by Eva Sloan
“Can I show you around?” Danny said, jumping forward first like a dog begging for a treat.
“Wish I could, sugar.” She looked around the room and then laid one of those rather affective smiles on me. “But I’m supposed to work with Lucy there for my first few days.”
Her heels clicked across the tile flooring until she was right in front of me, her hand extended and her smile so bright I felt like I needed to put those sunglasses back on.
“I’m Nicole.” She took my hand in hers and her breasts swayed as she shook my hand. I was still in shock--they looked real!--when she gave me a sly wink. “The head of physical therapy said you were his best therapist, so I should work with you first, seeing I just graduated two weeks ago.”
“Oh, yeah ... sure.”
“And he said the guys might short circuit on contact--” she peered back and waved at the still mesmerized group of men. “And he was right.”
I laughed. This girl was a trip.
I started by taking her on a quick tour of the hospital, showing her where the bathrooms were, the cafeteria and the break rooms, where radiology was and where to find extra smocks incase a patient threw-up on you.
And every step of the way I noticed that men were all staring at us. They spun around and smiled when we walked by, they absently ran into each other, into walls, into closed doors. Roger, the little twerp in radiology who’d tried feeling me up at last year‘s Christmas party, his voice even cracked when he tried to say hello. He also couldn’t get his eyes to rise above Nicole’s neckline.
At first I thought my coworkers were just a bunch of goons, but later when I took her across the street to my favorite sandwich shop for lunch, the guys there acted the same way. Their usual playful bantering morphed into not only heavy flirting but fighting over you would grill up her order. They even started flipping their spatulas and knives in the air.
I just couldn’t get over it. How men--men I’m around all the time--seemed so different just being around Nicole?
And suddenly I realized, incredulously, that deep down I wanted those guys to act like that for me.
Really? I thought. You’d really want all those guys falling over themselves and acting like fools?
No ... not all of them.
*****
At home I went to water Ozzie and was surprised that not only had he grown almost an inch in just a couple days, but he’d grown a third shoot. It curved in the light. And he seemed greener today. I watered him exactly the amount the guy from the botanical store told me. Then I looked out my window and thought, maybe I should get Ozzie a friend?
Next thing I knew I was walking into the botanical store and the guy behind the counter suddenly got that terrified look on his face again, but he shook it off before I even got a chance to comment on it.
“So how’s Ozzie doing?” he asked, scratching his thick fingers across the back of his neck.
“He’s doing great,” I said coming closer, my eyes intent on his hands--didn’t know why I was staring so hard. “Actually, he’s doing so well I thought I’d get him a friend. He looks kind of lonely all by himself hanging in my window.”
He seemed to be considering me, taking me in like he was diagnosing an ailment. “Well,” he scratched the back of his neck again. “You’ll want a young plant or something small, so the new plant doesn’t overwhelm the other one.” I followed him as he paced through the shop, making a slow zigzagging pattering through the lush greens and the aromatic flowers.
Finally he stopped in front of all these purple and pink and blue potted flowers. “African Violets are not only easy to care for, but they’re always in bloom.” He turned and I suddenly noticed he had really pretty eyes--frosted blue, like looking into a spring sky.
“So ...” he shrank back from me, suddenly noticing how close I was to him. “Just pick what color you want.”
I looked over the flats of violets. I finally picked up one with small leaves and blue blossoms--I suddenly noticed they matched his eyes.
He took the violet from my hands, went back behind his work station and repotted it into a plastic pot just like the one he’d put Ozzie in. Then he laced a sling around the bottom and handed me another small hook to turn into my windowsill.
“Just like Ozzie, water this one once a week...you might want to turn it around every couple of weeks. They grow fast, and sometimes unevenly.”
“Sure ... thanks.” I waited a beat, and then asked. “So how much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged.
“No, I have to pay you this time. It’s only right.”
He got that terrified look on his face again. “It’s really no--”
“I insist.” I cut across him. He scratched the back of his neck again.
“Umm, five bucks?” He suddenly noticed that I was watching his hands. He shoved them in his pockets and blushed.
I didn’t know why he was embarrassed! I was the one ogling his hands--but why? Why was I suddenly staring at his hands? I took a five out of my purse and then picked up my new plant. I was turning away to walk out of the shop when I realized I didn’t know his name. Three visits, he’d saved Ozzie from perishing, and I still didn’t know his name.
“I’m Lucy, by the way.” I extended my free hand and tried giving him a Nicole like smile. He slowly pulled his hand from his pocket and after a long moment of contemplation he took my hand. His hands were rough and strong, and I felt the back of my neck start to itch.
He gulped. “I’m Gus.”
*****
My Mother was late for lunch.
I’m always late, still pulling on my clothes when she knocks on the door. So when I suddenly found myself completely dressed, with my purse slung over my shoulder, I suddenly realized it was ten minutes past twelve.
I stared at the front door to my apartment and waited for a few beats, there had to be a knock.
I tossed my purse down on the couch and grabbed the phone, my thumbs beating out Mother’s number in record time. Four rings and then her voice mail picked up. I tried her cell phone then. She picked up on the second ring.
