“Why Randy?"
Mary Lou smiled. “I am assuming you want Randy to be the father."
“Of course."
“We would need to know that his sperm are capable of fertilizing your eggs."
“Well, I'm sure he's all right. Hell, I can tell you from experience that he produces it in great quantity,” Jo laughed.
“The people at the Wake Forest University Medical School in Winston-Salem, have considerable experience with in-vitro fertilization. They have been at it since the late seventies. Would you like for me to arrange an appointment for you?"
“I would like to know something about the procedure first,” Jo replied.
“It's not my specialty, of course, but I can give you a thumbnail sketch. They will examine your eggs and, if necessary, they will use medication or hormone injections to stimulate egg production. At the optimal time, they will harvest eggs from your ovaries. In the laboratory, specialists combine your eggs and Randy's sperm. A few days later, they transfer the resulting embryo to your uterus. The pregnancy then should proceed normally, but I will want to keep a very careful check on your progress."
“It sounds so simple, but my guess is that it isn't."
“From your point of view it is fairly simple. There is, of course, some discomfort associated with the harvesting of your eggs and with the implantation of the embryo. The complicated part is the laboratory work. In recent years, that part of the procedure has improved considerably. They now treat the sperm to increase fertilization capability and implant a single sperm in the healthy egg, guaranteeing success. There have been so many advancements in the field of in-vitro fertilization that you could chose to have twins, triplets, or even more—but I certainly don't advise that. You need to know that occasionally multiple births occur unintentionally."
“It's all so ... so clinical,” Jo said.
“And not nearly as much fun as the old fashioned way,” Mary Lou joked.
“What does all this cost? It sounds expensive."
“I don't know, but I can get that information for you when I call for an appointment. In the meantime, you should check with your health care provider. Not all companies will pay for IVF."
“I'll do that,” Jo said as she stood up and extended her hand. “Go ahead and make the appointment for me."
“Jo,” Mary Lou said as she stood and grasped Jo's hand. “It's none of my business, but I am curious as to why, all of a sudden, you are so determined to have a baby."
“You're not going to like my answer."
“Try me."
“I really like Randy's mother. She wants grandchildren badly. Randy's her only child and therefore her only hope."
“So you're doing this for Randy and his mother."
“Yes, but don't get the idea that Randy is pressuring me. He isn't. Neither of us is too keen about changing dirty diapers."
Mary Lou laughed and wrinkled her nose.
“It's for me too. I'm not the same person I was when I had my tubes tied."
“If you were talking to my husband,” Mary Lou said with a grin on her face, “he would quickly point out that none of us are the same person today that we were yesterday."
“Another reason that I want the baby is to lure Randy's mother to move in with us. She's in a nursing home in Maryland. She doesn't belong there and she's miserable."
“I take it you have invited her and she declined?"
“Yes. She has agreed to visit us in the spring, but I think she just doesn't want to horn in on Randy and me. She doesn't fully realize how much I honestly want her to live with us. I think that if we have a baby for her to help look after it will make a difference. Of course, she also said something about not wanting to leave her doctor."
“I can't blame her for that. The patient-doctor relationship is very important, especially for senior citizens. If Randy's mother is fortunate enough to have confidence in a specialist in geriatrics, she should think long and hard before moving away."
“Oh, Dr. Wood is not a gerontologist—she's a GP. She's a black lady who couldn't find a suitable position. Apparently she's just working at the home until something opens up for her."
“What did you say her name is?” Mary Lou asked with obvious renewed interest.
“Are you looking for someone to help in the clinic?"
“I sure am. I haven't had any success yet in finding a doctor interested in a small town practice, but if I don't get some help soon, I think Mack may leave me."
Jo noticed there was neither a smile on the doctor's face nor mirth in her voice. “I have her phone number in here somewhere,” Jo said as she dug into her large purse. “Her name is Angela Wood. I haven't met her, but she sounds nice over the telephone.” Jo unfolded a torn bit of yellow paper. “Here it is, Dr. McGee."
