Ludmilla loved orange lipstick. She used to think it was ugly and old-ladyish. But ever since she turned sixty, it was the one she always reached for when she wanted to feel beautiful. She put on the lipstick and checked to make sure it wasn’t on her teeth. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of the maid. Not that she smiled at the silent, diligent, ageless woman, who with her black bun and coffee-colored dress looked like she had stepped out of a Brazilian soap opera. No, Ludmilla never smiled at Juannita. She didn’t speak to her either. She communicated with the Venezuelan maid through nods, head shakes, or lip pursing. Her Spanish husband relayed all of Ludmilla’s instructions, so she didn’t have to bother. The lady of the house had more important things to do. She walked upstairs and looked out over the yard. She shook her head disapprovingly. She hated when the kids in the complex ran wild around the pools. The stones always got wet, and she feared she might slip. Even though she rarely went down there. She simply couldn’t stand these newcomers. True, she had moved here from Germany too, but that was different. She had a local husband, even though she hated him. She had only married him because no one else wanted to deal with her difficult nature. Who knew where the wind had blown the other residents from? Her husband, that old fool, enjoyed chatting with them, but she didn’t. She wasn’t interested in meeting people. And the way they tried to chat in all sorts of garbled languages was irritating. Well, she will not try to make herself understood by miming and repeating a word or two to those who do not speak her language.
Only the two little girls were playing by the pool. As usual, her neighbor Ted, who was constantly tense and picking fights with everyone, had sneaked over to four-year-old Emily to scold her for something. Ludmilla found children annoying too, but she would never stoop to mistreating someone else’s kid. Especially not regularly. A child that young wouldn’t tell their mother that the neighbor was harassing them, wouldn’t ask for help. What a scumbag Ted was. He’d only been living there for two months, but he’d already called the police on one elderly resident because her dog barked too much. Idiot. Was she really supposed to talk to people like him? Sometimes she thought about mentioning it to the little girl’s mother, but the woman only spoke French and English. Ludmilla didn’t feel like dealing with it.
She rolled her eyes as she thought of Fernanda, the widow who had moved into the area six months ago, also from Germany. Now, that woman babbled on about anything and everything. She knew a few words in Spanish, a few in English, and had the nerve to try to “talk” to anyone who crossed her path. Didn’t that woman have any dignity? Fernanda had turned sixty-five that summer, but she still went dancing several times a week, wore ridiculous clothes, and those silly polka-dotted high-heeled shoes! Ludmilla huffed angrily. It was a good thing she had finally told her off yesterday. She had even encouraged their mutual friend to speak her mind about Fernanda too. After all, that friend’s husband had been a minister, so if anyone knew how to behave, it was her. Not just because they moved in upper-class circles, but because they were truly refined people. Ludmilla wasn’t jealous of her friend, though—she hadn’t needed to marry well to be rich. Her grandfather, a collector of fine art, had already belonged to the upper crust. She giggled. What a face Fernanda had made when Ludmilla told her she dressed like a messed-up canary bird! And their mutual friend had backed Ludmilla up, saying that for a widow, Fernanda acted like a confused teenager. Fernanda had nearly burst into tears. Pff.
Fernanda didn’t know what it meant to live the life of a responsible woman. A lady of a certain age doesn’t wear lemon-yellow dresses or Mickey Mouse sneakers. She doesn’t take salsa lessons, and she doesn’t go for beers with people much younger than her after dancing. She doesn’t go hiking with other widows and retirees who don’t know how to act their age. By this age, a decent woman’s desire for romance should have faded, and she shouldn’t be laughing flirtatiously with older men who are still as handsome and charming as ever. Ludmilla shook her head. What nonsense! How did such a thought even cross her mind? That man she’d seen Fernanda dancing with wasn’t charming—he was a fool. “Well, a rather handsome fool.” “Oh, Ludmilla, get a grip!” She quickly poured herself a glass of water, terrified by her own thoughts. There was no way she thought those men were handsome! “I wonder how I’d look in lemon-yellow?” Trying to shake off these terrifying thoughts, Ludmilla stormed down to the yard to chase the neighbor’s dog away from the pool. But her mind didn’t stop. In fact, more and more questions began to appear out of nowhere. “I wonder if I could learn salsa too?” “Would high heels look good on me?” “Maybe I shouldn’t give up on love just yet either?”
“Go to hell, Ted!” Ludmilla screeched in broken English. “If you scold Emily again, I’ll tear your guts out!” The second half of her rant came out in a mix of German and Spanish, the words falling out at random as they came to her.
The pool area, which had quietly filled with residents, fell into silence. All eyes were on the elderly German woman, who had so far refused to say hello to anyone, only nodding. Ludmilla clamped her hands over her ears, trying to silence the thoughts in her head. Ted blinked in confusion. How did that old lady in orange lipstick know he’d been picking on Emily? He had always made sure no one was around when he scolded the child, like for laughing, which irritated him more than anything.
That night, Ludmilla couldn’t sleep. She had never been envious of anyone before. She had never needed to be. She had always had more, always had better. But ever since she’d met the quirky widow Fernanda, her own life felt more and more empty. She longed to have fun too, to go hiking and dancing. That way, it wouldn’t just be Juannita and the other residents who would see her lipstick—maybe a handsome, mischievous old man might notice it too.