“We can’t eat here today, Lo…trust me. Let’s go to McDonald’s.”
Like the long pause before Claude Raines said, “Round up the usual suspects,” I awaited a reaction.
“McDonald’s…yeah…yeah,” Becky shouted.
“Happy Meal…Happy Meal,” Amy peeped.
Lois looked my way, smiled, and then shook her head.
When I opened the next morning’s paper, the headline shouted: Seven people hospitalized with food poisoning after eating at Burger World. State health inspectors promise a complete investigation.
This new reality, this sensitivity distracted and confused me. If I had the time to isolate myself from normal life, there’s a chance I could make sense of the chemicals assaulting me every day. It was all new. Familiar aromas had subtleties, flavors, and hues that gave me a new appreciation for their essences. The aliens who crossed the frontier of my consciousness came, it seems, in infinite varieties; aromas from the sublime to the repulsive, and every shade between.
Now, when I took Archie for his evening walk, I had insight into his world. His twitching black nose sensed from afar the places he’d visited before. He learned the history of each geographic spot by placing that nose to the ground, and he freaked out from time to time at an unseen terror.
I was a gourmet trapped in the world’s best restaurant, and at the same time a worker confined to a meat rendering plant. I became an overindulgent olfactory overachiever. As much as I tried to dampen it, the sensory overload was taking its toll.
Chewing gum, strong breath mints, and dousing myself with Old Spice aftershave lotion brought respite by overwhelming my senses and erecting a short-lived sensory barricade. Scientists of smell called that desensitization or sensory exhaustion. This phenomenon explained why factory employees working in foul-smelling environments, eventually lost their ability to sense the chemicals that surrounded them.
Monday, after I saw the last patient, Beverly Ramirez stuck her head into my office and sat next to my desk. “What’s wrong, Arnie? You don’t appear to be all here.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know you. You focus on our patients, but lately I’m hearing that you’re inattentive, and that you’re not listening. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Maybe I’m not ready yet for full-time practice.”
Greg’s boss, and the owner of Crystal Pure Water, returned the next day. “I’m sorry, Doc, I can’t find anything wrong with the water.”
“I’m sorry too. It must be me.”
When Lois found me handling and smelling things around the house, I had no choice but to confess. “Something’s happening to me, Lo. It started after I recovered from the encephalitis, and it’s getting worse.”
“What is it, baby?”
“I could try to explain it in scientific terms, but to state it simply, my nose is running amok.”
She smiled. “That’s an interesting image.”
“No, I’m serious. We laughed with my perceptions about your cooking, and then we went through the water fiasco. I’m sure the water contains something that only I can detect.”
“Arnie?” she replied quietly.
“No, I’m not crazy…except for my nose, that is.”
“Are you sure that’s all that’s going on?” she paused. “A talented nose is a gift. You should be happy.”
“Parts of it are wonderful, for instance, last night when I came home, I knew you were horny. I sensed it.”
Lois blushed. “How did you know?”
“I’d like to say I smelled it, though that’s not what you want to say to any woman. It really wasn’t smell, but I sensed it, felt it, and it gave me an erection. Didn’t it surprise you when I came into the bedroom ready for love?”
“That’s never surprised me. I adore spontaneous lovemaking. It’s been a part of our lives. You have a talent for guess right about my moods.”
“I love it, too, but I don’t have to guess anymore, Lo. I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ruth Fischer had guarded the fantasy for as long as possible. This was Henry’s mid-life crisis, they’d weather it together and go on, but soon she accepted the undeniable reality, her marriage was over. Her emotions ranged from anguish to depression to anger. She hadn’t heard from Reggie Brand, but she remembered his comment when she last called.
“The investigation is going well. I’ll have something for you soon.”
Ruth lay in bed reading O Magazine, the popular guide for the woes of the modern woman, when Henry came home late again. He no longer bothered with excuses for his late nights, his unexplained weekend absences, and unusual business trips.
“We have to talk, Henry,” she said as he undressed and threw his clothes over the corner armchair.
“I’m too tired, Ruth. Can’t it wait?”
As he slipped into the bed, she caught the faint, but distinct scent of the perfume, Poison, not hers. They’d shared this bed for twenty years, and now she suddenly realized for the first time that Henry’s nearness violated her personal zone. She’d marveled at the comfort with which loved ones shared the unity of space. She remembered a college professor, Carlos Rios, a Spaniard, and how she found herself continually retreating as he violated the gap between them, intruding on her space. Although she finally understood his behavior as cultural, and not boorish, she couldn’t avoid her aversion and the desire to escape.
It’s exactly how I feel now, she thought, but Henry’s not innocent. Ruth threw the covers back and stood. “I won’t play this game any longer Henry. I’m no fool.”
“God, Ruth, not again. I’m beat. Can’t this wait?”
“If you think I’m blind or stupid, you’re out of your mind.”
“I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about,” he said staring at her across their bed and running his fingers over his thinning hair.
“You think I don’t know what’s going on with the late hours, the trips, the business meetings. Don’t insult me.”
“Don’t do this, Ruth. This is all in your head. Don’t make a mistake you’ll live to regret.”
