Hungry for Love

by Nancy Frederick

  “So you had a perfect view of that SUV—very distinctive Honda CR-V I think. I’m sure I’ve seen them before too. They tried to run me off the road. It was deliberate too. I’m sure of it.”

  “Distinctive?” asked the cop with a knowing glance, “That’s like the most common car on the road. If you’re gonna make up an assailant at least be creative.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m a doctor, not some crazy liar. If you did your job at all you would have seen what just happened here. And you’d be hauling them off to jail. That would be you—doing your job.”

  “This is me doing my job,” said the cop, handing Kevin back his license and a ticket.

  Kevin glared at the cop. “How could you see me and not see them?” he asked repeatedly. Then he snatched the ticket and muttered, “Tax dollars at work.”

  “Watch your speed,” said the cop, “And signal then change lanes slowly.”

  “Asshole,” muttered Kevin, as he drove away, glancing to left and right, looking for that black vehicle, which by now was probably out there running over a toddler. And then this underage moron in blue could give the undertaker a summons.

  - SEVEN –

  Bill and Laura were in the final stages of party planning. They strolled, side by side, through a cavernous party rental place, from which anything from the most elegant china to paper plates could be rented or bought. There were aisles filled with a massive variety of different patterns of china, or stemware, or table linens in every possible color. There were platters. Even little hibachis. And there were tables and chairs of all sizes, shapes, and designs. There were shimmery little slipcovers to go over the chairs. It was a world of gossamer fantasy if you were a bride and the bowels of hell if you were a groom.

  Every now and then Laura would hold something up, a plate, a glass, a tablecloth, and Bill invariably nodded. He might have felt clueless about tasks of this nature had he actually been focusing on the design aspects or the social aspects. Instead he was talking about the past and the future.

  “I worked so hard at the beginning. I was never there. JoEllen used to say I was missing stuff at home. But what was I going to do? I couldn’t sit home and be a poet, could I? If you’re going to be a doctor, you’re going to work hard, but your family benefits and eventually there’s more time.” Bill sighed heavily. “How was I to know there wasn’t going to be that time?”

  Laura shook her head and rested her hand gently on Bill’s shoulder. “Of course you couldn’t know. Nobody can fast forward through to the end of their lives like it’s a novel where you can read the last page. Nobody can do that and go back to the beginning and change things. You just do your best as you go along.”

  “This time I said, okay, I’m going to be there and pay attention. I’m doing nothing wrong, everything just right. That’s why this party. I thought it would mean something.”

  “You can’t make up with Chrissy for what you missed with JoEllen, you know. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Bill sighed. “Nope. I know. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to do better.”

  Laura stopped walking, stopped browsing, and just looked at Bill. “I don’t think she was ever really mad at you. Or even that she thought you weren’t doing your best. She always knew what kind of man you were.”

  Bill felt a cloud of what passed for relief cross his heart. It wasn’t so much that he lived with the burden of JoEllen’s anger, for she had never been an angry person. She was a joyful person, and he loved that about her. But so often he stopped to consider the past, to think of what he might have done differently, done better. It was as though he yearned to rewrite the past so that all the time subsumed in the parenthesis of his marriage, that part of his life that now was over, due to no fault of his own, nor of his own choosing, so that that part could be made better, that every second of it could be shining and perfect and without the most minor of flaws and in so doing could be bigger and not be what it ultimately would become should he live a reasonably long life, the tiny period of time in which he was happily married to the great love of his life.

