after a while," Grace said rolling her eyes.
"Okay…what are you doing in my beach chair," the man inquired.
"Your beach chair," Grace echoed.
"Grace, I've got it! The universe has given me a message!" Frankie chimed in cheerfully. "Who's this guy?"
"He's the new owner," said Grace dejectedly.
"Did she tell you our children swindled us out of this house?" Frankie asked as she began to invade the man's personal space.
"Um-"
"I bet you don't even care what becomes of a couple of old ladies, do you? Well, I've got news for you, kid. Just because we're not twenty-five anymore doesn't mean we don't have rights! You can't just treat human beings this way!"
"Okay, that's enough, Frankie! This man hasn't done anything to us. I'm so sorry about all of this," Grace apologized pulling Frankie away by the arm.
"I think you two should go now. You're really starting to freak me out," said the man looking at Frankie as though she were a rabid dog.
"We don't have anywhere else to go!" said Frankie.
"That's not my problem, lady," said the man contemptuously.
"Listen here, you son of a bitch! I don't give a good goddamn how you talk to me, but there's no reason for you to talk to my friend like that," said Grace now being the one to invade his space.
"You're trespassing on my property and yet I'm the one being disrespectful?" the man asked raising his brow.
"We used to live here, and now, we have absolutely nowhere to go. Is it too much trouble to ask for just a shred of human decency?" Grace said, now nose to nose with him.
Grace didn't remember much between her last comment and sitting on the cold hard bench of the county jail next to Frankie. Her prescriptions had been confiscated while they were being booked, and her high had definitely worn off long ago. The last thing she remembered was:
"How can you arrest me? I'm dead! Dead! Check the computer" yelled Frankie.
"You look pretty alive to me, Mrs. Bergstein," said the officer escorting her to the cell.
"Really! I am legally dead. You can check!" Frankie insisted.
"Okay, Lazarus. Get in the cell," the cop replied rolling his eyes.
"I know she sounds crazy and she is; but she's telling the truth!" said Grace struggling a bit against the officer escorting her.
"According to our records, your friend here is very much alive, Mrs. Hanson."
"I knew we'd end up here eventually, but I always assumed it'd be because of one of your hair brained ideas," Grace said.
"Yeah, me, too. I can't believe you did that," Frankie replied.
"Well, he had some nerve! Why is it so much to ask for a couple of homeless middle aged women to sit down until they can call an Uber?" Grace lamented.
"Middle aged? Who are you talking about? I meant how you stood up for me like that," said Frankie.
"He was being rude to both of us," said Grace dismissively.
"Don't get too sentimental on me, Hanson," said Frankie dryly.
"Fine, I didn't like the way he was talking to you. Happy?" Grace huffed.
"I'm very touched, Phase One," Frankie said placing a hand on Grace's tense shoulder.
"The one time those dipshits do something right and it still ends up fucking us in the ass," said Grace resisting the urge to shrug her hand away.
"I guess that's what they're good at…sorry, that was in poor taste. I say I want to live and this is what I get. Thanks for that massive middle finger, Universe!" replied Frankie loudly enough to wake up several of their holding cell mates.
"Can you shut the fuck up? Jesus," groaned a woman with short spiky hair and track marks on her bear arms drowsily.
"I'm sorry! It's been a really hard day," Frankie whispered back loudly.
"No shit. What are you even in for?" asked the woman.
"Prostitution," Frankie snarked.
"I can't believe I'm in here-me! This place is so dirty. It's disgusting!" Grace lamented kicking her leg and immediately regretting it.
Frankie held Grace's hand, which felt like it was being crushed as Grace cried out in pain.
"What's going on in here?" asked the guard on duty.
"She's an old lady with bad knees. She's in pain!" Frankie said.
"Well, keep it down, will you?" the guard replied in annoyance before going back to texting.
"We can't stay here, Frankie!" Grace said letting go of Frankie's hand.
"What choice do we have? We've got no one to call!" Frankie moaned.
"What? Okay, we'll be right there," said Robert before hanging up the phone.
"What's going on? Was that Mom?" asked Mallory.
"No, but the theater group is having toppas at Peter's house, and I don't intend to sit this one out," Robert replied searching for his keys.
"I think I will though," said Sol glumly.
"Why are you all acting like someone died? It's your mothers! I'm sure Frankie dragged Grace to one of those demonstrations where they throw red paint on people in fur coats or some hippie dippy flea market. They'll be back," said Robert.
"But Dad, what if something happened to them? The nurses said they still haven't come home and that one of their carts was stolen. Mom couldn't even drive a scooter without hitting someone and Frankie's not any better," said Brianna pouring herself another glass of wine despite Barry's nervous glances.
"I knew sending them to a home was a bad idea!" Sol cried.
"Dad, their minds are slipping. They physically can't take care of each other anymore," said Bud.
"So we just handed them over to strangers? You could've tried other things before putting them in a home," Sol objected.
"First of all, it's an assisted living community, not a nursing home. Second, Mallory has an army of kids, I have no bedside manner, and Bud is taking care of another mommy now-" Brianna started,
"I told you not to call her that; it's creepy," Bud interrupted.
"None of us are able to care for them," Brianna continued ignoring Bud.
"What about me?" asked Coyote.
"Do you even want to do it?" Brianna replied.
"No, but what's wrong with me?" Coyote asked defensively.
"Nothing. Ignore her," said Mallory glaring at Brianna.
