It's Raining Men

by Julie Hammerle

  “What was our team name again?” she asked.

  “It’s a Headband.” The name was something I’d pulled out of my butt one night, a very random quote from the TV show Felicity that no one ever understood. We were excellent at trivia, but eighties and nineties throwbacks were our specialty.

  “Why did we stop playing again?” Kelly’s now fully lashed-up and glitter-ized eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah, because you and Yessi are assholes.”

  “That’s…not exactly fair.” Yessi and I both hated losing, and once we may have gotten into a very loud fight because she thought she was right on a question about Queen Victoria when I knew she was wrong, and the bar we used to go to back then may have banned us from trivia for life. If that made us assholes…well, yeah, I supposed that made us assholes.

  I glanced around the bar and suddenly longed for my usual going-out uniform of jeans, Converse All-Stars, and whatever clean ancient concert tee I could find in my drawer. Everyone in the pub was dressed down except Kelly and me. We looked like Romy and Michele on the way to their high school reunion.

  But I was here to make my friend feel better, and my dressing like a birthday clown was apparently working for her. Her mood had already perked up dramatically.

  As Kelly stopped to chat up some guy who’d quickly caught her eye, I wobbled toward the bar in a set of platform heels I’d bought back in the early aughts for a Halloween costume. I set the lavender beaded clutch my sister-in-law made me carry in her wedding on the counter and hopped—not gracefully—onto a stool.

  The bartender, a tall guy in his twenties with dark hair, tattoos, and a five o’clock shadow darkening his tanned complexion, set a coaster in front of me. His ice-blue eyes gave my outfit the once-over, and I caught a hint of amusement on his lips.

  I waved a hand down my Barbie-clothed body. “Drink it in.”

  The smirk disappeared. “Oh, I wasn’t—”

  “Sure you were.” I glanced over at Kelly, who was now leaning over to talk to a different random guy, her cleavage on full display. This wasn’t like her. She was fun and bubbly and friendly, but never this friendly. Never “shove my boobs in a twentysomething stranger’s face” friendly. “I’ll have an old-fashioned,” I told the bartender, keeping my eyes on my friend.

  Something was going on with Kelly—something more than her simply missing her parents. When the bartender set my drink in front of me, I grabbed it and my purse and went over to where Kelly was now whispering sweet nothings into the ear of someone who had probably been eating paste in kindergarten back when we were in college.

  “Kel,” I said, smiling, “want to move over to the bar with me? We can catch up there.”

  She stood up straight, and though she’d been laughing with the young dude, her eyes lacked any joy.

  “Come on.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s chat.”

  At the bar, I ordered her a glass of sparkling rosé. The bartender, who’d apparently learned his lesson about appraising his customers’ outfits, barely even glanced at Kelly’s purple, pink, and teal pants and lavender eye shadow.

  “Okay.” I squeezed my friend’s hand. “Please tell me what’s going on with you. I know it has to be more than you just missing your mom and dad.”

  “It is,” she said. “It’s—”

  A loud crash and the sound of glass shattering cut her off, and my head snapped toward the bar. Our bartender, the guy with the eyes, was leaning over, gripping his leg. Blood trickled toward his ankle, and shards of the broken bottle surrounded his feet in a puddle of fizzy pink wine.

  I leaned over the bar. “Are you okay?” I shouted.

  He looked over at me. “I’m bleeding.”

  “I see that.” I glanced at Kelly, looking for permission.

  “Go,” she said, waving her hand. “Be the superhero. We’ll talk later.”

  “No.” I grabbed my purse and headed toward the injured patient. “Come with me. We’ll talk while I clean him up.”

  The bartender’s eyes widened in shock and concern. “What?”

  “I’m a doctor.” I motioned to one of the waiters working the tables. “Can someone clean this up, please?”

  The bartender tilted his head in disbelief as his eyes scanned my ensemble.

  “She is a doctor,” Kelly said, glancing at her phone, “and a damn expensive one, too. Consider yourself lucky.”

