Crazy for You

by Claire Applewhite

  She snatched a leopard print jumpsuit from the walk-in closet and cinched the waist with a chain belt made of wide gold loops. A pair of golden slides completed her “look.” Okay, she was off and out. She rushed through the kitchen on her way out, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. Sunshine streamed through the bay window, casting midday shadows on the oak cabinets. Skipping through the foyer on her way to the car, she couldn’t help but notice that smell again. Spicy, that’s what it was. Like chili. She smiled. That started with a C too.

  Like the car that was parked across the street.

  He kissed her full on the mouth, and he knew. Just like that. She had someone else. How did he know? Giles released her, at least from his embrace. If anyone knew what a fading love looked like, felt like, hurt like, well, he did. He’d inflicted that dying love on June long enough to recognize the symptoms of the disease, and now, he was becoming its hapless victim.

  In fact, from the look of things, someone had been here not too long ago. Who, he wondered? Who had been here? He proceeded to walk to the wide window, almost brushing Leila to one side. Almost.

  “What is it, Giles?” she said, trailing behind him. “Didn’t you say you had something for me, darling?”

  “Is that what I mean to you? Is it always about what new gift I might have for you, Leila? Aren’t you even glad to see me?”

  “You know I am, mi amor.”

  Giles gazed out over the gleam of the silver Arch, the symbol of the Gateway to the West.

  “Something’s changed between us. I can feel it.”

  “No darling. No.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking. Not that it matters, but do you want to tell me who it is? It’s not like you to not be ready for me in the afternoon. Look at you, you’re not even dressed. Why would you ask me to wait a few minutes before coming up? You never have before today.”

  “Giles darling,” Leila said, her eyes fixed on the closed bathroom door, “I just don’t know why you’re talking like this. Look at me.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  “It’s not you, it’s just that…”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe we’ve been spending too much time apart, or too much time together, or maybe, it’s your wife.”

  “Of course it’s my wife! Don’t you see? If June had died, we could have been together forever, but no… She’s goddamn immortal!” He shook his head. “She’ll be home by five-thirty tonight.”

  “Don’t you have to pick her up at the hospital?”

  “Oh no, June wouldn’t have it like that. She’s coming home in an ambulance, no less. I’m telling you, Leila, a divorce would be devastating for me, but—tell me something—how do you manage with Carlos? Does he know about us?”

  “Carlos and I understand that, from time to time, we may meet attractive people and life is short, is it not? We are, what do you call it—discreet. What is wrong?”

  “I want you for myself. I thought you felt the same way about me.”

  “I enjoy your company, Giles, but you know, I am a married woman. I see no reason to change that. You are forgetting that you are a married man.”

  “If I wasn’t?”

  “But you are!”

  Giles reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a tiny blue velveteen box. “Open it, Leila.”

  A puzzled expression crossed her face. There was really only one thing it could be, wasn’t there? If she accepted an engagement ring, well… The brilliant five carat diamond solitaire glimmered like a chunk of white fire. She couldn’t help herself. She put it on her ring finger, left hand.

  “Do you like it?” Giles said.

  “Like it? Like it? I love it. But, it looks like an engagement ring, and Giles, I…”

  “It is an engagement ring. And, you accepted it.” His plan was working. He knew it would. Perusing the room, he noticed the closed bathroom door. From the crack beneath, a ray of light blazed. “Leila, is there…” he began, but his focus shifted back to Leila’s objections.

  “You are married, and so am I.”

  “Then, there’s only one thing for us to do, isn’t there? You must decide, Leila.”

  “What about you?”

  “I already have.” He took her in his arms once more, and kissed her. Still, there was something missing. Giles was not a dim-witted man. He sensed the flame that had once simmered beneath their passion had cooled. Leila’s kisses were well, routine, and Leila was not a routine woman. Someone, somewhere was garnering the kisses he craved. “I have to go now, but I’ll call you tonight. Unless, you want to give the ring back to me.”

  At the suggestion, Leila covered the ring with her right hand. Giles grinned. “Aha. That’s what I thought.” He turned to leave.

  The door slammed behind him.