Mary Lou copied the name and telephone number on her pad. “You say you talked with her on the telephone?"
“Yes. Randy's mother insists she does not belong in the health care unit. Randy and I could not get a satisfactory answer out of the nurses, so I called Dr. Wood to get the straight dope."
“And?"
“Dr. Wood agrees that Mrs. Nickels does not need to be in the health care unit, but she does need to be somewhat supervised. Mrs. Nickels is subject to mini-strokes, during which she may momentarily lose her balance or even consciousness. Dr. Wood says its not uncommon as people grow older and that it is unlikely to be life threatening. The home's insistence that she live in the health care unit has to do with liability. If she were to continue to live alone in one of the rental apartments and injured herself in a fall, the home, knowing of her condition, would be subject to a liability suit."
“The new American past-time—sue the bastard,” Mary Lou said, shaking her head. “Liability insurance costs me a fortune and I have no choice but to pass it on to my patients. Listen, I thank you for providing Dr. Wood's telephone number. I'll call her before the day is out. If I can convince her to join my practice, it may provide just the incentive Randy's mother needs to make the move to Dot."
Jo checked her watch as she waited for the elevator. I'm late, but not much, she thought. Thank goodness the clinic and our new offices are in the same building.
Randy and the three prospective editors were sitting in the freshly furnished office of the Dollar Publishing Company. Jo thought the job applicants were surely the most homely looking trio God ever created.
“I'm sorry I'm late, folks,” she said. “I had a doctor's appointment and she was running behind schedule."
“Jo, let me introduce you to Isabel Jacobson, Albert Blakely, and Arthur Turner. Lady and gentlemen, this is my bride, Jo Nickels."
Everybody shook hands and, as they sat down, Jo asked, “How was your flight?"
“Frightening,” Isabel laughed. “The plane was on schedule and arrived in Charlotte ahead of schedule. That's never happened to me before."
Randy coughed, indicating he wanted to end the small talk. “Jo, I've given these good people the grand tour of Dot and we were just beginning to look at the approved budget."
“What do you think of our fair town?” Jo asked.
“Bucolic,” replied Turner.
Responding to the blank look on Jo's face, Blakely added with an ingratiating smile, “It's not a curse word, Mrs. Nickels. It means rustic, pastoral, uncomplicated. Dot is a far cry from New York City."
“I am amazed at the prices down here,” Isabel said. “We ordered a fabulous lunch at Dot's Diner for less than five dollars, and Randy showed us some lovely new homes for under three hundred thousand."
“First time I ever ate southern fried chicken,” chipped in Albert Blakely.
“Me too,” laughed Turner, “but it sure as hell won't be the last."
For four hours the group pored over the budget, discussed goals and concepts and hammered out a mission statement that looked good on paper but meant nothing in reality.
After exchanging glances with Jo, Randy at last said, “Folks, this
meeting has lasted so long that we must skip supper in order to make your flight back to New York. As far as Jo and I are concerned, you are the people we want working on our team. I'm sorry you think our salary offer is too low. It's the best we can do, and I think it is a damn good offer. As Miss Jacobson pointed out earlier, the cost of living is much lower in Dot than in New York City. I hope that all of you decide to accept our offer, but I must ask for your decision within one week. Now, we'd better get on our way to the airport."
As the group left the office Jo whispered to Randy that she was going to have some of that southern fried chicken at Dot's Diner and would find a way home.
Jo waved goodbye to the departing car and went to the diner. She nodded to Mary Lou and Mack as she made her way to the only available booth. She wondered who the couple was who always seemed to occupy the back booth. They seemed so much in love, although the man was obviously much older than the woman. After placing her order, Mary Lou came to her table.
“I called Angela Wood,” Mary Lou said. “She's definitely interested in my offer. She has already faxed me her resume. I am very impressed. She's coming to Dot next week to look us over. I don't know how I can ever thank you."
