I searched high and low but couldn’t find the little bastard. In the end I went off to bed perturbed by the behaviour of the animals in my life. I dreamt that I was in the hairdressers getting my haircut, but half way through the dream, Tristan turned into a gigantic yellow cockatiel and when he finally turned me around to look at my hair I was totally bald. I woke up in a sweat, clutching my head, wondering where the hell I was before I remembered the mattress incident and that I was in the spare bedroom. I spent a few moments calming myself before I finally managed to drift off into a thankfully, dreamless sleep.
* * *
Dinah’s nurse, Tina, had called in sick on Tuesday morning. I had my suspicions about the origin of Tina’s illness as I had overheard her the day before talking on the phone about a birthday party she was going to that night. My suspicions were not enough to actually accuse her of having written herself off on a work night. Maybe she had made out with some guy at the party, and picked up a really virulent bug.
I was working in surgery, filling in for Tina, and was guessing by the fact that Dinah wasn’t talking that all had not gone well at the ADA meeting the night before. It wasn’t until we brought through old Mrs Smith from the nursing home that she finally took a huge sigh and I knew she was ready to talk.
‘What’s he done now?’ I asked, referring to Creepy Doug.
‘Well you know how we had that dental association dinner last night?’ she said as she picked up a needle. I nodded while I held Mrs Smith’s hand. ‘I ended up giving him a lift,’ she continued, slowly injecting local anaesthetic into Mrs Smith’s gum, ‘but by the time I got my handbag out of the car he was gone.’
I held off mentioning that she had said they were going in separate cars – more for Mrs Smith’s sake than mine. ‘What he didn’t even wait for you?’
‘Nope. Straight in to mingle with all the other hoity-toity, stuffy nosed specialists.’
‘Bastard,’ I murmured in sympathy, placing the suction into Mrs Smith’s mouth to collect the pooling saliva. It was not the first time this sort of behaviour had occurred.
‘Then, when I finally located him by the bar, he’s talking to Tiffany, this new endodontist that’s just graduated.’ She removed the needle from Mrs Smith’s mouth and patted her gently on the cheek.
‘What’s so bad about that?’ I asked.
‘If you saw her, you’d know,’ she said, making huge-breast hand signals as she sat the dental chair up.
‘Have a rinse Mrs Smith.’ Dinah moved over to the computer to make notes. ‘Then the barman deposited two glasses of wine in front of Doug,’ she continued quietly, ‘and I thought at least he’s bought me a drink.’
‘Uhh ohh’
‘Yep, not for me.’ She banged on the keyboard angrily as she made the patient notes. Mrs Smith shot me a worried look over her shoulder.
I moved closer to Dinah and lowered my voice. ‘That stupid prick bought some other chick a drink and didn’t get you one?’
‘Yep. All part of his keeping things separate policy I guess.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Bought my own and then stood there feeling like an idiot with a stupid smile on my face, waiting for him to introduce me.’
‘And?’
‘Nope. Then they called dinner and somehow he ends up sitting with her, and I end up at the end of the table next to a boring periodontist, who quite ironically enough had bad breath.’
Mrs Smith looked up at her and said, ‘What’s a periodontist lovey?’
‘Periodontists are dentists who specialise in cleaning teeth.’
‘Ohh,’ she said, nodding her head.
Dinah moved back to the dental chair and hit the button to lie it down.
‘It was terrible. I could hear Doug and Tiffany laughing down the table. Tee hee hee,’ she mimicked Tiffany – a high pitched girly giggle. ‘Dinner was awful; I spent the whole time trying not to cry. In the end I developed a massive headache and left before dessert.’
‘What about Doug?’
‘I figured the stupid bastard could find his own way home.’ She picked up the high-speed drill and deftly inserted a bur into its head. ‘Mrs Smith, does your lip feel fat?’ she asked.
‘What’s that lovey? Do I feel fat?’
‘No Mrs Smith – not you, your lip.’
