“Claire, let me in. I’m a doctor.” Nathan is tapping on the bathroom door. I know he’s a doctor! That’s even more reason for him to go home. Now he’s going to see me as a patient. Another sick person. We’re not far enough along in our attraction for that.
“Claire, open this door.” I hear some commotion and Nathan’s voice is now farther away, although he sounds angry. “Come back here with that, you little beast!” Uh oh. Dixie.
In order to restore some order to the situation, I open the bathroom door. Who knows what Dixie has made off with? She can be like a child who misbehaves when her parents are arguing, feeding off the chaos.
I steady myself against the doorframe and survey the damage in the foyer. Nathan’s coat is on the floor and the contents of his wallet have spilled out on the floor. Where is Dixie? Wait, is that a condom? I don’t have time to find out as Dixie and Nathan whiz by me into my office. Miraculously Dixie is running at top speed with Nathan’s shoe in her mouth. He must wear at least a size ten—the shoe is almost as long as Dixie. That girl has a strong jaw. As I am admiring Dixie’s strength and speed, Nathan is screaming. “Claire, would you please help me get this crazy dog of yours? She has my shoe!” As he runs past me and Dixie has already completed another lap, I can’t help but laugh that my dog with the three inch legs is faster than a grown man.
I take a step and the room starts spinning. I definitely have a fever, but I need to gain control of Dixie before I can share the extent of my illness. I am wobbly, even in my bare feet, and the tights are slippery on the wood floor. I lean forward to lunge for Dixie as she runs by again, and I manage to grab her. She yelps and just as I start pulling on the shoe to extricate it from her death grip, I feel another wave of nausea. Just as I pull the shoe free and lay down on the carpet up comes more Chinese food, only this time it hits Nathan’s shoe and a wiggly wiener dog. Nathan turns the corner in time to witness Dixie licking vomit out of his expensive Italian loafer. I think there is some in my hair and on my inexpensive Target carpet.
Nathan’s face is red, contorted with panic and frustration. He is winded, but manages to say, “Look at my shoe! Look at you! Look at your rug!” I know this is a bad scene, but for a man who went to medical school, is a little bit of vomit really that distressing? I guess it is when it is all over a woman you were about to have sex with, and the shoe you need to wear home, if you ever hope to get out of this mess.
I manage to sit up and I feel the tears coming. “I am so sorry, Nathan. I’m really sick. I didn’t feel well all day, but then I was looking forward to our date and I didn’t want to cancel and have you think I wasn’t interested, but I started feeling feverish and then the Chinese food…” I am sobbing too loudly to continue.
“Oh, Sweetie. This is awful. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He helps me to my feet but glances at Dixie and his shoe with a look of disgust. She looks like she is smiling while covered in vomit. Her tail is wagging and she follows us to the bathroom.
“I need to clean Dixie and the carpet.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cover my face with my hands. I lean over the sink and continue sobbing. My makeup is horrifying.
“I’ll take care of everything out here. You just get yourself together, and I’ll meet you on the couch. Can you manage that?”
I shake my head and he turns back to survey the carnage in the foyer. I can’t imagine how he is going to do anything about it. He doesn’t know where the carpet cleaner is. Dixie is going to run away if he tries to grab her, and God forbid he tries to wash her—his fingers may suffer a career ending injury.
I hear more commotion, but I need to put myself back together before I worry about anything else. I hold onto the sink and take a good look at my face. I wash out my mouth as best I can (no toothbrush or paste down here), and scrub my hands. My eyeliner is a mess—all I can do is rub off the smudges with a piece of toilet paper. My vomit encrusted hair is another story. I need to go upstairs and take a shower. I take a peek out the doorway and the coast appears to be clear. I head for the stairs and make my way to my bathroom. I turn on the shower, and quickly undress and jump in. I lean up against the wall of the shower stall another wave of sickness hits me. My throat feels like it’s on fire, as if I’m swallowing glass.
I quickly rinse out my hair, dry my body and get redressed, careful to check my clothes for any signs of bodily fluids. I skip the tights—they’re ripped now, and towel dry my hair a little more. As I flip my head back up and almost pass out, I hear more yelling, only now it sounds like it’s coming from outside.
