There Are No Men

by Carol Maloney Scott

  Ron is wearing his UPS uniform and now I see his truck parked on the other side of the lot. I’m going to start wearing a disguise when I go out alone.

  I can’t help but sigh again. “Get in.” I open the passenger side door and Ron tries to wedge his huge body into my little car.

  “Damn, these Japanese cars really don’t have any room. But I guess you never did need much room, right Claire?”

  I hope he gets to the point quickly.

  He takes my silence as an invitation to continue. “It was weird seeing you out the other night, but then I can’t believe it’s never happened. I bet you’re out all the time. How’s life been treating you? You look a little tired.”

  I am seething already. He always said I looked tired, when what he really meant is that I look like crap. “I’ve been busy, which is why I am choking this down for lunch.” I motion to my wrappers and bucket of Coke.

  “Don’t get testy. I just wanted to tell you a little more about Natasha.”

  “Is that really necessary? I wish you all the best with her. She seemed nice.” I crumble up all my wrappers and napkins, shove them into the bag, and toss them in the backseat for now.

  “She said nice things about you, too. Here’s the thing. She’s pregnant.” I feel all of the color drain out of my face. “I wanted you to find out from me and not some random person.”

  I tell him how I met Rhonda in the doctor’s office and she told me all about Natasha. I can’t resist telling him that she thinks she’s a mail order bride.

  “Are you shittin’ me? What a nut. I swear I can’t believe Jeff is still married to her. She must weigh three hundred pounds by now.” He shakes his head in disgust.

  My weight, or should I say lack of weight, was one of Ron’s favorite things about me. I wince at his comment as I try to ignore his expanding girth filling up the entire circumference of the passenger seat. “Congratulations.” I look away and pretend I’m interested in the people walking into McDonald’s. Of course, as if on cue, a woman holding an adorable baby in an insanely cute hat gets out of her car.

  “Claire, I’m sorry about what happened with us—”

  “Ron, please don’t do this again. It’s over. Let it go.”

  He sits back in the seat and stares ahead. “I know I didn’t handle things well. I just felt like having a baby was all you cared about. My therapist says you probably never really wanted me, and we’re better off apart.”

  “You have a therapist?” I tried countless times to get him to come to counseling with me after the pregnancy losses and the hysterectomy.

  “You don’t know everything about me, Claire. But you’re right, it’s in the past, and I’m sure you’re meeting lots of nice guys now. Ones who are better for you than I ever was.”

  I tell him about Nathan.

  “Wow, a doctor! Your parents will be excited about that. I hope it works out for you. And hey, you could always adopt.” Ron turns back to me with a weak smile.

  My stomach lurches and I respond, “I really need to get going, Ron. Good luck with the baby, and tell Natasha I said congratulations.”

  “I’m going, Claire. Take care of yourself.” I turn away before he gets any ideas about hugs or pecks on the cheek. I also don’t want him to see my eyes.

  He gets out of the car and heads back to his truck. I almost take out a couple of old ladies backing up, and floor it out of the parking lot. In Target, I can barely remember what I came to buy, and when I pass the baby section I can no longer hold in my tears. I run to the ladies’ room, picturing Ron holding his baby with a smiling Natasha.

  Later in the afternoon I’m sorting through e-mails, and I can’t concentrate. Ron is right—I didn’t love him enough. I was young and afraid, and I wanted my life to be settled. So I settled. Maybe I was punished for that, but if Ron and I were still together we wouldn’t be happy, even if I had all the babies I wanted. It just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I should call him and apologize, but I won’t. No matter what, he’s still an asshole.

  Nathan e-mailed me—he’s working at the hospital closer to my house tomorrow and he will come by and pick me up. Hmm, that’s different. I write my response and tell him I’m looking forward to seeing him. Then I erase that and tell him to have a nice day. Then I remember he could be working with dying patients, so that isn’t appropriate. I settle on a simple agreement of the proposed plan.

  Speaking of the opposite sex, there is also an e-mail from Brandon. He thanked me for the sweater and for helping clean up after the party. I’m glad he opened the sweater when I wasn’t around. I didn’t have to see his reaction to my lame gift.

