by Joan Reeves
"Now, Jen," she'd said over the lunch that they'd finally shared today, "you need something like this gala to make you forget your problems."
Jennifer had laid her fork down. "Alva, would you give it a rest? I don't have any problems. Honestly." She hadn't told Alva about Matt. And she wasn't going to. Matt was her little secret.
"Then you're stressed out, or burned out. Which is it? You're the psychologist."
Jennifer crossed her arms and sighed in exasperation. "If you're going to keep ragging on me, I'm not going to have lunch with you anymore."
Alva dipped a grilled shrimp into a small crock of clarified butter. How could the woman eat like that and never gain an ounce, Jennifer wondered. Alva popped the shrimp into her mouth and chewed, her laughing brown eyes closing in pleasure. After she'd swallowed she said, "Jen, honey, have you looked in a mirror lately?"
"Sure. About thirty minutes ago when I freshened my lipstick."
"No. I mean, really looked? You look as if a smile would crack your face. You're way too serious. All you talk about is work. All you do is work. When was the last time you got laid?"
"Shhh!" Jennifer looked around. "That's none of your business."
"Maybe not," Alva lowered her voice, "but my point is that you hardly ever have fun any more. You haven't had a date in months. Getting you to have lunch with me almost requires an act of Congress."
"As usual, you're exaggerating." Jennifer squirmed in the bentwood chair.
"Oh, yeah? Well, tell me, Dr. Monroe, what do you plan to do tonight? It's Saturday. Date night for singles. Tell me about your plans for a wild evening."
Jennifer's lips compressed. She stared stonily at her friend.
"Oh, so you've clammed up, huh?" Alva blotted her lips with the pale blue napkin. "Let me guess. You're going to go home and clean your condo. Then take a shower and prepare dinner. Probably a salad or maybe just a bowl of cereal. Then you'll slip into something comfortable like those awful flannel pajamas your mother gave you for Christmas. Nuke a bag of popcorn and curl up on the couch in front of the television set to watch one of those old movies you're so fond of."
"What's wrong with that?" Jennifer asked, uncomfortable at Alva's correct assessment.
"Nothing if it's something you do every now and then, but every Saturday night? And Friday nights. In fact, you do practically the same thing every night of the week."
Jennifer remained silent. What could she say? Alva was right.
"What's the movie tonight, Jen? Let me guess. It Happened One Night? No, wait, don't tell me. You're going to cry along to Casablanca again. Or maybe something a little more contemporary like that old Christopher Reeve movie Somewhere in Time?
Jennifer pushed her plate away. She'd lost her appetite. "It's Notorious if you must know."
"Oh, I love that one, too. Cary Grant is too gorgeous for words. He could have jumped my bones any time."
"So if you like it then I've got your permission to watch it?" Jennifer asked sourly.
"No, you do not. Jen, you're letting life pass you by. You've resigned from the battle of the sexes before firing a shot. You need to get in there, mix, mingle, take no prisoners."
"Alva, I'm not you. Men don't bump into lamp posts when they see me walk down the street. You know I don't like the club scene. If that's where I have to go to meet eligible men then I'll pass. Besides, I'm too tired at the end of the day to play the dating game."
"But don't you ever feel the need for some guy in your life? Someone to hold your hand when you walk down the street or to rub your feet at the end of a long day?" She grinned wickedly. "Or some other part of your anatomy?"
"Sure I do."
"So what do you do when that need comes over you?"
"Well, I catch up on the professional journals I haven't read, or I rearrange the furniture. Something. Anything to take my mind off the situation."
"Come on, Jen. Join the human race. Have a little fun. Forget the medical journals. Read a sexy book. Kick up your heels a little."
"Look, if the purpose of all this is to talk me into going to the gala tonight, ease up. You win. I'll go. I'll go," she grumbled.
Alva beamed. Two men walking by bumped into each other as they stared at the lovely young woman. Jennifer couldn't help but grin at the reaction that Alva too often incited with her heart-shaped face and perfect features, not to mention the mass of dark brown spiral curls tumbling down Alva's back.
