This group tried physically to force their way to the inner circle. One heavy-set, middle-aged doctor from New York, who treated the office as an extension of the family that had excluded her her entire life, had wedged her chair in close to the new director and was stabbing witty, cynical words into the conversation. The last group of doctors, those who didn’t care to win the chair’s favor because they thought they were too good for office politics, weren’t even at this get-together. They obviously hadn’t had a talking-to from Lily, or maybe the talking-to was seen as a chance to rebel by not coming, Meredith thought. Sprinkled within these layers were a handful of non-MD faculty members: Doug and several PhDs from the Public Health Program.
The next layer of gatherers was staff members who were dressed more professionally than the female doctors. They were dressed for success, within a budget. They wore affordable suits, stockings, and one inch heels. They were the Program Managers, glorified secretaries trying to be mistaken for non-medical faculty members. There were a handful of ‘60s minded doctors who enjoyed talking to these staff people because it made them feel that, despite their six-digit incomes, they could still treat less-educated people from lower income brackets as their equals.
On the periphery was another, completely different, but equally sized circle. The secretaries. Made up mostly of women, the secretaries dressed in T-shirts with gold glitter designs over their bosoms. They wore leggings and dressed in flat shoes that cost $8.99 at Payless. They shared a deep resentment for Program Managers who put on airs and pretended they didn’t shit brown like everyone else. They had an even deeper resentment for the doctors; several outwardly hated all doctors. When they had birthdays, they brought cakes which they hid in back offices for the sole purpose of keeping the physicians from eating any.
The secretaries’ circle was the louder group. When the party was over, they would be the ones to gather up the leftovers and take them home to adult sons who lived with them. They were a raucous group, outdoing each other with funny stories and dirty jokes. From time to time, Meredith heard a screech of laughter shoot up out of their group like a flock of seagulls. She sat alone because there were no chairs left near them, and also because no one had waved her over when she walked in. She sat with her feet up in a corner, by the window, drinking Coke and trying to look nonchalant.
Lou Tartelo was enumerating. Exfoliating. His words were peeling off him and flopping onto people around him, who pretended to snatch them up but weren’t really listening as much as they were working hard to act like dazzled listeners. Meredith thought that Lou may or may not realize that his audience was a movie set where, like fake buildings, the people turned out to be two dimensional when you walked around them.
The new chair’s ears popped out oddly from his head and Meredith wondered if he was teased as a child. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, possibly to demonstrate how confident he was, despite the ears. But being a doctor would alleviate some insecurity, she supposed. People automatically assumed a blinding intelligence. Lou only stopped talking long enough to take a breath. Some of his more aggressive listeners, who wanted to amaze him rather than be star-struck, would wedge smart, insightful addendums into his pauses. When Lou had sucked in sufficient air, he’d pick up where he left off regardless of where the new speaker was in his or her clever comment. Meredith thought he was like an army tank, spitting out shells and blindly crunching over the bones of soldiers who stood to return fire.
He was some piece of work, this Lou Tartelo. Or Dr.Tartelo. But Meredith intended, when the moment came, to address him as Lou. Months could go by before she’d need to address him directly. She could already see the other staff members splitting into three camps. About twenty percent were already referring to him as Lou. Forty percent were like her, hesitant to assume the camaraderie and professional equality implied by his first name, but unwilling to call him Doctor while he called them Judy or Mary. The remaining forty percent weren’t even thinking about what to call him. He was Dr. Tartelo to them. Like they’re his children, she thought.
She sat in her corner, watching people streaming in to pay homage. Lou Tartelo had an air of entitlement that irked her. There was something about his ability to blather on fearlessly, with no worries of being a bore. No fears that people might go home tonight and accuse him of being monopolizing or monotonous as they strained pasta for their children’s dinner. Meredith felt a wave of anger wash over her. She disliked the way he talked, the way he sat with his legs open so that his crotch pointed at the doctor in front of him. She disliked the way he rocked backwards in his chair and the way...
“Meredith?”
It took Meredith a minute to realize the soft spoken voice was saying her name. Shaking off her anger, she turned to see Ben Abel, a second year resident, holding a plastic cup of soda and twisting his body sideways to match his cocked head.
“Hey, Meredith. What’s up?”
For a minute, she was speechless. She couldn’t believe that Ben Abel even knew her name. They’d attended meetings together. And she’d called him a few times to supervise medical students when she was a secretary, but she didn’t think he really knew who she was. “Hi, Ben. How did you find the time to come here?” She used the same modus operandi in all conversations with men: throw ego-flattering questions at them.
Ben smiled and shrugged. “Let’s just say we were encouraged to come.”
Meredith nodded toward Lou. “Have you met him yet?”
Ben sunk his hands into his jean pockets and looked across the room at the chair. “I interviewed him.” He turned back and shrugged. “They needed someone to represent the residents. I didn’t have any real voting power. I was just a figurehead.”
Meredith laughed and motioned to a chair. “Do you want to sit down?”
Ben smiled and shook his head. “No. I need to go home. I’m watching my friend’s Lab and he’s been locked up since six this morning. There’s probably going to be a little gift waiting for me when I get home.”
