by L. A. Knight
“Who?”
“Friedrich Riesfeldt. The zookeeper my mother . . . never mind.”
Nancy tossed the shock collar on the counter. “Where were you last night?”
“I went to a self-help seminar. It was pretty cool. You were asleep when I got home.”
“I went to bed earlier; I was exhausted. But I have some amazing news—the station’s renewing my contract for two years, with a thirty percent raise in salary.”
“Nancy, that’s great.”
“I know, it’s like a dream come true. And I didn’t tell you the best part—they want to syndicate the show and add a product line.”
“What kind of product line?”
“You know . . . women’s stuff. Nothing you’d be interested in. The owner of the station invited me to a private party tonight to discuss business.”
Jacob’s smile faded. “Old man Cabot invited you to his party?”
“Cabot’s retired. His daughter, Olivia – she owns the station—it’s her party.”
“Olivia Cabot’s his daughter?”
“I thought you knew that.”
“How would I know that? You never told me Cabot’s daughter was your boss; you never told me her name was Olivia!”
“Calm down. Say, isn’t Ruby’s big gig tonight?”
“Is it? I nearly forgot. I think it’s at a comedy club.”
“You told me it was a private party.”
“A private party at a comedy club. I have to check my text messages for the address.”
“Take it easy. I think that shock collar made you hyper.”
“Hyper? I’m not hyper. And what if I was? Would you cut off my balls like you did Sam’s?”
She kissed him quickly on the lips, then patted his hairy left cheek. “Only if you cheated on me. Maybe it’s time to trim the beard; I have a rash on my thighs from the other day.”
* * * * *
JACOB DROVE EAST out to the beach, ignoring the calls from his dispatcher. Nancy’s going to be at the party. She’ll see Ruby and Olivia chasing after me in their sexy outfits. The moment Nancy flips out, Olivia will know she’s my girlfriend. That’ll give her leverage. She could force me to sleep with her by threatening to cancel Nancy’s contract. She might even lie to Nancy, telling her I already slept with her just to get Nancy to leave me.
“Suck balls!”
He recalled a John Lennon quote: The postman wants an autograph. The cab driver wants a picture. The waitress wants a handshake. Everyone wants a piece of you . . .
He arrived at the high-rise beach condominium ten minutes later, parking in the vendor’s lot. Using a Federal Express delivery as cover, he snuck past the $12-an-hour guard working the security desk and followed an older woman and her miniature toy poodle onto an awaiting elevator.
The dog sniffed Jacob’s pants.
“Little fella probably smells my German Shepherd. Sam likes to rub his ass against me so I’ll scratch his butt.”
The woman offered a polite smile, and then quickly exited on the fifth floor.
Jacob pushes the button for eleven.
Enough is enough. I’m tired of being manipulated by these two rich menopausal horn-dogs. Ruby and Olivia either back off, or I won’t do the show.
Stepping off the elevator, he stormed across the carpeted corridor to the double oak door at the end of the hall and rang the bell to Suite 1101.
The door opened, revealing Ruby in a bathrobe and silk pajamas. No make-up. Her hair was twisted in a loose ball atop her head as if she had just woken up.
“Jacob? What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“Can we talk later, I don’t feel well.”
“No, it has to be now.”
“Fine.” She stepped aside, allowing him entree into the three-bedroom condo. He followed her through the living room, its white marble floors ending at a balcony overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Ruby shuffled barefoot over to a U-shaped beige leather sofa where she laid down, curling herself in a ball. “You trimmed your beard. It looks better.”
“Thanks.” He noticed the assortment of medication on the coffee table. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a female thing. Are you ready for tonight?”
“I suppose.”
“Don’t suppose, you need to be good tonight. I’m running out of influential friends.”
“I’d be more confident if I knew you and your friends weren’t in a contest to see who could have sex with me first.”
“Who told you that? Cyril?”
“Is it true?”
“No. Well, yes, it was Olivia’s idea, but it was just a tease. We didn’t think you mind.”
