by Janet Leigh
“If you don’t want to meet him, why is this is a problem?”
“I have a hard time letting go.”
I rolled my eyes, and she pocketed the phone. “Best to make him wait anyhow.” She grabbed a copy of the Historical Tribune and headed off upstairs. “Gotta study. See ya later.” Attack cat followed behind Gertie, flicking his tail with condolences about my man troubles.
Chapter 6
My alarm clock kicked on, waking me from a deep, dreamless sleep. The golden sun streaming in my window caused me to squint as I shut off the Beatles song playing on my alarm clock. There was hope for a bright, sunshiny day, but I had that nagging feeling something was amiss. My stomach grumbled loudly. One of the side effects of time travel is increased hunger. The other is severe fatigue, usually following the second travel back to the present. I slept like a log last night, taking care of the fatigue, but I couldn’t put my finger on the uneasiness I felt. I blamed the hunger pains as I dressed for work.
After I lost my job as an assistant purchasing agent at Steve Stone Shoes, I began working for my brother, Eli, at his chiropractic office. I still couldn’t believe Mr. Steve Stone was arrested for tax evasion. I loved that job. My favorite part of that job was going downtown to Dallas Market Hall and purchasing shoes for the next season. Steve Stone carried his own brand, but he also carried all the high-end shoes. He gave his employees a sizable discount, and I reciprocated by buying shoes every paycheck. At least I have a nice collection of shoes, and maybe with the extra income from the transporter job I can maintain my shoe fetish. It is less expensive to buy Italian shoes wholesale in Italy than pay retail in America. And now, with my transporter abilities, I can buy shoes wherever I desire. This thought made me smile as I put on my yellow Monday scrubs.
Standing in front of the mirror, I gasped. I could literally stop traffic in the darn things; they were one shade below neon. Mary, the clinic’s office manager, decided we should have matching scrubs for each day of the week. Monday is yellow to start the patients off in a good mood. I had to admit I did feel a little more cheery, but the bruises on my arm showed and were turning a nice purple-green color. I retreated to my closet and pulled out a Tory Burch long-sleeve shirt. I layered it under my scrub top, and it hid all my bruises. I added some Betsy Johnson dangling earrings in the shape of small cupcakes. I pulled on my black leather boots and moved the contents of my purse into my Prada tote. I headed downstairs to scrounge up breakfast.
Gertie caught me standing at the open fridge, surveying the contents. Half a jug of milk, three eggs—no time for that—and some lettuce.
“Dang, I need to talk to you, but wait—let me get my sunglasses.” She giggled, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from my scrubs. “The reflection off those scrubs is giving me a headache.”
I shrugged off Gertie’s inner comedian. “Gertie, isn’t it your week to go food shopping?”
“I did. I’m on the new shake diet. I can lose up to ten pounds a week just drinking shakes.” She pulled open the freezer and showed me her stash of frozen fruits and veggies for shake making. I wouldn’t describe Gertie as fat, maybe plump or big boned. She is about five foot five and has cute freckles that cut across her nose. She is always on some kind of diet. I think if she would throw away the Ben and Jerry’s she has hiding under the frozen spinach, she would lose the weight. But who am I to judge?
“Don’t you think fresh fruits and vegetables would be better?” I asked her cautiously.
“No, I read an article that said frozen is better because they freeze it right away and that preserves the vitamins.” She grabbed a bag of frozen kale and dumped it in the blender with some pineapple and a scoop of something from a bag that smelled like garlic. If she didn’t lose weight, at least she would keep the vampires away.
“Do you want some?” she asked.
I shook my head and decided I would risk my luck at the fast-food drive-through. I pulled on my white fuzzy North Face jacket and headed out to my car. Gertie followed, making sucking noises as she drank her shake through a straw.
The morning air was crisp, with scents of fall whipping my hair into my face. Thanksgiving was right around the corner, and the trees were shedding their leaves. They would go from dark green to naked in a matter of weeks. When Ace took me to New York on our first lateral travel, I was amazed to see the seasonal change of color on the East Coast. Brilliant colors of rust and orange provided a beautiful background for our walk through Central Park. Children were rolling around in piles of leaves, and couples sat on blankets along the banks of the small lake, enjoying a picnic.
