I woke up at nine-thirty the next morning and slipped into one of Frank’s bowling shirts for shits and giggles once I made sure it wasn’t spotted with mustard and ketchup. It was a Big Dog shirt, and it was almost long enough, so I put on panties. Thank god there were some clean ones on a folded stack of clothes Marla must have gathered for me from the wardrobe of garments I’d left from my many visits. Marla’s house, by the way, was my go-to place for a crash pad and good eats.
As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered with the panties, or the shirt either for that matter, as the house was empty. Marla had left me a note on the coffee maker to say that I needed to text her so she would know I’d woken up. It made me chuckle, but I knew she was dead serious. The note also said they had gone to church, and the coffee was once fresh. Hell yeah, it was even almost hot, since the keep-hot timer had probably turned off less than a half-hour ago. I grabbed a large cup from the cupboard, poured, and left it black. That first sip is always the first step to mindful bliss; then the day usually goes spiraling down back-ass-wards from there.
I noticed a stack of papers from the hospital that Marla had left by the coffeemaker for me to find. I doubt I would have gone through them until the hospital billing office started yelling at me for the money. But when I reached for the cereal box that was on the overhead shelf and knocked it off, it landed on my filled coffee cup, which spilled my morning-brewed-almost-hot Zen all over the neat little paper stack. Now I was forced to pay attention to them. I sponged off the coffee from the papers and the counter with some kitchen towels that I realized too late were probably her most decorative ones. Oh well. Then I started blotting each of the pages with a paper towel. Marla had left another note on top of an opened envelope. She had written, “Sorry, thought this would be something I needed to know about taking care of you… Interesting? Sorry. Wtf? -M.”
The envelope had a cursive inscription on the front, “Mindy Poppago, your after-care nursing instructions. Ruby.” I felt my blood get warm and tingly and my fingers trembled. Oh, my! Any composure I might have had before was now in scattered ruins, and I quickly refilled my cup and brought it and the envelope to the kitchen table.
The Sunday paper was scattered on the table top, and as I sat down, my eye caught a picture of someone familiar. I felt my heart fall to my stomach as I read, U.S. Marine Found Shot Beside Highway. I picked up the section and read that Gunnery Sargeant Dale Lewellan Tomlinson was in critical condition and unable to speak with investigators. It mentioned that he was scheduled to leave for Afghanistan today. Then, hitting me with another jolt, the report said they found him beside the very same highway I had last night’s accident on! There was a paragraph or two about his immediate family, and what a great Marine he was and all that. But there weren’t any other details about the shooting, other than they hadn’t ruled out foul play, it was a single shot, and investigations were still underway by local, state, and federal authorities. Are they suggesting he might have done it to himself? I wondered. Nah, he was upset, but he didn’t seem like the type that would do that. He was a fighter. And I know he wouldn’t have done it knowing how it would affect his kids. I was stunned and must have sat in a daze for a few minutes. I had already pushed him pretty far to the back of my mind. I just figured he was on his way to the war already. As I thought, his laugh, fucks, and fuckin’-A's still ringed in my ears, and I still felt our warm hug. Did I really fuckin’ curse him with that tattoo? Holy shit!
I took a sip of the coffee with feelings of guilt and sorrow. I should never have let that Marine talk me into inking that tat. It was bad juju. I’m not a big believer in any particular religion, but some things seem sacred to me—like, karma and iconography, for instance. Karma isn’t so hard to find in common with a lot of people, believers in a god, as well as atheists. Atheists can rationally find credence in the concept that good deeds result in good deeds more often than if they acted evilly instead; evil returns evil; evil gets bad. Godless people say it’s only logical that good will attract good, but you have to consider the random things that screw up life too. Religious people say it’s the way the Spirit works. Good begets good, and bad begets bad, and some even say the return is multiplied three-fold. There are no so-called random events for the godly because, of course, they say the unexpected stuff happens for a reason, and you may not know why till after you die. What if the Divine was just mean? Beats me.
And as far as iconography goes, symbols get used by art, religion, and commercially because they can mean something bigger and better than words. I think they can even make the world. Who does that besides humans? Maybe it’s because the expression of ideas and concepts of both iconography and karma makes us human, they’re special—they’re like gifts. But, gifts from who? Crazy shit. These are some of the fucking conversations I sometimes have with my clients when they’re in my chair. You got to pass the time talking about something, right? Who’s ever seen a monkey paint a fucking banana bowl still life?
So why couldn’t my desecration of a goddess mermaid come back to bite me in the ass, as the wise men say?
I was looking down at the table, and my eyes focused on the envelope from Ruby that I’d been distracted from. I perked up and scrupulously began studying the outside. Ruby had beautiful handwriting, and I already knew why it smelled like coffee. I thought to myself, A personalized care plan from Ruby. Right. Maybe she… If it’s all just typical medical instructions, why was it in an envelope and not just a pre-printed copy that all the other patients would probably get? Well, maybe she just wanted to make sure I saw it. But, if it was something else… maybe she… My heart was beating hard as I slowly pulled out the note, fearing a disappointing anti-climax.
I read, “Mindy, I find you precious and provocative. We must get to know each other better. I couldn’t ignore the special chemistry between us. Didn’t you feel it too? Now I want your kisses and to taste you. Call me when you have rested a week or two. I have other enticing treatments that I’m sure you will find intensely exhilarating, and I want you fully rested and recovered so you can keep up!” Signed, “Ruby,” followed by her phone number.
I took a big gulp of my now barely warm coffee. My heart was once again beating in excitement from the attentions of someone I’d just met. This was fucking irregular for me and my style. I must have been letting my guard down, and I wondered if something was wrong in my head, or if I might really be fucking changing. Fuck me. First, I’d been smitten by the Marine with his brawn and raw charm, who was now suffering indirectly from a wound by my own rueful hand. Then came James Dean Jake and the gnarly pig adventure—again, someone lying in a hospital bed after hooking up with me. Then the dashing Dr. Saylor, and his seductive eyes and scheming smile and wit that makes my heart skip. And fourthly by Ruby, with her lusty and knowing control and power. In one day, I was overwhelmed with, not one or two, but pining over multiple potentially real and exciting, fucking hot relationships! Am I just getting soft?
I was still holding the letter and noticed that my hand was shaking, and I was sweating—mostly between my thighs. Hell, all she’d had to say was, “Call me."
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Next episode – Episode 5 – The Probing and Seductive Octopussy
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Mindy Poppago: Blue: Part 1: The Spectacularious Night Page 7