"Great. That wasn't as hard as I thought it would be."
"You're a mean, spiteful woman, Alva Hernandez," Jennifer griped.
"Come on, Jen. Don't be a sore loser. After all, you should go. You support the women's shelter. Heavens! You spend practically every Wednesday evening there. If it'll make you feel any better, don't think of it as fun," she added sarcastically. "Think of it as part of the job."
Jennifer made a face at her. "Thanks loads."
"Hey, I'll be there. It'll be fun. We haven't been to a party in a long time. Uh, are you going to wear that gray thing you always wear to formal events?"
Jennifer rolled her eyes. "I guess you're going to start ragging on my clothes now. There's nothing wrong with my gray silk."
"Not a thing that a package of red dye wouldn't cure," Alva muttered.
"Alva, why don't you go expose yourself to laryngitis or something?"
"Oh, all right. The gown wouldn't be bad at all if you'd take the jacket off. I'll shut up about it. I'm just glad you'll go. I'll even set you up with a date for tonight if you want."
"Oh, no!" Jennifer held up both hands in protest. "That's where I draw the line. I told you after that blind date you provided me with for New Year's Eve that I made a resolution. No more blind dates."
"You said Frank Vidor was really nice," Alva protested.
"He was. After I got him off the dance floor. Goodness, Alva, when you said my date was a professional athlete, it never occurred to me that he'd be a seven foot tall basketball player. Who loved to slow dance! You have no idea what an experience that was."
"So he was a little tall."
"A little tall? I felt like one of the munchkins in the Wizard of Oz." She smiled. "It was really too bad because he had such a warm sense of humor. And that's something that always appeals to me. If he just hadn't been quite so tall."
"You're too picky, Jen." Alva had laughed then. The musical sound seemed to attract the attention of every man in the room. Jennifer had watched as the man dining at the next table had strolled over and, after a few moments of soft conversation with Alva, had handed her his phone number.
Jennifer sighed and spread the palm fronds a little wider. That was always the way it was when she went out with Alva. Her friend never seemed to have a problem meeting men or knowing what to do with them once she met them. In fact, she thought, Alva never seemed to have problems at all. Not like Jennifer had, at least.
Right now, Jennifer's number one problem was Matt Penrose. The man seemed to have laid siege to her thoughts. She had to get her mind off him. Her long sigh disturbed the wispy palm fronds. It was a little hard to do that when he stood right across the room from her.
Why hadn't she followed her first instinct and stayed home? Right now, she could be curled up on her comfy, overstuffed sofa with a big bowl of hot, salty popcorn. What was wrong with that? Darn it. This wasn't fair. After the week she'd had, she deserved the fun that Alva had tried to convince her she'd have. The blonde with Matt seemed to be having a good time.
The woman hung on every word Matt spoke. Certain men ought to be barred from wearing tuxedos, Jennifer groused silently. He looked far too desirable in the classic black suit. Come to think of it, he looked as good as Cary Grant had in Notorious. Sophisticated, handsome, desirable.
Desirable? No, absolutely not. What are you thinking of, Jennifer Monroe? she demanded silently. She couldn't possibly be admiring the snake. Could she? The headache that had threatened when she'd begun dressing for the charity ball burst into full flower.
Maybe she
needed another vacation, she thought, rubbing her throbbing temples. Yes, another tropical vacation at the same resort as last summer where all she had to do was lay in the sun and drink Margaritas and watch the sexy resort boys in their bikini briefs as they coerced the sunburned guests into competing in silly contests. She hadn't been plagued with headaches at all that week.
Of course, Matt's persistent phone calls to her office were enough to give anyone a headache. The man was impossible, and nothing seemed to deter him from wanting to talk with her. Jennifer suspected she had become something of a challenge to him. Even someone as dense as concrete would have gotten the message that she did not want his medical services.
When Matt suddenly looked straight at her, Jennifer released the stiff green fronds and jumped back. The palm rustled and quivered. Her heart beat a little faster as she sent a prayer heavenward that he hadn't seen her. He couldn't know she was here. Could he?