  “Where’s the manager’s office?” I asked, glancing around.

  “That way.” The bartender nodded toward a closed door in the hallway off to the right of the bar.

  Kelly and I each wrapped one of the bartender’s arms around our shoulders—which had to look pretty laughable, because he had a good five inches on me and way more than that on Kelly—and walked him toward the office. People called out, offering to help, but I waved them off. I didn’t need their assistance. Asking to help me with a little cut was like volunteering to help LeBron James with his dribbling.

  “What’s your name, by the way?” I asked. “I should probably know it, if I’m going to do surgery on you.”

  “Surgery?” he said.

  “She’s exaggerating,” Kelly said.

  “Dax,” the bartender said.

  “Nice to meet you, Dax,” I said as I opened the office door. “I’m Annie.”

  “And you might as well know that I’m Kelly, since we’re bonded for life by blood now.”

  I felt Dax shudder under my arm. I calmly patted his hand. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. It’s just a little cut.” I was very used to big strong men getting squeamish around blood, needles, or knives. One of my patients—a Cubs third baseman—once fainted in my office when I had to lance a boil on his foot.

  Kelly and I eased Dax into the desk chair. Then I ducked into the private bathroom and washed my hands. There was a first aid kit on the shelf above the sink.

  I snapped on a pair of latex gloves from the first aid kit and stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m going to take good care of you, Dax, but I can multitask. I want to hear what my friend was about to say right before you smashed a bottle into your leg.”

  “I didn’t smash a bottle into my leg.”

  I ignored him. “Kelly?”

  She snuck a peek at Dax. “You really want to talk about this now?”

  “Of course.” I sanitized a pair of tweezers with alcohol and knelt on the floor to see the wound better. “This should be no problem.” I’d slipped into full doctor mode. “The glass is right at the surface.” I glanced up at my friend. “Go ahead, Kel.”

  She folded her arms across her chest.

  I patted Dax’s knee. “You’re doing great.”

  Dax drew in an audible breath and held it.

  I slowly extracted the sliver of glass and dropped it into the garbage can next to the desk. “Hard part’s done.”

  “Great. So I can get back to work now?” Dax moved to stand, but I pushed him down, resting my hand for a hot moment on his ample pectoral.

  Butterflies invaded my stomach, but I tamped them down. I was a professional, and this guy was way too young for me to even think about behaving unprofessionally with.

  “You’re almost done,” I said, and he grunted in annoyance. “Just need to clean out the wound and bandage it. Seriously, Kelly. Talk.”

  “No.”

  I looked over at her. She still had her arms folded in annoyance, and she kept tapping her foot like she was urging me to hurry up. Kelly didn’t normally get pissed at me—not like Yessi did. The two of us were so alike, we often butted heads. But Kelly was supposed to be the easygoing member of our trio.

  I dabbed some antibiotic ointment on Dax’s leg. “Did I do something, Kel?”

  “No,” she said, “of course you didn’t do anything. I’m going to head home. I’m not in a bar mood anymore.” Before I could stop her,
she rushed out of the office.

  “You definitely did something.”

  I glanced up at my patient. A scar bisected one of his eyebrows, and I wondered for a moment what happened there. “Thanks. Yeah, I know.”

  “You know what it is?”

  “Not a clue.” I carefully placed a bandage on Dax’s ankle. “She just got home—we’re roommates; she lives in my basement—and I was so excited to have her around again, because I’d been so lonely while she was gone, but now she won’t even talk to me, and I’m not even sure what I did.” I paused.

  “Am I good here?” Dax asked after a beat.

  He actually didn’t care about any of this, not that I could blame him. I patted his ankle and stood. “All better.”

  He slowly rose from the chair, and his blue eyes met mine, knocking the breath right out of me. God, he was pretty. If I were ten years younger…heck, who was I kidding? If I were ten years younger, I still wouldn’t have the guts to go for a guy with that many tattoos. He’d probably think I was a huge dork. But, then again, was I just imagining it, or was he looking at me like he wanted me for a snack? I tucked some hair behind my ear. I think he might kiss me. I subtly licked my lips.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

  Thud. That sound was my ego crashing to the ground.