“Normally I wouldn’t, but I have a girlfriend . . . someone I really care about.”
She winced in pain. “So I’ll back off.”
“What about Olivia?”
“I’ll call her.”
Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. And don’t think for a minute it’s not because I don’t find you attractive—I do . . . it’s just—”
“I’m happy you found someone special in your life.”
“Thanks. You know, John Lennon once said—” He paused, his cell phone reverberating with a 9-1-1 text from his boss at i-Guru. He typed a response, and then thought better of it. “Ruby, is there a landline I can use?”
“Down the hall, my home office.” She rolled over, covering herself with a wool blanket.
Jacob found his way to the converted bedroom and sat at the desk. Using Ruby’s house phone, he dialed Mr. Patel’s number—his eyes wandering to the cluster of framed photos situated on the glass table top.
Ruby with her two kids, some taken as babies and teens, the more recent photos taken in their mid-twenties. One with her parents. A family Christmas photo, taken long ago. A graduation photo with her son.
Missing in action—her husband of thirty years.
“I’m happy you found someone special in your life.” Ruby had found someone special, and he had cheated on her, tossing her life into disarray.
Jacob recalled his brother’s words: “Ruby’s not insane, she’s in pain. Her ex hurt her pretty badly, now she’s trying to bury the last thirty years by reinventing herself.”
Thirty years . . . How do you erase thirty years of marriage? Thirty years of memories? How do you trust another man after your spouse cheated on you?
Vince was wrong. Ruby wasn’t trying to reinvent herself; right now she was just trying to survive a tsunami of hurt by numbing herself with sex until her heart could form scars.
“This is Patel.”
“Mr. Patel, it’s Jacob. I dropped my iPhone this morning and it’s not working; can you transfer me to dispatch for my first appointment?”
“What took you so long to call in?”
“I had to stop at a friend’s house to use his phone.”
“Very well. But you had better not go missing again or you are fired, I do not care what Ganesha says.”
“Yes, sir.” Jacob waited for the dispatcher, who read him an address in West Palm Beach. He wrote the information on a scrap of paper—listening to Ruby moaning in pain in the living room.
Completing the call, he stood to leave. Hesitated . . .then text messaged his brother.
The iPhone rang a minute later. “This better be an emergency.”
“Vin, I’m with Ruby. She’s in a lot of pain.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. She says it’s female pain, but it seems pretty bad.”
“Put her on the phone.”
Jacob left the office, and then knelt by the sofa. “Ruby, my brother wants to speak with you.”
Ruby opened her eyes and took the phone. “Hello?”
“Ruby, it’s Dr. Cope. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I hurt inside. Really bad.”
“When did the pain start?”
“This morning.”
“Are you spotting?”
> “Yes.”
“I’ll have Wanda expedite the results from your last pap smear. Can you get to my office?”
“I don’t think I can drive. I’ll have to call a friend.”
Jacob took the phone. “It’s okay, Vin. I’ll drive her.”
* * * * *
“YOU TEASED HIM, Carmella. Then you and your witch’s coven tossed him into the pool.”
“I did nothing of the sort . . . whore.” Carmella Cope left her lounge chair and headed for the steps leading into the shallow end of the pool to claim a good spot for the morning water aerobics class.
Nancy followed her across the deck. “After all Truman did for you, would it have killed you to be nice to him?”
“I never asked him to get snipped, that was your idea—whore.”
“Stop calling me a whore!”
“Why? That’s what you are. Money, money, money—that’s all that matters to you. The only reason you care about Cabot is because he bribed you. One whore bribing another.”
“Okay, you’re right. I was desperate. For a while I had no idea if I was going to keep my job. Forget about the money—I don’t want the money. But Truman . . . he really likes you. He says you remind him of his deceased wife.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Carmella pushed past Nancy to access the pool steps. “You’re just afraid Richie Rich will tell his Richie Bitch daughter whose idea it was to get clipped and you’ll be fired.”