“I do,” Jo replied as Dottie arrived with the chicken special. “You can give me a ride home. Someday Randy and I are going to have to buy a second car."
“I wish I could,” Mary Lou replied, “but I have to go back to the clinic. Mack loves the company of beautiful women, Jo. He'll give you a lift."
Jo smiled. “I appreciate it,” she said. She watched Mary Lou return to her table and smiled again. I'll bet he would like to give me a lift, she thought as she remembered how the preacher looked down her blouse when she and Randy met with him for marriage counseling, and how he rubbed against her buttocks as they were leaving. I'll bet he'd love to give me a ride, all right, but not the kind Mary Lou has in mind. Somebody ought to teach that pious leech a lesson.
When Mack pulled up in front of the Nickels’ home, Jo unfastened her seatbelt, but did not open the car door. “Mack,” she said placing her hand on his thigh. “Randy's in Charlotte—won't be back for at least an hour. I remember quite well how attracted you were to my boobs and butt when Randy and I were in your office for marriage counseling. You enjoyed a view of my crotch, too. If you care to come in for a few minutes, I'll give you a better view."
“Jo!” he said, using the most sanctimonious tone of voice he could muster.
She could sense his body trembling. “Hey, I know you are a preacher man,” she continued as she moved her hand closer to his groin, “but you're a man first.” She let her fingers play with his testicles and pressed the heel of her hand against the erection she knew she would find.
“Jo, don't,” he said. It had been weeks since he enjoyed Penny's delightful young body and he had lost count of the time since Mary Lou last accommodated him.
“There's nothing to worry about,” Jo cooed. “My tubes are tied and I don't have any sexually transmitted diseases."
“It's a wonderful offer, but I just can't. You know that."
She gazed into his eyes with her experienced, provocative expression and slowly unbuttoned and pulled apart her coat. Still holding his eyes locked with hers, she licked her lips. Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse. She watched his eyes lower to her bosom. Using both hands, she opened the blouse. “Wouldn't you love to have your hands on these? Wouldn't you enjoy a taste?"
“Oh, God, Jo. You are a beautiful woman, but I just can't do this."
“What if I were to cry rape?"
“But ... but that would not be true."
“It would be my word against yours. Who do you think people would believe?” She grasped his penis under his pants and began to move her hand vigorously. He moaned and reached for her breasts. Suddenly she squeezed his testicles with all her strength, using both hands. He screamed and fought her off.
She opened the door and got out. “Next time think twice about feeling up another man's fiancé with your eyes,” she said and she slammed the car door shut.
Although he was in pain, he scrambled out of the car and limped after her. “Jo, please ... wait."
She stopped and faced him.
“I'm sorry. I'm guilty s charged, but you are not innocent. You offered me a gift that day and I accepted it. My behavior was inappropriate. I apologize."
She searched his eyes and decided he was sincere. “I was testing you, Mack, and you failed the test."
“Please forgive me, Jo."
She smiled. “Go thy way and sin no more."
Chapter Seventeen
Penny sat at the kitchen table eating a peanut butter sandwich. It was not turning out to be a good day. She missed Billy. For two days, he had been trying to take care of his mother who was sick with a cold. “I got the first good night's sleep last night since I let Billy in my bed,” she laughed out loud.
She thought of Mack's visit the previous night. Full of apologies and remorse, she thought. Who needs him? Besides—Billy's bigger.
She shook her head and stirred breadcrumbs with her finger. “I can't believe I'm pregnant.” She slammed her open hand onto the table. “I peed all over myself twice but both of those damn home pregnancy tests were positive. I wonder if it was Mack or Billy? God, I hope it wasn't Billy.” She laughed at herself and shrugged. “Doesn't matter. I'm not going to have the little bastard—no way."
She folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them, but sleep would not come. She rinsed the milk residue from her glass and sighed. For three hours she had again searched the attic for the mysterious green box, but it just was not there. She spent another two hours working in the greenhouses, but she wasn't even close to being finished. Damn, I miss Billy, she thought as she headed back to the plastic structures.
