The Cajun Doctor

by Sandra Hill

  With a wide yawn, he went into the bathroom up here on the third floor. In the past month, he, Aaron, and a small team of high-priced contractors, plumbers, and electricians . . . who knew plumbers earned more than doctors? . . . had done some basic restoration work. New plumbing and electricity in the big house and the garconniére, as well as replastering and painting one bedroom and one sitting room in each structure for Aaron and Daniel, and rudimentary kitchen appliances, like a coffeemaker. Just enough for them to live on-site.

  This morning Daniel was going to paint the walls on the first floor, which very well might be a medical office at some point in the future. Oh, not an office open to the public. More a place he could set up his medical library and supplies. Do research. Maybe even ease back into part-time practice at some Louisiana facility. George Laroche had been begging him to join the staff of his oncology center in Houma, even promising him his own pediatric unit.

  It was just something Daniel was thinking about at this point. He hadn’t even discussed it with Aaron. Face it, Daniel had been burned out by medicine, big-time. Working with terminally ill children did that to a body. But he could feel himself healing. Maybe he was ready to take back his life again. Maybe.

  He’d begun the process of applying for a Louisiana medical license. Not because he had any immediate plans, but Tante Lulu kept nagging him about it, for some strange reason, probably because she wanted him “to get off his lazy ass.” There was no such thing as a national medical license. In the U.S., it was state by state, which sometimes posed a problem for physicians who practiced in multiple states. Although, after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, when there was such a dire need for trained medical personnel, the legislature had passed a law allowing doctors from other states to write prescriptions and order tests for treatment.

  So, he’d filled out the cumbersome forms, just to shut her up, and soon he would take the exam. The question was what to do with the license once he obtained it . . . or whether he wanted to do anything with it.

  For now, he would content himself with work around the plantation. After painting, he planned to go help Aaron with some sanding, of which there was enough work for an army. A landscaping firm would arrive this afternoon to begin clearing away more of the jungle.

  A half hour later he walked down the narrow steps to the first floor, cup of coffee in hand, when he glanced out the window, then did a double take. There was a line of about fifteen people sitting on the ground outside the garconniére, as if they were waiting for something. Or someone.

  He frowned. Me?

  Setting his coffee cup down on a windowsill, he opened the door and said, “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Doctor LeDeux?” a woman in front of the line, holding an infant, asked.

  “Yeeees,” he answered hesitantly.

  “We’re here to see you.”

  And all the others piped in:

  “My Sally has the whoopin’ cough.”

  “I cut mah hand on a friggin’ chain saw an’ it won’t stop bleedin’.”

  “The runs are runnin’ me ragged. Too much Cajun Lightning, I ’spect.”

  “I need ta renew mah birth control prescription. Quick-like. Mah hubby Jack is horny as a jack rabbit these days. Ha, ha, ha.”

  “Kin I get some of that viiii-ag-rah?”

  “We heard the clinic was openin’ t’day.”

  Clinic? Oh, my . . . ! Daniel put his face in his hands and counted to ten. He would bet his left nut that Tante Lulu had something to do with this.

  In this day and age, people didn’t do this country doctor bullshit. Did they? Was he expected to be some kind of Little House on the Bayou kind of physician?

  “Uh. The clinic isn’t open yet.”

  Tante Lulu must have heard he’d received the provisional documents—God bless the bayou grapevine!—and figured he was open for business. In fact, the speed with which his application had been processed was amazing, now that he thought about it; more than a few steps must have been skipped. The interfering busybody!

  “Cain’t ya help us?” the woman with the baby asked worriedly. The skin on her baby was yellow with jaundice, and the cough was alarming.

  “There must be some other doctor or medical center where you can go.”

  They shook their heads, one after the other. One man revealed, “My family, we doan take no charity. Tante Lulu sez yer cheaper than the average doctor. Plus, yer willin’ ta barter fer services.”

  Tante Lulu is surely the Mouth of the South.

  “I kin fix cars.”

  Would that include Beemers?

  “My Dora makes the best jambalaya and lazy bread this side of Nawleans.”

  Is that my stomach growling?

