“Mmm,” said Colette particularly sweetly, “Bacon! You smell like bacon. Yum!”
Angie squinted and scowled a bit then said, “I wasn’t cooking bacon.”
“You mean it’s your natural scent?” asked Colette sweetly, “How piggylicious. No wonder my honey loves you.”
Angie was aghast. People thought she smelled like bacon? This was supposed to be a compliment? Who was this girl, anyway, and what was Ben doing with her? “If you just wait a couple minutes I’ll be able to give you a bigger table and we’ll all sit,” she said a bit frostily.
“Don’t be silly,” said Colette, “My honey pie is hungry, aren’t you honey pie?” She looked toward Ben and tickled him under the chin. Then she pushed him toward one of the two empty chairs, dumped her bag on the ground and lowered herself into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Could I do this at a bigger table?” Then she laughed lustily and said, “You betcha. Oh don’t you just love this man! Think of the babies we’re gonna make. Maybe tonight!” As Ben’s eyes opened wide with astonishment, Colette put her hand on his face and turned it away from Angie and toward her and kissed him tightly on the mouth several times. “Better than lunch!” she said.
Clint looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor, then decided he could pull off suave and said, “You two crazy kids.”
Ben didn’t know where to look. He glanced furtively at Angie to see if she was reacting in any way at all, and she did seem to have a disapproving look on her face, so maybe that was something. Maybe one day they’d laugh together about this.
A larger table had opened up and Angie pointed toward it saying, “It’ll be a lot easier for us to eat if we all have seats.”
“If you insist,” said Colette, “But wait, I need a little amuse bouche before I give up the best seat in the house.” And once more she began kissing Ben. After several kisses on the lips, she began kissing his neck with rather loud slurping sounds and much noise, then she laughed and said, “They don’t call them smackeroos for nothing.”
Once they were all seated, Angie returned from the kitchen with some sampler plates of her latest menu items and some tasting plates. “No more cutting edge cuisine,” she said to Ben.
“Oh my honey pie likes down home good cooking, don’t you sugar lump? We’re gonna bring back the old times, that’s for sure, once we move into our house. And it will be so much fun driving cross country together until we get back home.”
“What?” said Clint and Angie simultaneously.
“Well we’re just not city folk, are we honey pie? We’re thinking Iowa or Ohio, one of the really good states with the short names.”
“Really?” Angie asked Ben.
“Now, now, Angie-dangie, don’t you go confusing my honey pie. You had him all to yourself since you were toddlers, but now it’s my turn. We have to have a nice big yard for all those babies to run around in, don’t we?” Colette reached into her tote and pulled out several magazines. “Check this out—look at this darling house—what a little love nest.” She took Ben’s hand and pressed it fervently to her chest and said, “Oh honey pie, feel my heart beating. Just for you!” Then she took a forkful of food off her plate and leaned in toward Ben and said, “Open wide. Here comes the airplane.” Then she laughed as Ben obeyed and said, “Just practicing for when Ben junior comes.”
“Maybe you’ll have twins,” said Clint good naturedly. “Ben junior and Ben junior-junior.”
“Mmm, yum-o,” said Colette to Angie, “This tuna salad is fabuloso, almost as good as my mom’s.”
“It’s duck,” said Angie.
“Rubber ducky, you’re the one,” sang Colette, running her hand through Ben’s hair in a mock shampoo. “Oh my God!” she trilled, displaying an enormous amount of excitement, and waving her hands in the air a few times, said “I totally forgot,” then reached back down into her tote and extracted an elegant parcel from which she pulled a white lace nightgown. “Look at this, Angie, wait, Ben, cover your eyes, no what the heck, might as well have a little preview. Oh, can you imagine me in this?” And then she stood and held the lingerie up to herself, turning this way and that with many seductive wriggles.
Ben blushed and Colette laughed, “Oh isn’t he just too good to be true. What a dirty mind. He’s picturing me out of it, aren’t you honey pie?”
Bill sighed as he walked out of his attorney’s office and back to his own where he would have the girls go through all the patient files and see who belonged to whom. This was going to be as bad as a divorce. There would be patients to placate, assets to split up, decisions about locations. It was a huge headache. He couldn’t legally bar Kevin from the office. Being a sleaze ball didn’t disqualify him from practicing medicine. He would have to confront Kevin, perhaps more than once and attorneys might have to be present. Papers would have to be drawn up. Even if he found a new office, which he probably would have to do, there would still be much contact. But did it matter that much? He was angry at Kevin, yes. He didn’t want to associate with Kevin any longer, no. But did he feel that the sight of Kevin would send him into a rage? Bill didn’t know. Despite the fact that he clearly was better off without Chrissy, he knew that having a partner who’d do such a thing was out of the question. Kevin’s ethics had always been a problem but the truth was that he’d never treated Kevin as a partner, more of a junior associate, and certainly Kevin resented that. Should Bill be assuming some of the blame for this situation? Surely that would be absurd. He would just have to deal with the aggravations until he was extricated. And then life would go on and he probably would never see Kevin again.
