CLUB MEDicine: A Novel

by Jack Kinsley

  "So, it is about work?" Travis leaned back into the booth in surrender and she warmed the cold square on his arm again.

  "Now, don't get all excited. Just think about it. Okay?" She shook his sleeve so he would look directly at her, and then she told him, "I want you to go pick up Jordan from his hotel room."

  Travis tossed his hands up and slapped them back down on the table. It nearly shook their water glasses over. A few drunks at a neighboring table took notice.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" he whispered. Immediately, his chest tightened and the walls of the restaurant seemed to draw in — conditions only his sacred Valium could alleviate. For a moment, he considered taking out his little black box then and there.

  Sarah gripped his sleeve in her fist and pulled his attention back to her. "I went to go see him and he wouldn't even answer the door. He's going to die in there, Travis. Are you really going to let that happen? Can you live with that?"

  "Are you kidding me? When did I suddenly become responsible for everyone? Just what the hell do you think I've turned into — some kind of retarded super hero? Rescuing dogs from meth addicts and dragging drunks to safety from their hotel rooms." Travis picked up a napkin and began twisting it in his hands. Then he added in a child's voice, "Travis will do it! He'll do anything for a beautiful woman. Just bat your eyes at him and sweet talk him into any kind of stupid shit." He tossed the mutilated napkin onto the table.

  Sarah released her grip on his sleeve and began petting the wrinkles from it, smoothing the cotton. A sweet, endearing smile brightened her eyes.

  "Beautiful woman?" she repeated.

  Travis pulled his arm from her. He wanted to be upset. His ass had been kicked in so many directions the past few weeks he didn't know where the steel toes were coming from anymore. He did his best to be pissed off, keeping his jaw clenched and his eyes beaded, but her angelic face broke him. He didn't stand a chance. Fucking women.

  "Will you help him?"

  "Maybe — no — I don't know. Look, I can't make you any promises. Actually, don't even count on me. He's a legal liability and it's just too risky for Crystal Heights." He didn't even know if Crystal Heights would last the week. "Maybe I can reach out to his ex-wife, or get in touch with his son."

  "You know they don't give a damn. They're like vultures, waiting for him to die so they can get everything."

  They wouldn't get shit, Travis thought. Jordan told him he had cut them entirely out of his will.

  "Enough for right now, okay Sarah? It's been a long day. Let me just enjoy my breakfast."

  Travis felt it was a stroke of luck when the busboy appeared at that very moment and served them their drinks — an iced tea for Sarah and a large glass of OJ for him. It distracted their conversation. Sarah reached for a couple of Sweet'N Lows, spanked them from their ends, tore them and dumped the toxic powder into her glass. To her credit, she didn't talk about Jordan again, realizing when a man had reached his limit — no matter what man it might be. But Travis also knew the cunning nature of women. Sarah had planted the seed, and now she would patiently wait and watch it grow from afar. And if it didn't cultivate, that's when he would hear about it again.

  When their food did arrive, they ate in near silence until they were sated, then sat back lazily in the booth. Sarah remained seated inches from him.

  — — —

  On the way back to the car that night, Sarah stopped and pointed out a heart-shaped, baked oil spill in the Denny's parking lot.

  "Look," she said with a giggle. "Maybe this place is romantic after all." She poked his stomach lightly.

  Travis cocked his head at the stained asphalt until it finally registered just what the hell she was talking about. "As usual, life's signs written in grease and grime."

  "You never know what you might find when it's least expected," she said. Her gaze fell to his lips. His annoyance over the Jordan thing had long since vanished, chased away by the warmth of Sarah's eyes, the weight of her hand on his arm.

  "And sometimes you know exactly what you've found, and just how lucky you are, the moment you walk into a casino."

  He swept his thumb gently across her cheek, slipped his hand down and around her smooth neck, and held her eyes with his. He briefly resisted the surging energy pulling them closer, tuned into the silent communication between them, and then pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers, the sweetness of maple syrup still lingering from their midnight breakfast. When they paused for air, it didn't make a difference where they stood, whether it was in a parking lot or on a beach bathing in the glow of a sunset. Nothing mattered but them.