Mrs Smith tapped her lip a few times before replying, ‘Yes love.’
Dinah placed a cotton roll under Mrs Smith’s lip and started to remove the old amalgam restoration that had been causing problems.
‘Did he ring you or anything to see if you were okay?’ I asked.
‘Nope nothing, nadda, zilch. Can you feel that at all Mrs Smith?’
‘No lovey, it’s all good.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep,’ she continued, ’cause I was lying there staring at my phone waiting for him to phone or text to see if I was all right. I even rang my phone with my mobile and my mobile with my phone to make sure they were both working.’
‘Bastard,’ I reiterated, sucking water from the back of Mrs Smith’s throat. ‘Dinah – how long are you going to put up with this?’
She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I think I’m better off without him, but then when it’s over all I can do is think about him. Matrix band and etch please.’
I handed them to her. ‘He treats you like shit. I don’t understand the attraction.’
‘Neither do I,’ she admitted, rinsing the tooth. ‘Bond please. Sometimes I wonder if it is more to do with the fact that my ego can’t handle not being good enough for him. Curing light.’
‘It has nothing to do with you not being good enough and more to do with him being a prick.’ I handed her the filling material.
‘You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right. I have to finish this.’ She packed the restoration into the tooth.
‘It’s not healthy.’
‘I know it’s not. Light please.’
Right at that precise moment her mobile burbled acknowledgement of an incoming text. She flicked an interested look over her shoulder at her phone before proceeding to remove the band and shape the restoration into Mrs Smith’s bite. ‘There you go Mrs Smith.’ She sat her up. ‘Have a good rinse in the bowl. Lean right over,’ she advised as she got up to check her phone.
‘It’s him,’ she breathed in relief, as she stared at the screen.
‘What’s he want?’ I wiped Mrs Smith’s face clean with a wet towel.
‘Wants to know what happened to me last night?’
‘It takes him until the next day to ask you that?’
‘He’s very busy,’ she automatically defended as she texted rapidly. ‘I told him I had developed a headache.’ Her mobile very quickly blipped again. ‘He wants to know if I can meet him.’
‘Tell him to piss off,’ Mrs Smith said as she stood up.
We both looked at her, shocked.
‘Yes dearie, a nice girl like you, you can do better than that. Just you remember a leopard never changes his spots – they only get bigger.’ She patted Dinah on the head as she made her way out the door to the waiting room.
‘Well I’ll be,’ I muttered as I watched Dinah reply to the text. I started to wipe down the room getting ready for the next patient. ‘What did you say?’
‘Well I don’t want to appear too keen or eager.’
‘Excellent.’
‘So I told him I’d be over after dinner tonight.’
‘How is that not appearing too keen?’
‘Well I’m not rushing over after work.’
‘You’re serious aren’t you? You’re really going over there.’
‘Don’t start on me Tara,’ she warned me.
I put my hands in the air. ‘Fine, do what you want, but just for the record I think that he’s not good enough, and so does Mrs Smith. This will only end in tears. Again,’ I added.
‘We’ll see,’ she said in a coldly dismissive voice.
* * *
‘Listen to this
,’ I said to Dinah and Elaine. It was Thursday night and we were waiting for Nat to turn up before heading off to the movies. I beckoned for them to follow me out onto the balcony. Straight away the abuse started.
‘Fucking sluts.’
‘Whoa,’ said Elaine. ‘Who the hell is that?’
‘It’s Cocky. He’s stalking me. I can hear him, but I can’t find him. The other day all my washing was covered in bird crap.’
‘So he’s loose?’
‘Polly is a tart, Polly is a tart.’
‘He’s loose. It’s getting to be a real pain.’
‘Maybe you should put a trap out for him.’
‘Hmmm. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Ring your Mum and ask if you could borrow some sort of trap. Surely they would have them at the shelter.’
‘Well therein lies the problem. Mum thinks Cocky’s dead.’