  “I got a bushel of tomatoes here, and baskets of cucumbers, potatoes, melons, and okra.”

  Okra? What the hell would I do with okra? I hate the stuff.

  “I’d like to have the baskets back, if ya doan mind.”

  “During deer season, I kin send ya some venison.”

  Bambi . . . they expect me to cook a dead Bambi? Well, Aaron knows more about that than I do. Or Aunt Mel, when . . . if . . . she ever moves here.

  “Do ya like squirrel?”

  “For a pet?”

  The old guy cackled. “Hell, no. Ta eat, doc.”

  To eat? Yeech!

  “In a few weeks, I kin bring raspberries, huckleberries, and peaches.”

  Okay, fruit, I like.

  “I’m a plumber. Laid off since March.”

  Glory days!

  “I do electrical work.”

  Glory, glory days!

  So it was that Daniel helped most of the people, using a card table, several folding chairs, his basic medical kit, and a prescription pad. Others he referred to a doctor that he knew took on an occasional indigent patient.

  And it felt damn good, to his surprise.

  Even so, he put a sign outside proclaiming that the clinic would not be open for another month. Actually, never. If he was going back to medicine, it would be in the field he’d once flourished in. And he for damn sure wasn’t going into private practice requiring a gazillion dollars in malpractice insurance. As it was, he could be in big trouble just for the little bit of medicine he’d engaged in today. Even dispensing aspirin could result in him losing the license he didn’t really have yet.

  Oddly, he caught himself whistling as he painted later that morning. And it wasn’t just due to the instant gratification of hard labor. He felt as if he was awakening from a deep painful sleep.

  Of course, it helped that he had awakened this morning with another kind of instant gratification.

  Bewitched, Bothered and Doggone Bewildered . . .

  Samantha approached Bayou Rose Plantation that afternoon with trepidation. After her embarrassing dream, she didn’t want to be within a mile of Doctor Dreamy, but she’d promised Tante Lulu she would come to discuss some ideas for abandoned animals to be relocated here, assuming Daniel and Aaron were on board. Of course it would be a long time before they would be in a position to offer any services on a large scale; work would be needed on the facilities to meet health code specs and zoning regulations for the kennels. If, in fact, that would be the ultimate use made of the plantation. So, plenty of time for convincing. On Tante Lulu’s part, not hers.

  As she drove up, she saw that the arched entry sign for Bayou Rose had been repaired and repainted. Farther on, she could see that the old lady had turned this into a party, as usual. The landscaping people were already hard at work, clearing away the jungle, with the help of every LeDeux in the world, it seemed. Dozens of them, of all ages. And was that . . . yes, it was that notorious snake catcher Stinky Hawkins. The Times-Picayune ran feature articles on him every other year.

  Of course the first person she ran into was Daniel. As she approached, they glared at each other. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him. He seemed to think she was a spoiled rich girl who’d never struggled a day in her life. She did
n’t have much use for doctors per se, especially good-looking ones, after her experience with Nick, but if he was going to have the credentials, she thought it was self-indulgent, even selfish, of him not to use those talents. Egotism, either way.

  Then, at the same time, they both started to say, “I had a dream . . .”

  She slapped a hand over her mouth with horror at her inadvertent admission.

  “Oh, crap!” he said. “We had dreams about each other, didn’t we? The same dream.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He snorted his disbelief.

  “Bite me!”

  “Seems I already did.”

  “Did you do something to plant those . . . those perverted ideas in my head?”

  “You thought they were perverted? Even the suck and tuck move?”

  She ignored his question and continued, “You’re supposedly a doctor. Bet you slipped me a pill or something.” It’s the kind of thing Nick would have done in a heartbeat, if he’d thought of it. But probably not with her. He’d want to play out his fantasies with one of his many mistresses.

  “No supposed about it. I am a doctor, even if I don’t practice anymore. What you’re suggesting is criminal behavior, which I would never participate in. Nor would I need to.” He raised his chin defiantly.

  “Oh, jeez. No need to get bent out of shape. I didn’t really think you gave me anything.”