  A knock on my open door startles me and I look up. “Hi, Justin.”

  “Hey, Claire. How’s it going? You busy?” Justin barrels in with papers in hand.

  “I have a minute. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been doing some digging trying to find some dirt on Cecilia and…nothing. Of course none of the guys in my department will admit to anything.” He smiles and continues. “But I did see some messages you’ve been receiving. Who’s Nathan and Brandon?” He’s smirking, but I feel my cheeks get hot. I have absolutely no privacy anywhere!

  “Why are you snooping in my e-mails?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “I’m teasing you, Claire. I didn’t even read them, and I know Brandon is the guy with the manuscript. Remember it came up at the last staff meeting when Pam was talking about his book?”

  “I think you’re back to being a dick again.”

  He snaps his fingers. “Damn, and just when I exonerated myself with the funnel cake and pink bunny.” He pauses and looks more serious. “But seriously, I guess you are dating this Nathan guy?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t read the e-mails.” I peer at him accusingly.

  “I glanced at them, and I could see they weren’t internal communication.” I love when he decides to get all professional.

  “Yes. I met him on Friday. It’s nothing serious. Yet. But yes, we’re dating.” I wish he would drop this.

  “I was going to ask you if you wanted to see Shinedown with me next week, but if you’re dating someone, maybe I’ll ask someone else.”

  He’s a tricky bastard. He knows I’ll want to go to that show, and Nathan won’t go with me. I quickly blurt out, “I can go. It’ll be fun. That is if you still want to take me?”

  He stands and gives me his best Justin smile. “I would love to take you, Claire. I’ll e-mail you the specifics, but nothing too personal. You can’t assume privacy on the company network.”

  He ducks and runs before I locate something to throw at him. What just happened? I should not have agreed to that, but I really do want to see Shinedown. A few years back, when I was still married, “I Dare You” was my ringtone on my cell phone. Ron made fun of it, but that’s because he never graduated from listening to Nirvana and Pearl Jam. I always hated grunge—flannel shirts are so ugly.

  I roll my shoulders to release some of the tension. I owe Justin an explanation. After the show I will tell him the truth about why I can’t date him. He’ll understand. The world needs Justin’s seed. Or at least the movie studios and modeling agencies do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tuesday at work I feel sick all day. I know it could very well be nerves, but the glands in my neck are swollen. When I was a child that is the first thing my mother checked in order to diagnose our illnesses. If they were swollen or even the least bit tender, we were off to the doctor for a strep test. I hate to say it but Dr. Mom was usually correct, and we came home with our bubble gum flavored antibiotics, put on our Wonder Woman pajamas, and watched cartoons for days, until our necks went back to normal size. Even though I want to ignore this telltale sign, I keep feeling my neck all day like a mental patient, hoping each time it will feel normal, instead of lumpy. And I don’t have a low grade fever—it’s just hot in this office.

  I’ve been around so many people in the past few days—who knows what I co
uld have caught, but knowing me I am tormenting myself for no good reason. Except this is my first real prospect since my divorce, which is pathetic since that was more than two years ago. A lot is riding on this night.

  The real reason I am so anxious is this could be the night we have sex. I know that I do have some control over this. It isn’t like sex is just going to come upon me like a herd of wildebeests in the jungle, but if he initiates it I will go for it. Nathan is a good man who treats me well. We could have a future.

  He’s coming to my house to pick me up, but of course he’s working at St. Vincent’s today, so it’s just convenient. He probably won’t even come inside. I don’t recall him saying where we’re going, so I don’t know how to dress.

  I pick my head up off my desk and gather my things to head home. I hope I wasn’t sleeping—is that drool? I want to get home well before Nathan’s arrival to freshen up, i.e. shower, exfoliate and change into a perfectly coordinated outfit.

  I get home in plenty of time, attend to Dixie, and prepare myself for a fantastic night. Just as I’m studying my neck in the long mirror in the upstairs hall, the doorbell rings. Dixie begins the language of her people—sharp, shrill, LOUD barking accompanied by the usual Cirque du Soleil acrobatics.