"We don't have time for this. Our moms have been missing for twelve hours! We have to find them," said Brianna.
"I'm telling you, they'll call us to get them out of whatever whacky misadventure gone wrong that they've gotten themselves into. Just give them time," said Robert.
Robert walked out the door without another word. Sol wrung his hands anxiously while his children and stepchildren sat in silence trying to think of a plan to find their mothers.
"We've tried every Del Taco in the tri-county area and every bar," said Mallory tiredly.
"Can we try them all again?" asked Brianna.
"You don't need to go anywhere else," Mallory replied taking the glass of wine from Brianna's hand.
"Rude. Get your own!" Brianna groaned trying pathetically to get it back.
"That's actually a good idea," said Coyote.
"You in a bar right now? No, no, no," said Bud laughing nervously.
"Not that. I mean, we could go look and someone could stay here," Coyote replied.
"That's actually not a bad idea," said Brianna starting to get up.
"Stay," Mallory said sternly.
"Just because I'm a bitch doesn't mean I'm a dog," Brianna rolled her eyes.
Mallory took Brianna's car keys and tossed them to Bud.
"Coyote and I will look for Mom and Bud and Barry can look for Frankie-," said Mallory.
"That's not fair to Barry! He's been here all day. You let Allison leave hours ago," Brianna interrupted.
"She was taking our baby home!" said Bud
"I really don't mind helping," Barry said kissing Brianna on top of her head.
"What about me?" Brianna asked impatiently.
"You can stay here and wait with Sol," Mallory replied, much to Sol's obvious horror.
"You want me to wait…with Sol?" asked Brianna dumbstruck.
"They're much more likely to call Sol than any of us and you're too drunk to be amongst human beings right now. There's no time to waste. Let's go!" Mallory snapped.
"You're more like Grace than I thought-"said Coyote.
"Let's go!" Mallory repeated while hitting Coyote in the arm.
No one else dared to speak as they rushed out the door to look for Grace and Frankie. As soon as the door shut, Brianna grabbed the wine bottle from the table and stared at Sol, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair, as she drank from it.
"Do you really think you should still be drinking?" asked Sol cautiously.
"Do you really want to deal with me sober?" asked Brianna clumsily offering him the bottle from across the coffee table.
It had been a while since Frankie had had a panic attack, an occurrence that Grace definitely had not missed. Neither had the many concerned women in the holding cell. She was rubbing her sternum, which produced the usual confusing moans. Usually, this happening in public would have embarrassed Grace, but the circumstances had taken away a lot of that shame.
"It's going to be okay, Frankie. I promise," said Grace as reassuringly as she could manage.
"How is it going to be okay? Our dumb ass husbands used up all their favors with the judges around here. And we can't even trust our dumb ass husbands anyway," Frankie wailed.
"It's…it's okay, Frankie. I've got a plan," said Grace trying more now to convince herself than Frankie.
What is it?" asked Frankie frantically.
"Just let me think, okay? Take deep breaths," Grace replied.
"Can you think a little faster?" Frankie yelled, unable to control her volume.
"I am trying the best I can!" Grace snapped.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I'm right on the verge of having a plan. I just need you to try to calm down for me," said Grace softening immediately after seeing the pain, panic, and anguish in Frankie's eyes.
"What's going on? Is she okay?" asked the guard rushing into the cell.
"She's having a panic attack, officer. She needs her pills," said Grace urgently still rubbing her friend's sternum.
"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to do that," said the guard apologetically.
"What is this? Betty Ford? Does this look like she's faking it?" Grace replied impatiently.
The guard gently pulled Grace aside and wrapped his arms around Frankie. She made several more strange noises before her breathing became regular again. Grace watched on as the guard talked to Frankie gently and reassuringly. In that moment, Grace wished so desperately that she were the more nurturing type. It hurt at times knowing that she couldn't often offer Frankie anywhere near the amount of emotional support and understanding that the eccentric artist had often offered her.
"It's going to be okay, Mrs. Bergstein. You're going to be out of here really soon," the guard said soothingly helping Frankie back onto the bench.
Grace took the seat next to her immediately and held her hand.
"You two make a really sweet couple," said the guard.
"Thanks," said Grace and Frankie in unison.
The guard smiled at them and went back out, locking the cell door behind them.
"Officer, would it be okay if I made my phone call now?" asked Grace.
"No, no, no! I can't believe he told you that!" said Brianna now completely beyond drunk.
"It was adorable!" Sol laughed, his cheeks rosy from drinking.
Two more empty wine bottles now stood beside the one Brianna had been previously drinking. Neither of them had anything in common but at least had the good sense to know that.
"I can't believe I always thought you were so weird. I mean, you are, but I never took you for a lightweight," slurred Brianna.
"You think I'm bad? You should see Robert after two mojitos," Sol giggled hysterically.
"I like this Sol," Brianna said.
"This Brianna terrifies me slightly less," Sol admitted cheerfully.
"Reminder not to drink again for a long time," said Brianna barely able to hold her head up.
Sol's phone rang from the countertop, so he stumbled to the kitchen to answer it.
"Sol, will you make me a grilled cheese while you're in there?" Brianna shouted from the living room.
"What kind of cheese would you like?" asked Sol.
"Surprise me!"
Sol answered the phone and put it on speaker as he opened the refrigerator door.
"Hello?"
(To be continued)