He could ask Laura to help him find a new office. Laura would know a real estate person. It seemed such a strange thought—now that there was no party to plan, he and Laura surely wouldn’t be spending as much time together. And he recognized that she had been correct—for them to end up together would be sort of tacky. His partner screwed his girlfriend so Bill should snag Kevin’s wife? Was it wrong? It probably was. What was it he had been feeling for Laura anyway? Had she been right? Was he just using her as some sort of conduit to the past? Were they playing musical chairs and were they the only two people left in the game so it seemed reasonable for them to end up together? Having a good old friend by his side would be nice, it would be lovely, wouldn’t it? Bill admitted that it would. But somewhere deep inside his heart he admitted something else. Laura had been right—that was no substitute for love. And then Bill admitted the thing that was most heart wrenching, the thing he didn’t want to think let alone say out loud. He had no faith that he would be thunderstruck by love ever again. That sort of intense connection didn’t just happen because JoEllen was a one in a million and it wasn’t as though there were more just like her standing on every corner, were there. And then his heart sank.
Was he destined always to be alone? His sudden lurch toward Laura, if it had been what she’d assumed, some sort of desperate attempt to settle for next best, was as pathetic as she’d presumed. And so was he. Perhaps he would have to come to grips with the idea that this part of his life was over. And it was just so terribly sad. For it wasn’t just the idea of not being with the love of his life that he missed, it was the togetherness, the family activities, the couple activities, the companionship. If the one and only love of his life was dead, did that mean all the casual stuff that accompanied a great love affair was beyond his reach as well?
He did have the kids of course, and they would always be a family, so he didn’t lose that. But somehow it had seemed that being with the wrong woman was better than being with no woman. So those were his choices—being a dad but not a husband or inflicting the wrong woman on his children so he could have some tepid adult companionship? It all seemed so bleak. His prior resolve to remind himself that everything would all work out seemed to have dissolved and he was back in the abyss of loneliness, emptiness, and misery.
It was quite tempting to allow himself to sink down into that depressed state of mind, but Bi
ll had been there far too long and he chose instead to get a grip. Perhaps his days with the perfect mate—or any mate—were over but he could find some happiness, he would have to try to find happiness, to do things that he’d enjoy, in groups or even alone, when he wasn’t spending time with the kids. He could take the sort of advice he always gave lonely patients—do something, take a class, find a hobby, reach out to casual acquaintances and turn them into friends, throw a party. Well, maybe not that last one.
Bill lumbered through his day, concealing the emotional issues that weighed on him from his patients—and Kevin’s patients—for Kevin hadn’t shown up and the confrontation had thus not taken place—and he managed to smile, to do his job, and to take care of everyone. He’d engaged a housekeeper perhaps too quickly, but she came well recommended and thus someone was there with the kids after school. He was getting a grip, at last he was doing that.
He dialed Laura’s number. At the least he owed her an apology.
“Hey there, Bill,” she said without any preliminary hello. Apparently she was now checking her caller ID.
“How are you?” he said. “Doing okay?”
“Sure, I’m okay. You?”
“Coping. I’m really calling mainly to apologize. I’m so sorry for my behavior the other night. I know it was tacky. I hope you can forgive me.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re stressed and desperate.”
“Gee, stressed and desperate. If only I were doing a resume. Or a personal ad.” Bill laughed.
Laura laughed too. “Well you know what I mean.”
“Did you make up with Kevin? He hasn’t been in to work. In fact I saw a lawyer today. When they say breaking up is hard to do they mean it literally.”
“So at least one of us is divorcing him,” said Laura a little ruefully.
“You mean only one of us is?”
“All I’ve done so far is hang up on him. For all I know he’s in Haiti divorcing me.”
“So would that be a bad thing?”
“Probably not.”
“I’m really sorry. I feel responsible somehow.”
“Why—did you screw him too?”
Bill laughed. “He probably thinks I did. Or that I will. Looks like if I want my divorce I’ll have to move because I can’t really make him move. Of course I haven’t seen him to discuss it.”
“Give it some time,” said Laura reasonably.
“So you’re saying just take him back, don’t end the partnership? I can’t do that. It’ll be a pain in the neck but it has to be done. And I might need your help—real estate—need to find a new office. I’m sorry to be asking forgiveness and another favor simultaneously.”
“Yeah,” said Laura, “How dare you!” Then she laughed and gave him the name of a real estate person.
“Thanks, hon. You’re always prepared. I love that about you.”
“Yup, once a Girl Scout….”
Laura sounded truly miserable Bill thought. “I wish I could do something to cheer you up,” he said. “Would you want to have dinner, with the kids maybe? I could cook or we could go out.”
“Oh I dunno. I’m not exactly hungry.”
“Is there anything I can do then?”
“Suggest a good vet for neutering maybe?”
“For the puppy? Is it that time already?”
