UrgentCare Page 2
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As a consolation prize for my misery, God sent me two full days of pouring rain. The first day I satisfied myself with a book, saltines and a block of cheddar I’d brought from home. But the second day found me with a sweet tooth and there was nothing to remedy it, so I headed into town. I was standing in the cookie aisle staring at a row of Oreos trying to decide exactly when they’d come up with more than one flavor when something caught the corner of my eye: a small glass bottle of green olives was rolling mysteriously towards me. I stared at it as it rolled straight towards me and came to a stop beside my flip flop. A gray head poked tentatively from the end of the aisle. “Come on out Gentry, I see you,” I said with faint amusement.
He edged out past the end cap of ninety nine cent macaroni and walked towards me as I tossed a box of double stuffed into my buggy. “Well hello there,” he said.
“Good morning, Gentry. I thought only me and the ducks were out this fine morning?”
“I came out to help Noah gather the animals,” he grinned. “Um, listen Britty, sorry about the other night. I figured you weren’t coming.”
I held up my hand to stop him. No need to go into the nasty details, we’d had a few glasses of wine together that’s it. “Wasn’t really my ‘scene’ that’s all.”
He picked up the bottle of olives from the floor, “Really, what part?”
“What part?” And for good measure I made the word ‘part’ into three syllables. “The public sex for starters…”
“Okay, okay, I have a remedy for that,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a prescription pad then patted around his body for a pen, which he found in his shirt pocket. After scribbling something on the pad he tore the sheet off and handed it to me, “And then two aspirin in the morning.”
I read the chicken scratch he’d written, “Martini’s at Gentry’s-eight tonight. No public sex.” The ‘no’ was underlined; I glanced up at him dubiously.
“Um yeah, I don’t think so. I’m here to take my mind off my problems, not add to them.”
“Physician’s Quarterly had an article about that just last month. It explained how the delicacies of a perfect martini could erase all sorts of emotional trauma. I kept the issue, if you’d like to read it?”
“I’m glad to hear that they’ve finally made alcohol a prescription drug for mental illness, but I think we’ve got different ideas on what constitutes a dinner party, so I think I’ll just pass.”
His face drooped, “Aw, I see. Well, too bad then. I’ll have to enjoy this entire bottle of olives all by myself.” He held up the jar and grinned. “See ya back at the homestead then,” and he turned to walk back up the aisle of the Piggly Wiggly.
But he stopped short and turned around to face me, “Just to be clear, what part of me turned you off completely? Was it the black tie? The excessive seated anger against my ex-wife? Or the blow job?”
With that a young mother yanked her curly three year old from a box of Fig Newton’s and scuttled from the aisle. I watched her go with a slight chuckle, “I’m cool with black tie and blow jobs.”
He popped his forehead with his palm, “I knew it, I just knew it! That fanatical bitch is still cock blocking me!” With that he disappeared into the maze that is ‘the Pig.’ I stared at the space he’d occupied; I don’t recall ever having met a more curious man. On the outside he’s all eye candy, sadly instead of a gooey caramel filling he’s loaded with gummy worms. I yanked open the bag of Oreo’s in my buggy and shoved one in my mouth before heading to the check out aisle.
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“Whoa! He was just standing in the middle of his living room getting a blow job?”
Becky was sitting on the high stool in the kitchen of the beach house staring at me in disbelief.
I nodded, “Yep, that’s the jist of it.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” and she sat silent for a moment allowing my revelation soak in. “So… are you going over for martini’s then?” she asked.
“Of course not!” I snapped.
“Well, I’m not sure why not. I mean he’s a sexy, single doctor and you’re in need of human interaction,” she said. “Besides, I mentioned him to Buck and he’d heard that the other doctors at the hospital think something serious is going on with him. A few of them are planning to go over there next weekend to have an intervention or some such nonsense.” She twitched her Clairol blond hair across her shoulders and raised her eyebrow, “Did you notice anything strange about him, other than inviting you to a swinger’s party of course?”