I pull back the bedroom curtains and open the blinds to unveil Nathan attempting to spray Dixie and his shoe with a hose at the same time. At least the shoe will stand still, although I doubt Italian leather is going to respond well to being saturated. While washing his shoe out makes no sense, what he’s doing with Dixie is ludicrous. It is so obvious that she hates water, and she must be so scared. I know Nathan isn’t familiar with dog care, but seriously? Now I have to run out to rescue my baby with wet hair and a fever.
I throw a sweater around my shoulders and head out to the back deck. On the way I notice Nathan’s phone vibrating all over my kitchen counter. I hope his patient from today hasn’t taken a turn for the worse. I reach the deck and yell around towards the side of the house. “Nathan, stop! She hates water, and she wasn’t even that dirty. I could just sponge clean her in the house. Please come in!”
I am not happy that my little girl has been traumatized, but I have to turn my head so he doesn’t see me laughing. He looks like a wild man with his hair all sticking up, wet spots all over him, and a yelping dog all tangled in her leash. At least he was smart enough to put her on the leash—otherwise she would be in the next county by now.
He turns off the water, and drags a wet, sad Dixie to the deck. He lets go of her leash and she runs to me. She’s shaking. I am biting my tongue because I don’t want to make this night any worse than it is. Nathan follows behind and bolts for the bathroom, I presume to try to dry off.
“Nathan, are you okay? Do you need a towel?” I wait outside the closed door for some recognition.
He slowly opens the door. One hand holds a drenched hand towel, and the other is rubbing his temples. “Claire, that dog needs serious obedience training.” He pushes past me into the kitchen, looking around aimlessly. He grabs his phone and almost puts it in his pocket, but obviously thinks better of it since his pants are also drenched.
“Wiener dogs don’t like getting wet. They’re afraid—”
Nathan puts up his hand and hangs his head, while his other elbow rests on the counter. “Let’s not argue. There is plenty of time for us to work out all the kinks. You’re not feeling well and I’ve had a stressful day. I called in your prescription and someone is going to deliver it as a personal favor to me. Along with something for your fever. You definitely have an infection.” He grabs my shoulders, glancing at my wet hair with a puzzled look, and then guides me back to the family room couch. “Lay down here with this blanket, and just rest.” He picks the blanket up with two fingers—probably paranoid of dog hair.
“You’re right, Nathan. This is a terrible night. Nothing is going right. I’m so sorry about your shoes and—”
“My shoes will be fine. I just need to dry them off a bit. I’ll do that and then be on my way. We’ll get together on the weekend when you’re feeling better.”
I sit back and exhale the long breath I have been holding for what seems like the last hour. “Uh, oh.”
“What now?” Nathan has the paper towels and is walking towards his discarded shoe.
“Where’s Dixie?” I know wherever she is she’s still shaking like a madwoman and rubbing herself all over the carpet, and I can’t blame her for doing it far away from Nathan. We have a lot of work to do on their relationship. “Dixie, come to Mommy.” She comes running back in the room and hops up on the couch, just as I hear Nathan’s latest outburst.
“Jesus Christ! There’s
dog shit in my other shoe!” I am really hoping he found that out by sight and not because he put his foot in it. He comes barreling back into the family room. I can see he is making a Herculean effort to control his temper, but the veins in his neck are throbbing. I don’t want my heart doctor to have a heart attack.
“Dixie, damn it!” She knows she’s in trouble now. She hops off me and runs into the office, presumably under the blanket on her little doggie couch to hide. “Nathan, I will pay for your shoes. I wish we could hit rewind and start this night over.” The tears are flowing again.
He is now hopping on one foot and swiping at the other one with the damp paper towel. He throws the paper towels in the trash can in disgust and carefully picks up his shoes, holding them with the tips of his fingers. He walks over to the couch, and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Feel better, Sweetie.”
I open my mouth to respond but all that squeaks out is a barely audible, “Bye.”