  Sarah tugged him in for another marathon kiss, while Travis fished the car keys from his pocket, never leaving her lips, and opened the passenger door for her. Their embrace only ended when she was seated inside the car and it was his turn to get in. He jogged around to the driver's seat. Once inside, they started again, hands roaming unexplored terrain, breathing heavily, not a word said. The restraint of the bucket seats was like an unwanted referee keeping them apart, until the two of them, almost in unison, suggested they get the hell out of there.

  They had come out together, the original plan being that Travis would drive her back to Crystal Heights to fetch her car. Travis hesitated at the parking lot exit. Left was the road to Crystal Heights, and right was Sarah's place — he knew damn well which way he wanted to turn, but waited for Sarah to confirm it.

  "I guess it's the after-dinner fork in the road," she laughed, and put a hand on his thigh.

  Travis hit the gas and swung the car right. They cut dangerously close in front of an approaching car; the tires squealed under them and laid a fresh patch of rubber on the street. A long flash of high beams came from behind them and illuminated the interior of the car. Travis waved a forgive-me hand in the shock of light.

  He was curious to see how Sarah lived. He'd only come within ten yards of her place before, picking her up one morning as a result of a dead car battery. The only glimpse he'd had then was through a window obscured by a large green palm leaf. It told him nothing other than that she had a possible green thumb. Or plastic plants.

  When they arrived, Sarah jumped out and punched a code into the garage box. The door lifted to reveal his first look into her private world. The garage was pristine and white, with an immaculate floor sprayed with faux marble paint. There wasn't even a whisper of a car ever being parked on it. Along the left wall was a line of Gorilla shelves holding storage boxes arranged by size, labeled with neat black marker.

  At the back, now fully lit by his headlights, were a washer and dryer. An oil painting rested on a small table easel on the dryer — a still life that Travis planned to get a better look at once he was inside. There was a green tennis ball dangling from the rafters from a length of twine — directly in his line of sight — and as he pulled in, it grew closer like some strange solitary planet he was approaching from space. Sarah waved him in. When he stopped at her firm open hand, he was just a few inches shy of kissing the fuzzy ball with his windshield. He cut the engine and there was sudden tranquility in the garage.

  Before exiting the car, he popped the glove compartment and swiftly found the smooth corners of his little black box and shoved it deep into one of his socks. It had been a while since he'd been with a woman, and he thought an Adderall could get the blood flowing in all the right places — just in case.

  Outside the car, he went directly over to the painting. It was of a group of standing yellow pears; one was out front of the pack with its stem pointed at the others, as if it was holding court. It was well done, but there wasn't a signature.

  "Did you paint this?"

  Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Without answering, she waved him to follow her through the garage door and into the condo. She smacked the large garage door button, sending the track and door in motion, and then ran inside. One of the labels on the boxes caught his attention. It read CHILDHOOD MEMORIES. He wanted to open it, but he chased her throug
h the door and into the kitchen instead. He managed to spank her bottom before they made it to the living room, where she turned, wrapped her arms around him, and lifted herself onto his hips, kissing him deeply.

  There was no time and no need for the Adderall. He was a Boy Scout pitching a twelve-man tent — if his zipper didn't soon make way, it would tattoo a permanent track on him. She tugged at his shirt and pulled the tails from his pants, and he did the same with the shirt from her skirt. In their heat were flashes of virgin skin they were seeing for the first time and they didn't miss a beat, shedding each other's clothes as if they'd made love a hundred times before.

  In the midst of their kisses, Travis caught sight of a shag rug on the wooden floor under a coffee table. He thought to kick it out of the way and lay her down there, but she pulled him toward an open chaise. He fell on top of her and took her on the suede leather.