My inner voice tapped her wristwatch, indicating I needed to get a move on or I would be late to work again.
As I passed the outhouse, it stood glorious in the backyard, with lush vegetation wrapping around its outer shell. Yellow and orange flowers sprang up from the small garden surrounding my vessel, and at its base, the blue moon roses had the morning dew weeping from the petals. It was as if my outhouse was giving Mother Nature the finger for the drought-filled summers and the short fall season. I noticed a peculiar vine curling haphazardly around the outhouse. As I moved in for a closer look, I saw four tiny pumpkins clinging to the curly vine. I pulled my jacket around me to block the cool wind as Gertie caught up with me.
“We have pumpkins.” I pointed.
“Yeah, I saw that this morning when I let Smokey out for his morning stretch. Cool, huh?”
“I guess we can make our own pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving.”
Gertie gave me a look that said, Why would you want to do that when you can buy one for five bucks at the bakery?
We turned to walk through the back gate that led to our carport. A large metal awning protected both cars from the elements.
“I was thinking maybe we could have a double date when Caiyan gets back from his business trip,” Gertie suggested, holding the gate open for me.
“And who, pray tell, would be your date?” I slid her a sidelong glance, knowing full well she wanted to see Brodie again. “Possibly Captain Underpants?”
“No, I swiped left,” she said, looking sullen. “Maybe Caiyan could get a hold of Brodie, and we could go somewhere fun, like Egypt.”
“Gert, you know we’re not allowed to take people riding around the universe in our vessels.”
“It was just an idea.” She sulked.
Gertie was still having hurt feelings over the library boy, so I said, “I’ll check with Caiyan when he returns, and maybe Brodie will come for a visit.”
She perked up at this and gave me a wave as she got into her car.
Gertie hopped in her red BMW 330, revved the engine, gave me a beep, and sped off down the road. When Gertie was sixteen, her mother, my cousin Trish, married Vincent Gambino, also known as Vinnie the fish. Gertie’s life went from trailer parks to Park Avenue. She and her two half brothers lived the life of luxury for about a week, and then they were shipped off to boarding schools. I think Gertie still has a few unresolved issues with her stepfather, but the perks of having a rather nice allowance and her shiny red car keep them at bay.
My white Mustang convertible was waiting for me. I peeked out from under the carport at the sun, and a swift breeze had me ducking back in, zipping up my jacket. I was not putting the top down on my car today. Occasionally, November will give us a few days of eighty-degree weather, but not today. I sighed, got into my car, and drove off to work.
I made the loop past my dad’s health food/feed store. A person could get all-natural pet food and B vitamins while sipping one of my dad’s homemade juices. He claimed all his herbal remedies and juices were an ancient Indian secret. I’m not sure about that, but his carrot juice keeps my skin clear. After my mom and dad moved to an adult community to play golf and become social anthropologists, he cut his hours back at the store. I didn’t see his Ford pickup in the employee parking lot behind the store, so
I motored out to Highway 80 and headed east. Maroon 5 came on the radio. I cranked it up and sang a duet with Adam Levine. My inner voice agreed—today would be a good day.
Eli had chosen the quaint town of Coffee Creek because it was about thirty miles outside Dallas. The people were small town and very friendly. I pulled into the drive-through at Mickey D’s and picked up a caramel latte, two breakfast sandwiches, and a side of hash browns. This transporter thing was going to make me gain weight. My inner self suggested getting some exercise or trying one of Gertie’s shakes. Neither sounded very appealing to me. I told her no as I took a bite out of the sandwich.
