The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #2 Swept under the Rug

by Jennifer L. Hart

  “Where are you?” Leo asked again.

  “Where are you?” I shot back and moved over to the side of the road to let a car pass. Instead, the vehicle slowed and the window rolled down to reveal a grinning Leo.

  “Want some candy, little girl?”

  “You’re a sick, sick man. How did you find me?” I shut my phone and climbed into the car.

  “I went to your house first and when no one answered, I called you. The wheezing tipped me off. Thought you could use a ride home. Or an oxygen tank.”

  “Quit picking on me and spill.”

  Leo loved to tell drawn-out stories and he was quite good at painting a picture. “Since it was my night off, I went to a party in South Boston with a few of my friends. Do you remember Dillon?”

  “The angel who made me those slipcovers?” Without consulting me, my mother-in-law had purchased a sofa and matching love-seat for us for Christmas. It may have been a nice gesture, if made out of kindness instead of mortification. Or if the furniture had been scotch-guarded to protect the gleaming white upholstery.

  “That’s him. Anywho, he bought this fab mini-mansion, which he just finished renovating. Total Greco-Roman masterpiece, sculpted columns, authentic wall treatments throughout. He had the idea he’d do a restore and flip, but with the markets cooling off, he got stuck with it.”

  “Yikes, makes me glad we unloaded our house in Virginia Beach when we did.” I’d been following the housing bubble story online and some of the tales curled my hair. My own personal nightmare is to be penniless and at the whim of the universe. It’d happened before and I’d survived, but the thought of losing everything, of being so poor I couldn’t buy food for my family gave me palpitations.

  “Well, he rented out the upstairs half for a song so he could keep up with mortgage payments.” Leo was like a little kid saving his favorite piece of candy ‘til last.

  “And…,” I prompted. Leo pulled up to my house.

  “Do you have any good coffee? Not that generic brand swill, but fresh-off-the-Columbian-mule coffee?”

  “I swear; you are such a drama queen.”

  “Hello kettle, this is the pot calling and I’m sorry to say it, but you’re black.”

  “Fine, I’ll make you some real coffee.” I lunged from the car, and slammed the door. So what if I was proving his point?

  My freezer was stocked for a Leo visit and I retrieved a bag of whole bean medium-dark and tossed it at his head. “You make the coffee. I need a shower.”

  “Work on my day off? You must be joking.”

  “You brought it on yourself, pal. Besides, you make better coffee.”

  “True, true. It’s such a burden being me.” Leo knew where I kept everything and he already had the filter in place by the time I left the kitchen.

  I have showering down to a science. I don’t have to look good afterwards. I can go from mud wrestler filthy to sparkling clean in under two minutes. The low-maintenance look, or as close as I get to it without resembling an alpaca. Neil appreciates this about me and I usually ignore my dormant and understated pride, except when I want to make an impact. Then it takes over an hour to get myself whipped together.

  Leo didn’t need me to impress him, so after I garbed my frame in a faded sweatshirt and a pair of decent jeans; I traipsed in the kitchen and poured myself the first cup. “Enough of the stall tactics, I want the juicy tid-bits.”

  “Where was I?” Leo tapped his chin in mock forgetfulness. The man has a brain like a steel drum, he has to in order to run Ralph and Laura’s household so smoothly. I circled my hand, indicating he should move it along. “Dillon and his masterpiece.”

  “Right, so we had a small get together there last weekend—”

  “For the Super Bowl?” I interrupted, smiling behind the rim of my mug.

  Leo quirked an eyebrow. “A matter of fact, yes Miss Sassy-pants.”

  I gagged on my coffee. “Seriously?” The mental picture of Leo and his Bostonian pals hanging around munching chips and staring at a big screen wouldn’t gel. They were more the Oscar-party types.

  “We each dressed up in our favorite player’s team colors and I brought these little spinach-stuffed puff pastries, absolutely delish! I’ll shoot you the recipe.”

  “Of course,” I murmured, getting a better angle on the image. “So get to the entrée already.”

  “Well, he’s a Raider’s fan—”

  “They didn’t make it to the Super Bowl.”