I hear the front door close and I gently raise myself up, kicking off the blanket. I turn out the light in the foyer and sneak up to the front door. Dixie’s head is poking out of her blanket in the office—we’re both trying to remain incognito.
I squint to see if Nathan has left yet. His car lights aren’t on. Now I see him. What is he doing? Is he picking up the lid of my trash can and dropping in his shoes? He pauses for a second, looks up at the sky, and tiptoes barefoot to his car. He glances at the house for a second and I jump back up against the wall. I don’t want him to see me spying or defying doctor’s orders to rest.
I grab some tissues from the bathroom, dry my eyes, blow my nose and snuggle under the blanket. Dixie runs back to me and hops up, burrowing under the covers. It will take some effort to turn this around, but I’m so tired and feverish that I can’t hold onto these thoughts. Dixie’s steady breathing is soothing me, and I’m drifting. Just before I fall into a deep sleep I ask myself—why did he bring a condom to have sex with a woman with no uterus?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I woke up an hour later to my doorbell ringing, and the guy delivering my medicine. I don’t know why he owed Nathan a favor, but maybe when you’re an important doctor the pharmacies cater to your every whim. Hopefully, I’ll get to stick around and enjoy more of this VIP treatment. After this night I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I am more upset about being sick or possibly blowing it with the first good man I have met in…well…ever. Nathan sent me a text to see if I was doing any better, and issued a few more doctor’s orders.
Once my fever came down it dawned on me that he brought the condom as a precaution against STDs. I find it odd he would think I have any—I’ve been honest about my sexual history, but I guess a doctor would be ultra-responsible about something like that. He wasn’t sharp with his canine knowledge, but he is a cardiologist, not a veterinarian. And like a dummy I haven’t even thought about STDs, condoms or any of that.
I was sick most of the week, but felt progressively better towards the weekend. I was out of work, but I don’t think I was missed. Justin texted me a few times, and we had a little bit of witty flirting back and forth. I need to think long and hard about my plan to go to the concert with him. What am I doing?
I decide to wait until my return to work next week to worry about it. I am using the Scarlet O’Hara approach to problem solving—I will think about it tomorrow.
It’s Saturday and I’m finally better. I still feel a bit weak, but my throat is healed and my fever is gone. I am definitely not contagious any more. Luckily, Nathan has a super human immune system developed from clocking numerous hours in disease infested hospitals (his words), so he has avoided this illness.
We have another date tonight and I am not going to let this one become a disaster. I am wearing sensible shoes, I am eating before I go, and I am meeting him downtown, so there will be no more run-ins with Dixie. I need to keep him away from her until he is smitten with me enough to deal with her bullshit. I adore her but she isn’t helping.
Speaking of my little whack-job, it’s a nice day and I am taking her for a walk around the neighborhood. Brandon said he would like to go for walks, but hopefully he isn’t home or is still in bed after a night of debauchery with the band and its groupies.
I grab Dixie and begin the usual process of wrangling her into her leash and harness. The warmth of the sun hits my face as I walk down the front porch steps. I take a deep breath and I’m soothed by the fresh air. I should exercise more often. I am going to do this every day when I get home from work. And stop eating so much crap and cut out all the alcohol and…
“Hi, Claire.”
Brandon is standing on my walk way, at the base of the stairs, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He is wide awake and his twinkling eyes match the blue sky.
“Hey, Brandon.” I’m holding onto Dixie as she strains the leash; she’s anxious to get this rare walk underway.
“I heard you were sick. Are you feeling better?” How would he know I was sick? As if he read my mind, he responded, “I e-mailed you at work and got your out of office message. I was going to come over but I figured your new boyfriend was probably taking care of you, especially being a doctor.”
“Yeah, I’m a lot better. Thanks. I went out last night with my girlfriends.” Brandon keeps staring so I feel compelled to explain myself. “Nathan was busy. He had an emergency at the hospital.” I look down and pretend Dixie trying to eat a worm on the driveway is the most fascinating thing ever. I haven’t seen Nathan since our disastrous evening.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. A night out with the girls is always fun, right?” He does that thing he does again—running his fingers through his hair. This makes me want to go back inside and lock the door until it’s time for my date with Nathan. “Bianca and the other girls really liked you. They were hoping you would come out and see the band some time.”