  He visibly tamped down his temper. “Let’s return to that ‘perversions’ discussion—”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I’ve never heard about that new erogenous zone . . . you know, the one you showed me in the dream. They certainly never taught that in medical school. I figured it was some Cosmo kind of thing.”

  “I don’t read Cosmo. It wasn’t me who . . . never mind.”

  His lips twitched with humor.

  Samantha was embarrassed. Every single time she met Daniel their conversations seemed to spiral out of control. They threw sparks off each other, and she was at least partly to blame, she knew that.

  Time to change the subject. Samantha inhaled and exhaled. Once again, Daniel had managed to bring out this bitchy side of her personality. Yeah, he was a doctor, but she should be able to judge people on their own merits, not by their professions. It was Nick’s fault, she decided. That was her story, and she was sticking to it. For now.

  “I brought you a housewarming gift,” she said, in a forced tone of politeness.

  He grinned, sensing how hard it was for her to be nice to him.

  “This is Max. A kitty just for you.”

  He stopped grinning.

  Out shot a golden-haired Maine Coon cat with a lopsided red bow tied around its neck. The cat immediately went over to Daniel and hissed up at him.

  “That’s not a kitty. It’s a pony. How much do you feed this animal? Do they have Weight Watchers for cats?”

  “Max likes to snack on mice.”

  “Eeew! I hate cats.”

  “I think Max likes you.” The cat was clawing at his pant leg with one paw. “Oh, isn’t that cute? Max wants a hug.”

  Carefully, he lifted the animal as if it might attack at any minute. Which it might. “I hate cats,” he repeated.

  Max licked his face, and he cringed, then hid a smile. Samantha could tell that he didn’t hate cats as much as he claimed. Bored with licking, Max jumped down and rushed over to sniff at the snake barrel.

  “Max could probably catch snakes, too. In addition to mice.”

  “Oh, that’s just wonderful.”

  Just then Tante Lulu noticed them from over at the buffet table set out on the ground floor verandah. “Yoo hoo! Over here.”

  Chapter Eight

  Matchmaker, folk healer, and tour guide, too . . .

  She and Daniel glanced at each other, remembered the dream, and stomped toward the old lady for a confrontation.

  “Did you put a spell on us?” Samantha demanded to know.

  “Huh?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in that voodoo junk,” Daniel added.

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t play the innocent with me, you meddling dingbat. I know what you’re capable of.” Daniel looked as if he’d like to throttle Tante Lulu.

  The old lady narrowed her eyes at him. “I doan like yer tone, boy. If yer not careful, I’m gonna toss ya in one of Stinky’s snake barrels.” Then she turned to Samantha with a smile. “Did I tell ya Daniel ain’t gay?”

  Daniel stiffened.

  Samantha had to laugh. The old lady sure knew which buttons to push on Daniel. She was always telling people that he wasn’t gay. She wasn’t sure if it was because he rarely dated, or because of his appearance, which didn’t look gay to her, or something else.

  But Daniel was learning not to rise to her jibes every time. He just walked away.

  “Looks like they’re making a lot of progress outside,” Samantha remarked then. The wide area between the alleé, or alley, of live oaks . . . now the horseshoe-shaped driveway, its open side facing the bayou . . . had been denuded and new grass sown. The branches with hanging moss on the two-hundred-year-old trees on either side of the road had grown together into a canopy of sorts. Right now a sprinkler system was in operation to get the lawn going, although it rained so often in this semitropical climate that it probably wasn’t necessary. Workers were tackling the garden on one side of the house and putting paving stones around the garconniére on the other side.

  Tante Lulu nodded. “Helps when ya got family ta pitch in.”

  “And money to pay an army of workers.” Samantha had heard the two brothers were fairly well off, but she knew from friends’ experiences with old house renovations that money wells could soon become money pits.

  “That, too.” Tante Lulu was in a gardening outfit today. Straw hat, coveralls, and sneakers. Her hair appeared to be purple, or maybe it was a wig. Little dangly earrings in the shape of shovels and rakes hung from her ears. Gardener chic? “C’mon. I’ll show ya ’round, ’specially the area where I think they could house some animals, if we kin convince Aaron and Daniel.”

  Samantha didn’t like the sound of that we.