“No, for Kevin.”
- TEN –
Kevin had faith in the justice system. They didn’t make twerps judges, of course they didn’t. During this entire nightmare he had been dealing with the wrong people, well in fact a single individual, that idiot boy in blue. Now he would have his day in court and he could envision himself explaining rationally the horrific situation to a kindly elder jurist, someone with experience, wisdom, and intelligence. Then it would all be over, except for the warrant for the arrest for that rogue driver, which Kevin did realize would be difficult to fulfill because he didn’t have so much as a digit from the license plate or a description. But those were just the details, weren’t they, not the actual fact.
The fact was that Kevin was a respected doctor and that meant something in Beverly Hills. And when he spoke, people listened. Today it would be a judge listening to him and this mess would be on its way to a solution. Then Kevin could get on with his life. Everything would be resolved and hopefully that maniac would ultimately be in jail.
Kevin pondered the situation. There was that supposed father of the seemingly nice sandwich girl. It was tempting to consider it a conspiracy, but he had been treating this girl for many months and pulling off a caper like that would be virtually impossible. Come in fat, get thin, months later her pseudo (or real) father begins attempting to run him off the road. Even at his most irrational he couldn’t concede the probability of this conjecture—and Kevin had eaten regularly in the last couple of days and knew that his low blood sugar had been resolved, thus extinguishing any metabolic lack of clarity. More likely was it that in this instance Cop Crapper was correct—it was a popular car, the man was the girl’s father, and by coincidence the vehicles were the same.
Kevin thought briefly about the other driver. Who that was he had no idea. No matter to what extent Laura was angry at him, she would not instigate anything as insane as this ongoing road rage. It just wasn’t like her. And nobody else was angry at him, were they? Bill was angry just now but there was no way a guy as rigid and dull as Bill would pull such a stunt and besides, Bill was clearly shocked to find him in bed with the chocolate queen, and the chases had been going on before this occurred, so clearly it wasn’t Bill. That left—nobody. What a puzzle.
And then Kevin realized something at once comforting and distressing—it was a case of mistaken identity. Perhaps it was the car. Maybe someone else, someone in the line of fire, drove a car like his and they were following him by mistake. Maybe they even had the number from his license plates, surely they did. That meant that it would be extremely difficult to find them because no connection existed between Kevin and them. It was like Strangers on a Train or one of those other thrillers from another era. There was only one solution. Kevin would have to sell his car.
Oh how this realization triggered pangs in his heart. He had loved that Porsche from the moment he’d bought it and even more since this psychosis had been visited upon him because of the security it provided him by being the excellent vehicle it was. He didn’t really see himself in a Ferrari—and that was buckets of dough, plastic surgeon dough, anesthesiologist dough, not internist dough. So where did it leave him? He’d have to consider his options. This was a true tragedy and utterly unfair.
Briefly Kevin thought about what was imminently to come and the fact that he hadn’t even engaged a lawyer. He had called the attorney who drew up the papers for the practice and was informed that he could not be represented because Bill had a prior claim. More psychosis he would have to unravel. Perhaps the partnership would end. Nobody looking over his shoulder and complaining about every little thing. How could he tolerate that? No, he’d be fine without Bill and today without a lawyer. He was intelligent, articulate, for Christ’s sake, he was a doctor.
Standing erect, his clothes expensive and well pressed, Kevin strode into the courtroom and took a seat. Soon he would have his justice. Thank the lord. Look—there was Billy the Kid sitting off in the distance. He hoped to mop up the floor with that moron.
Then the bailiff entered and spoke. “All rise, court of Honorable Justice Samuel A. Antimangia presiding.”
That was a familiar sounding name, Kevin thought. Where had he heard that name before? He couldn’t quite place it. And then Angie’s dad entered the court in his robes and locked eyes with Kevin, both men glaring like bulls who’d just been engaged by a matador.
Naturally he called Kevin’s case first.
Kevin took a deep breath, remained calm and said confidently, “Your honor I am an innocent party here. Someone has been trying to run me off the road.”
“I’ve heard,” said the judge snidely.
<
br /> “It’s clearly a case of mistaken identity. I’ve finally determined that. Nobody in my life would be responsible for this constant vehicular harassment.”
“Why sell yourself short,” said the judge jauntily, squinting toward Kevin with wrath in his eyes. “They’d probably fight for the privilege.”
“I’ve been victimized and traumatized several times, all without the help I deserved.”
“No psychiatrists on your speed dial?” asked the judge sardonically, as Kevin look horrified at this rancid little man. “I’ve heard enough,” said Antimangia preemptively.
“But your honor….”
“You realize I could put you in jail?” asked the judge, while Kevin nodded miserably and remained silent. The bailiff looked quizzically at the judge, someone he knew to behave as a cranky old sod, despite not being as old as he acted, as Antimangia, who was a decent judge, rambled, “I’d love to put you in jail, no not jail, prison. Death row.”
Hungry for Love Page 14