“Where are you?” I asked, relieved that she wasn’t dead.
“Lucy? Oh my, yes... I’m running a bit late.” I heard her giggle and then there were some ruffling sounds. “Why don’t you meet me there? I already called and they’re holding our table for us. Ta ta.” and she disconnected.
She sounded strange. Relaxed. Unhurried. Not a bit upset about being late.
Wait a minute! The woman that is never late. She’s suddenly okay about being late!
“She’s had a stroke, I know it!” I told Bess on my cell phone. I was navigating through the streets that lead to the restaurant, but they seemed foreign, surreal without Mother’s banter and her incessant need to get me to date more.
I suddenly realized I was desperately missing that.
“There could be a perfectly good reason for this. Don’t panic.” I heard Bess talk to someone on the other end, muffled pleasantries. Then, “It’s you Mother after all. How bad could it be...” suddenly Bess started to laugh. “She probably met some great catch of a man and decided to bring him along, for you. Sort of a surprise blind date.”
“Oh, great! Thanks for putting that in my head.”
Bess cackled one more time. “Well, I gotta go. My client is here to see the loft. Call me later with the details.” And Bess was gone.
Another block and I'd be at the restaurant, so I started to run. I suddenly couldn’t wait, my heart was pounding so damn hard as I swung through the front doors and looked past the matra’ d into the large dining room to Mother‘s regular table--she wasn’t there yet.
“Miss Lucy, so glad you’re here!” Came the voice of Claudio, the mater d. He grabbed my arm and whisked me to Mother’s table. “Is there something wrong?” he said as we strode through the dining room. “You’re Mother--”
“I know ... she’s never late.”
“Even when you’re run
ning late, somehow she makes time stand still and gets you both here on time. But today she calls after twelve and she sounds so strange!”
“You noticed that too. She sounded so--”
“Drunk.”
I laughed one hysterical “Ha,” then said, “I was going to say relaxed.” But drunk was a good description. And as unlikely as my Mother getting drunk would be, it was a lot better than the possibility that she’d had a stroke.
Claudio deposited me at the table, told me the specials, his voice wavering, not his usual boastful self, he kept looking toward the front door. He was thinking the same thing I was. That Mother would be bounding--gracefully--through those doors any moment.
But then Claudio was gone, and the waitress took my drink order and came back with it. Ten more minutes ticked by, and with every minute that passed I could feel all those crazy possibilities bouncing around in my head.
And then Mother arrived.
The sight of her was startling. She was smiling ... not her usual oh-so-polite social smile, but the ear-to-ear cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. And as she came closer I realized there was a blush to her cheeks, and that her hair was windblown. But what really got my attention was the state of her dress.
“Is your dress wrinkled?” I just stared open mouthed.
“That’s a fine greeting.” Mother slid into her chair and took a long drink of water. “No how are you doing? Or you look well.”
I sat forward with an abrupt snap. “Your mascara’s smudged!”
Mother smiled and then said, “Oh, is it?” Reaching into her purse she retrieved her compact and took a short appraising glance at herself. “Oh well,” she said as she put her compact away. “Let’s order, I’m famished.”
“That’s it?” I could feel all my blood rushing to my head, a migraine of gargantuan proportions stirring up in my cranium. It was worse than I’d thought. She was suddenly stricken with Alzheimer's. I shook my head. “Your makeup is smudged, your dress is wrinkled and your hair’s a mess. What the hell is going on?”
“Lucy, dear, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.” She peered at me with her old look of disapproval. Now, at least that was familiar. But then she smiled that stupid smile again and took another long swig of her water.
Suddenly the waiter appeared and Mother ordered a Bloody Mary. My mouth dropped open again and I sat there dazed and confused. “Who are you?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Mother opened her napkin and made a show of smoothing it over her lap.
“You damn well know what I mean? Who the hell are you and what have you done with my Mother?” I looked around us and some of the closer tables were staring at us. “Is this some kind of joke? Some sort of way of teaching me a lesson of some kind...about not being late or something?”
“Lucy, dear, you really do have quite the imagination.” The waiter brought her drink and she took a healthy slug from the glass. “You ready to order?”
“No, I’m not ready to order! What the hell is going on?”
“Well!” Mother shot me a look that said That is enough of that, but then she turned to the waiter and said, “I’ll have the salmon with dill and a salad with ranch.”
I fell back in my chair shaking my head. Mother always ordered the low-calorie Italian, and the most I’d ever seen her eat was the salad and a cup of the soup.
The waiter left and I just stared at my Mother. Maybe it was just me? Maybe I was finally having a psychotic break?
Then I caught a whiff of her and snapped back to attention, leaning in to take a better whiff. “That’s not your scent?” I screwed up my eyes and then they bugged out on me. Two big ovals of shock. “That’s cologne!”
“It’s Fahrenheight...Christian Dior.” She took another sip from her Bloody Mary. “Robert wears it ...” My face went slacked again. “Must have rubbed off.”
“You rubbed against him in the elevator?” I just couldn’t imagine another possibility.