“They were nice. Hey, I don’t mean to cut you off but as you can see this little girl wants to get moving on this walk before her lazy mommy changes her mind.”
Brandon bends down to pet Dixie and she jumps up and licks his nose. “Aww, I think Dixie would like me to come on the walk. What does Mommy think?”
I take in his sparkling smile and say, “Let’s go.” A simple walk around the neighborhood can’t hurt.
We start walking, largely in silence. Dixie is sniffing every ten feet and I pull on her leash a bit, to redirect her. We come up on a storm drain and she stops walking and digs in her heels.
“Dixie, are you still doing this? You can walk past the storm drain. Mommy’s got you.” I turn to Brandon. “I know I sound like an idiot when I talk to her, but she’s afraid. I thought she was over this, but apparently not.”
“No, I think it’s cute how you treat her like your baby. I wonder why she’s afraid.”
“I guess it’s my fault. When she was a puppy and super curious, she would try to stick her head in there and one time she chased some kind of creature that disappeared in there. That scared me, you know? I probably yelled at her and reprimanded her harshly enough that now she’s afraid to even walk past storm drains.”
“It is probably a healthy fear. What if she broke free again like she did that one day? You don’t want her exploring the storm drains.”
Brandon motions to me to hand him the leash. I hesitate for a second and surrender it. He walks over to Dixie and gently picks her up, talking to her quietly. He carries her past the storm drain and safely deposits her back on the ground, where she resumes her mad dash to the walking trail.
My eyes get misty. “Thanks, but you don’t have to hold the leash. I can take it back.”
“I like walking her. If you don’t mind?”
The rest of the walk is relaxing and we complete the full loop around the neighborhood trail, which is one and a half miles. Not a long walk for us, but Dixie’s legs are pretty short, so for her it’s a good work out. Still I am sweating, and I wish I had brought water.
We get back to my house and tal
k about Brandon’s book and his desire to work with Bella Donna. I assure him it looks promising and he should hear from Pam soon.
“Thanks for letting me tag along on your walk. It felt good to get out.” Brandon lingers at the bottom of my porch stairs.
“It was fun. Thanks for being so sweet to Dixie.” I pick her up and squeeze her.
“So, are you doing anything tonight?”
“Yeah, I have a date with Nathan. Why, is something going on?’
“The band is playing. I thought you might like to come out and see us, but maybe next time. You could bring Nathan. See ya later, Claire.”
“Bye, Brandon.” I was too embarrassed to tell him I am meeting Nathan at a wine bar to hear jazz. That even sounds snobby and boring to me. It will take time to introduce Nathan to some of my interests. After our last date, this isn’t the time to push any of that. For now, it’s wine and jazz, but for my sake hopefully not too much of either one. That condom is still in Nathan’s wallet. At least I hope it is, because if it isn’t I have more problems.
I take a break from worrying to run some errands before our date. After an afternoon of grocery shopping, waiting in line at the post office, and a trip to the pet store for Dixie’s treats, I head back home to get ready to go out.
Since our lovely walk this morning, the weather has turned to shit. Now it’s pouring rain. Wonderful. People in this town drive like the world is coming to an end when it rains. It’s like the apocalypse or the rapture. What’s the difference? Catholics rarely read the Bible, so I don’t know for sure. I think one of those things is good and the other is bad? Either way if it’s the rapture, a lot of cars in my town will be unmanned, as many bumper stickers warn.
I finally pull into my driveway, and hit the garage door opener, so I can stay dry and avoid nosy neighbors. I haven’t been to this wine bar, but Rebecca told me it’s pretty upscale. Actually, she said it’s full of uptight assholes. Apparently, the Meetup group went there once, and the prices were so high and the atmosphere so stuffy that they staged a mass exodus to a sports bar around the corner. This is not surprising to me—they are a loud bunch and the wine bar people probably breathed a sigh of relief when the middle-aged party crowd vanished.
There Are No Men Page 24