“Is that what you want, Carmella? To see me fired? Do you think that’s what Jacob would want?”
Carmella ignored her, focusing on her warm-up exercises.
Infuriated, Nancy took off her shoes and followed the older woman into the waist-deep water, soaking her skirt and blouse in the process. “Why do you have to be so nasty?”
“Go away.”
“From the first moment we met, you treated me like dirt. I want to know why.”
“You’re the hotshot radio whore psychiatrist, why don’t you tell me.”
“Okay. For starters, you’ve been hurt. You probably loved Jacob’s father very much. After what happened, no one could blame you for being bitter.”
“Bitter?”
“Angry then. It’s a natural response when a loved one commits suicide. But after twenty years—”
Carmella shoved Nancy backwards so hard she slipped underwater. “You think you know what that man put me through . . . you don’t know nothing! I had to clean blood stains out of the bedroom carpet on my hands and knees because I couldn’t afford to replace it. I had to use a screwdriver to pick skull fragments out of the drywall before I could repaint the bedroom walls. For months I had nightmares. I had to sleep in the living room. The boys begged me to move; only I couldn’t afford it because the military cut off my husband’s benefits. Think I’m mean and nasty now? For years I resented my kids for being around because they forced me to stay sober. Instead of checking out on my family, I chain-smoked my way through double-shifts driving a cab just so my oldest son could go to med school—only instead of becoming a brain surgeon the stupid schmuck got his girlfriend pregnant and had to marry her.”
“And then your youngest son moved in with a radio whore who what? Just wanted his money? For a long time I was just like you, Carmella, stuck in the blame game . . .feeling sorry for myself -- poor me. Know what I learned? Everyone has problems. Mine may not be nearly as bad as yours were, but I learned something recently—that being bitter about the past doesn’t help me today. So go on, keep calling me a whore and see where that gets you with Jacob.”
Carmella removed her sunglasses, her squinting hazel eyes filled with rage. “Life’s a Beach with Nancy Beach. I used to listen to your show . . . I got a kick out of all the hecklers who’d tease you about offering relationship advice when you couldn’t stay in a relationship yourself. So you tell me, Doctor Beach—why did you really move in with my Jacob? Was it because you loved him? Or was it because you were using him . . . trying to prove to your listening audience that you could actually hang on to a guy?”
“To be honest, Carmella, a little of both. Before I met Jacob I had serious trust issues – I still do. But your son was kind and sincere, and even though I was mad at him for bringing home that dog from the pound, I realize now why he did it – because he has a big heart. I love that about him, and I love that he’d rather make people laugh than earn the big bucks on Wall Street. And yes, while his phobias can drive me crazy, I also know that he’s loyal . . . that he’d never hurt me, and that has helped me get over my own trust issues. I’d like to think I’ve done the same for him.”
* * * * *
CYRIL WAS WAITING outside the tuxedo shop when Jacob arrived at ten minutes after six. “You’re late, Mr. Jacob.”
“Sorry; been behind schedule all day. Ruby’s sick. I had to take her to my brother’s office.”
“Your brother’s a doctor?”
“Gynecologist.”
“Really? Is he single?”
“He’s married. To a woman. Geez, dude, I thought you had a boyfriend?”
“We split. Come on, we need to get your tux and be at the dock before the yacht leaves.”
The color drained from Jacob’s face. “The yacht’s going out to sea? At night? Nobody told me that?”
“Relax. We’re taking a three-hour tour around the Intracoastal. I seriously doubt you’ll be in any danger.”
“Gilligan took a three-hour tour—look what happened to him!” Jacob followed Cyril inside the rental store. “How deep is the Intracoastal? Does it get rough? Maybe I can do my act early, while we’re still docked? Do you think we can convince Olivia to let me go on early?”
“I doubt it. It was hard enough to convince her we were lovers.”
“Wait . . . what?”
