by Peter Ponzo
In particular Cail got a chance to drop in on Marg Kultise, that is to say Marg Colby, every day. She was a beautiful woman and he had always admired her bubbly personality. He never could understand how she wound up with Michael - he was at least 15 years her senior. It didn't occur to Cail that he, too, was 15 years her senior.
Cail had married even before he entered Med School - a childhood sweetheart. Somehow his wife had seemed more exciting, more appealing, more attractive before they got married. After they married she had stopped wearing that exotic perfume, stopped going to the hairdresser, stopped wearing those tight fitting slacks and sweaters. But he shouldn't complain: she looked after the kids and cleaned the house and cooked the meals - often in curlers and housecoat - and still held down a full-time job. He must remember to appreciate that, but it wasn't easy. He had to remind himself, often. Working late at the clinic was no hardship for Cail Vinney. Going home and trying to carry on a rational conversation with his wife - that was the hardship. Her entire conversation revolved about the state of disrepair of the dining room carpet and the worn spot on the wallpaper and the weeds in the yard.
The first time he had seen Marg Kultise was from a distance. In fact every time he had seen her it had been from a distance. Marg was speaking about the annual beauty contest. There had been a number of complaints, it was degrading to women, it was a parade of meat on the hoof, a cattle auction, the city should not contribute tax dollars for its support. Marg's speech was televised on the 6 o'clock news and again at 11 o'clock. She urged the people who were opposed to the contest to boycott it, don't buy tickets, tell their friends to stay away from the coliseum where the contest took place. The financial contribution made by the city was minimal and a massive boycott would end the annual event. The people could and should speak with their dollars. Simply stay home. Don't even watch it on TV. If there was enough opposition it would certainly be the last year for the competition. Let only those who supported the contest put down their money.
Marg was beautiful and eloquent and 18 years old. The result of her speech was phenomenal. The lineup began five hours before the doors were open and the coliseum was filled to the rafters by the time the contestants were introduced. When Marg was introduced the crowd went wild, shouting and waving. When the evening was over she had been crowned Queen of Waterloo County.
Cail smiled. He remembered that day well. He had followed her career since that very day.
***
It was Monday evening and Cail was working late, again. He had already called home to warn his wife that he would be late for dinner and now he checked his watch and saw that he'd have to do without dinner. Maybe he'd drop by and have a burger and fries on his way home. He was starved and that sounded good. A burger with the works: cheese, lettuce, onion, relish, catsup, bacon - the works. Oops. He'd forgotten to include the hamburger meat. That would make it a zero burger.
When he was younger he thought he could make a fortune selling burgers with the works: everything except the hamburger meat. And with all the condiments nobody would even know it was missing. He'd call it a zero burger and sell it for less than anyone in town, and he'd make his fortune.
But no mustard. It was a sin to put mustard on a burger - it belonged only on hot dogs. That's what he told his kids. The 11th commandment: thou shalt not put mustard on a burger. But his kids did anyway and he always thought they did it to upset him.
***
Cail had wandered absentmindedly down the hall and was now standing in front of room 47. Why had he come here ... again? He had no business in the maternity ward. He must be tired - but now that he was here he might as well drop in to check on Mrs. Colby. She was nearly 46 years old and this was her first birth - well, births. It wouldn't be easy for a woman of her age and it was his duty to make sure that everything went well.
"Hi Marg," he said, seeing that she was awake and reading in bed.
"Hello Doctor Vinney. Working late?"
"Can't you call me Cail? I feel like a member of the family. After all, I've known Mikey for at least fifty years and been a fan of yours for ... well, for a long time."
"A fan? It's Michael who's well known in these parts, not me. He gets his picture in the paper, but I hardly ever do - not that I'd want to, of course."
"Ah, but that's not true. I first laid eyes on your lovely face when you won the baton -"
"Doctor Vinney, that was years ago. I was only seventeen ... but thank you for the compliment."
"Compliment?"
"Well, about the pretty face and all."
"Oh ... yes. Guess I shouldn't really be saying things like that - to a patient, I mean. Just slipped out."
"That's because you're almost a member of the family and have known Michael for fifty years. Right?"
Cail laughed and sat on the side of the bed. "Right. Now I'm going to act like your doctor. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Just fine ... but, Dr. Canon is my doctor isn't he?"
"Of course, but he's not here now and I am. We usually check on each other's patients."
Cail lied and felt a little guilty about it, but he checked her pulse anyway. Then he ran his hand gently over her stomach and took her temperature. When he felt the blood rising to his face he got up and left with a quick goodbye.
Marg smiled. He was a good and gentle man and she looked forward to his visits. She had been in the clinic for almost a week and he had dropped by every day. He always stayed until his face went red, then left. In a few days she would have her babies. They had already told her they would be twins and just this morning Dr. Canon was pleased to tell her the latest news: twin girls.
***
When the news got out that Michael Colby of Colby Enterprises was about to be the father of twin girls it started talk of a Colby Empire run by women. In the Gazette, the letters to the editor were 3-to-2 in favour of females at the head of financial institutions: cool heads, sympathetic to the needs of the workers, progress not profits, duty not dollars, fair and equitable salaries without sexual discrimination. The anti-female contingent wrote of closing down plants when the boss had a baby and menstrual holidays for all the workers.