At that moment Princess strayed out onto the deck and, lifting her pretty little nose, sniffed the air. Her tail started to move from side to side in a flicking motion and she crouched into a hunting position.
‘Well he must be close because she can smell him. Look at her,’ said Dinah.
‘How is Princess going?’ asked Elaine, picking her up for a cuddle.
‘Jury’s still out on that one.’
‘Why?’
‘Well she started off well. But little things keep happening which make me think she’s just a little bit psycho.’
‘Like what?’ asked Dinah in concern.
‘First it was a cushion that she destroyed. Then she weed and crapped on my bed. I’ve only just got the stench out of it. Then last night I woke up and found her sitting on my chest with her face about an inch from mine. It scared the shit out of me.’
‘What did she do when you woke up?’ Dinah asked.
‘Started licking me.’
‘Well,’ said Elaine, scratching Princess under the chin, ‘that’s just telling you that she loves you.’
‘I wish she would work out a different way to tell me.’
‘So Dinah, how was last night?’ asked Elaine, changing the subject.
I made shushing hand motions at Elaine to shut her up. It had been apparent to me, even though Dinah had a smug, I-got-laid-last-night-smile all over her face when she turned up to work this morning, that she didn’t want to discuss Doug. Elaine saw my frantic hand motions and chose to ignore them. Sometimes she can be a little too confrontational.
‘Good thank you,’ said Dinah mildly. ‘Where the hell is Nat?’
‘Yeah where is she?’ I asked, genuinely perturbed. ‘We’re going to miss the movie if we don’t go soon.’
I picked up my phone and rang her mobile. It went straight to voice mail.
‘Try home,’ said Dinah
I rang Nat’s home – it went to her answering service.
‘I’ve ordered the cab,’ said Dinah, ‘we’re going to have to go or miss it.’
I flicked off a quick text to Nat and then locked Princess back in the apartment, giving her an array of toys to play with while I was gone. Grabbing my keys, I followed Dinah and Elaine down to wait for the cab.
‘I’m worried about Nat.’ I voiced my concerns out loud.
‘She’s probably just working on that case she was talking about,’ said Dinah.
‘You mean the case she wasn’t speaking about,’ retorted Elaine.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Well didn’t you notice that she didn’t tell us anything about it? I know client confidentiality and everything, but normally she gives us a little whiff of what she’s working on. I think she’s up to something.’
‘What Nat? No,’ I said, ‘not Nat.’ I paused for a second. ‘Like what?’ I asked curiously.
‘I’m not sure. Have you noticed lately that she’s been super happy?’
‘It looks like she may get her promotion,’ I responded.
‘Not that sort of happy – more a suppressed, excited, I’ve got a secret, happy. And then that stuff she said the other morning after your birthday party.’
‘What stuff?’
‘All that stuff about changing the energy in your life. Oh and that bit about who says meaningless sex can’t become meaningful sex. It definitely triggered my suspicion bone.’
While most people have funny bones, Elaine has a suspicion bone. She is always the first to question something, find the hole in your story or confront you with a lie you’ve told. She’s really very good. Almost like a human lie detector. For quite a while now I’ve been saying the FBI should employ her to question suspects. When we first became friends, I used to think she was a cruel pessimist – always the one to accuse some poor woman of murder when her toddler went missing and was found floating dead in a nearby pond. The thing was – over the years – I realised she was normally right. And without question, a few days after I had accused her of being a heartless shrew, that woman would be taken in for questioning and charged with the murder. Of course I would then have to perform a seriously grovelling apology for the heartless shrew comments. So when Elaine said she thought Nat was up to something, you had to sit up and pay attention.
‘No not Nat,’ I said, more out of loyalty than conviction.
But in the cab on the way to the movie, as we chatted about our week, I found myself wondering. What was Nat up to?