  Leo shot me a withering glance. “You’re point being…?”

  I smiled and promised myself I wouldn’t cut him off anymore.

  “So he had the snazzy little black and silver outfit; I swear he looked just like a young Tom Jones. Soon as I saw him, I got heart palpitations and made for the kitchen. He came in to get a glass of white wine and comment on the pastries. It was Kismet. And he asked me out for tonight. I keep waiting to wake up, you know?”

  I nodded and patted his hand. He had gone through a painful break-up a few years back, the guy decimated his heart and drained his bank account, and Leo’s confidence was still in recovery. Having Calamity Jane for a best friend was helping with the problem. It’s hard to feel down when you’re laughing your ass off and he got to go to sleep at night with the thought, life could always be worse, I could be Maggie.

  Though Maggie got to sleep with Neil, and that made up for a great deal, humiliation-wise. Ah, life’s little balms.

  “You’re starting to drool, what are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” I mumbled and flushed to the roots of my hair. The Baptist in me hated getting caught thinking about sex.

  Leo gave me a once over, then smiled in comprehension. “You two are so darn cute, like puppies.” He sighed. “That’s what I want from a partner, you know? That total, I think about you all day long, can’t wait to come home at night kind of relationship.”

  “You’ll find it.” I reassured him.

  “Well, it’s too soon to tell with Richard.” The light of hope in his eyes contradicted his down-to-Earth words.

  “Where are you boys going tonight?”

  “The theatre, I think. There’s a new play opening and I mentioned it a few dozen times to Richard.”

  “So, dish,” I hopped off the stool and scrounged in the pantry for a snack. I came up with a box of butterfly crackers and the ingredients for cucumber dip. “What does Richard do? What’s his last name?” I was so focused on him, that I poured too much dip mix into the sour cream.

  “Shoot.” Leo hip-checked me out of the way and took over. He’s lucky I don’t have control issues.

  “He and a family member are renting the upstairs living space while waiting for their new house to close. Do you have any cream cheese to cut this with?”

  “In the dairy drawer. A family member?”

  Leo cleared his throat and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “His mother.”

  Eek! “Please tell me he’s not one of those…,”

  Leo gave me the squinty-eyed glare of death. “One of those what?”

  “Mama’s boys.”

  Leo puffed his chest out like a blowfish. “Is it wrong that a man will help his mother during a time of transition? I happen to think it’s sweet.”

  Rain on his parade, why don’t ya. “Leo…I didn’t mean anything by it.” I stomped my judgmental harpy back into her snarky box and pasted a docile expression on my face. “So what’s his last name?”

  “Head,” Leo didn’t make eye contact. He stirred the dip vigorously. All that exercise must have shorted my brain because it took me the pace of five heartbeats to put it together.

  “You’re going out with a man named Richard Head,” I stated slowly to make sure.

  “I knew you’d be like this!” Leo slammed the serving spoon onto the counter and stormed out of the house. Sour cream and dip mix had been catapulted into my coffee and I watched the disgusting lit
tle white blobs congeal for a moment, wondering what just happened.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  “Is this really necessary?” I whined at Neil from the passenger’s seat. We were on our way to meet with Dr. Robert Ludlum PH.D, the marriage counselor. This was worse than facing the sit-up machine at the gym. Having never sought psychological help before, I had no idea what to expect and was freaking out, though I hid it well.

  My handsome husband didn’t bat an eye. “You tell me, Maggie.”

  Uh oh. He’d Maggie-ed me; this was some serious stuff all right. “Marriage counseling is for couples who fight all the time. We hardly ever fight.”

  He snorted.

  “We don’t.” I insisted. “Yelling is just how I communicate. No one hears me otherwise.”

  Neil pulled into an angled parking slot and shut off the engine, but made no move to exit the car. “Are you happy?”

  “Do you mean right at this moment, or in the grand scheme of things?” I stalled for time, wondering what had gotten into him. Typically he oozed confidence, but now that I thought back on it, he’d been kinda weird ever since my brush with death.