  I was in a bar, made up and dressed to the nines (or, well, maybe like the six-point-fives) with my Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman legs on full display, and this twentysomething bartender called me ma’am.

  Cool.

  “You’re very welcome, sir,” I said as he limped toward the door.

  With his hand on the knob, he turned around and said, “You know, maybe your friend isn’t responsible for your loneliness.”

  “Okay, pal,” I said sarcastically. Who said something like that to a stranger? “Thanks for the tip.”

  He left the room, and I finished cleaning up and putting the first aid kit away. How dare this young guy give me life advice? He didn’t know me. And besides, Kelly and I were fine. She was simply having a hard time tonight, readjusting to her old life.

  Tomorrow was another day, and we’d be back on track.

  Chapter Four

  Women of Questionable Morals

  “Thank you so much for coming with me,” I told Kelly as we got out of my car and headed up my mother’s front walk.

  “No problem,” she said. “You know I love your mom.” Kelly grinned like the Cheshire cat. The midday sun glinted off her sparkling eyes. “And she loves me.”

  “Too frickin’ true.” My mom did love Kelly, who was bubbly and sweet and not quite as uptight as her firstborn child. My mom loved Kelly so much, she’d even tried hard to set her up with my brother when we were all in our twenties. Thank goodness it didn’t work out. I wouldn’t have been able to live with the image of the two of them together seared upon my brain.

  After all the drama at the bar last night, things had mellowed today to a “strained family Thanksgiving dinner” comfort level. Like we’d all tacitly agreed we weren’t going to mention Uncle John’s conspiracy theories while we politely passed the mashed potatoes and discussed the weather.

  When I came downstairs this morning, I found Kelly humming while making coffee in the kitchen. When she cheerfully handed me a mug, I decided I wasn’t going to question it.

  Carrying a bag from Tony’s Deli and an iced coffee from Dunkin’ for me, I yanked open the front door of the house where I grew up. “Mom, we’re here!” No answer.

  This was my normal Saturday routine—wake up, check messages for work or sometimes put in a few hours at the office, and then head over to my mom’s house for lunch. I knew she was expecting me. She was always expecting me.

  Kelly and I walked toward the back of the house. “Mom?” I called again. Were we at the point where I needed to get her one of those buttons to wear around her neck in case she fell? “Mom!”

  “Annie!” The voice came from outside. “We’re in the backyard!”

  Phew. No Life Alert today.

  I set the lunch bag on the kitchen counter, and Kelly and I headed out back. My mom, in her early seventies with close-cropped gray hair and not a stitch of makeup on her lined, olive-toned skin that matched mine, sat on the patio with another woman about her age—a woman who’d grown small and frail since I’d last seen her.

  “Kelly, my dear!” My mom, ignoring me, popped up from her seat and wrapped my friend in a gigantic hug.

  “So good to see you, Mrs. Kyle,” Kelly said, winking at me over my mom’s shoulder.

  I beamed at her. That teasing smile had been the most normal moment between us since she got home.

  My mom finally let Kelly go. “How are your parents?”

  “They’re fine.”

  I turned my attention to my mother’s guest, letting my mom and Kelly continue their little chitchat. “Mrs. Casey,” I said, doing a quick assessment. She’d lost quite a bit of weight, and her pale skin had taken on a translucent, papery quality. “Nice to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, dear,” Mrs. Casey said.

  No, she wasn’t. I could tell. My doctor spidey senses were tingling.

  “Regina,” my mom said, “you remember Annie’s friend Kelly?”

  Mrs. Casey narrowed her eyes, thinking. “I believe I do. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Casey.”

  “Regina,” she said.

  Kelly grinned, sipping her coffee. “Of course. Regina.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. She had really done a one-eighty since last night when she’d been mad and weepy. This morning, she’d adopted the persona of a Disney princess—all rainbows and sunshine. Maybe she’d just needed a good night’s sleep.

