Acute Reactions

by Ruby Lang

  Petra shook her head. But she agreed. “Well, how about you, Sarah? Why are you bothering with Aarno if all you want is man candy? Why do you date the professors and multilingual economists if you’re in it just for the screwing?”

  “I like smart men. But I’m smart about it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Well, that wasn’t the worst opening in history,” Gerry said, sitting at the bar.

  Ian slouched deep in a red banquette. His shirt was unbuttoned and sloppy. He felt like his body would never move again. He felt ossified. “How so?” he asked, his voice barely emerging from his chest.

  “We didn’t have any trouble with drunks. Nothing like a medical emergency to sober everyone up. Plus, Sally Kerns didn’t die. How lucky were we that there were two doctors in the house, one of whom happened to be your former allergist?” Gerry paused.

  Ian stayed very still.

  “What I don’t understand,” Gerry added, gathering steam, “is a food blogger who goes through life not being able to eat certain foods. I don’t believe in allergies, as I was telling your attractive little allergist. My working theory is that the little doctor might actually be a mesmerist. You know, she has those exotic eyes that can go all crazy, and she hypnotized Sally into thinking that her throat and face would swell up. And then they did. You, of course, would have been the next victim, judging from the way you stared at her.”

  Ian clenched his fists but didn’t make a sound.

  “Also on the plus side, we can strike the prawn chips fried in peanut oil from the menu. Not local and they seem like a bad luck item.”

  Still no response.

  Gerry sighed. “You don’t even care, do you?”

  Ian shook his head.

  “You want to tell me what this is about?” Gerry toyed with his drink. He had switched from wine to Diet Coke after everyone left. It was Gerry’s secret shame. “Of all the locavore gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she has to walk into mine.”

  “Maybe I stopped listening to you because you stopped making sense.”

  “I’m narrating your thoughts. Am I halfway right?”

  No response.

  “Clearly, you have a thing for the pixie doctor. You weren’t exactly staring subtly at her. Is that the lady you were seeing when you dumped that lawyer? Were you scratching the allergist’s itch? Was she making house calls? Giving you thorough checkups?”

  Ian stood up slowly and deliberately.

  “So you are actually listening. Because I was thinking that what I needed tonight was a punch in the jaw.” Gerry kept his voice steady, although he had gone very still. “It would be like the cherry in my drink.”

  They regarded each other warily.

  “Nothing happened,” Ian said.

  Gerry shook his head. “You like her. Why’d you stop seeing her?”

  “Because we weren’t ‘seeing’ each other at all. We weren’t dating. She was my doctor and I made things weird between us when she tried to keep it professional.”

  Gerry nodded.

  The lights were out, except for the one above the bar. Ian reached under and pulled out a bottle of decidedly non-local Scotch. He dropped back into his seat.

  “You could ask the woman out. Clearly, you’d like to do that.”

  “Gerry, sometimes your clueless bro act goes from funny to scary. She fired me as a patient because she didn’t want me around.” Ian poured himself a few fingers.

  “Doctors can do that?”

  “Can and did.”

  “Really, Ian, I don’t get the feeling that this thing stayed one-sided. I mean, I talked to her and I knew she wasn’t interested in me. I was hoping I’d wear her down. With you, yeah, she likes you.”

  Ian shook his head.

  “And you like her. I’ve never seen you like this before. You were going to deck me.”

  Ian smiled for the first time that night. “Gerry, we get into fights about mollusks and plumbing and sourdough bread—”

  “I can’t believe you don’t like sourdough.”

  “My point is, you’re one very annoying shit.”

  “I think the only reason you haven’t talked to her is because you like her too much and it scares the hell out of you. You know, it’s difficult being friends with you. You don’t exactly give anything of yourself. You don’t confide. Even with the business, you keep most of it to yourself. I’m grateful that you leave me alone to be a genius cook, but it wouldn’t kill me to learn about the financial side, for instance, make it more of a partnership in reality.”

  Ian looked around his empty bar. He wondered how Petra had come to be in the crowd. Had she come on purpose, knowing that she would see him? Would she have talked to him if the night proceeded differently? She tried to avoid him when she spotted him, though. If it hadn’t been for Sally Kerns, he might not have caught his former doctor at all. After the ambulance went away, she eluded him. He didn’t get to thank her or offer to get her coat cleaned. She didn’t let him ask how she had been doing. He even wanted to ask about Kevin.

  But she had looked at him, when she thought he wasn’t watching, and she hadn’t seemed scared of him. He didn’t know what it was and he didn’t have time to analyze it when she practically sprinted away with her friends. While he stood in the cold night, wondering if his eyes—if his gut—was tricking him, Gerry and Lilah had taken care of the rest of the crowd. When he walked in, Gerry was making a speech. His words made everyone laugh, probably at Ian’s expense. Ian didn’t care.

  “Do you think we’ll be ready for an official opening next week?” Gerry asked. “Or should we wait, see if we can actually kill someone first? That would be a coup.”

  Ian finished his drink. “For our first course, shrimp dusted with bee pollen, bound together with a coating of peanut butter. Have someone stand by with epinephrine. Start a new trend in injectable dining.”

