“It’s a gas hog. Sell it and buy a little tampon car.”
“What if we wanted to do a road trip? Six hundred pounds of girl power would kill those K cars with the first pothole.”
“We don’t weigh six hundred pounds.”
“Altogether, yeah we come out to around six hundred pounds.”
“Even if we never made road trips, I’m not getting into a tiny car,” said Linda. “I’m six feet tall. I can wear those things like a girdle.”
“Okay, we don’t sell the Bronco. We just ride it out a few more weeks. Something will come up.”
“Nothing will come up as long as you just sit around!” Yelled Briana.
The argument fanned my own creative urges. I began slamming around pots and pans until the whole kitchen rattled, then added a flurry of spices. Within minutes, Briana and Linda had joined in and we cooked up a platter of food like we hadn’t done since leaving North Carolina. We had corn fritters and batter-fried shrimp, scalloped potatoes, barbecued ribs and a banana cream pie for dessert. As the evening was fresh, with a pleasant breeze, we set our feast out on the porch while we discussed our chronic situation.
It’s very hard to be angry when you’re eating good food, and even harder when it’s food you’ve all made together. In my kitchen, I was the chef and they were the line work. It was something we had all agreed upon ages ago.
We were just chilling out, listening to the faint sounds of someone’s music floating out through a window, when Liz, Melanie and the man with the cane drifted over and looked hopefully at our banquet.
“Would you like some ribs?” I asked. “Sit down. Help yourselves. We don’t bite.”
They sat down as eagerly as a dog guards a new bone. “I’m telling you,” said the man with the cane. “We’ve been put on a starvation diet. It’s a conspiracy. You can’t get anything decent from the cafeteria. We’ve got care givers hovering over our shoulders to make sure we eat all the alfalfa sprouts, like damned rabbits. They’re trying to diet us to death.”
I dished out another scoop of scalloped potatoes, which he attacked with a fork in one hand and a corn fritter in the other. “It’s that doctor,” he said, shaking his fork. “Always spying on us. Always telling us ‘do this, do that’ without us making a damned decision on our own.”
“Oh, but he means well. Doesn’t he mean well?” Asked Liz.
“Maybe so,” said Melanie. “But his meaning gets entirely lost on me. Now, take you girls. Here you are getting the whole neighborhood to start exercising. I told my Ralph… I told him every day, Dr. Andrews wanted him to exercise, but did he ever try for a minute? Now then, here he is, out in his yard every afternoon, faithfully. Is Dr. Andrews pleased? Oh no, not at all. He thinks Ralph is going to have a heart attack.”
“I told you it’s a conspiracy,” muttered Mr. Rosenfield, the man with a cane. “He’s experimenting on us.”
“Hasn’t Dr. Andrews ever had a girlfriend?” I asked casually.
“He did one time,” nodded Melanie. “She was the doctor that misdiagnosed Henry’s cancer.”
“Oh, that’s a rumor!” Gasped Liz.
“It isn’t a rumor. She classified the tumor as benign when it was malignant. He was going to sue but he died before anything came about. That’s why she disappeared. Moved to a new town. She couldn’t take the scandal, and of course, neither could the doctor.”
The group of neighbors got up to call it a night. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” said the man with the cane. “This town is full of skeletons and closets.”
Chapter Three
As long would have it, we were given a reprieve as our mortgage payment came due. One of the senior couples decided to tie the knot after fifteen years and asked me if the bounteous blondes would be willing to provide a catering service to their in-house reception. The couple was dishing out eight hundred dollars, and it would cost us only two hundred to whip up a fantastic Southern banquet.
I believe everyone within a five block radius had been invited, along with a loose assortment of musicians and professional party people. The drinks were already flowing hot and heavy and a general celebration was underway before the barbecue pork had hit the sandwich buns. I was wrapping up, adding a dash of paprika to the deviled eggs when Zeek Hanson waltzed into the kitchen. “A mai tai for your thigh up against my thigh,” he murmured cheerily, holding the drink high in his hand.