“I think you just answered your own question,” I said assuredly.
“All I’m saying is that his friends want to know what’s going on with him, and he’s invited you for martini’s. What’s a bit of spying between sisters?”
I laughed at that, “Alright, tell me why everyone is so freaked out?”
She shifted closer over the counter in my kitchen, “For starters, he sold the house downtown. That place had been in his family since the early 1700s, and its unusual for one of them to come on the market. People were swarming to get their contracts written. Then he sold his practice, just out of the blue one day went into his office and announced he was retiring,” her eyebrows twisted and she added expression to her shock. “Again, cardiologist positions in private, well established offices don’t come available often either; there was another doctor in his chair the very next day. Then he just moved out to his family’s summer house and has basically been doing nothing.”
I rubbed my chin, “Hmm… that is curious. I can’t imagine all the money he made off those deals either. It would seem to me that a man full throttle into a mid-life crisis would be anxious to flaunt some of that cash around: sports cars and girls with fake boobs and such.”
Becky nodded, “I know, but all he’s done is put a new roof on the house. Buck thinks he’s got a twenty year old tied to the bed over there.”
“It’s possible, want me to check?” I chuckled.
“Don’t joke about that, we realtors are always freaked out meeting new clients to view houses. There was a guy once who lured a realtor into an empty home like that and sliced her throat. This guy knows medical stuff; you never know what kind of gruesome shit he may be into. As if the orgy wasn’t enough.” My sister sniffed and nodded.
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At nine I walked next door, this time in flip flops, shorts and a sweatshirt. I didn’t want to give off any invitations so I put my hair up in a pony tail. He opened the front door with a grin, “Are we going to have olives first or get straight to the blow job?” he asked with a laugh.
I stopped and glared at him, “For your sake I hope you’re kidding.”
He held up both hands in surrender, “I am, only kidding I swear. Rather odd really, I never joke, never had before so I assumed it wasn’t in my make-up. But you’re funny, Brit, I get you.”
I followed him inside as he spoke and glanced around his beach house. It didn’t look like a single thing had been changed in the past twenty years, and all of that nostalgia was in perfect condition and dusted; a recent time capsule to be sure, but a time capsule nonetheless. He stopped in the middle of the floor and looked down at me, “Have a seat. Two martinis coming up.”
“So you don’t get many people? Kind of a drawback for a doctor isn’t it?”
He was standing at the kitchen counter mixing and chuckled, “It’s pretty easy to understand how people feel when they’re sick, that’s physical. Hell, if they bothered to read the book they could fix it themselves half the time. They basically paid me to tell them how to feel better because I read the book.”
I watched him there at the counter as he worked and didn’t see anything remotely dangerous about him. He’s tall for a doctor, one of those guys who have aged gracefully and sexily. Maybe it’s his height that makes him awkward? But he certainly doesn’t seem withdrawn, and in my mind it seems like he’s having the time of his life out here, like he doesn’t have a worry in the wo
rld. Maybe his friends haven’t imagined what it would be like to have all the money you’d ever need to live on the beach comfortably for the rest of your life? I know I have. Yesterday in fact.
He handed me my drink and sat down across from me, crossing his legs lazily as he got comfortable. Five martinis’ later I glanced at my phone to realize that it was after midnight. I stretched my arms and stood up, “I need to get home now.”
Gentry stood up with me and touched my arm, “Do you really think you should be driving all the way home after five martinis?”
I laughed again. Once you got used to his odd dry humor he was pretty funny. “I hadn’t planned on driving across the grass.”
“Right, well speaking of that I have a much better idea, want to hear it?”
“Oh no!” I giggled, “I bet I can guess what it is!”
“Not what you think I guess but… well it’s stupid,” he muttered.
Now he did look forlorn, like the little child in the grocery store whose mother ripped him away from the Fig Newton’s. “Alright Gentry, what is it?”