  “Annie”—my mom, having returned to her seat, pushed one of the patio chairs toward me with her foot—“Regina stopped by for coffee this morning.” She frowned, glancing at her friend, who nodded an assent. “Her cancer is back.”

  That was my fear. Damn it. “Mrs. Casey, I’m so—”

  “Regina.” She reminded me to call her that every time I saw her, but I just couldn’t do it. She had been my next-door neighbor and school principal growing up, and she’d always hold a position of authority for me, even thirty years later.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, purposefully avoiding using her name. “Who’s your doctor?”

  “Dr. Stucco at Lutheran General,” she said.

  I made a mental note to do some research on this doc…the name wasn’t familiar. “You like them?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “He wasn’t my main doctor the last go-round, but he was on the team.”

  Kelly sipped her coffee. “Dr. Annie is on the case.” She squeezed my mom’s hand. “No reason to worry. Superwoman over here will take care of everything.”

  Blushing, I turned to Mrs. Casey. “Are you doing chemo? Radiation?”

  “I start chemo this week.”

  I nodded, taking it in. “You know you can call me with any questions or concerns. I want you to call me.” I looked pointedly at my mother. “You, too—keep me updated on everything, and I’ll intervene if necessary.”

  I wasn’t an oncologist, but at least I knew how to work the system if necessary. And if this Dr. Stucco turned out to be a bust, I could refer Mrs. Casey—Regina, sorry, still couldn’t do it—to someone whose reputation I knew better.

  “Thank you, Annie,” Mrs. Casey said. “I appreciate it.” She patted my mom’s hand, and I realized then that a silent tear had trickled down my mother’s cheek. She and Mrs. Casey had been best friends for four decades, and the thought of losing her had to be too much to bear. They were like Kelly and me—thick as thieves, friends forever, each other’s person. And since my dad had died, my brother had moved to Texas, and I was busy with work, Mrs. Casey had
been the one daily constant in my mom’s life. No wonder she’d chosen to stay in this house instead of moving in with me when I offered the bottom floor of my three-flat to her. Her person lived right next door.

  “How’s Rob taking all this?” my mom asked, wiping her eyes and shoring up her shoulders, attempting to appear fine and strong for her friend.

  “Rob?” Kelly whispered to me. “Who’s Rob?”

  “Mrs. Casey’s son.” I blushed. “You remember…” My entire face was on fire now.

  Kelly nodded knowingly. “Oh, yeah. I remember.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Mr. Boob Honker.”

  Kelly knew the entire story of my life, one chapter of which included Rob taking me, a junior, to his senior prom, which was quickly followed by some hand stuff in the back of his car, the first time I’d ever made it past first base.

  Mrs. Casey chuckled. “I think Rob’s in a bit of denial, but I’m so lucky to have him around.” Her grin morphing into a frown, she glanced over the fence, toward her own house. Rob had moved back in with his mom after his dad died a few years ago.

  “What is it, Reg?” my mom asked.

  “Nothing.” Eyes bright, Mrs. Casey shook her head. “It’s nothing. You know how it goes. Sometimes I just have those moments of realization that things will be ending for me—sooner or later,” she added quickly. “It’s a symptom of being over seventy more than anything.”

  My mom squeezed her hand. “Regina, you’re going to be okay.”

  “You are,” I said. “We’re all going to take good care of you.”

  “I know.” Mrs. Casey smiled. “It’s just, any brush with mortality like this gets you thinking, that’s all.” Her lip quivered. “I’m worried about leaving Robbie alone.”

  My mom jumped up from her chair, ran to Mrs. Casey, and hugged her from the back. Once again, my chest tightened at the thought of Kelly and me like this, in our seventies, one of us on the verge of losing the other. After three months without her in the house with me, I honestly wondered how I would survive if I were the one left behind. Being alone did not suit me.

  “Don’t talk like that!” my mom said. “You’re going to be fine, and no matter what, Rob will be, too.”