  For the briefest of moments, the complicated thought of him screwing his house manager struck him, but he chased those inhibitions away; that girl was gone, and under him was an amazing woman. He could have never predicted the events taking place in his life. He'd been spiraling out of control for months, barely keeping his head above water, watching his world float higher above while being sucked down into a vortex. But here he was, naked in the ruins of his life, feeling as if he was making love in the middle of a war. And he'd never felt more alive.

  — — —

  Travis dangled, head first, as the hand of God gradually lowered him into an inferno for eternity. There was the unmistakable stench of his hair as it singed in the lick of flames... When his skin began to bubble and boil, he was thrown abruptly back into consciousness. His eyes shot open to an unfamiliar ceiling, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He didn't know where he was. He sat up and took in his surroundings while the long arm of an old-fashioned alarm clock to his left clicked louder with every second. His mind couldn't place any of it. Then, something stirred next to him in the bed.

  Instantly, his memory returned.

  It calmed him immediately to see the powerful elegance of Sarah's bare back. He lay back down on the damp sheets and let the solace of her company embrace him. He lightly ran his fingers along the smooth ridge of her silhouette, starting at her shoulder, across the ripple of her rib cage, dipping into the valley of her waist, and then lifting again at the rise of her hip. There was a sense of magic and disbelief that she was actually next to him, and all the evils troubling him dissolved. He thought of waking her, but was content enough to watch her sleep. She was the greatest of medicine — and without the chemical hangover.

  He lay awake for another hour before Sarah rolled over and held him in the cage of her arms. It was only then that he finally drifted off again.

  When he woke a second time, he was in bed alone. The morning light filtered above and below the drawn curtains; its strength told him the sun had risen hours ago. He sat up and listened for any signs of Sarah, but there was nothing.

  Would she have gone to work without him? No, she didn't even have her car. Did she take his? No, she'll be back, he thought and lay back down. A satiated grin lifted his face as he recalled her naked in bed with him.

  He began to make promises to himself. There was no doubt he would still have Ana erased — she had given him no alternatives, and his world couldn't continue with her in it. But he was going to make a conscious effort to live his life in the moment, with gratitude, rather than for some distant aim. For most of his adult life, he'd been living for the future, holding happiness from himself until he'd achieved yet another objective or made another X amount of money. No, after Ana was gone, he was going to really live and allow himself to be happy.

  A few minutes later he heard the front door open and shut, followed by the sound of grocery bags being carried in.

  "Home honey I'm high," he called out. He heard the bags drop and then the pitter patter of bare feet hurrying down the hallway. She flew into the bedroom and leapt onto the bed, nearly landing a knee between his legs.

  She tried kissing him, but he told her he hadn't brushed his teeth yet. "Not since yesterday, actually."

  She grabbed his face and gave him a long close-mouthed kiss. "I just bought you one." She ran back out into the living room.

  "Really?" he shouted to her.

  "You're darn tootin' I did." And she was suddenly in the room again. She tossed the toothbrush on the bed. "I'm cooking breakfast, so go ahead and shower if you want." She left again.

  "What about work?" he called out.

  "I already called in. I bought us a couple hours. Told Lucy we were both meeting a potential new client and that's why my car was parked there. And Betsy is still sleeping, so we can move her into her new room later."

  Her words were faint, but he caught all of them.

  "I didn't realize you were such a good liar."

  "Only white lies," she said, and he heard a rush of metal as she opened a kitchen drawer.

  After a much-needed shower and a good tooth brushing, he joined Sarah and watched her cook. The kitchen was full of soft morning light and there was a sweet bouquet gaining complexity from her efforts at the stove. A garden window jutted outward from the sink with a wide variety of herbs — thyme, basil, rosemary, and Italian parsley were the ones he could identify — and there was a climbing vine with heart-shaped leaves reaching all the way up to a corner of the ceiling. NPR murmured from a small corner stereo on the counter. Leaning against the wall next to it was a ceramic tile of a dancing pig that read: "All you need is love (and bacon)!"