  Neil scowled at me and opened his door, and I sat, wondering if this downhill crap-fest would ever end. I wanted to take a nap and pray that when I woke up everyone would be back to normal. Before I sank into a catatonic state, Neil opened my door and extended his hand to me. His gentlemanly streak must have overridden his irritation. If I were in his shoes, I probably would have kicked me out of the car six miles ago. Did I really need some PH.D to look me in the eye and say “You’re damn lucky he puts up with you?” No new info there.

  The building that housed Dr. Ludlum’s office was a red brick behemoth, at least by Hudson’s standards. Unlike some of the charming brick buildings typical of small town New England, this beastie held no architectural appeal. Institutionalized windows sat evenly spaced on the first through third floors, looking like ominous eyes waiting for unsuspecting prey to venture close enough….

  Or I could just be a nut. Maybe I needed to spend more time in buildings like this, reclining on some PhD’s battered sofa, figuring out exactly what was the matter with me.

  “What’s wrong, Maggie?” Neil stopped halfway up the steps, turning to face me. “Are you hyperventilating?”

  Crap. My breathing sounded worse than when I tried to jog and I did an about face and sat down hard on the steps. A warm hand settled on my neck forcing my head between my knees. The roaring ocean in my mind crashed over my auditory sense and I felt more than heard Neil whispering soothing sounds against my hair.

  Ridiculous as the position appeared, it helped. The freezing concrete beneath the seat of my jeans, the bite of the north wind and Neil’s solid reassuring presence, all settled down the screamer monkeys banging their cymbals between my ears. I stayed put with my patient husband, greedily enjoying his total attention while annoyed by my own weakness. What kind of a monster gleaned perverse enjoyment from another’s worry?

  “You’re right,” I told him, keeping my head perpendicular to my legs, so I could avoid eye contact. “I’m totally screwed up. It’s not your fault though Neil, so please stop thinking you did or didn’t do something, okay?”

  Neil pulled me up by the collar of my jacket and secured me against him with one steel arm. “Stop that. These histrionics are not going to get you out of the meeting, so suck it up.”

  Was he deaf? “Hey, I’m giving you a free pass here, pal. No guilt, no regret. Not your fault, capiche?”

  “I heard you and I even believe that you believe that, at least most of the time. But the choice I made to stay with the SEAL teams, it affected you. Maybe you never complained, but you did get use to making the tough calls on your own. You didn’t… need me.”

  I opened my mouth to refute his ridiculous assessment but Neil scowled at me. That was not an easy thing for him to say, no matter how frigging ludicrous the notion might be, and he needed to get this out in the open. My mouth shut with a tooth-jarring click.

  “And you’re still operating that way, like I’m not there for you to bounce ideas around with. Yes, you ask me about the trivial stuff, what should we have for dinner or what color to paint the goddamn foyer. But the big calls, like the thing with the gym, accepting the C.I. position, the meetings at the school… I’m surplus in your life Maggie.”

  I stared at him while mentally chanting, don’t call him a dumb-ass; don’t call him a dumb-ass. “You dumb-ass,” I announced. Following directions never had been my strong suit. “Fine, we both need to get in there and have our heads shrunk, but that is the most asinine statement I’ve ever heard. Surplus, my lily-white hide.” I pulled myself to a standing position, brushing gray snow off the back of my parka. Neil stood too, and turned away, but not before I caught sight of his twitching lips. What was so funny…?

  “You manipulative bastard!” I shrieked and swung at him with my left hand. The layers of his coat and my glove protected him from the extremely wimpy force behind my enraged blow which landed on his good shoulder with a soft whumpff. “You are soooo your mother’s son! I can’t believe you freaking played me!”

  He was outright laughing by this point, his face flushed and happy. “Sorry, Uncle Scrooge,” he gasped, the chuckles ruining the sincerity behind his words. Hearing him laugh like that, it suddenly occurred to me how long it had been since we last had fun, laughed for the sake of it. “I wasn’t about to let you do the pity-party spiel and get all mopey and self-deprecating. It’s ineffective and we’ve had enough of that lately, don’t ya think?”

