Even so, he did give Christine a call. By the end of the week, they had met downtown for two dinner dates and an evening at the theater. Martin had to admit there was positive chemistry there, and he was reasonably certain Christine felt it too.
Saturday morning, the week’s anniversary of their encounter, Martin arrived at a blue-chip decision. His attraction to Christine had reached the point where the subject of dogs had to be broached and resolved. Since his polite but perfunctory inquiries as to Cookie’s condition at their initial luncheon meeting, there had been not so much as a word between them on the subject. Much as he was attracted to her, the thought of any close association with Cookie was too serious a matter to simply brush under the rug.
It took him almost an hour to make up his mind to phone, and fifteen minutes more to work up his courage sufficiently to deal with the topic.
“Christine, I think we should discuss dogs.”
“I agree, Martin.” Christine’s voice matched the tenseness in Martin’s. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I guess we might just as well get it over with. How do you really feel about Sam?”
Martin tried desperately to fit the question into some kind of context. It occurred to him that he had never indicated to her that Sam was a borrowed dog. Martin was rather hurt to think that Christine’s dog would take precedence over what she thought was his dog. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t like it.
Evasively, he ventured, “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I don’t like dogs. In fact I can’t stand them.”
Martin shook his head in utter disbelief. “But… what about Cookie?”
“Oh. I guess I didn’t tell you. Cookie isn’t my dog. He’s my boss’s dog. She had a sudden medical emergency and her regular dog sitter was out of town, so she asked me to take care of him last weekend. Believe me, I didn’t want to, but she’s great to work for, so what else could I do?”
Martin quickly revealed Sam’s true status, and the next hour’s conversation was one of the most pleasant in Martin’s memory. A dinner engagement, and perhaps more, was planned for that very evening. Only a knock on the door finally terminated the phone call.
Martin opened it to find a grinning Chuck with Sam in tow. “Hi, Martin. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try again? Sam’s game for another walk.” Sam followed his master into the room, looked around and then immediately plunked himself down on the floor.
“No, thanks,” Martin said, walking away toward the refrigerator, opening it, and removing a large tenderloin steak he’d been planning to cook for a solitary meal at home. Sam eyed the meat and somehow managed to struggle up and accept it from Martin’s hand. It disappeared in one gulp, and Sam immediately stretched out at the donor’s feet.
Martin reached down to give the dog an affectionate and unacknowledged pat, saying. “Thanks for the offer, but I won’t be needing Sam’s help anymore.”
_____________________
THE SEARCH FOR A MATE
The lovely, lonely princess wandered along the edge of a pond thinking about finding a mate, but her father's kingdom was poor, she had no dowry, and no prince had ever asked for her hand.
Suddenly a large bullfrog hopped up on the bank and said, “Kiss me and you will find a mate.”
“What do I have to lose?” thought the princess, as she stooped and kissed the frog.
Within moments, two frogs jumped happily into the pond and swam out among the lily pads.
____________________
SAFETY FIRST
In so many ways, the reception she received surprised her. She’d been prepared for the worst, and the worst hadn’t happened—not even near to the worst. Maybe the relatively young age of her fellow firefighters made the difference. The male chauvinism of older men, her father being the prime example, had seemed so thoroughly engrained she had almost been ready to accept the fallacy that men inherited the quality on their Y chromosome.
While she didn’t for a minute think the younger men were prepared to fully accept her as an equal—at least not until she had repeatedly proven herself—they had at least grown up in a political climate where they knew better than to express their thoughts on the matter in front of her. Women construction workers, women truck drivers, women astronauts, shared dorms—all had contributed to the surprisingly easy acceptance she’d found at Station 24, one of the newest fire companies in rural Hawaii.
Not that it hadn’t called for some adjustment on the men’s part. The shower stalls now had curtains. The toilet doors, which hadn’t had working locks since the building had been built ten years before and had suffered much usage in the meantime, now sported new brassware. Willy Franks had taken to hiding the porno mags from which he’d previously derived so much satisfaction by showing them to the others. Foul language had been much curtailed, though she had made it clear she could match the best of them on that score.
She had to admit, however, that the men’s adjustment to a female presence had not been entirely spontaneous. Cholly Chang, the station Captain, might have been a member of the old school but he had laid down the law. Judy Simpson had earned her stripes in the rigorous training program. She had asked no favors, had received none, had come out in the top ten percent of her class, and Station 24 was going to give her the same welcome, the same help that any of the other rookies had received over the few years of the company’s existence.
She heard, many months after joining the crew, about the one-minute lecture Captain Chang had given at the weekly roundup meeting. “The first one of you who treats Judy as anything else but a damn good firefighter goes right up to the Board of Discipline with me booting your ass all the way. She carried her weight in training, and she’ll carry her weight here. Your life may depend on her some day. Keep that in mind before you muck up. Any questions?” With that said, and with no questions being asked, he had gone on to other matters.