  I run down the stairs and open the door with a flourish and big smile pasted on my face. I don’t feel flushed at all! Nathan is looking all around my porch and yard with a look of disgust. Maybe that’s too strong. Distaste? Concern? I hate when new people come to my house—I see my neglected home through their eyes, and feel small and ashamed. I quickly greet him and usher him inside where things look better.

  He leans down to kiss me. “Hello Sweetie, did you know you have a little tree growing out of—”

  I kiss him again, only longer and deeper. Yes, I know about the little tree. It’s hard to find a good gutter cleaning service and besides, where will the birds live?

  Our embrace is broken up by Dixie, who will be recognized. She’s spinning and jumping on Nathan’s leg. Does he not know what she wants? Now she’s trying to look extra cute, rolling over to expose her belly.

  “Claire, what is the dog doing? Is this a trick? Like playing dead?” Is he serious? He’s not smiling.

  “No silly, she wants you to rub her belly.”

  “O-o-o-oh. Her belly.” Dixie and I both stare at Nathan as he bends down and touches Dixie’s belly with two fingers. “There’s a good girl.” She swiftly flips over and runs into the family room, returning with her ball.

  “Nathan, have you ever had a dog?” I pry the ball out of Dixie’s mouth and throw it into the kitchen, where she slides across the tile floor and almost smashes her head into the island, as she takes a sharp turn into the dining room.

  “No, my mother thought having animals in the house was filthy.” He clears this throat. “But she is clearly a cute little animal.” He pauses a moment and continues. “So do you have any wine? I had a rough day at the office.”

  Nathan is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which is the most casual I have seen him, by far. I guess he must have changed at the hospital. I feel silly now in my cute sweater dress, tights and booties. I casually slip my shoes off to indicate I am comfortable with staying in for a while.

  I locate the best bottle of wine I have—an Australian Shiraz my father gave me the last time my parents came to visit. I uncork it when I see he has no energy to come into the kitchen and take over. I guess he did have a hard day. I need to be mindful of his profession—he is saving lives! All I do all day is answer e-mails and make Power Point presentations.

  When I bring the wine back in the family room, I see that Dixie has jumped on Nathan’s lap and she’s trying to kiss him. “Dixie, get down. I’m sorry, I don’t let her lick my face, but she tries with everyone else. She’s a loose woman.” I laugh at my little joke, but Nathan is still wiping dog slobber off his lips and doesn’t seem amused.

  He gets up and goes to the powder room, where I hear the water running. Is he washing his mouth out? This is a bit extreme but he isn’t used to dogs.

  “I know Dixie takes some getting used to, but once she gets to know you, she’ll be better behaved.”

  Nathan is standing in the kitchen, apparently looking for his wine. He waves his hand and says, “It’s fine, I’ll just keep checking for infection for a few days.” He laughs at my grief stricken expression. “Claire, I’m kidding. It’s just a little dog saliva. Now tell me about your day.”

  We sit on the couch and drink wine for what seems like a long time. My throat is getting worse, and it hurts to swallow. Nathan suggests ordering in because he’s so tired. I went in the kitchen to look for take-out menus, but by the time I return he has already found a Chinese restaurant in the area on his phone, and placed an order to be delivered.

  “Sweetie, I hope you don’t mind me ordering. All Chinese food tastes the same, right?” He pats the spot on the couch next to him. Daniel did that, too. But he also brought alternate underwear and made my flesh crawl. I shake my head to dislodge these thoughts and snuggle up to Nathan. Is it hot in here or do I have a fever? Maybe it’s this sweater dress and tights. It’s too late in the season for this outfit, even though it’s short sleeved.

  “So you had a rough day today?” He hasn’t volunteered any information, and I’m concerned.

  “I’d rather not talk about it, Sweetie. It’s a stressful life. So many people are so ill. I get tired of watching people die, especially when some of it is due to their own poor lifestyle choices.” He stretches his neck and shoulders. I would offer to give him a massage, except my hands are so tiny it would be like getting a rub down from a gerbil. Plus a wave of nausea is coming over me.