She sat on the side of their bed, lowered her head into her lap, and wept.
He rounded the bed, sat beside her. “It’s okay Ruth. Everything will be fine. We’ll work this out.”
When he tried to rub her shoulders, Ruth reacted violently as if his touch carried an electric current. She stood, grabbed a tissue, blew her nose, and wiped her tears. Ruth faced Henry and with a calm, determined voice said, “Get out.”
“What?” he replied with disbelief.
“Get out,” she shouted and then continued, “and I mean right now. I won’t have you in this house.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“You’re hysterical. You’re not making sense. You’re my wife. This is my home. You can’t do this to me.”
He moved toward her. She grabbed the fireplace poker and held it between them. “Get out now or I’m calling the police.” She paused for a moment then added, “And the press too. I’d love to see you on the front page being escorted away in cuffs.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind. If you think I’m going to let you get away with this shit, you’re dumber than I thought.”
“Get out,” she screamed reaching for the phone and beginning to dial.
He grabbed his clothes from the armchair and shouted, “Have it your way you bitch. You’ll pay for this. I’m not through with you.”
He left slamming the door behind.
Ruth heard Henry dress, the front door slam, and his new Lexus start and drive away. The house was suddenly silent and although Ruth still trembled from emotion, she felt relief.
Henry checked into the Holiday Inn, but slept little. He dialed home, but when Ruth heard his voice, she hung up.
Henry’s mind was still reeling the previous night’s events. He knew their marriage was o
ver, but over on whose terms. Ruth’s initiative to take the first step embittered him. His mind chilled with fear as he considered the consequences of a messy divorce on his business, financial, and personal life.
“You look like hell,” said Brian Shands at their regular morning meeting. “Burning the candle at both ends again, Henry?”
“Fuck off, Brian. Ruth threw me out last night.”
Brian laughed, shook his head, and sneered. “Well, Henry, what did you expect? Ruth’s no dummy.”
“Look, Brian, my life is about to get complicated. This divorce could be messy, and I think we’ve done well enough to resume our normal practices. Horizon’s back on its feet, and our debt is nearly gone. I see no reason to take chances.”
“Take chances? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m saying.”
“Because you’ve fucked up your life, Henry, don’t go screwing with mine. We’re highly profitable, and I want to keep it that way.”
Who the hell does he think he is? Henry thought. “This is my business, Brian, and I call the shots.”
“If you think your life is complicated now, then try to mess with me, Henry. After all, this was your idea. You threatened me, my job, you coerced me, and you profited the most from our activities. That’s how it will play it, and that’s what will land you in jail.”
My idea? Henry thought. I’ve created a monster.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Irving Hodges smiled through a sunburst of wrinkles and brown age spots as Beatrice, his bride of fifty years, extended her arms in an invitation to their golden anniversary dance. Irv wore the charcoal-gray suit that he last wore for their daughter Sarah’s wedding twenty years before. It smelled of mothballs.
He was barely able to button the coat and after trying several times to tie his shoes, each time gasping for breath, Beatrice said, “Put your feet up here, old man.”
She wore a soft, muted floral dress extending to mid-calf and matching pumps. A heart-shaped locket on a delicate gold anchor chain adorned her neck. It held their wedding day pictures. When she opened it part way, the images in the photos beamed at each other like today, only fifty years ago. Bea never went anywhere without her locket.
Irv grumbled, “You know I can’t dance a damn,” as he moved onto the dance floor to the families’ applause.
“You were a spectacular dancer, Irv. Remember those tea dances at the Fairmont in San Francisco?”
“You must have me confused with someone else, darlin’. I always had three left feet.”
“Right,” she smiled. “Now you have three left feet and two artificial hips,” she hesitated. “Maybe I’m confused about a lot of other things too…could it be the Alzheimer’s?”
He frowned. “Don’t joke about that.”
As they danced awkwardly to The Anniversary Waltz’s three quarter beat, he looked into her dark brown eyes. “You’ve never looked prettier than you do tonight.”
“Maybe it’s time for new glasses.”
“You can’t take a compliment, darlin’…never could.”
She looked into his gray eyes, smiled, caressed his cheek, and pulled him close for a kiss as the audience applauded.
Their three daughters arranged and paid for a two-week Royal Caribbean cruise to Mexico with stops in Cabo San Lucas, Puerto Vallarte, Mazatlan, and Acapulco.
They slept late, ate too much, walked the promenade, and dozed on deck chairs in the salty air with the books they were reading open on their chests.
“When we get home, we’re going on a diet,” Beatrice said patting her expanding waistline.
“As long as you don’t wind up looking like those skinny, no-bottom, models.”
“No chance of that. My big hips ain’t never going away.”
When they returned home, her abdomen was more swollen. The scale showed a gain of twelve pounds.
Twelve pounds, how is that possible, she thought.
“Who’s next?” I asked.
“Beatrice Hodges, Arnie,” Beverly said. “She and Irving are in room three. They’re the cutest couple. They recently came back from celebrating with a fiftieth anniversary cruise.”