  “That could actually work.”

  “I’ll start drafting plans tomorrow. I need a new project.”

  He took Gerry’s glass.

  “Go home, sleep in a proper bed,” Gerry called, as Ian headed to the kitchen. “Call her tomorrow. Just try. The worst she can do is take out a restraining order.”

  • • •

  Petra tried to forget the previous night, but the universe had other plans for her. By morning, Sally Kerns had written a breathless (hah!) account of her anaphylactic reaction on her blog. She’d found Petra’s number and asked her to contribute a few tips about dealing with food allergies. Petra suggested a list of warning signs to look for and Sally added a link to Petra’s website.

  The blog post had only been up for a couple hours and it had already brought in a few telephone inquiries. Petra was happy to book them. Something good had to come out of it.

  Between appointments, she decided to check on her mom, but the phone rang and rang. When it finally clicked over to voicemail, Petra left a message, then hung up. Odd, she thought. Lisa always picked up. Petra called her sister.

  “Maybe she’s out with Jim Morrison, lighting her fire,” Ellie chortled.

  “I don’t know what’s grosser—that thought, or your pun.”

  “One of us was going to bust it out soon enough. Mom’s a big girl, you don’t have to worry about her.”

  “I’m not worried about her. I’m just worried for her.”

  “Here we go,” Ellie said.

  Petra could almost hear the eye roll.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that you egg each other on. Who’s going to go bankrupt? What can possibly go wrong in the world? Who can win the negativity sweepstakes? And then you both insist you’re fine.”

  “That is not what we do. If anything, she’s the one who’s always telling me not to trust anyone.”

  “And you do it right back. Remember a couple of years ago, when she wanted to crochet handbags and sell them online? You unearthed some newspaper article about how only two percent of sellers make their l
iving that way. And some even lose money from shipping and dissatisfied customers.”

  “I don’t know if it was as low as two percent.”

  “She’s retired, Petey. It’s not as if she wanted to make a ton of money from it.”

  “She just had all these stars in her eyes.”

  “And you had to discuss it to death with each other. Over multiple phone calls.”

  “She wanted to buy a ton of yarn. She had her eye on a huge lot. She could have crocheted cozies for every tea set in China.”

  “Then why not just persuade her to buy less? Why tell her to scuttle the whole idea? You’re more alike than you think. You’re both so pessimistic and scared to do anything. Then, when you can’t stand all that self-recrimination and blame, you close your eyes, jump in, and do something impulsive. There’s no happy medium for you.”

  Ellie was an annoying brat. But Petra didn’t have a good reply to that, so she changed the subject. “Have you met him?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “What does that mean? How long ago did you meet him?”

  “I met him months ago. She’s just dating him. He has all his teeth. He didn’t kick the cat, or Mom. Leave her alone.”

  “She is worrying about it. She’s having a fucking meltdown over it.”

  “Don’t throw plutonium on the reactor, then. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you two in action. Pretty soon, a minor foul becomes a bonfire. You throw insults and doubts on top of one other and by the time you’re done, the little man is toast. I don’t know what’s worse, the idea that the only men who could be interested in you are horrible, or the one where you two think you’re both deserving of so little.” Ellie’s voice shook a little.

  “But Ellie, it’s just that she decides she’s lonely and she makes bad choices that she knows are bad choices. I try to look out for her. Maybe I play devil’s advocate, or maybe I try to make her see something she missed…”

  Ellie was silent.

  Petra tried again. “You don’t blame me for your dad—”

  “No.”

  A pause. Petra held her breath.

  “You were a teenager and they were both adults. You weren’t helpful, Petey, but you didn’t cause their trouble.”

  “Ellie.”

  “But you’re not a teenager now, and Mom puts more stock in your opinion than you think.”

  “Please, the woman questions every single move I make. She—”

  “She listens to you, Petra. You think you’re talking to dead air, but Mom is sensitive. She remembers everything you say. And believe me, she’s proud of you, even if she has no idea how to show it except by frantically trying to make sure you don’t disappoint her, or yourself.”

  Petra held her head and put her elbows on her desk. She never realized that Ellie felt this way.

  “Just leave it,” Ellie was saying. “Even if she takes some wrong turns, she’s stronger now.”

  Petra swallowed. “How is your dad, anyway?

  “He’s good. He came up for a visit last weekend. Took me out for a fancy dinner and gave me money for laundry.”

  Petra felt a stab of guilt. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  Petra nodded, even though she knew her sister couldn’t see her. The light on her phone was blinking. She had another patient. She took a deep breath. “Okay, sweetie, I have to go. But I love you. And if you want to come visit, just let me know. Your dad isn’t the only one who can take you for a fancy dinner.”

  “Score,” said her sister, sounding normal again. “I promise I won’t hit you up for laundry quarters. Although if you could convince your gyno friend, Sarah, to come up sometime and give a talk at the Women’s Center…”

  “Ugh. She’d love that. Don’t feed her ego.”

  “Just see what you can do.”