  “Show me, too,” Daniel said, coming up behind them.

  Samantha glanced his way with chagrin.

  “What? I’d like to know what the old bird’s plans are, too, especially since I own half the place. I still don’t understand how we could house a bunch of animals here. Who’s gonna take care of them? I mean, there would have to be a manager or vet on hand, wouldn’t there?” He noticed Tante Lulu grinning at him. “Oh, no! I’m not qualified—”

  “A doctor’s a doctor, I allus say.”

  “Forget about it!”

  “Whatever you say,” Tante Lulu said with a meekness suspicious to say the least.

  “And where do you expect me and Aaron to be when this is going on?”

  “It’s all in St. Jude’s hands, honey.”

  Samantha could tell he was restraining himself from saying something nasty, even sacrilegious.

  “Besides, I have the perfect person in mind fer manager,” Tante Lulu added.

  “Who?” Daniel demanded to know.

  “I’ll tell ya when the time is right.”

  “By the way, Daniel”—Samantha had an idea—“do you know what you need to keep your lawn nice and tidy?”

  “Does Hummer make lawn mowers?”

  “Very funny. A goat.”

  “A what? No, no, no! A monster cat, I can accept.” Said cat was lying on the grass, munching on something. He hoped it was catnip. “But no goats. No way! And what the hell are you doing with a goat anyway?”

  “Thass a great idea,” Tante Lulu said to Samantha. To Daniel, she explained, “Samantha rescues animals in her spare time. Bet she’s got a goat or two. Sheep would be good, too. Bet she could give ya some dogs, too. Or wouldja prefer pigs and rats.”

  Daniel turned to stare at Samantha with surprise. “You have pigs
and rats?”

  “Well, I have one pig. Only one. A potbellied pig. Not the kind you raise for meat. But no rats; Tante Lulu is referring to gerbils. And, actually, I got rid of . . . I mean, I found a home for . . . the goat this morning. One goat, not two,” she said pointedly, glancing toward Tante Lulu. “A farmer from Alabama, in town for the Holstein convention, heard about my goat. And he also took the llama, the goose, and all the ducks. He would have taken Emily, the pig, but she’s a pet breed, not a farm porker, and besides that, Emily is depressed, which is off-putting to some people. My neighbors are probably celebrating as we speak. There had been talk about goose liver pate and Peking duck. Oh, and I forgot. I have a cockatoo named Clarence I’d love to get rid of.”

  “Samantha!” Tante Lulu said with shock.

  “What?”

  “Ladies doan mention a man’s private parts.”

  “Huh?”

  “You mentioned yer boyfriend Clarence’s wiener.”

  “Oh, good Lord! Clarence is a bird.”

  “Well, it ain’t ladylike ta mention a bird’s privates, either.”

  Samantha threw her hands in the air, a gesture of surrender.

  Daniel’s jaw dropped with amazement, whether at her array of pets, or her as their caretaker, or Tante Lulu’s mistaking her cockatoo for a penis, she wasn’t sure. But then, his quick survey of her attire ended with, “Been shopping at Walmart, have you?”

  Okay, so he’d decided on a change of subject. And he had a point there. Samantha did like designer clothing, some of which might not be animal friendly, as in a magnet for pet hair or other animal unmentionables. Today, she wore a Pucci, silk, one-shoulder blouse in a shell and seagull motif with artful knots at the shoulder and hemline, over stretch cotton crop pants, Rebecca Minkoff ankle cuff sandals, a floppy straw sun hat, and Kate Spade retro sunglasses.

  His sarcasm deserved no response. She could have countered with an argument that quality merchandise lasted forever and never went out of style. Or she could have countered with a comment about his khakis and loafers as inappropriate for the outdoor work to be done here today. Instead, she continued her earlier conversation about rescue animals. “Not to worry about missing out on the goat, though, Daniel. I have lots of other animals left. Puppies and cats, in particular.” Samantha batted her eyelashes at Daniel, hoping to have a customer. As much as she’d come to care for her rescued pets, it would be nice to have an empty house for a change. Not that she’d ever be totally empty. No way would she give away her German Shepherd Axel, or her cat, Maddie.