Not that there hadn’t been one or two rough spots, but Judy had to admit that she really couldn’t blame those on discrimination, though she had her doubts. The spots had occurred where she’d crossed Marcus Kanekua’s path. Marcus, a half-Hawaiian, half-haole, was one of the older men in the company. Pushing forty, his years of experience had made him the ideal choice for safety officer. His almost religious devotion to his work made him respected and, to some extent, feared.
The first time he called her into the office had been for something she’d considered not only trifling but also far removed from safety regulations. As the snubber on a fire call she’d failed to flush out the hydrant before attaching the supply line.
His voice was soft—he was noted for seldom raising it—but he was making it quite clear that she had been in the wrong, that she had better not repeat the incident, and that rules, however seemingly meaningless, were meant to be followed. But what he said afterwards made her feel she was being treated as a child or, worse yet, as a woman who had no business claiming to be a firefighter.
“Explain to me why flushing out a hydrant is a safety measure.”
At that moment she felt like turning on her heel and walking out, then wondered if any of the others in the company would do so under those circumstances. She finally decided she wouldn’t give this grim-faced, burly male with the gray-streaked hair the satisfaction of having her suddenly act like a woman.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “If the water’s been standing in the hydrant for any length of time, trash and sediment can build up in it and block the nozzles.” As an afterthought she added, “It’s a good idea to have all the water you can get at a fire.”
A glimmer of something like amusement shone in his eye. “Right. I didn’t think it was important either, until one day I flushed out a half-dozen dead mice from a hydrant. They would have blocked the whole line if I’d skipped the flushing.” That ended the interview.
The weeks rolled by. Most of the calls involved only the ambulance and medics. Of the fire calls, false alarms or unnecessary call-outs were
the most usual events. The occasional brush fires and one serious structure fire found Judy doing her share. The toss-up volleyball games, in which she soon became noted for having a vicious serve, became an almost daily routine. It wasn’t long before the slight tension she’d felt at first had virtually disappeared. She was now one of the crew. What she hadn’t anticipated was a private tension of her own that resulted in part from being a member of an otherwise all male company.
The problem could really be stated in one single word: “Rudy.” Or perhaps it was best to say “the absence of Rudy.” Through training, and into the first weeks of her appointment, the relationship had been close to ideal. With almost all of her waking hours taken up with studying or attending classes, Rudy had been a quiet, useful fixture. He hadn’t really moved in, since he had kept his own apartment, and he certainly didn’t get underfoot. Cooking, housework and other chores were shared. If anything, Rudy carried most of that burden during those busy weeks.
So what went wrong? Nothing went wrong. And that was the point. Rudy and Judy had little in common beyond similar sounding names. He ran a bookstore, and his idea of an exciting evening was to unpack new books and find one for the evening. What with her being so busy, how he spent his time hadn’t mattered much. Sex had been satisfactory. Not wildly passionate, maybe, but she hadn’t felt either deprived or put upon. Rudy showed no indications of feeling differently.
But the marked divergence in interests began to surface when Judy started to have spare time. Never much of a reader, herself, it was hard for her to see how Rudy could spend so much time with his nose buried in a book. By default, she watched more TV than usual and felt generally disgruntled. She finally settled down to a long talk with Rudy, who seemed more concerned at the time about getting back to the biography of Alexander Hamilton than with the direction the talk was heading.
He did finally agree that he couldn’t muster up much interest in new firefighting techniques, or what had happened at the Malalani warehouse fire, or what kind of medical training was needed for the crew on the medivac helicopter. Nor could she bring herself to listen to or participate in any lengthy discourse about the financial system of the United States under the Articles of Confederation.
The upshot was that groceries and other implements of the household were divvied up equitably, Rudy moved out, to the visible relief of both of them, and they slipped into a friendly relationship that entailed an occasional brief meeting for coffee and catching up on each others lives.
It took almost a month before the novelty of living alone began to wear off. The notion of a passionate love affair, something she had convinced herself was an essential ingredient of life back in her teenage days, was most certainly not what she was looking for to replace Rudy. A careful evaluation of what she had missed when living with him, and a further logical analysis of her needs and interests, led her to one conclusion—the next man in her life had to be someone she could talk to about the work she had become so thoroughly involved in. Sharing an apartment and bed was simply not enough. There had to be more.
The next step was inevitable, but hormones rather than gray matter triggered the step. She was sitting at one of the enormous lunches Company 24 was famous for, when it suddenly struck her that she was entirely surrounded by males. What could make more sense than to look for a compatible companion who was a firefighter. For sure, they would have at least one interest in common, and shared life-or-death experiences would certainly be a strong glue in holding together a relationship.
Willy Franks was a possibility. Definitely single, definitely interested in the opposite sex. Judy dismissed the possibility almost immediately. Willy’s interest was rather obviously more in the virtual life of the porno material in his locker than in any actual female.
Kimo Washburn? The ruggedly handsome Kimo was out of the running for quite a different reason. He was being well cared for at home. At the annual PR luncheon where nearby professional and volunteer companies and their families gathered, Kimo’s live-in girlfriend Nani had had a visible impact on the festivities. Dark haired, sensuous, well-endowed—simply exuding sex appeal—Judy knew she would never be able to compete successfully with God’s gift to the testosterone-afflicted male.