  The doorbell rings, and the food has arrived. Maybe I will feel better if I eat something, but history has not proven this cliché to be true. Nathan runs to the door to pay the driver, and I drag away a barking Dixie and set the table.

  “Nathan, I’m interested in volunteering at St. Vincent’s. “I put a small spoonful of pork fried rice on my plate. It looks greasy.

  Nathan is piling his plate with rice, chicken and broccoli, and shrimp lo mein. The smell is making me want to heave. “Really, Claire? What would you do? You know that hospitals are full of germs and they can be so depressing. Would you pass me the egg rolls, Sweetie?” He smiles and holds out his hand.

  I hand him the bag and reply, “I just think it would be nice to do something for people. I could work with children or maybe rock the babies in the NICU.” This may be healing for me, but until now I haven’t had the courage to take this kind of step. Or even say it out loud. I bite my lip and peer at Nathan for a sign of approval, or at least understanding.

  “Sweetie, can you put the dog in another room? Or in her box?” Nathan is pushing Dixie off his leg as she begs for food.

  “You mean her crate? No, that’s upstairs. She only sleeps in there.”

  “Can’t you put her up there now?”

  “No, she’ll know it isn’t bedtime and she’ll cry.”

  Nathan smirks and says, “Sweetie, she can’t cry. She’s a dog. She can bark, but you can close the door.” He sighs. “It’s just that she’s staring at me the whole time I’m eating, and it’s a bit uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t even notice that anymore. She knows she can’t have Chinese food.”

  “Aha. She must be smart then. Can’t you give her some of her own food?” He points to her empty dog bowl in the corner.

  “She won’t eat that while we’re eating. Just try to ignore her.” I put a forkful of rice in my mouth and feel like spitting it out.

  Nathan looks exasperated. “I think she may need to go for some dog training. They have classes, you know?”

  Obviously, I know. When I got Dixie, Jane warned me that men don’t like little dogs. Not that I am regretting my decision to get Dixie. She is the light of my life and my baby, but I need to find a way to make her more endearing to Nathan. She will grow on him. “So what do you think abo
ut the volunteering? Do you know who I would contact?”

  Nathan wipes his mouth and takes a drink of wine. “If you really think that’s something you want to do. Do you think that would be good for you—I mean working with babies? I’m only thinking of your emotional well-being, Claire.” When I don’t respond right away he says, “But of course I can help you with that. I know the volunteer coordinator at St. Vincent’s. I’ll ask her to call you.” He pats my leg and I smile in return. I am glad he’s done eating so we can sit on the couch again. My head is foggy and my face is on fire.

  On the couch we resume kissing. His hand is slowly moving up my leg and my bra is becoming deliciously uncomfortable. While other parts of my body are responding quite nicely to Nathan’s advances, my stomach is not cooperating. I feel like a bartender poured all the ingredients of a mixed drink into my belly, and is shaking it up to pour into a tall frosty glass. Except in this case I am going to pour it into Nathan’s mouth if I don’t extricate myself from his ardent embrace.

  Gagging, I pull back and cover my mouth.

  “What’s wrong, Sweetie? Are you not feeling well? You do feel warm. I thought I was responsible for that, but now I seem to be making you gag.” He laughs nervously.

  For a doctor, he isn’t adept at noticing symptoms. If I went to see my mother I wouldn’t make it past the foyer without her diagnosing a major illness, just by looking at me. If she touched me then she would have a full diagnosis and treatment plan within minutes. But to be fair—Nathan has never taken care of a sick child, and I am not having a heart attack.

  I jump up during his speech and run to the bathroom. How many more of my dates are going to involve throwing up? Of course I made it through a ride on a Ferris wheel with Justin. However, I am clearly sick now, but it’s still so embarrassing.

  I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up everything in my system. Throwing up is not pleasant under any circumstances, but heaving up recently eaten Chinese food is truly one of life’s great misfortunes. Especially when a good looking, wonderful man is in your house and you were just about to move to the next level of intimacy. Fuck!