  • • •

  Listening to Gerry was a bad idea, Ian thought as he stood looking up the stairs to Petra’s office. For all Ian knew, the discharge letter could really be the prelude to a restraining order. It had been so long and he had no idea where he stood with her. Did her strenuous refusal to acknowledge him mean that he still affected her, in some way? If she’d been utterly indifferent, she would have at least said hello.

  Right?

  He remembered that she had told him she felt socially awkward at all times. She certainly didn’t look like a geek last night. She had been bold and decisive when treating Sally Kerns. Even now, he could remember how she held her arm up for a few seconds before plunging the needle in Sally’s thigh. Petra’s bicep had bulged a little and the neck of the dress tightened across her chest. He’d gotten turned on by seeing her in action.

  Yeah, maybe he was a creep.

  He had to make a decision. Was he going to wait down here like a groupie, or would he go up and try to talk to her, in her office, where she had cases full of sharp, pointy needles? Not that he thought she would try to harm him, but he probably shouldn’t startle her.

  Maybe he should send her an email.

  He took out his phone and a small figure nearly stumbled into him. “Kevin?”

  Kevin squinted up at him. “Oh. Hey. I thought you stopped coming.”

  “I did. But…” He couldn’t think of an excuse for being there. “Is this your day for an appointment?

  Kevin shrugged. “I thought I’d come to hang out. She’s busier now, but she lets me do that sometimes. She won’t get a TV, though. Why are you here? I thought needles made you cry, so that’s why you quit coming to appointments.”

  “No. Is that what Dr. Lale said?”

  Kevin shrugged again. “She never tells me anything anymore.” He added, “Actually, I know you didn’t cry. I could hear you flirting with her through the office door.” He hitched his book bag higher on his shoulder.

  Ian didn’t know how to answer that. He also didn’t want to go up to talk to Petra knowing Kevin would hear every word. Especially because he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and turned to leave.

  “Maybe you can help me with this,” Kevin asked. “How do you get a sophisticated woman to go out with you?”

  Ian stopped. He looked around. He was on the street in front of the office of his crush, about to run away because he was wary of scaring her. “I am not the best person to ask for romantic advice,” Ian said.

  “I know. But at least you had a girlfriend, even if you didn’t know what to do with her.” Kevin wrinkled his nose at the memory. “All I need are guidelines, maybe some sort of flowchart. Like, if she won’t even talk to you, but just kind of looks through you when you go up to her and say hi, what should you do? Should you get her flowers? Or should you work her friends, first?”

  “If she doesn’t respond to a friendly greeting, then you should just leave her alone.”

  “Even if she’s hot.”

  “Yes.”

  Kevin took out his phone and made some notes. “Okay, this is good information. Now, say she does say hi, but in a sort of vague way that indicates that maybe she’s just being polite. Do you bust out the flowers then?”

  “Aren’t you allergic to most flowers?”

  “I make them out of tissue paper.”

  “And you’re still making that sound you make with your throat and nose?”

  “I’m trying to clear my postnasal drip.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t talk about postnasal drip.”

  “See?” Kevin brightened. “This is important for me to know.”

  Ian felt like he was getting off message. “But really, if you can talk to the girl easily, and if she makes you laugh and you want to just spend time with her, then she’s probably great and you’re fine and you don’t need my help.”

  “Yes, but I want to bag a hot woman. There are several in my middle school who will speak to me. I’ll settle for any one of them.”

  Had Ian ever been like that? He winced. He had, not even that long ago. Who was he to ask out
Petra Lale? He was just a horny kid who had glimpsed something that he couldn’t have.

  And then, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and stopped right in front of him and he wanted everything all over again because he was a greedy little fucker.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Kevin, however, watched the two of them curiously. Petra’s face looked frozen in between a glare and a smile. She was also turning pink.

  Ian rubbed his head. He said the one thing that he could safely say. “I wanted to thank you for what you did last night.”

  “What did she do?” Kevin asked eagerly.

  “She saved someone’s life. A woman was having a bad allergic reaction, and Dr. Lale injected her and stayed with her until the ambulance came.”

  Petra was shaking her head but she seemed maybe faintly pleased?

  He kept his voice neutral. “Let me invite you to Stream, again. At the very least, you deserve a drink for preventing someone from dying on our floor. I’m pretty sure you staved off bad publicity and even more terrible karma.”

  Petra put her handbag between them like a shield. Ian eyed it, wondering if she was going to pull Mace out of it or call 911. Possibly both. Maybe having Kevin around as a witness was a good thing for both of them.

  The kid hopped around excitedly. “Can I come? Can I bring a lady?”

  “You have a girlfriend? Already?” Petra asked. She seemed temporarily distracted, even a little stricken.

  “Not yet. Ian is teaching me how to get with sophisticated women.”

  Fuck.

  “Is he now?” she asked.

  She hoisted her purse higher. Christ, her bag was huge. Forget Mace. He’d never survive if she struck him with all of those chains and leather straps.

  He tried another tack. Turning to Kevin, he said, “You can have sodas, and maybe you’d like the mini pork sliders and some other dishes.”