“No dear, I rubbed against him in bed.”
I fell back in my seat again, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to breathe.
“You cheated on Dad?” It spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it.
She shot me a level, chilly gaze.
“Your father and I have been divorced for ten years. It’s not cheating, it’s moving on. Something he did before the ink was dry on the divorce papers.” She shook her head and leaned back into her seat as well, looking truly comfortable for the first time I could remember.
“He’s an artist,” she said running her fingers over her blushing cheek. “In SoHo. I met him at an opening--his opening--and we just hit it off.”
I couldn’t feel my face, I felt numb all over. “How old is he?”
Mother’s smile turned rueful, and she almost snorted. “He’s younger. Let’s leave it at that.”
“How much younger?” I was hoping she was going to say early fifties, late forties.
“Twenty-seven”
I closed my eyes and cringed. That was five years younger than me.
*****
Chapter 6
“Your Mom is so my freaking hero!” Bess roared.
I’d called her to bitch about my Mother, to rage about how embarrassing and inappropriate it was for her to be dating any man -- not to mention one younger than me! “Feel the support here.”
“Cupcake,” -- There it was again! -- “I’m just saying how surprised I am that a tight-assed-priss like your mom turns out to be a cougar! It’s inspirational. Hope I’m so lucky in my old age.”
“So you don’t see how gross this is?” My voice kept rising higher and higher. Soon all I’d be able to manage would be a squeak.
“Lucy, you’re just still holding on to the insane hope that your parents will get back together.” She paused for a couple beats, and I was hoping she would say that it wasn’t impossible, but instead, “That ain’t gonna happen, so let it go. Just be happy for the old girl.”
“Yeah, I’m so glad I called you.” I shook my head. Why couldn’t Bess see? “What if it was your mom?”
“I’d say great. Let her knock herself out. Would probably do her a world of good.”
“And your dad?”
Silence.
“What if your dad took up cohabitating with some blond, large breasted stripper type ... and she was younger than you?”
More silence.
Finally Bess said, “That’s not the same.”
“Sure it isn’t.” I smiled to myself on the other end of the phone. I could hear Bess’ resolve falter.
“Okay, maybe I see your point.”
“Thank you.”
“But I still think in your mom’s case you should be happy. Just think ... with her busy having her own love life, she won’t be bugging you about your...lack of one.”
The thought flashed a brilliant green in my mind. It was true. Our entire lunch date had been spent talking about “Robert” and art, and then she’d dashed off to go shopping for something more “vibrant” to wear on their next date.
Maybe. If I can get over the ick-factor, I might end up really liking Mother with a younger man. Yuck! A younger man...
I suddenly felt something else creep into my unhappy heart. Along with the open wound that Mother was officially no longer with dad, along with the horror that she was dating someone younger than me--even if only by one year--now I felt the burn of jealousy lick at my heart.
Mom had a boyfriend! I had two potted plants and a reoccurring sex dream.
“How pathetic do you think it is,” I asked Bess, sinking listlessly into the corner pocket of my couch. “That Mother has a man and I don’t”
“Jesus Christ cupcake, I didn’t mean to make you all depressed and suicidal.”
“I’m not suicidal.” Though I was undeniably depressed. “I’m just...”
“In major need of a fuck-buddy?”
“No!” I started laughing. I think I even snorted. “Well, maybe.”
“That�
�s my girl. I’ll stop by after I show this dump on Park, then we can strategize over some cocktails.”
“No cocktails!” I could still feel the hangover headache from last time. “Bring Chinese.”
“Sesame Chicken?”
“And extra egg rolls.”
*****
Bess and I were huddled on my couch, side by side sharing an afghan while ladling our MSG laden meals into our mouths, The Notebook playing on my TV.
“So how many single men do you know?” Bess asked.
I thought about it while I chewed on a hunk of my Sesame chicken. “There’s Roger down the hall--”
“He’s a cretin, and I think I saw him trying to proposition a hooker last week.”
“And there are the guys from work.”
“Never a good idea to date in the work place. It’s that whole not shitting where you eat thing.” Bess aimed her chop-sticks at the TV screen. “That Ryan Gosling is so hot.”
“Especially with his shirt off.”
“Damn skippy.” She licked her lips and then set back to work on her sweet and sour pork. “Plus all those guys know how you look.”
I shot her a scathing look.
“I just mean, do you ever dress up or wear make-up to work?”
“No.”
“And have any of them ever asked you out?”
I had a flash back of how they all acted when Nicole showed up. “Again, no.”
“Well, then we can safely rule them out of the dating pool.” Bess had brought over a bottle of red wine with her, and was now washing down her pork with a glass of it. “Anyone else you can think of?”
I thought for a moment, a fork full of fried rice hanging suspended in the air. “Damn...can’t think of a one.”
“So we’re left with clergy and perfect strangers.”
“Clergy?” I dropped my fork.
“Sure. The one’s not molesting kids are usually ready to explode from pent up desire. That makes for a fine recipe for an illicit affair. And then they usually repent and run back into the safety of the church, all guilt riddled. So you don’t have to worry that they’ll get too attached.”