I giggled as he nuzzled into the back of my neck. Zeek, whose real name was Isaac, was for all intents and purposes, irresistible. He had one of those symmetrical faces you see on movie stars, with long, blue eyes that squinted when he smiled, and a perfect set of upper and lower teeth. Zeek loved all girls. Big girls. Small girls. Tall girls. Short girls. Girls in all colors. It didn’t matter. He was the Pied Piper of girls. But although you loved him, if you were wise, you did not fall in love with him. He wasn’t up for grabs. He belonged to everybody.
He pressed up against me from behind while I tossed off the drink. “In the party mood yet?” He whispered. His hand slid up inside my bra. “Ooh, one of the elastic ones with the snaps in front. Sexy.”
I turned around and his hand followed, pushing up my top and stopping at the column of snaps. “So magnificent.” His fingers began undoing the snaps, while his hands remained underneath my breasts, cupping and squeezing them. He laid back the bra like opening the petals of a flower, revealing the plump, white globes underneath. He buried his head between them and sighed. “This is how the captain of a starship must feel when sailing between two spectacular nebulae.”
His lips moved up to one of the nipples. He licked it, tugged it and pulled gently at it with his teeth until it swelled so much I thought it would burst. His free hand attached itself to the other nipple and squeezed until bolts of pleasure ran all the way down my legs, moistening the soft crease between them. I bent backward, gasping and squeezing my eyes shut as he rolled and kneaded my breasts, sucking on one nipple, then the other.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the doctor watching us in the doorway. I straightened up, but he was already walking away. “Somebody will be here in a minute,” I said, pulling my top back together. “We’d better get back to the party.”
“Are you sure?” Zeek’s hand explored the brim of my pants, pushing down until it found the down covered crease. One finger nudged teasingly inside, then withdrew.
I didn’t have time to say anything more. My two caterers were stumbling through the door, enormously high on the evening, giggling as two admirers stumbled after them. “People are hungry!” Announced Briana.
“Let’s take it out then!” I shouted back.
I didn’t remember much more about the evening. I looked around for the doctor and found him talking with an elderly woman in a wheelchair at one point, but when I approached, he walked away. Zeek remained busy, liberating other women and leaving them in various stages of anticipation and undress. The last I saw of Briana, she was flirting with the mechanic.
The most memorable part of the evening was that Linda gained an ardent and everlasting admirer. Jack Jones wasn’t much to look at. Only slightly over middle height, Linda towered nearly a whole head over him. He leaned against whatever was available and stationary whenever possible instead of standing up straight, wore very shabby, circa 1980’s style clothing and alternated continuously between rolling cigarettes and rolling marijuana joints. Instead of dreadlocks, his hair was practically one solid mat, with strangling tendrils floating around his face and down his neck. It was impossible to guess exactly how old he was as his full beard was at least eight inches long. Certainly middle-aged or older as both his hair and beard were heavily streaked with gray and he did look somewhat grizzled.
Jack followed Linda around like a lamb. He called on everyone to admire her. “She is the goddess, Freyja, unvanquished in battle, victorious in love. She is the modern statue of Liberty. She is Mae West.”
I don’t know why, but she tolerated him right from the start. H
e became a regular visitor at our evening meals, always bringing something along to make the evening more festive. Anything we needed, from fixing a plumbing leak to tuning the Bronco shifted to his hands and became his willing responsibility. Within weeks, Jack Jones had made himself invaluable.
Briana’s exercise program had turned into lazy days in the yard soaking up the last of the summer sun. Washington’s summers aren’t the same as North Carolina summers, and it’s not just a difference in temperatures. The skies are nearly always hazy or thick with fog in the morning, making it difficult to tell whether the weather would clear or not. Most of the time, it doesn’t. The clouds roll in, with gentle, fitful rains or the day remains overcast.
Overcast days are pleasant. They are warm, even steamy, with an ocean breeze leaving a salty taste in the air. It’s heavenly to lay out on a blanket. My skin is terrified of direct sunlight and blanches like a peeled potato on a clear, hot day. It settles down in cloudy weather, actually revealing a little color.