  Bill knew that he had not been a bad husband. He knew that what he missed was the continuity of the past within the present, and in missing that present, he yearned for those moments in the past when so casually he had been elsewhere. He had been making notes on a patient’s chart, not seeing a movie with JoEllen. He had been reordering supplies or having a drink with a drug rep, instead of having an extra hour with his family. Was he someone who took it all for granted at the time? That was his fear. He had been too cavalier, and he hadn’t cherished what was soon wrenched from him. Maybe if he had done so with more urgency, maybe, no it was silly. He wasn’t a superstitious fool. He did not believe that he had somehow brought about the demise of his happy life through some kind of lack of appreciation. He hadn’t been unappreciative; he’d just worked and lived his life in a normal manner. Nor had he been uncaring or unfaithful. JoEllen and the kids were always in his heart like a family portrait that hung within its walls. He just wished he still had now what he had then. And whatever he could do to make it so, he would do.

  “I didn’t think she was mad at me. Just that, just that, you know, all gone too soon.”

  “I know. Of course I know. Nothing’s worse than a premature ending.”

  Bill nodded. Premature. Exactly.

  “JoEllen said I should ditch Kevin. After that incident,” Laura said. “I just can’t see myself twice divorced. It would be shameful. And he swore he’d….”

  Bill snorted. “Nobody would count that two day marriage you had in college. You were drunk at the time.”

  A wry look of disgust shone in Laura’s eyes. “Too bad I’m not drunk through this one.”

  “Relationships are hard. To know that you’re on the right track…that the feelings are right…lasting. But how do you know that? How do you really know?”

  Laura smiled softly. “I think you know. You knew before. We had one date and then you met my roommate and it was like you were thunderstruck. You couldn’t see anyone else ever again. There could have been a naked marching band in the room and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “Are we talking good looking bandoliers or uggos?” Bill asked, laughing.

  “The Apocalypse could have started and you would have been mooning over JoEllen.”

  “Going to the library was a date?” Bill asked.

  Laura laughed. “You see—when you were with JoEllen you didn’t not know it was a date.”

  “Well in the grand scheme of things, what I didn’t know was a lot, but that I knew. But it’s not like there are JoEllens standing on every corner. She was a once in a lifetime thing. And now….”

  “There’s Chrissy. And a party,” said Laura, her voice as neutral as she could make it.

  Bill nodded.

  Chrissy kept thinking about that saying, when a door closes a window opens. What this meant she wasn’t entirely sure because most people didn’t really walk through a window, though of course anyone could climb out one, assuming it wasn’t on a high floor. Air could come in, and that was a good thing because nobody would want to smother in a closed in room. But what did all that have to do with her situation? She was unsure but on some level, she felt this saying summed it up. She had found her niche. Maybe that was the actual saying that described it? She was still unsure, but at least there seemed to be some hope for her future, and Chrissy felt gratified that she had posted that ad on Craig’s List as a personal trainer. Maybe the saying was that when a window closed a door opened? That way you could fit a treadmill through the door.

  Carefully swallowing her third set of over the counter diet pills and herbal diet aids for the day, Chrissy repeated her new mantra, everything is great, everything is good, everything is wonderful, and I am thin. Fingering the gleaming stop watch around her neck, she bound up the stairs to her new clients’ home gym. She was here, she was ready, she was great. These people were serious about working out and about getting int
o the best shape of their lives. To Chrissy this sounded so good that her first words into the door were, “I’m here and ready to get you into the best shape of your lives.”

  Lisa, a pretty blond trophy wife, was Chrissy’s age and it was clear she knew what was important. She looked as though she hadn’t had a bite of candy since Halloween in the third grade. Her husband Norm was ten years older and another matter. He looked almost fit, well, formerly fit. He was starting to get complacent and that was what Chrissy was here to reverse.

  Chrissy settled Lisa onto a rowing machine and Norm onto the treadmill then walked between them offering motivation and changing the settings as necessary. “That’s it, both of you,” Chrissy said in her most encouraging manner. She’d decided that rather than letting that horrible incident at the weight loss center become her Waterbug, she was going to climb out of the drain and make a success of her life. Wait—Waterbug—wasn’t that in France—that short guy with the funny big hat? Chrissy shook her head. Too often lately her mind became distracted. Well who was in charge here, her mind or her? As long as it wasn’t her stomach, she was ahead of the game. Turning her focus back to her clients, Chrissy said confidently, “I want to see some sweat here. This is no dainty workout. You’re gonna give me your all minus, hmmm, fifteen percent.” Percents were so complicated, weren’t they, but that’s the way people always said it, all minus some percent, at least it was like that in the stores when stuff was on sale.