  “Well, now I’m pissed-off instead. That work for you, Dr. Evil?” I still couldn’t believe he duped me. If I had one weakness, it was Neil’s insecurities. I guarded his heart like a griffin hoarding precious treasure and he knew it.

  “I see you, even behind all the B.S posturing, you know that, right?” The way his green eyes seemed to drink in my features, made me feel like the most desirable woman alive. Sure, somewhere in my head I knew my apple cheeks were bright pink from the cold, my lips chapped and my hair a fly-away mess. But I also knew Neil saw beyond all that. He was hatless, despite the freezing temperatures and the vicious wind tussled his golden-brown locks.

  “Yes, I do know that. But I’m still gonna beat you down when you least suspect.”

  Neil kissed my cheek and took my gloved hand, leading us into the maw of the building. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  * * * *

  Doctor Robert Ludlum, “call me Bob,” greeted me with a wimpy handshake reminiscent of a dead herring which he followed with a pointed glance at the office wall clock. True, we were a few minutes late, but the outer office stood empty. Neil shucked his coat and helped me doff my battered parka while introductions were made. An awkward silence ensued, broken only by the ticking of his Wal-Mart plastic clock. I’d seen it on sale last week for $9.99 and was relieved, in retrospect, to have bypassed the deal.

  A quick glance around revealed a few ladder-backed chairs and a worn copy of the DSM IV on an elegant coffee table. The reception desk was empty, save for an appointment book and a few pens. No computer or telephone, but since it was the portable digital age, perhaps his assistant carried a laptop and cell phone to lunch with her.

  Useless prattling is my forte and I turned to the psychiatrist. “So Bob—”

  “That’s Dr. Bob,” The marriage counselor chided and pushed his taped glasses further up the bridge of his pointy beak. Sporting a navy sweater-vest over a powder blue button-down shirt, pleated khaki’s and penny loafers, he looked like Fred Rogers’ long lost brother. Though I couldn’t see his socks I would have bet my car that they were paisley.

  “Dr. Bob,” I smiled and stifled the urge to crack my knuckles. If I’d invested the requisite time in earning a PhD I’d probably insist on being called Doctor, too. “Are we ready to start, or what?”

  Neil covered his chuckle with a cough. Waiting doesn’t bother Neil. He’d told me he’d
once spent four days still as a statue, waiting for a terrorist guerilla group to move on. He and one of his SEAL teammates had been pinned down and after running out of MRE’s—meals ready to eat -which aren’t exactly gourmet dining, they were forced to live off the native insects that happened to crawl within grabbing reach. They used hand signals to communicate with each other. Neil had the market cornered in patience.

  Dr. Bob scowled at me. “Are you in a hurry, Mrs. Phillips?”

  “No, I just thought—”

  “Highways are not built overnight, Mrs. Phillips. The same is true for thoroughfares of communication. Rushing either is a waste of time and resources.”

  I cringed a bit. Waste is a four letter word to me, something to be avoided at all costs. Still, standing here engaging in a staring contest didn’t seem especially productive either, but no doubt Dr. Bob had already picked me out as the troublemaker so I kept my mouth shut.

  Dr. Bob cleared his throat. “I like to start all my sessions with new couples with some one-on-one time. It’s important for me know you as individuals first before we can begin working on your relationship. After all, a person in a marriage is only as content as the least happy person in the relationship. Since I’ve spoken with Mr. Phillips over the phone, I think we should start with Mrs. Phillips.”

  Yippie. I suppressed my heel clicking and followed Dr. Bob into his inner sanctum.

  “Please close the door, Mrs. Phillips. This is a confidential session.”

  I glanced out into the waiting area but Neil had whipped out his cell phone and settled back on one of the chairs, so he missed my grimace. Sighing softly, I closed the door with a final sounding click.

  “Tell me about yourself, please.” Dr. Bob sat behind his desk, fingers steepled in front of him.

  “Well, Neil and I have been married for ten years—” My voice cut off at his raised hand.

  “You, Mrs. Phillips. I’m sure you have an identity away from your husband.”

  Did he just smirk at me? I studied him intently, but his face was neutral, giving away nothing.