I knew them both from my early days in the East Bay when they ran Hodges Hardware in Berkeley. They were among the earliest people to join my practice and I delighted each time they came in to see me. Fortunately, their problems were routine.
Irv had only three real interests, Beatrice, work, and target shooting.
“Why don’t you come up to Chabot firing range with me, Doc? I’ve got a collection of handguns for target shooting.”
“I’m not much into guns, Irv.”
“Try it sometime, Doc. It’s a challenging sport taking patience and real skill.”
“I’ll think about it,” I’d said, knowing that this would never be for me.
Irving and Beatrice nearly went out of business when Home Depots and Wal-Marts came to town, but once they associated with Ace Hardware, their prices again became competitive and they survived. In addition, they had a solid advantage, Irv Hodges. Irv had been a carpenter and an electrician. When he ‘retired’ to open their own hardware store, Irv brought with him a vast fountain on knowledge that he shared with his customers, making shopping at Hodges Hardware a delight.
“What can I do for you, Doc?” he’d said that day ten years ago when we first met.
I showed him the Molley Bolts. “I need hollow wall anchors.”
“What do you need them for?”
“I promised Lois that I’d hang pictures today. I’d better come through.”
He pointed me toward the rack at the end of aisle one. “Use these Hellman screw anchors. They’re easy and they come in several sizes depending on the picture’s weight.”
Like the help he gave to thousands of others, I could count on Irving Hodges to put me on the right track. His tiny store usually had what I needed no matter how arcane.
The few times I went into Home Depot, it took me three times as long to find what I wanted and their advice was either absent or wrong.
I went to Hodge’s Hardware after Irv and Bea retired, but it was different now.
When I entered the examining room, I shook Irv’s hand and kissed Bea on the cheek. “A belated fiftieth anniversary congratulations to you both. How are you doing?”
“That’s why we’re here, Doc,” Irv said. “Bea’s stomach has gotten big and her weight’s up. I’m sure it can’t be from eating too much. I ate more than she did on the cruise, and my weight hasn’t changed at all.”
The moment I entered a room I performed a sensory survey (it had become an unconscious act by now) and detected mostly the routine scents; soaps, deodorants, lotions, foods, and fabric softeners. Among the medley of familiar aromas were several distinct and unknown ones.
After examining Bea’s heart and lungs, I came next to her distended abdomen. When I placed my hand on her belly, I knew it was full of fluid. I couldn’t feel an enlarged liver or any other organ or a mass. When I placed my stethoscope on her abdomen, she jumped and grimaced. “That’s ice cold.”
I smiled. “It’s not easy to keep it that way, Bea.”
The amount of abdominal fluid alarmed me. Her health history and her examination failed to show heart, liver, or kidney disease, the common explanations for the fluid. Beyond that triad, was an array of serious and frequently fatal illnesses.
“Have a seat outside, Arthur. I need to do a vaginal examination.”
Irv frowned. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”
Beatrice smiled. “It’s nothing, sweetie…had one or two before.”
I returned to the examining room after Beverly draped Beatrice and put her up in the cold stainless steel stirrups. She’d spread her legs wide in preparation for the examination. While a vaginal examination meant many things to women, to most it was uncomfortable and embarrassing.
I donned my gloves and approached the table. “This won’t take
but a few minutes.”
Beatrice spread her legs farther apart. “No problem, Doc. Get to it.”
“If I hurt you, you’ll let me know. Pain’s not necessary.”
Her vaginal examination was normal. I took several Pap samples and then went on to the bimanual examination where I felt for the contents of the pelvis through the vagina and the abdominal wall. The large amount of fluid in her abdomen made the examination difficult and Beatrice grunted several times as I struggled to examine her.
“I’m sorry. Hold on for a few minutes more.”
Beatrice smiled. “It’s okay, Doc. Do what you need to do. Just don’t get lost in there.”
I couldn’t feel her uterus, not surprising at her age, but I felt fullness in the right side of her pelvis. My pulse raced. Maybe it was only an ovarian cyst, I thought in denial.
“I feel something on the right side, Beatrice, but with so much fluid, I’m not sure. I’m ordering a pelvic ultrasound examination and I need to remove a small amount of fluid from your abdomen for analysis.”
Two days later, I stared at the reports. The ultrasound revealed a mass on Beatrice’s right ovary, and the fluid analysis showed cancer cells. Beatrice had ovarian cancer.
Chapter Thirty
Soon, I began to indulge my newly expanding olfactory skill by seeking out those places offering the greatest sensory satisfaction.
I was on my way home from making rounds Sunday morning when I suddenly found myself at the bakery, drawn there by its pungently sweet aromas emanating from fresh baked breads, cakes, and cookies. I couldn’t recall driving there.
I soaked up the aromas, in a trance-like state, until Herbie, the baker, interrupted. “What can I get for you, Dr. Roth?”
How could I choose from this world of infinite delights?
I waved my arm in an arc. “Pack it all up for me, Herbie. I’m taking it home.”
Or I was at the Deli, Italian or kosher, the hedonistic havens erupting with streams of scent, and sensory satisfaction appropriate to my status as a sensual savant of smell.
The Sixth Sense (Brier Hospital Series Book 3) Page 13