Meredith kicked herself for inviting him to sit with her. “Well, you’d better get going,” she said. “Thanks for the chat.”
Ben looked like he’d been forced out, even though, she reminded herself, he was the one who wouldn’t sit down. He smiled and turned to go. Then he turned back and asked, “How’s school going?”
He knew she was in school? Meredith's cheeks flamed as she told him, “I graduated.”
“Hey. Congratulations. What’s next?”
Suddenly, her new job didn’t seem very impressive. “I just got hired as the department’s computer programmer. Working with Doug.”
“Hey, that’s great. Doug’s awesome.” Ben’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I’ll probably be seeing you soon.” He rolled his eyes. “My research project. What a mess.”
“Sure. Come on by.” He stood over her for a moment, in silence. “Well, get home to your dog,” Meredith finally said.
Ben bowed and loped away.
The next morning was clear and cool with a hard, bright sun on Meredith's bedroom floor. She brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face, then she sat outside in a light flannel robe watching her tea steam furiously in the chilly air. Like a shiny silver dollar hidden in a deep pocket, she turned over last night’s interaction with Ben Abel. Ben was tall and bookish, with “compassionate” written all over his face. He had a way of listening that made you feel as if you were spoon-feeding him your words. Meredith felt like she’d force-fed him, the day before. Balancing her tea on one knee, she scratched her ankle. No wonder Sarah was unsuccessful at matchmaking.
Two neighborhood dogs came up to say hello. One had an abscess on his forehead. He skirted past her in a guarded, angry way and she didn’t try to detain him. The sky was turning a magnificent hot pink. The clouds were edged with gold. Meredith sat for a few minutes, watching the sky because she felt she ought to. Then she went inside to get dressed for work.
Chapter Three
Corky Lubbock was wa
iting for her when she stepped off the elevator. “Oh, you’re here! I’ve been trying to find your home phone number but it’s not listed. The front desk isn’t here yet. I was just trying to find it in their Rolodex. You should give me your cell phone.” Meredith was in the book, but she didn’t correct Corky’s mistake. She looked at the clock. It was 7:55. In a loud, petulant voice that mimicked a five year old, Corky announced, “I need your help.” She picked up the things she’d plopped on the front desk, her laptop, a pile of papers and folders, a cup of coffee, and a homemade muffin, and followed Meredith into her office. As Meredith was hanging up her bag, Corky plopped into Meredith's swivel chair.
Meredith looked pointedly at the chair, but Corky seemed oblivious. So Meredith sat in the folding chair and watched Corky eat her muffin and spill crumbs all over her lap and the office floor. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast and give me a chance to get settled and turn on my computer. Then I’ll come and find you.”
“Sorry, I haven’t had breakfast,” Corky said as she brushed crumbs off her lap. “I’ve got clinic in two minutes. This will only take a second. I’m doing a study on weight loss and I need a way to plot weight fluctuations of 85 subjects over a twelve-month period.”
“When are you starting data collection?” Meredith stopped looking at the crumbs on the floor.
“I started it eight months ago. I’m applying for a grant and the deadline is Friday.”
“You have eight months’ worth of data that you want input by Friday?”
“I really need it by Thursday.”
“I can try to set up a spreadsheet today,” Meredith told her. “But that would only give someone tomorrow and Thursday to enter all the data.”
“I’d like you to do the data entry. Your replacement isn’t very reliable with things like this.”
“I’ve got four other projects going on,” Meredith told her, feeling a surge of triumph for being able to tell her no. “And I don’t do data entry. I’m not a secretary anymore.”
Corky's face was unreadable. She had a boy’s haircut and dressed in cookie cutter dresses that made her look like she was about to pull a batch of gingerbread men out of the oven. She had been one of Meredith's most needy bosses when she was a secretary and Meredith wasn’t about to continue the pattern as a programmer.
Corky brushed more crumbs off her lap. “I need that data entered correctly. I want you to do it.”
“Corky, you’re spilling crumbs all over my office.” Meredith could hear herself whining.
“Sorry,” Corky said, but she didn’t offer to clean up the mess. She was not heavy, but she waddled when she walked. As she left for the clinic, Meredith watched her go with disgust. It was only 8:05 and Corky had already ruined her day.
Kira popped her head in to the office. “Hey, do you want to go to the coffee cart with me? I need an extra shot of caffeine this morning.”
“Oh, no, I’m in no mood to be good company.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Meredith stared hard at her desk to control her emotions. “I don’t like my job very much right now.”
“Corky?”
“How’d you guess?”
“She’s just like that. She reminds me of that Peanuts character, Pig-Pen, but instead of a cloud of dust following her around, it’s a state of disorder. She’s chaotic.”
“Yeah.”
“Forget about her, and the job. Focus on the part of your life that exists outside you job. Any good plans tonight?”
“No. Just go home and watch tv.”
“Well, it’s a weeknight, after all. How about this weekend? What are you going to do?”
“No plans. I’ll probably go on a hike. I do that most weekends.”
“What about a movie, or a play? Dinner with friends?”
Meredith stared at the blank wall over her desk. “You know what, Kira? I will get that cup of coffee with you.”