The paper carried the news of the imminent twins on the third page.
Three people in particular read the article with great interest.
One was Constable Hendricks.
One was Bryan Laker.
One was Cassandra Brubacher.
Twins
Bryan had been released from New Bamberg General Hospital after five days. His hand still throbbed somewhat, but there was nothing more they could do for him and he went home. He could have left much sooner, but he enjoyed the days at General but was ashamed to tell anyone – and the hospital had plenty of empty beds. You're not supposed to enjoy hospital food or the regimen or the pills in the middle of the night or the lack of privacy, but he enjoyed it just the same. Maybe it was because his own cooking was so bad. Maybe it was because he could visit Liz without regard to posted visiting hours. She was still in a coma but her colour was good and all the nurses said she was very healthy.
He sipped instant coffee in his living room and looked at the pictures in the Gazette and read the large print. He wasn't interested in reading the news. It was all bad. He had stopped watching the news on TV for almost a month last Summer and had never opened a newspaper once. When he had started again in the Fall, nothing had changed. The same crises in the same geographical locations, riots and bombs, tax hikes and border skirmishes and political scandals. Was there any good news?
Once, he had asked that of Liz: Why doesn't the paper publish any good news? She had responded:What would you regard as good news? He hadn't been able to think of anything that was simultaneously "good news" and "newsworthy". The winners in the annual pie baking contest? The opening of a shopping mall? Would that fill a newspaper? What was "good news" and "newsworthy"? Maybe just the sports page ... sometimes.
He put the paper on his lap. That rang a bell.
"Colby is having twin girls?" he muttered. "Twin girls!" He straightened up. "Christ, if the witch reads this ..."
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. No, maybe not. She's just looking for unborn babies - not necessarily twins. He was the one who realized that unborn twins were needed. Colby was having unborn twin girls - that was even better. Well, even better for the witch. But of course she didn't realize that. He had come to that conclusion by the sheer power of logical thought. If the witch read the paper would she see the connection? Would she realize that unborn twin girls would solve her problem with that god - what was his name?
Bryan sat up then walked to the kitchen to make another coffee.
She wasn't stupid. She would certainly realize that twin girls - unborn - was what she needed. But there must have been dozens of twins born in New Bamberg since Cassandra started looking for souls. She would certainly have thought of it before now.
Maybe not. How many births get on the third page with pictures, even before they're born?
The more he thought of it the more he became convinced that Cassandra would realize the opportunity that presented itself and would take the twins - somehow. He must warn the mother - or Colby himself.
Yes, he must warn Michael Colby.
***
Miss Capricorn knocked lightly.
"Come in, Capricorn," said Colby. He was looking through the financial statements of his new clinic. It had been in operation for less than three weeks, but it seemed that it might have been a good investment after all. When Miss Capricorn opened the door she walked to his desk and announced that a Mr. Bryan Laker was here to see Mr. Colby.
"Bryan who? Do I know him? Who the hell is he?"
"He says that he has an important message for you. It's about Mrs. Colby."
Colby collected the papers on his desk and shoved them into a drawer. "Okay. Show him in." He lit a cigar and leaned back. About his wife? Was he a doctor from Colby Clinic? His wife was a little past due but they had told him that her birth - or births - would nevertheless be normal.
"Mr. Colby? My name is Bryan Laker. I'm a professor at the college - mathematics. I know," smiled Bryan, "it was your worst subject. Everybody says that, but - "
"What did you want to see me about, Baker?"
"Laker, Bryan Laker. Yes ... well, I was reading the Gazette last night and saw the article on your twins. A very flattering picture of you. Your car is famous in New Bamberg. I think that a picture of your car, all alone, and everybody would know the article was about you."
"Baker, if you have something to say then say it. I'm a very busy man."
"Oh, sorry. Uh ... Mr. Colby, I think your wife is in danger."
Colby got up from his desk and leaned forward, hands on the desk, his cigar pointing at Bryan.
"Are you telling me that you bastards at the clinic have screwed things up? Is my wife okay or not?"
"I'm not from the clinic Mr. Colby. I'm a professor - mathematics. I just saw this article in the paper and thought I should warn you about Cassandra Brubacher. It's my opinion that she will -"
"Brubacher? What the hell are you talking about? What does she have to do with my wife? You said my wife was in danger. What kind of danger?"
"Well, Cassandra Brubacher is looking for souls - souls of the unborn. She sacrifices them to the god ... can't remember his name - the God of Evil. Especially twins. Especially twin girls."
"Jesus Christ, Baker! What the hell are you talking about? I sold that crummy apartment building to Brubacher years ago. Hey! I remember you now. You were the prick that refused to move out. So what the hell ..."
The phone rang and Colby raised his hand and Bryan, who was about to say something, closed his mouth. The phone rang only once then Miss Capricorn knocked and peeked in past the office door.
"Mr. Colby? Sorry to interrupt, but the man on the phone said it was urgent."