  Norm, an accountant, looked at her quizzically, so she adjusted his treadmill, and as Lisa watched, clearly concerned, the incline increased and increased to an angle so steep Norm might as well have been attempting to scale the Himalayas. He struggled valiantly, holding tightly to the side rails of the machine as Lisa, concerned for his safety, rowed even more energetically.

  Norm’s breath began to come a bit more raggedly, his pace less smooth, and as he reached for the controls to lower the incline, Chrissy slapped his hand away. “Don’t you even think about it, Norm!” she said sternly, “You have a year of beer and pretzels to work off. Another year of champagne and caviar. Golf? Golf! Don’t even get me started on that b-s. Move it!”

  Lisa rowed effortlessly, just as she did several hours a day every day while Norm was at work, but her eyes remained on her husband as his pace grew more and more unsteady. “Say, Chrissy,” she said with concern, “You should adjust that.”

  Chrissy nodded with fervor. “You’re right. He’s not giving that fifteen percent is he.” And she upped the incline to its max and upped the speed as well. “C’mon Norm, show us what you’re made of. You can do it, buddy. This will pay off in the bedroom, I can tell you that.”

  Norm looked at Chrissy then at his wife, then up in the air for a moment, picturing how this pace would be received in the bedroom. Not even the vacuum whirred this fast. He attempted to move faster, the sweat flying in all directions in a manner he could only consider gross. No matter how he clung to the rails at the side, the machine was going too fast for him, and his head began to swim. His face grew flushed and he felt a little woozy. He wanted to yell help, but couldn’t get his breath regulated enough to speak, wanted to turn the machine off but was afraid to let loose of the rail, even with one hand.

  Gasping, Norm reached for a water bottle, planning to douse his face with it, but it slid through his fingers, bouncing along the racing treadmill and onto the floor behind it. He felt something inside of him clench then, and his eyes rolled back into his head, his hands let go and the machine flung him off too, as his hand reached for his chest.

  In the background he could hear Lisa yelling his name and Chrissy yelling, “Norm, get up immediately. No faking.” Then it all went black.

  Chrissy was truly appalled when the paramedics arrived within minutes, all sorts of medical gadgets at the ready to shock Norm awake. How could anyone let himself get so out of shape, she wondered. In short order they’d revived him, but were still loading him on a stretcher and carrying him out to the ambulance. Lisa didn’t even finish her session. She clung to her husband’s hand and climbed into the ambulance beside him, shaking a fist at Chrissy, who was clearly the victim in all of this—she hadn’t even been paid.

  Chrissy wondered should she wait for Lisa to return, but hospitals were pretty slow so that would be hours. She sat in her car, annoyed and frustrated. Now and then she leaned forward and banged her head on the wheel, but wow that hurt and it didn’t seem to clear her head at all.

  There was no way Kevin was going to let that psycho get the best of him—nobody got the best of Kevin. And although he had the sense that he should avoid Sunset Boulevard for a while, he was damned if he would—fear was never going to be his co-pilot. He was a tax paying American and a damned fine driver. And besides his house was right off Sunset, so he had to get home.

  He drove reasonably, the Porsche handling the seductive curves like a bustier on a bimbo. Kevin loved this image and as he drove, he laughed, picturing many sets of breasts inside many bustiers. But then it happened—there they were. Again. Frantically he thought about what to do and then epiphany struck—he could spin his car around and chase them—put the fear of God into them. How would they feel when he was on their tail?

  But the determined black car was right on his rear bumper and he still couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. The setting sun was in his eyes, shining too brightly to make out any image of the other driver. But so what. Even if he could see who it was, what good would that do?