Monsoon season in New Mexico brought rain, broken up by gaps of sunshine and rainbows. The sudden humidity gave the air a chill. Leaves were still on the trees, roses were still holding their own, but the rain fell steadily over the city, three days running.
Mr. Gonzales called out from his porch as Meredith dashed out to get her mail. “Can you believe this rain? Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“We’re becoming a rain forest,” she agreed.
“We’re all going to melt!” he yelled across the yard. “And the damp. It’s so chilly!” But he looked thoroughly pleased.
Part of Meredith enjoyed the luxury of rain in the desert. But another part was mildly depressed by the lack of sunshine. She could laugh with Mr. Gonzales, be truly happy. But as soon as she stepped back inside she found herself unable to do anything productive. She was restive and glum. The rain reminded her of New York and she maneuvered through flashbacks of her old life like a young soldier with a sword, holding the blade out in front of her as she stepped through her thoughts. She paced. The walls of her adobe seemed to be growing.
I’ve got to get out of here, she decided. Without giving pause for thought, she grabbed her keys and coat and left. “Good-bye, house of misery,” she whispered, even though she knew the house wasn’t the cause.
Not even Sic’em was out in the rain and the thought of turning the corner alone made her feel lonely. “This is ridiculous,” she coached herself, running the wipers furiously and jacking up her heat. “You are such a baby.”
She wanted to lose herself in some other life. A movie would give her a two hour reprieve. Just the idea calmed her so that by the time she pulled into the parking lot, she was feeling more in control. She picked a tear-jerker, a movie she’d heard was sad. “A good match for my mood,” she decided. “Give myself a release.” She treated herself to candy. The theater was almost empty with just a handful of fellow viewers scattered about. She munched her Milk Duds. She was feeling better already. She’d just needed to get out of the house. The moment the lights went down, Meredith started sobbing uncontrollably. The movie hadn’t even begun, and she was fighting to keep her tears silent, gasping for air with deep, choppy breaths. When she had the tears more or less managed, she snuck into the restroom to blow her nose. She blew and blew; it seemed to take forever. The bathroom was empty, so she also went to the sink and splashed her face with cold water. Her face was blotchy, her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “You got a little out of hand there,” she told her reflection. She wondered what had triggered the tears. The rain? The job?
Walking out of the bathroom, she ran straight into Ben Abel. They collided, and Ben instantly apologized even though it was Meredith's fault. Only after half of the apology was out of his mouth did he look down and recognize her. “Meredith! Hi. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to trample you. How’s it going?”
Meredith felt like an idiot, standing in front of the bathroom, eyes swollen from tears, talking to Ben. “Just seeing a movie.” She found herself unable to use his name. It seemed to imply a sort of proprietorship she didn’t think she had the right to assume.
“Are you okay?” He had noticed the blotches on her face, then. Ben's face showed politeness, etched with concern. He seemed ready to drop everything if she didn’t want to talk.
“Oh, it’s allergies. I was sneezing so hard in the theater, I had to get up and leave. Someone must be wearing a perfume that caused it, because I seem fine now.” Meredith was amazed with the fluidity of her lie.
Ben nodded sympathetically. “Allergies are the worst. And so common out here. I think Albuquerque’s been voted the allergy capital of the world.”
Meredith started to ask him how often he saw the problem in clinic but refrained. She didn’t want to think about his being a doctor right now.
“So, are you going back inside?” he asked her.
The vision of the empty, darkened theater made her shudder. “Nah. The perfume will still be there. And the movie didn’t look that good.”
Ben paused for a
split second, then asked, “Do you want to grab some coffee?”
She almost started crying again, with gratitude. Now she could be distracted from her rootless misery. She was so desperate for company that she kicked her nervousness around Ben into a corner of the theatre and nodded her head. “Sure. Where would you like to go?”
“Double Rainbow?”
They got into their respective cars and drove to the coffee shop. It was still raining when they pulled up into the parking lot. Ben drove a black Toyota 4-Runner. The outdoor patio was closed but they managed to get a free table. Ben got a large coffee with a shot of espresso mixed in. Meredith started to ask for herbal tea, but a feeling of recklessness overtook her and she ordered a double shot of espresso, half decaf, half regular. As she sat down, she smiled. She couldn’t believe she was actually here alone with Ben.
“I live on this stuff,” Ben said apologetically. “It’s like water to me.”
Meredith laughed. “Well, I heard on the radio that people who drink coffee are less likely to commit suicide.”
“Is that why you drink it?”
Ben slipped his question in so quickly that Meredith was caught off guard. Was he serious? After a fumble, she said, emphatically, “Yes. It’s kept me alive this long.”
Ben laughed.
After their coffee was gone, they went their separate ways. Before they got up from the table Meredith had learned that Ben mountain biked and hiked in his free time, that he was from Oregon originally, and that his mom and dad still lived there. After Ben had pulled away in his truck, Meredith switched off her car engine and sat in the parking lot, letting the rain on her windshield blur the view so that she felt like she was sitting under a waterfall. People came and went around her, their figures nothing more than blurred colors hurrying by.
Searching For Meredith Love Page 3