"Who the hell is the man on the phone?"
"It's a police officer. Constable Hendricks."
"Yes ... he'll tell you!" said Bryan, leaning over the desk.
"Sit down Baker," snarled Colby, pulling out a drawer and removing the phone. There was no chair so Bryan remained standing.
"Yeah, what is it Hendicks?" Colby listened for several minutes. "No shit ... are you kidding? My wife? How many others did you say? Who? Elizabeth Laker? Yeah ... yeah .... okay. Then do it, right now. Don't waste time. And if you screw this up Hendicks I'll have your ass."
Colby looked pale as he placed the phone on the cradle. He looked straight at Bryan.
"He says my wife is in danger. He says some Laker woman had it happen to her. He says -"
"Liz! That's my wife!" cried Bryan. "They took her baby! Now she's in a coma - in General Hospital!"
"Yeah ... that's what he said," grunted Colby. "Your wife eh? And what did you do to protect her from this Brubacher dame?"
"Protect her? Well ... uh, I didn't really think ..."
"You're tellin' me," said Colby, lighting his cigar again. "Well, I'm doin' something about it. There'll be a 24 hour police guard at the clinic, starting now." He blew smoke across the desk. "Okay Laker, is that all?"
"Yes, that's all, I guess." Bryan turned and headed for the door.
"Hey, Laker," said Colby getting up from his chair and walking around the desk. "Thanks. I mean ... thanks for coming over and warning me about this Brubacher dame." Colby held out his hand and Bryan shook it. "If there's anything I can do for you - anything at all - just ask and it'll get done. Hear?"
"Yes, thank you Mr. Colby." Bryan left and Colby returned to his desk, spinning his chair to look out the window.
"No way that Brubacher dame gets near Marg," he muttered. "Bitch. I sold her Willow Towers for a song. Now she wants my twins does she? Bitch." He spun about and pressed the buzzer at the side of his desk. Miss Capricorn peeked in.
"Capricorn, find out where Cassandra Brubacher lives then call Harry Welks and tell him to buy the property. The sky's the limit - just buy the goddam property."
"Yes, Mr. Colby. That would be wonderful. Another property, that's wonderful."
"Just do it, Capricorn."
Cail Vinney - Marg Colby
Cail Vinney stopped to talk to the officer.
"Do you really think this is necessary?" he said.
"Just doing my job, doc."
"Yes, well, I'm glad none of our other patients feel it's necessary. There's a staff lounge at the end of the hall. Coffee. Pot's always full. Help yourself."
"Thanks doc, but I'll get it in the ass ... 'scuse my French ... if I leave my post."
Cail smiled and walked in to see Marg Colby.
"Good morning doctor."
"Cail, remember?"
"Right. Friend of the family. Forgot. Sorry." Marg grinned and Cail sat on the bed.
"Okay, Marg. It's time you know. Were going to induce labor. You're past due and that's not good."
"Is it bad?"
"No, not bad. It's just that you're taking up valuable space and we need the bed." Cail smiled and Marg pushed him in the side. That was the first time she had displayed any sign of affection, he thought. Was it a sign of affection? Maybe not.
"I won't give up my room without a fight," she said. "I have police protection you know."
"Does that bother you? The police outside the door, I mean."
"It makes Michael feel better. I don't mind. He's always treated me like a child. When we first got married ... well, I don't think you'd be interested in that."
/>
"Of course I am," said Cail. "I'm interested in everything about you." Marg blushed and straightened her hair.
"Well, Michael called me his baby - still does. He even bought baby clothes for me - insisted that I wear these dainty little -" She blushed and looked into her hands. Cail took her hands in his.
"Go ahead Marg. Member of the family, remember?"
"Well, it was silly. He wanted me to wear these frilly things ... he would insist that he dress me himself. Said I was just a baby and needed to be dressed. He was very gentle and I loved him very much so I just let him. It made him happy so I just did it, wearing those frilly things I mean. Nothing would fit - too small - but that didn't matter. It was a little embarassing sometimes. Nothing fit and I would stick out everywhere and -" She took her hands from Cail's and began to straighten her hair again.
"You said you loved him. It sounded like the past tense," said Cail softly.
"No, no, I didn't mean that. I do love him. He's given me everything. Everything a woman could ask for."
"Do you see him much? I don't see him here, at the clinic. Has he come to visit since you were admitted?"
"Cail, he's a busy man. He phones but he's always going to some meeting. He'd come if he could find the time. You know how it is."
"No, I don't. I wouldn't let you out of my sight - not for a minute." He took her hands again and kissed them gently.
"Cail, I'm tired. Must be these twins - so demanding you know. Twice as much work. Twice as much tired." She withdrew her hands from his and slid deeper into her bed. Cail stood up and walked to the door.
"You'll have your twins tomorrow morning," he said. "Have a good rest." Then he left.
Marg sat looking at the door for some time. Why had she told him about the baby clothes? He was so sweet and concerned. He sat by her side every day - twice a day. He always held her hand. Do doctors always hold your hand? But he had kissed her hand. Doctors do not kiss hands. She closed her eyes and pulled the covers up.