3
The Second Step to Closure - Get a new Wardrobe
Ahhhh, the joys of clothes shopping: the smell of the leather shoes, the feel of the fabrics under my fingertips, the sight of my dimpled white ass glowing in the fluorescent lighting. I was a vision to behold in the outfit I had just squeezed into. It had taken me a good five minutes to get the pants up. I had struggled and jumped up and down in the dressing room, until the sales assistant – hearing the moaning and groaning – had come to the door to see if I was all right.
‘I’m just great,’ I said in my best now-piss-off-and-leave-me-alone voice.
‘How does it look?’ asked Elaine brightly, from the other side of the door.
‘Fine and dandy, if you like muffin tops.’
‘How bad can it be?’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Are you ready to show me?’
‘Promise not to laugh.’
‘You know I can’t promise that,’ she said.
I undid the lock and opened the door just enough to give one of Elaine’s eyes access to the disaster in the change room.
‘Oh dear,’ she said on viewing the pants. I had pulled them up as far as possible but the zip was only one inch long. I mean seriously how were you meant to wear these? Exactly what body shape had they been designed for?
‘Jump up and down,’ she said.
I jumped about five centimetres off the ground a couple of times. I could feel the part of me flowing over the top of the waistband wobbling on when the rest of me had stopped. It was disconcerting.
‘Bend over.’ Elaine was obviously curious as to how far we could push the limits of the shiny, disco club material.
I bent over as far as I could without ripping open the back of the pants, which was not very far. When I stood back up, a small amount of pubic hair popped over the top of the pants. I saw Elaine’s eyebrows shoot up as she started giggling.
Unfortunately the shop assistant chose that exact moment to join Elaine, and pulled open the door to get a better look. I squealed in horror and held both hands over the offending tuft of hair. Elaine was doing her darndest not to laugh out loud. Her eyes were filled with barely suppressed mirth and her face was turning as red as mine felt. She probably would have made it, if the sales assistant hadn’t chosen that precise moment to say, ‘Mmmm. They look quite nice.’
Elaine started howling with laughter. She thumped the door with her hand as tears rolled down her face.
‘Are you serious?’ I asked the sales girl incredulously as I pulled the door shut.
Elaine was hanging onto the cubicle for support, struggling to
get a breath around her laughter. Finally when she had it under control she asked, ‘Have you got them off yet?’
‘No,’ I replied sullenly.
‘Why ever not?’
‘Tried. Can’t.’
That set her off again, and I had to wait for another humiliating minute until she had gained enough self-control to come in and help me.
‘Tara, how did you get them up?’
‘Pure determination.’
She grabbed the top of my pants and started wrestling them down. Everything was progressing swimmingly, until she got them half way down my thighs. I had begun to sweat and they were sticking to me like the skin on a sausage. One minute I was standing there relatively calmly while Elaine huffed and puffed and pulled and pushed, and the next I lost my balance and started swaying on the spot like a tree about to fall.
‘Oohahoohaahoooa,’ I said, sounding an awful lot like a monkey, and then I toppled onto Elaine. We went crashing out the change room door and into the aisle, where I lay flopping around like a fish, with my pants half way down.
‘Well,’ said Elaine, clambering up and grabbing the pants around my thighs, ‘you can’t say shopping with you is boring.’
I lifted my hips off the ground to assist her determined effort. The shop assistant hovered in the entry, watching us with a look of dismay on her face. Elaine swivelled around and smiled sweetly at her. ‘Nearly got them,’ she assured her before resuming her tugging.
‘That is why I hate clothes shopping,’ I informed Elaine, as we left the shop.
‘Rubbish,’ she said poo-pooing me, ‘you just need to try on the right clothes for your body shape. No more tight pants.’ Which I thought was pretty unfair, seeing as how the pants had been her idea in the first place.
‘I think we should start with the shoes.’ My stomach let out a huge gurgle.
‘Coffee first?’ suggested Elaine, turning into a café.
‘And cheesecake,’ I said, ‘although if those pants are anything to go by I’m going to have to do a killer session at the gym this afternoon.’
‘I might join you,’ said Elaine, patting her own perfectly flat stomach.
The Seven Steps to Closure Page 6