I was just drifting into half-sleep, half daydream when I heard someone clear their voice. I opened my eyes and saw the doctor. “If you want to speak to me, come around to the other side of the fence,” I said, flopping over on my stomach.
He came around, with a good show of exasperation. He sat on one corner of the blanket and looked suspiciously at the generous proportions of flesh pouring out of my sun suit. “I don’t suppose you could cover up.”
“I don’t suppose I could,” I said, sitting up. “I feel fine, just the way I am.”
He scowled and fastened his eyes on some invisible object of fascination behind me. “I couldn’t help but notice that one of your friends has a great deal of influence on Jack Jones. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“If you think you can enlist us into your baby rubber bumper services, you’ve got the wrong thing coming. We haven’t done anything to Jack Jones he wasn’t doing already and we’re not going to stand guard over him doing them.”
“No, nothing like that. Okay, maybe I have been a little harsh. You’ve gotten people to come out and socialize that haven’t been out of their houses in years. You’ve got them doing stretches and crunches, but you have to understand, Jenna, there are still the dangers of heart disease and diabetes. I’ve worked hard to keep this community fit.”
“Are you apologizing?”
“Not quite. I still think you are reckless. You are careless. You never think about the possible consequences of your actions.”
“Are you talking about me or my father? You see, I don’t think you know me. How could you? You run away every time you see me. You put up blinders, like a horse in front of a cart. Are you a beast of burden, carrying the weight of humanity on your shoulders?”
“I am a man who has seen many more things than you have. You’re a small town girl who thinks the whole world is in her hands because she’s young, she’s pretty and blonde as a Norwegian goddess. You mean nothing by it, but you are careless and that carelessness will get you or others hurt.”
“You are making it difficult for me to get in the mood for doing favors.”
“I’m not accustomed to asking for them. You’ll have to bear with me.”
He studied his hand before placing it to his chin and rubbing his jaw. This placed his eyes in direct contact with my thighs, as in my sitting position, I had drawn up my knees and wrapped my arms around them. His eyes moved inch by inch until they again found that invisible something of interest in the background. “Jack Jones is a veteran of the Gulf Wars. A high ranking and well-decorated vet. There is a district VFW dinner next week and Jack is one of the guests of honor. Something has to be done about him, Jenna. He can’t go to a banquet looking like that.”
“He needs a haircut.”
“Among other things.”
I smiled. “You’ve contacted the right caretakers. But there’s something I want to know in return. Did your girlfriend misdiagnose my father?”
He looked like I had struck him, then recovered, blinking. “Julia did not misdiagnose the tumor. It was benign. I looked at the biopsy myself.”
“Then why is the neighborhood saying it was malignant?”
“Because that’s what he told them! He was probably planning another scam, one that involved you.”
“Do you think he was murdered?”
“He had a lot of enemies. There was an investigation, but they came up with too many leads. They pointed in every direction. Your father basically murdered himself, Jenna. He careened through life and continued weaving a path of destruction straight to his death.”
“Why did Julia leave?”
“She was offered a better position in San Diego. She accepted it.”
“She chose her career over her relationship with you.”
“We’re both professionals. We knew this could happen.”
He was looking at me now. Not just my body, but my face, studying something in my eyes, his mouth hovering close to mine. He broke it off, glancing at his watch and standing awkwardly. “I have a full work day tomorrow. I’ve got to get up early. I’ll appreciate whatever you girls can do for Jack Jones.”
For once he walked away without looking like he’d just had a spinal tap. My eyes followed him watchfully. He had shown a different side to himself. Maybe it was the side that had driven him to settle here; the side that cared enough about his patients to become involved with their lives. I got up slowly, folded my blanket and went inside.
Jack Jones proved a pretty tough nut to crack. At first, he would have nothing at all to do with it. “I don’t need no damned celebrity dinner,” he complained.