I made the block around the big red courthouse and whipped into a parking space behind the strip center where my brother’s office was located. Ten minutes to nine—I was on time for once. Crumpling the paper of my first breakfast sandwich, I took a sip of my latte as I made my way through the courtyard that separated Eli’s office from a vacant space. The humming of saws and the smell of fresh paint flowed through the air. The vacant space next door was getting a new occupant, and it looked like they were putting the finishing touches on it. A large vehicle equipped with a cherry picker was parked in front of the vacant office. The boom of the vehicle was extended, and a man in the cherry picker was installing a sign on the front of the building: “Coffee Creek Medical Spa.” The windows were lettered, advertising Botox injections, facelifts, and laser hair removal. Interesting, I thought to myself. My brother is an all-natural health care provider trying to make you live longer using chiropractic and nutrition, and right next door you can have all kinds of poison injected to make you look younger. Choices—isn’t that what life is all about?
Upon entering the office, the smell of incense hit me like a brick wall. “Whoa, who’s burning the incense?” I asked the gray-haired office manager, Mary, as I passed by her desk.
She had a phone balanced between her neck and shoulder as she clacked away on her keyboard. Looking up, she held up her index finger adorned with a very long red polished fake fingernail. Thanking the person on the other end of the phone, she hung up and said, “Su Le had an early patient this morning.”
Well, that explained the smell that radiated around the room. The moxa, a substance Su Le used for burning on the ends of her acupuncture needles, smelled almost like marijuana. Last month we had an influx of teenagers stopping by after school to smell our air. Unfortunately for them, the giddiness they claimed to feel was purely a placebo. Su Le started using incense to mask the scent. Apparently, the smell of eucalyptus is not as inviting to the teens, and they moved on to GameStop.
I said my hellos to the other staff as I headed back to find my brother, Eli. He was seated at his desk perusing the morning schedule. His dark-black hair had grown out some and was threatening to hide his shirt collar.
“Don’t let Mom see that hair touching your collar, or she’ll pull out the trimming shears.”
He glanced up at me. His blue eyes looked at me through dark-rimmed glasses, and a slow smile stretched across his face. “Well, well, well. Look who’s on time today.”
“I’m not on time—I’m early.”
“You should be careful. The other employees might think you’re trying for a raise.” He smirked at me and cocked his head to one side. “I like the hair—are you trying for Marilyn Monroe or Miley Cyrus?”
I realized Eli hadn’t seen me since I did the bottle-blond dye job. “I was going for more like Mom’s color.”
He gave a small chuckle. “Well then, you need to go back to your hair gurus and tell them to use Rachel Ray brown.”
“Get out. Mom dyed her hair brown?” My mom has been proudly blond her entire life. Only in the past few years has she added some extra blond highlights to give it “life,” as she would say.
“Yep, saw Mom and Dad on Sunday. You know that day the entire family gets together for lunch after we attend church.”
A little guilt flushed my face. “I’m taking some classes.” It wasn’t a total lie. I was taking Transporting 101 classes with Jake at the WTF starting on Saturday.
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s great, Jen, but you should probably tell Mom. You know how she loves getting the family together to try out whatever recipe her clients are cooking up.”
Our mother is a cookbook editor for celebrities, and is frequently serving up one of the many dishes waiting for her final approval before going to print.
“What was the feast on Sunday?” I asked.
“Lamb chops with some kind of sticky sauce. I think it had peaches in it.” He kissed his fingers and made some Italian gesture. “They were pretty tasty but probably loaded with sugar. Dad rolled his eyes every time he took a bite.” My dad is off sugar, gluten, and anything that has an additive or preservative. My Mom force-feeds him anything and everything that contains those things—her way of “testing” her clients’ recipes. He’s a good sport about it, but I know he runs an extra three miles and does a colon cleanse every Monday to rid his body of “those nasty chemicals.”
Eli’s eyes returned to the computer screen, and I made a mental note to call my parents.
“Are we busy today?”
“I should say, yes.” He turned the screen around so I could see the multicolored lines representing our patients for the day. We scheduled different colors for the type of services the patients were receiving, and the schedule was blinking like a neon sign in Vegas.
“Wow, I better go clock in and get my chiropractic assistant legs on.” As I stood to leave, Eli was summoned to treat the first patient.