“We could get in trouble? It’s not legal.”
He looked like he had a plan brewing so I played along, “I was an inmate for a while at a correctional prison, bring it on.”
He choked and laughed at me, “You were not! Right?”
“Kidding of course, but I’m not immune to a little law breaking. Whatcha got?”
“Making love on the beach,” The words burst from his mouth awkwardly, as if given too much thought they might dissipate.
“Is that illegal?” I asked a bit shocked by his outburst. Not to say that the thought of him naked didn’t intrigue me, but it’d been a long time since I’d had a proposition of this nature and I can’t be sure if I feel flattered, insulted or excited.
Gentry waved his arms, giving him an apelike expression, “Public nudity and such nonsense.” The sound of a telephone ringing in his office distracted him, “I better get that, it’s my work line. Doesn’t ring often these days, and when it does it’s never good news. Still, will you hang out for a few minutes and let me see what it’s about?”
I nodded as he walked out of the room. Shifting uncomfortable on his living room sofa I began to notice the things around me including the fact that the house had a sterile feeling. There was no warmth here, nothing that told of past family gatherings or a century of battering the rough Atlantic winds. Everything was out of date but neatly and carefully maintained. Maybe that’s the perfect way to describe Gentry, perfectly maintained yet of another era?
“Well it looks like I’m going to have to head over to the hospital for a bit. One of my older patients isn’t doing well and his family wants my opinion on treatment options. Can’t be avoided.”
“Aw, that’s a shame because I was seriously considering taking you up on your offer.”
I could tell he wasn’t sure if I was being honest or not, it didn’t matter now because it wasn’t happening. “Tomorrow then?”
“Perhaps,” I said preparing to head back to my rented house.
“Listen I hate to ask this, but Turner hasn’t had his late night romp yet. Any chance you’d stand out on the porch and watch him?”
“Sure,” I said glancing at the prone golden shape lying sprawled across the floor near the door.
He stepped towards me and kissed me, smiling as he pulled away, “Thanks! Just lock the door when you head out. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”
“No problem. Not as romantic as a romp on the beach but…” I said with a faint smile as he pulled the door closed behind him. I stared at the golden blob dubiously. We’d had our share of dogs through the years, so this activity wasn’t new to me. Besides it’s the neighborly thing. I nudged the dog with my foot and he sprang to life.
After watching the golden retriever sniff and paw through my yard and Gentry’s I headed back inside to lock up and head home to sleep. As I wandered around his beach house clicking lights off and checking doors I happened upon his office. Typical of a retired physician it was laden with stacks of file folders, medical journals and framed diplomas. I stepped behind his desk to take a closer look at a group of photos. One depicted Gentry on a fishing boat with his hand lifted like Vanna White towards a giant tuna, another was of him in a tuxedo, but a postage stamp had been stuck across the face of the woman at his side. No doubt the ex, I thought with a chuckle. A leather bound journal rested on the table and I picked it up assuming it was a photo album or scrapbook. I hate to admit it, this isn’t the time in my life to be on a man hunt, but I was curious about this man.
The leather book contained no photos but a few words caught my attention and compelled me to further delve into his life.
“Fuck it List,” was the title of the first page and I read on.
“Since I have never done a single thing in my lifetime without first having given it a great deal of thought and preparation it is of no surprise that I feel the urge to behave in the same manner concerning my impending demise. I’ve made a list of accomplishments that I feel crucial to experience before I take my last breath, and have reached the inevitable conclusion that once I have had these memorable experiences that my life should be ended.”
Quickly I flipped through the pages, each one was titled with an experience and then afterwards notes had been made as to feelings he had regarding it. One such page was titled, “Sleep with a Whore,” I laughed, but read his notes.