“But Jack, you’re the celebrity. You’re the star of the show.”
“Bah. It takes more than a medal on your chest to be a hero. I ain’t no better nor worse than twenty million other men. “You could just as well pin a medal on Billy Barrow,” he said, pointing to the man with the cane, who was securing a few biscuits inside his shirt. “He’s been to Vietnam. He didn’t get nothing but a purple heart for getting shot in the leg.
“And I got the bastard that did it!” Called out the man with the cane.
“If it’s a banquet for the vets, Billy will be there too, won’t you Billy?” Said Linda.
“They’re gonna serve prime rib.”
“Prime rib. Did you hear that? How can it get any better?”
“You’ll be my plus one.”
“I won’t be your plus one if you don’t get a haircut. I have my standards about being seen in public.”
Jack Jones accepted a beer while he mulled things over. “You say you’ll go with me if I fancy myself up?”
“But you’ve got to look really good. I don’t go out with just anybody, you know.”
He pulled and scratched at his beard and hitched up his pants by the belt loops. Any moment now, I expected him to say, “dad nabbit”, and go chasing after a bunny. “Only one person in the world I’ll allow to touch my hair,” he said firmly. He made a broad gesture with his hand. “My little chickadee. But!” He added. “You’ll have to do it in a bikini.”
“Jack, I’m astonished by you!” I couldn’t hold back, and scolded him with a finger to his nose.
“Nope, nope. No offense, Miss Jenna, but I’ve done seen you in all kinds of little clothes, and it does make a big impression. It makes a healthy man’s heart beat with gladness. And Briana, no disrespect to you either, but Linda is the Mona Lisa of all women, and I swear I would give up every hope of going to heaven if she cut my hair while in a bikini.”
“Yeah, me too,” nodded the guy with the cane, assertively waving it up and down.
“Well, if I’m going to cut your hair, you’ll have to strip down to your shorts,” said Linda, looking at him appraisingly.
“My shorts?”
“Yes, your shorts. I’m not cutting your hair without washing it.”
“I ain’t got no shorts on.”
Linda sighed. “Billy, hobble to Jack’s house and
bring back some shorts. Bring back some half-way decent clean clothes.”
“I don’t got no shorts!” Said Jack. “And I don’t have any other clothes.”
“Would you like some apple pie?” I asked the man with the cane. He gave me a toothy grin. “You go and find some fresh clothes Jack can wear and I’ll give you a big piece. It’s still warm from the oven.”
While Billy teetered away as fast as his tapping cane would let him, Linda picked up one end of the long, continuous mat and inspected it closely. “Yikes!” She said. “You have lice! Big ones! Jenna! Go to the doctor and tell him we need some anti-louse stuff. And you!” She stood over him and he shrank a good six inches under her gaze. “How could you bring bugs into the house? You get out to the yard. You’re going to get a spray down first, and then you’re going to take a proper shower.”
“No, no!” He cried. “We can’t do it that way. I’ll die of a heart attack.”
“Oh, no you won’t! I thought you were an old man. You were in the Gulf War! That makes you a middling man. You’re tough enough to take a cold shower.”
I continued to hear his pleas on the way to the doctor’s house. He must have had his ear at the door because he opened it instantly. “I need, um, Jack Jones has in his hair. He has a metropolis of very happy… ew. I need lice medicine.”
He laughed; something that sounded rather strange coming from the mouth of the venerable Dr. Lee Andrews. “I’ve got something in my medicine cabinet.” While he was gone, I peeked inside. The lighting was soft, absorbed by wood paneling. The interior reminded you that Seattle lived side by side with the northern Native American tribes, with some woven baskets, a wall hanging, two fur embroidered masks and several ivory carvings. The furniture was dark, seemed barely used and was stationed around a large, flat screen television.
He returned before I had a chance to notice anything else. “Can I watch?” He asked. He looked over into my yard, where Briana was hosing down hapless Jack Jones. By some miracle, he wasn’t running away.
Boxer Next Door Page 49