Jess Kanaka would have been ideal. Personable, friendly, and with a respectable amount of good looks. There was a major problem there, however. He was openly gay.
Judy liked Collins Chu, and quickly crossed him off the list. Collins was happily married and Judy wasn’t about to become involved with a married man. She most certainly wasn’t going to be the other woman who’d wrecked a marriage.
Marcus? Judy almost laughed aloud. A recent widower—he would be fair game. He was also a cold fish who at the moment was much more concerned with the rice and teriyaki steak on his plate than in the woman at the lunch table who was casually surveying possibilities. Besides, he was at least fifteen years older than her, and she hadn’t gotten over the feeling he was a male chauvinist pig. She moved on.
How about the joker? Mel Pereira looked out at the world through glasses etched with one-liners. The humor sometimes grated, and Judy knew she could take only so much of it. He was fun to be around, but one-on-one every day? Nah, Judy decided.
The conversation around the table had suddenly centered on Phil Pak. Father of six children, recently blessed with, of all things, a set of triplets, Phil was becoming an object of speculation involving his established record of virility. Judy had crossed him off her list almost from the outset.
“Hey, Phil,” Mel was asking, “Did you go to sleep and leave your motor running?” The comments became even more raucous. Judy was pleased to observe that no one gave any thought to her gender during the repartee, though she didn’t join in.
The talk shifted to Kimo, with envious comments concerning his current flame. Unlike Phil, Kimo was obviously enjoying the attention.
“Hey, Kimo,” Phil said, rather obviously trying to keep attention away from himself, “You better not two-time Nani. I was talking to her, and she said she’d pull a Bobbitt on her man if she caught him playing around.”
Willy looked over at Judy and asked, “Would you take a knife to a man if he played around, Judy?”
The talk around the table stopped. A several pairs of male eyes turned in her direction. Suddenly the tension of those first days came back with a vengeance. Judy quickly snapped out of her reverie. She protested in a loud voice, “No, never! Of course not. I’d use pruning shears.”
Groans and raucous laughter broke the tension, and Judy felt so pleased at the camaraderie, she knew she would never try to spoil it by starting an affair with any of the men around her. As they were rising, the alarm interrupted. Rushing off to don their gear, the good-natured raillery continued. Mel shouted to Willy who was on station duty that day, “Be sure the dishes are all done by the time we get back, Willy.”
Judy was overwhelmed with a feeling of comfort and security, as she sat—bundled up in her bunker gear and sitting in the jump seat of Engine 24 roaring off to the fire. No, there would be no affair with any of the crew of Station 24. No need for it. After all, there were three other professional companies and two volunteer companies in the vicinity. Since they answered many of the same calls as 24, and she frequently attended social events and drills or advanced training classes with them, there was no reason she couldn’t meet one of those men.
The thought drifted away as she began to concentrate on the brush and structure fire she heard Dispatch describing. Several additional homes were threatened. This was no time to daydream about affairs or live-in partners. There was work to be done.
With 24 the first on the scene, the crew was spread out thinly over a half-acre of brush fire that had evidently started on the lanai of one of the homes. The house itself had smoke pouring from the windows, and attack hoses were being rapidly deployed to the front entrance. Phil and Judy unloaded a ladder and packed it over to the side of the two-story building next to one of the windows b
reathing smoke. A sudden call from the front took Phil off to stop a leak in the attack hose that was robbing the nozzle person of much of the water pressure.
Judy planted the ladder firmly on the concrete walkway and scurried up the rungs to peer into what was probably a bedroom. The smoke had already started to dissipate, and a quick survey indicated there was no one there in need of help. Sirens in the distance indicated other companies were on the way, and Judy descended to help wrestle one of the heavy attack lines to the back of the house.
This time, fortune had smiled on the firefighters and the negligent homeowner. The windless day allowed the gathered crews to quickly douse the brush fire, and the damage to the house from an unattended charcoal broiler on the lanai had been confined almost entirely to an upholstered chair and living room curtains that had smoldered rather than burst into flames. Extensive smoke damage would be the chief impact on the luxury home.
At first, Judy didn’t think much of it when Marcus, back at the station and in his usual quiet voice, asked her to go off a way from the crew to speak to her privately. She thought differently when he broached the subject of the ladder. And again she bristled at what she considered a parent-child quality to what he was saying.
“You broke a major safety rule when you went up that ladder. Do you know what it is?”
It took her a moment to regain her composure and to think better of simply telling him off. She also quickly dismissed the feeling that she should justify her actions. Just answer his question, she decided. It wasn’t easy to stick to a simple answer.
“The rule is you aren’t to go up a ladder unless someone is bracing it to keep it from slipping. Except in an emergency,” she added.
“Was there an emergency?”
She hated having to admit that there really had been none. She hated even more trying to justify her actions. “No.”
Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 22