“After having donated a great mass of twenty dollar bills to a certain dancer at a local strip club I enticed her to join me downtown at the Embassy Suites. To my surprise, possibly not as I had only given her half of the amount promised, she met me at the hotel. I battled with my own wits as to whether or not a condom was needed. In the end I chose to wear one for my own sense of propriety. The sex in itself was borderline raunchy; she brought out all of the tools of her trade and I was stunned by her ability to excite and release me several times. I will say that I have an entirely new thought on the realm of plastic surgery; her breasts caused me to think I was suckling a rubber boot.”
I laughed now and flipped the pages until I reached the page labeled “Orgy.”
“If I didn’t have such rotten luck with women this evening would have been so much more thrilling. The young woman renting the house next door failed to appear for the party on time. If she had, she would have only seen a formal gathering and enjoyed a fantastic meal. Rather what happened was that she appeared at my doorstep after the eleven o’clock witching hour and found me just in the midst of a quite thorough blow job. Shame really because I find this woman so charming as to have hoped that she might help me accomplish #47.”
I flipped the page and number 47 was the next titled page, “Make love on the beach.” Panicked I looked through the following pages, only three had titles. Did he plan on killing himself at the end of the list? It sure seemed like it especially since the final entry was labeled, “The Day of my Demise.” I pulled out the soft leather chair beneath his desk and sat down staring at the words, why would a successful doctor chose to end his life this way? It made no sense to me and the fact that I’d started a relationship, however small, with a suicidal man was almost too ironic for me to handle. I already have one loved one in a mental hospital. The urge to distance myself from him was strong, stronger than any feeling I’ve had lately. I just wanted to be away, away from the constant dull ache of fear. It’s not a rational feeling this fear. Only after having lived with it for twenty four years I’ve grown accustomed to it. That constant nagging feeling that the ball was going to drop at any minute and my life would be over.
Staring at the page made me feel like running; my forehead was already burning with the new sweat of the discovery and I needed to get away. I took off from his porch with no direction only running from what I’d seen. My feet hit the wet sand and finally the edge of the water itself as I pounded against it as if running from an unseen monster.
When my body exhausted I sat do
wn and realized that Turner had followed me, his heaving jaws drooled carelessly onto my arm as he nuzzled me then licked my cheek. I wrapped my arm around his furry neck and sat staring at the moonlight casting tiny shards of light across the ocean. This, the situation with Gentry, was unlike the manic depression and recklessness my daughter displayed. It was planned, calculated down to the detail. It occurred to me that with any well laid plan a monkey wrench can easily cause it to pause. I could be Gentry’s monkey wrench, if I had the strength. The question is whether I think I can ‘woman up’ to dealing with a man who seems hell bent on killing himself. Still, remote as it was there was a chance I could stop him.
The phone call that drove him to the hospital in the middle of the night had postponed his plan by a day. If I’d agreed to make love with him on the beach then the next item, #48 would have been Sex in a Public Place. But we hadn’t make love, thus stalling him somewhat. What could I do to keep stalling his plan? I walked back to his house with Turner considering what must be done, and whether or not I truly wanted to be involved. I suppose there was a help line somewhere I could call to enlist help for him yet he’s a doctor, he’s already aware of that.
It was only after a night’s rest that I woke with the plan in mind. I would sleep with him, I would spend the entire rest of the week with him, and longer if needed, but never would I make love to him on the beach or in a public place. Maybe I could convince him that life was worth living again. Where should I start? I glanced in the mirror over my bathroom sink, “Definitely with a hairdresser then topped with a nail salon.
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I double checked the table then went to the kitchen to triple verify that the salmon was chilling. It was a simple fair, only salmon over rice with peas and a salad but it was the first meal I’d cooked for a man in so long I couldn’t remember. My body had been waxed and nails and hair repaired and looking pretty good. Overall I was pleased with the result and the purple sundress I’d borrowed from Beck was a near fit. A knock on the door sent my heart racing, it was now or never, “Hi,” I said as I opened the screen door.