I stored my purse in my workstation and started up to the front office to see if I could help answer phones, when someone grabbed my wrist from behind. Pain surged through my arm from the pressure on the bruises, and after the intense situation at the WTF, I was a little jumpy. I jerked my arm away, turned with a vehemence I didn’t know I possessed, and went into defense mode, fists up, ready to strike out.
Su Le let out a startled yelp and had her hands in karate-chop mode. We both stood staring fiercely at each other. Then recognition set in on my part, and I dropped my warrior hands to my sides.
“I’m sorry, Su Le. You frightened me.”
Her normally almond-shaped eyes were bulging with surprise. She relaxed and adjusted her headband back into place on her shiny black bob. “That’s OK, Jen. I have an emergency at home. I need to leave.”
“OK. You should tell Mary.”
“I did tell her, but I have a patient on acupuncture needles, and I need you to take him off.”
Normally the thought of seeing a person with fifty needles sticking out would have me running the opposite direction, but Su Le had trained me to remove needles, and I was a fearless member of the WTF, for crying out loud. “Sure, no problem,” I responded, hoping Su Le didn’t see my lip quiver.
Su Le inserts the needles, dims the lights, turns on her aromatherapy machine, and lets the patient rest for thirty minutes. If she has several patients, she uses two rooms. She will get the patient started, and then Paulina, the other assistant, or I (if absolutely necessary) will follow behind and remove the needles. Su Le gave me her timer and the patient’s chart. I looked through the chart, which included a sketch of a body with little red dots showing where all the needles were located for this patient and the number of needles used. I needed to remove twenty-five needles. I thought that wasn’t so bad.
I recalled the first time I had helped Su Le remove needles. The patient had at least fifty. It was Mrs. Jones, an elderly lady who was coming in for constipation and leg pain. I entered Mrs. Jones’s room, and the soft sounds of waves lapping up on the beach greeted me. Su Le had the relaxation music on low and the aromatherapy on eucalyptus. My nose started running immediately upon entering the room. The tall medical table was motorized for elevation and the back was inclined. The patient was resting comfortably, head dropped down to her shoulder and
needles poking out of her hands, legs, stomach, and almost every surface in between. My stomach felt queasy, and I started summoning my inner superhero. The mantra was on playback in my head, drowning out the relaxation music. I took a deep breath and turned off the aromatherapy machine. I picked up the small metal tray containing cotton balls soaked in alcohol for the needle removal. I reached over to turn off the music, and the room went dead quiet. I looked over at the patient, and she hadn’t moved a muscle. In fact, I couldn’t see the steady rise and fall of her sleeping chest. Goose bumps started at the top of my head and spread over my body, making the hair on my arms stand at attention. I turned and bumped into the patient’s walker. The clatter was loud in the quiet room, but the patient remained still as stone. I flicked on the overhead light. “Uhm, Mrs. Jones,” I said from across the room. Nothing. Oh jeez. I prayed silently, Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. I slowly approached the patient and laid a hand on her arm, “Mrs. Jones,” I said, giving her a little shake. Her eyes popped open, and she let out a blood-curdling scream. I screamed and jumped away from the patient, knocking her walker into the wall. The small metal tray with the cotton balls went flying and clattered to the floor. Eli and Paulina came running into the room.
“What’s wrong?” they asked in unison.
Mrs. Jones looked around, blinking her eyes rapidly, finally fully awake from her deep sleep.
“I just came in to take out the needles,” I said, still cowering in the far corner of the room.
Eli came over to the patient and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Jones, this is Jennifer. She’s going to remove the needles, OK?”
Mrs. Jones looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. “Well, she scared the bejeezus out of me and I shat myself, so I’m happy with the results. I didn’t think this acupuncture stuff was going to work.”
“Jen!” A voice snapped me from my thoughts. Paulina, Eli’s assistant, with the cute turned-up nose and cheerful personality, was standing in front of me, hands on hips. “Your timer is beeping.”