The store manager greeted them. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
Cyril smiled sweetly. “We’re picking up two rentals, it’s under the names Mr. and Mr. Ben Dover.” He handed the man a ticket.
“Give me a few minutes.”
Jacob waited until the manager left. “You think this is funny?”
“Hey, don’t get snippity, I did this for you. You told me you have a serious girlfriend, yes?”
“So?”
“By telling Olivia we were lovers she agreed to back off. That is what you wanted?”
Jacob grinned. “That was a good idea. Thanks, Cyril. But dude . . . seriously—if you try something tonight like you did back at your house, I’m going to beat you to death with my Lisa Simpson dummy.”
“Is that supposed to be a dumb blonde joke?”
“No. But there is a blonde. Her name’s Nancy and I just found out she’s going to be on-board tonight.”
“Your girlfriend’s coming to the party? Does Olivia know?”
“She’s the one who invited her. Olivia’s Nancy’s boss, only she doesn’t know Nancy and I live together. We need to keep that a secret.”
Cyril clapped his hands. “And here I thought this was going to be a boring party.”
DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE
LESSON THIRTEEN: OBEDIENCE TRAINING
The Boca Raton Inlet is located in south Palm Beach County—its one-hundred-and fifty-foot-wide channel one of several local access points connecting the Intracoastal Waterway with the Atlantic Ocean. The inlet’s southern jetty bordered the Bridge Hotel and South Inlet Beach Park; the northern jetty securing the Boca Raton Beach Resort. Along this scenic stretch of converging waterways rose beach condominiums and some of the most expensive properties in Florida.
Occupying the Bridge Hotel’s length of dock was the Cabot-II, a sleek white fiberglass 116-foot Lazzara Motor yacht, the three-deck Mecca of entertainment powered by two 1,015 horsepower engines. In addition to the crews’ quarters, there were five guest staterooms, a movie theater, Jacuzzi, dining room, and three salons featuring wall-size LCD flat screen televisions wired to the ship’s satellite dishes.
Jacob and Cyril arrived at the dock at seven-tw
enty, only to have to wait in line at the pier while security guards checked in each boarding guest. The setting sun splattered golden sparks across the dark blue waters of the inlet, the humidity causing the back of Jacob’s dress shirt to accumulate sweat beneath his rented tux as he searched the crowd for Nancy.
To his relief, she was not among the cluster of passengers waiting to board.
Jacob’s plan was simple: Get on-board and hide from Nancy until his stand-up routine was over. If Nancy saw him before the gig she’d demand to know why he didn’t tell her that Olivia had hired him. She’d want details—like how they met, or why a gay man was hanging on his arm, or God forbid, why her boss was coming on to him. Once he got paid the five grand (he had insisted Olivia pay him in cash) he could pull Nancy aside and give her enough of an explanation to keep her from blurting out that they lived together.
Testifying before Congress was easier . . .
His eyes caught Nancy’s car as it arrived at the hotel’s valet parking.
Two more couples . . . come on!
His heart beat faster as Nancy made her way down the sidewalk that led to the wharf, his girlfriend looking hot in a black low-cut cocktail dress and matching pumps. He ducked his head while a crewman verified Jacob and Cyril’s names on the guest list and a police officer inspected the interior of the suitcase carrying the Lisa Simpson dummy.
“They’re okay.”
“All right, gentlemen, you can board. Have a good evening.”
Jacob darted up a short gangway to the mid-deck, leading Cyril onto the yacht, the air-conditioning helping to settle his frayed nerves.
The deck, walls, and laminated built-ins in the main salon were finished in cherry wood, the furniture consisting of a cream leather wraparound sofa and matching recliners situated before a 42-inch LCD television screen. A dozen guests mingled in the lavish surroundings.
Squeezing through the crowd, they headed forward, entering the dining room—its mirrored bulkhead reflecting a cherry wood oval dining table with seating for eight. Trays of hors d’oeuvres covered the table, attracting a crowd.
“There they are—my favorite man couple!”