Matt Penrose had immediately seen and recognized the woman hiding behind the twelve foot tall potted palm at the corner of the ballroom. He hadn't figured out how to approach her yet. He'd decided after her failure to return his calls that she really did have some kind of problem with seeing a male doctor.
He could accept that. In fact, he'd already rescheduled her appointment for a check up so she could see Sylvia. He just needed to talk to her and tell her that.
"Matthew, are you listening?" The enchanting blonde next to him frowned, but not too severely, he thought, lest it cause wrinkles on her perfect forehead.
"Sorry, Deirdre. What were you saying about Italy?"
As soon as she began to chatter again about her search for the perfect amber pendant or some such nonsense, he tuned her out again. Why he'd let his sister talk him into attending this function, he didn't know. It should be possible to support something as worthwhile as the women's shelter without having to put on a monkey suit to do so, he thought, running his finger beneath the burgundy bow tie.
He tried to study Jennifer Monroe without her being aware of his appraisal. The poor woman had problems. How did one go about telling a therapist that she needed a therapist?
Perhaps he should inquire and make a list of doctors who could treat her. Then when he next saw her, he could give her the list with a quiet suggestion to find someone she could talk to.
In the meantime, he needed to tell her to come in to see Sylvia next week. And that would be a great excuse to get away from the talkative Deirdre What's Her Name who'd snagged him as soon as he'd walked in tonight.
"Excuse me, Deirdre, but I see a colleague I need to speak with. It's been a pleasure meeting you." He smiled but she didn't return his smile. In fact, she looked positively piqued.
"Over here," he called to one of the many waiters plying the crowd with trays of champagne.
Jennifer risked a glance through the still quaking foliage and caught her breath. Matt had stopped a passing waiter and lifted two champagne flutes from the tray. She gasped. Oh, no. He was coming this way. Hurriedly, she turned her back and acted as if the painting on the wall behind her were fascinating.
"I thought I recognized you between the greenery," Matt said.
Jennifer glanced over her shoulder as nonchalantly as she could considering her pulse rate. "Oh, Doctor . . . Penrose, wasn't it?"
Matt grinned. "Was and is. Here." He handed her one of the glasses. "You look thirsty."
Jennifer accepted the glass gratefully. She smiled brightly. "Thanks." At least holding it would keep her hands from shaking.
"You're welcome." Matt sipped the bubbly and studied her over the rim. She looked as repressed as he suspected she was. Most of the women in here had dressed in expensive gowns that bared their arms, shoulders, backs, and breasts. But not Jennifer Monroe. She had on a tube of gray silk that touched the floor. Over that was a matching boxy jacket with dozens of tiny buttons in looped buttonholes.
There wasn't anything wrong with the outfit but there wasn't anything right either, he thought. It was the perfect ensemble for a woman who didn't want to draw attention to her feminine attributes.
Jennifer turned back to look at the painting, hoping he would believe she'd been back here studying the atrocious streaks of oil paint on a jet black canvas. She tilted her head to the side. When he spoke, she heard the amusement in his voice.
"What do you think the artist was trying to say?"
She choked back a laugh. This was art? More than anything Jennifer wanted to tell him she'd seen better art in a kindergarten class. At least five-year-old finger painters had emotion in their art. "I don't know." She studied the putrid green circle with the black spot in the center. "What do you think?"
Matt took a sip. "I'd say he was making a statement about the commercialization of art in contemporary America."
"Really?" Jennifer asked, impressed despite herself. "What makes you think that?"
"I know the artist. He was commissioned to deliver a five thousand dollar painting." He waved his hand. "There it is."
"No, Dr. Penrose!"
"Yes, Dr. Monroe."
Silence fell between them. Jennifer found herself sipping her champagne in unison with him. Their eyes caught and held. She blushed.
"I didn't know you supported the shelter, Dr. Penrose," she said. Her voice sounded weak to her own ears.
"I worked at a similar one in Houston when my practice was in the Conroe area. I'm glad to be a part of this. You too, I guess, huh?"