How the hell should I know which of these cucumbers to pick and which to let grow a little larger? she asked herself. She decided to just pick the largest ones, and ask Billy about it when he returned. “Billy Morgan, my teacher,” she giggled. By the time she came to the end of the first row, one bushel-basket was full and she started a second.
There must be an easier way to make a living, she thought as she worked her way up the second row. Of course, there's nothing to it when Billy's here. Maybe I should make his mother a pot of chicken soup to speed up the healing process. She chuckled as she recalled her mother forcing chicken soup down her throat every time she got the sniffles when she was a child.
She bent over to move the basket forward. Her left breast popped out of the halter. She laughed. “Shame you didn't have an audience,” she said to the breast as she stuffed it back inside her skimpy cotton top. “Wait a damn minute,” she said as she continued to look at her breast. “Maybe there is an easier way to make a living. Mack doesn't know I've been screwing Billy. He'll think the kid is his. Hell, it probably is. He feels so guilty about having sex with me he'll pay, and pay dearly, to keep this little matter a secret.” She smiled broadly and continued picking the phallic shaped vegetables.
“Hello. Anybody home?"
She did not recognize the baritone voice. “Back here,” she answered.
The town's richest citizen appeared at the upper end of the row and approached her wearing a big smile on his face. He shifted the cake tin he was carrying to his left hand and extended his right. “You probably don't remember me,” he said. “I'm Tim Dollar."
“Of course I remember you,” she said. “Please forgive the way I'm dressed. I wasn't expecting company. I know its cold outside, but I have to keep these greenhouses at seventy-eight degrees. It gets pretty warm when you're picking vegetables."
“You look great to me,” Tim replied. He continued to smile as he studied the goddess before him—fair skin with just a few freckles on her face, neck and arms; sneakers; cutoff jeans that were at least one size too small; exposed navel; rounded little tummy dropping from just below the navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of the jeans; and a halter top
that was several sizes too small. He offered her the container. “Sandy wanted you to have one of our special chocolate cakes."
“Why, thank you,” she said, accepting the tin and lifting its top. “It looks delicious. Did Sandy bake it?"
Tim laughed. “Hell no. Our housekeeper baked it. I'm afraid Sandy doesn't do anything domestic anymore, what with her reading, writing, business interests and the baby."
Penny sat the cake on the workbench at the back of the greenhouse.
“Old Amos did himself proud when he created his arboretum,” Tim commented as he looked over the impressive structure.
“His what?” she asked as she retraced her steps.
“Arboretum,” Tim laughed. “It's a fancy word Amos brought back from North Carolina State University when he was researching the project.” He picked a couple of cucumbers and dropped them into the basket. “Tough work for a delicate young lady, isn't it?” he asked when she returned.
“Not when Billy's here,” she laughed.
“Billy?"
“Billy Morgan."
“I don't believe I know..."
“Sure you do. Billy is the teenager who used to wander around town all day, peeing wherever he happened to be when the need arose."
Tim laughed. “And worse than that,” he said. “You have that retarded boy working for you?"
“I sure do, and he's not as retarded as you think. I'm teaching him to read and he's learning so fast I can hardly believe it. I have to help him a little, but he's gotten to the point where he can pretty much read the daily comics himself. A couple of weeks ago I found some books by George Eliot in Uncle Amos’ study. I started reading Silas Marner. Billy wanted me to read it to him, so each night we spend an hour or so at it. Sometimes I see Billy with the book trying to read it himself. I'm proud of him."
“You should be, and proud of yourself too,” Tim said as he continued to help with the cucumber harvesting. “I would never have thought Billy capable of learning to read. Sandy is the one who got everyone in Dot interested in reading the classics through her newspaper column. Still, it surprises me a little that Amos was a member of her book club."
Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Page 65