  Travis wore a pair of boxers and a wife-beater from the night before — he wasn't sure where the rest of his clothes were — but he was happy he'd chosen a solid pair of shorts the day before and not his light blue ones with the printed bananas. Sarah wore a pair of pink velvet sweatpants and a white razorback tank top. The sweats did a fabulous job of showing off her hind quarters, and the thin strip of white cotton that ran down her spine left most of her beautiful back exposed. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, loose wisps of hair flowing down her pale neck.

  She was standing over the stove when he walked up behind her and gently brushed away the fine hair to kiss the baby-soft skin on her neck. She dipped her knees a little at his touch.

  "We was hotter than two rabbits screwin' in a wool sack last night," he whispered in her ear and pinched her bottom.

  She turned and gave him a proper good morning kiss. Then she pushed him in the direction of the kitchen table. "Go on now. Get! Mind yourself and sit!" she ordered him.

  Travis took a seat. "You know, some of that southern twang sounds legit."

  "Alabama girl until I was seven." She did a curtsy like she'd done poolside at Crystal Heights, then opened the fridge. There was a brief nervous search through one of the shelves inside the door and then he heard her mumble, "There you are." She pulled a bottle of Aunt Jemima molded in plastic, wearing a neckline of syrup.

  "Hope you don't mind," she said and put it on the table in front of him.

  "Don't have a racist bone in my body." He smiled.

  "That's not what I meant."

  "So, 'Sweet Home Alabama'?" The song started up in his head.

  "Yep, my daddy was stationed there, but we moved countless times. I'm what you might call a mutt of regional influences. And I wouldn't have changed it for the world." She went back to work at the stove while she talked. "Most kids, they hate moving and having to make new friends, knowing it's always just a matter of time until you said goodbye, but not me. I loved it. I would miss my friends of course, but there was always the promise of a new adventure and new friends. I suppose I've lived most of my relationships that way." She flashed him a guilty smile and then tossed another ingredient into her pot. "And besides, my sister was my best friend anyway."

  He was surprised how comfortable he was sitting in her kitchen, half naked — up until he looked down and saw his mouse poking out of his shorts. He made a quick adjustment.

  "Thank you." She lau
ghed, keeping her back to him. "I was wondering when you were going to put that away."

  "They have minds of their own, you know."

  "Do I ever."

  "So, tell me more secrets about Sarah..."

  For the first time, she cracked open the book about herself. She went on to describe herself as an 'ugly-eenager' and how it had been a good thing for her in the long run — how it had forced her to sharpen her mind rather than depending on her looks and wasting time running around with boys. Although, she also confided she'd wanted to marry young, start her family early, and chase a career path after her kids had grown; a sort of get-it-out-of-the-way kind of logic. She felt she could be a better role model to her children in her later years and offer better advice if they were all gainfully employed in the workforce of the same era. It was an interesting perspective Travis had never considered.

  Sitting there listening to her, he began to think there was some truth in what people said about being friends with a woman first. Raising their level of intimacy seemed to be such an easy transition. He couldn't remember when he'd felt more at home in a place he'd never even been before.

  When she finally served breakfast, it was a feast for the eyes and the palate: Belgian waffles with a fruit medley of strawberries, blueberries, and a few Kiwis thrown in for drama and color. It was all gently mixed in a light warm bath of real honey and pooled nicely inside the grid of waffle. She'd even speckled the top of it with a toss of powdered sugar. Next came a fresh bowl of whipped cream and then a larger bowl of steaming scrambled eggs that had the distinctive aroma of parmesan cheese blended in.

  Travis complimented the dish before he'd even tasted it and told her Aunt Jemima wasn't even needed; back in the fridge she went. They raised a toast of fresh-squeezed orange juice and dug into their second breakfast within the last eight hours.

  After gorging themselves and finally surrendering, Sarah pulled him from his chair and led him to the living room couch. She cuddled him there for nearly an hour, until Travis could no longer hold his morning coffee. He whispered he would be right back.