She nodded, wishing he'd just go away before she yielded to her admiration for him. He had a strange effect on her respiration.
The silence between them seemed fraught with tension. She searched for something to say. "Uh, what made you move your practice to Dallas?"
"My parents live in Plano. So does my sister Patricia. My dad had a heart attack last year so I decided I should be closer to home."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is he all right now?"
"Yeah, thanks. I think he's going to be fine. But when it happened, I realized how little I'd seen them the last few years even though we were only a couple hundred miles apart. They're not getting any younger. So I was thinking along those lines when a series of, I guess you could say serendipitous, events happened."
Jennifer lifted her eyebrows, unable to resist saying, "Serendipitous events. This sounds interesting."
He grinned. "Well, that's how I choose to look at them. You see, my office was outside Conroe in a little town that was rapidly dying. I'd wanted the experience of being a country doctor where I did everything from sewing up a farmer that got kicked by a cow to delivering babies."
"But isn't that a waste for a doctor who has a specialty in obstetrics and gynecology?"
He shrugged. The shoulders of the tuxedo coat tightened. "I didn't think so at the time. It was what I'd always wanted to do, ever since I'd decided to be a doctor. You see, my grandfather was a country doctor. Unfortunately, I learned that when you're a country doctor, you're always on call. Hence the never seeing my parents. The only thing that kept me there as long as I stayed was that I didn't want to leave the people without access to a local doctor."
"But Conroe has a good hospital I'm sure, and Houston is only a short distance farther south, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but even Conroe can be a long drive for an eighty-four year old farmer in a three-speed standard shift pickup that's nearly as old as he is."
She nodded. "I hadn't thought about it that way. So how did you get free?"
"It turned out to be easier than I thought. A new government-subsidized clinic was built right outside of town. It was staffed mostly by personnel trying to escape big city life. It was a tough decision, but I declined a position on staff. Sylvia and I were med school buddies, and we'd stayed in touch. We'd often kicked around the idea about me joining her in practice. She's married and wants more free time too. So I finally decided to just do it. Like the Nike commercial says."
Jennifer wished she didn't admire his courage quite so much. "It takes a lot of guts to make su
ch a major change like that. Any regrets?"
"Well, only one so far."
"What's that?"
"I seem to have frightened away one of Sylvia's patients."
"Oh, well, I'm sure that's not true." Jennifer was afraid she knew what was coming. "Look, it's been nice chatting with you." She started to edge away.
"Well I'm glad you think so, Dr. Monroe. Especially since I've been trying to reach you by phone since you left so, shall we say, precipitously, the other day."
"I do apologize, but it's been a frantic week. I haven't had a moment to call my own." In truth, her appointments this week had been lighter than normal. "If you'll excuse me? I need to find my friend." Jennifer frantically looked around for Alva.
"I think we should talk, Dr. Monroe."
Jennifer noticed that when he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Oh, no. I don't want to keep you any longer from your date."
He shook his head. "I'm not with a date."
"But what about the blonde you were talking with, I mean," Jennifer's voice trailed off. Oops. Hot color stained her cheeks.
"Oh, you saw me earlier, did you?" He grinned. "I met her when I arrived tonight. I'm not attached. How about you?"
Jennifer thought about lying but figured the way her luck was running, she'd be caught in a whopper. "No."
"I didn't think so. Now let's find a quiet corner where we won't be disturbed." He took her elbow.
"Uh, I think I need to make a stop by the ladies room first," she said.
"Now, Dr. Monroe. You wouldn't be thinking of ditching me again, would you?"
"No, of course, not," she said indignantly. "I suppose I can powder my nose later," she grumbled, allowing him to guide her to one of the small tables set up next to the dance floor.
Matt pulled out one of the chairs and waited while she sank into it. He stood for a moment looking at her. He couldn't believe that a woman of her professional standing could have such a sexual hangup. But what else could account for her bizarre behavior? He pulled the other chair close to her and sat.
"Dr. Monroe, let's be honest with each other. I think I know what your problem is."
"You do?" Jennifer asked, a catch in her voice. He'd remembered!