  Maybe he should instigate a cataclysmic showdown. As the car came closer and closer, he should slam on his brakes, let them crash into him. He had excellent belts and bags and would be fine. And a psycho like that probably wasn’t wearing seatbelts at all. Maybe they’d shoot through the winshield and be launched into space, or better yet into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

  Kevin kept driving, the other car on his tail, and just as they were about to crash, he slammed on the brakes, but the other car pulled out into the middle lane and a third car screeched to a stop behind him then smoothly pulled around him, making an obscene gesture, like he was some kind of menace.

  And then, again, the cop lights went off. Surely this time the cop would have seen what happened. Kevin, at first relieved, opened his window to face the same barely pubescent cop, who by rights should have taken after his assailant.

  “You again,” said Kevin with disgust. “You didn’t see that fucking black SUV again? They’ve been trying to run me off the road for days.”

  “Watch the language, doctor,” said the cop mellowly.

  “Language,” squawked Kevin, “Language? Language? That’s what you think is important now? Never mind that someone has been tailgating me, deliberately trying to run me off the road for days? But no you’re worried about a language violation?”

  “I saw the red VW you nearly caused to crash into you by coming to an abrupt stop. Make you feel any better?”

  “Oh my freaking God!” shouted Kevin. “The other car. The other car. The black SUV. The black SUV that tried to run me off the road. The black SUV that veered around me before the VW. Are you telling me you didn’t see that?”

  The officer handed Kevin another ticket and said “I’m telling you this. Clean up your act. Learn to drive.”

  Kevin snatched the ticket out of the cop’s hand and drove away, yelling “Donut eating asshole,” out of his window.

  Bill and Angie sat congenially at one of the small tables in her deli. There were several plates of food ready to be tasted and approved. Briefly they laughed as they talked.

  “And I actually told Kevin—Dr. Flicker—I thought you were a quack,” said Angie with a big smile, which Bill returned. “You really helped,” she went on, beginning to babble, a glazed look muddling her eyes. She’d concluded Bill was a hero, and the look of adoration crossing her face was unmistakable. “You’re a real healer, very talented, quite amazing. I’m so impressed, I just can’t say. Well I am saying, I’m saying it right now, right out lou
d. Nobody has ever….”

  Bill gave her hand a quick, fatherly squeeze. He was glad she was doing well. Angie immediately reached out and pressed her other hand on top of his, rubbing it seductively.

  As Bill removed his hands, he said, “Stop right now. Think about what you’re feeling and why.”

  “Oh my God!” exclaimed Angie, “You’re correct again. And you saw it right away.”

  At that moment Laura arrived and Bill rose to hug her, and pulled out a chair so she could sit and approve the last bit of food for the menu. They each took some bites, nodding happily and smiling at Angie, who beamed.

  Chrissy had taken refuge in the one place where her life always made sense—Zero Tolerance. Happily noting the collection of air purifiers placed in virtually every corner, prominently placed in fact, Chrissy was determined to work off all her aggravation and frustration. Spinning. It was her secret source of serenity. Her legs pumped speedily and smoothly and she took several deep, cleansing breaths. And then her eyes snapped open and her head started to pound again. Her jaw clenched.

  “Dammit,” she said rather loudly, “I still smell it. Doesn’t reek any more but I smell it.” She looked up quizzically to those around her who had suddenly turned to stare in her direction. Instead of wondering why she was speaking out loud to no one, maybe they should have been wondering what to do about this invasion of odor. She waved her arm toward the door as though that gesture made it all clear, but by then everyone had resumed working out and focusing only on themselves.

  Gathering up her stuff without even showering, Chrissy was determined to deal with this smelly situation. The gym had done their part. There was nowhere left to install an additional air purifier. Short of wearing an oxygen mask, Chrissy would have to confront this horrid deli and stop the intrusion into her sanctum of serenity.