  Fifteen

  Brock was running behind, again. As hard as he tried to stay on time with each one of his clients, it was impossible for him to rush someone out of his chair when that poor, distraught person was “venting,” as Marc used to like to call it. Sometimes, he knew he was the confidante, and he just couldn’t risk disappointment. Sometimes, a client asked and answered her own questions in the same breath. Such was the case with Angela’s neighbor, Mrs. Claus.

  Actually, she didn’t have that much hair. Cottony and white, he fluffed and teased it every Friday without fail. Fragile and stooped, she sat hunched in the chair in a motionless pose while her mouth chattered. Now, she was telling him about her newest boyfriend. “Tell me the truth, Brock,” she said in a hushed tone. “Is he too young for me?”

  Before he could answer, she did. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong about him, dead wrong. I love what you did with my hair today, Brock. It looks so full and shiny, don’t you think? Don’t answer that, you’re just so hard on yourself! You’ve just too modest, did you know that? Of course you did. Wish me luck on my weekend in Vegas!”

  Brock rearranged his combs and scissors. According to his watch, it was now twenty minutes past two, and his new client, according to his appointment book, was one Bunny Hunter. Was it Miss or Mrs., he wondered?

  “Mr. Beauty by Brock?” said a squeaky voice behind him.

  He turned and pointed to himself. “I am Brock, yes.”

  Before him stood a tanned, toned, twenty something, double-processed bottle blonde, he supposed it was Scandinavian Sunset #9, clad in a leopard print jumpsuit. Could this be Bunny Hunter? His clammy palms and dry mouth told him it could, and yes indeed, that it was.

  “And you must be Penny’s friend. Love your look. It’s so, jungle.”

  “I am Bunny Dingwerth Hunter. My father owns Dingwerth Distinctive Designs. Have you heard of it?”

  Brock swallowed hard. Her father was Giles Dingwerth? The name jogged a wicked memory. Well, so what if her father was a philandering tycoon?

  “Please Mrs. Hunger, um, Hunter, please sit down in my chair. I so apologize for the wait. Mrs. Claus had a special weekend coming up and…”

  The shrill peal of giggles startled him. “Her?” Bunny said. “A special weekend?”

  “Why, yes. A new boyfriend, in Las Vegas!”

  “You’re too funny, you really are. Penny didn’t tell me you were this funny.”

  Penny didn’t tell me you were this petty, thought Brock. He combed his tapered fingers through her fine, thin hair. “So tell me, what are we doing today?”

  “I want highlights, I think. Maybe like yours.” Again, the giggles. “Or maybe I’ll go red like Penny. It’s just that I think my husband is bored with my look, and I thought I’d change my hair. That should fix everything, right?”

  He would have to talk to Penny about this referral, he really would.

  “I mean, you’re a man,” she rambled on, “what would fix things for you?”

  Suddenly, she stopped and stared at him, wide-eyed as a child. “Oh God, you’re not gay or anything, are you? I mean, a lot of hairdressers are, not that I actually know a
ny or anything.” She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for an answer.

  Brock’s mouth smiled. “Don’t worry about it.” No, he wouldn’t say a word to anyone, but Bunny’s barb had made him feel, well, evil. “How about we try red with gold highlights?” he said with a wink. “Or, take it a step further. Picture blonde with red highlights.” He stood behind Bunny and grinned, while she frowned into the mirror. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I can’t. I mean, can you just touch up my roots?”

  Brock studied Bunny’s reaction in the mirror. He saw her lips begin to tremble, and her eyes well with fresh tears. “Mrs. Hunter,” he said, “why don’t you just relax here in my chair, and we’ll talk for a minute, okay? I make a luscious cup of tea, with a special lemon twist. Can I tempt you?” Her face brightened like the dawn. She smudged her eyes with a pink tissue. What an amazing transformation, thought Brock. It was simply amazing.

  “Penny said you were just the best,” said Bunny. “You’re right, we should talk about this. Thanks, Brock. Please, call me Bunny.”

  Brock gazed at the blonde, tanned woman in his chair and suddenly, he saw something he hadn’t seen. Beneath the cosmetic façade, beat the heart of a woman in fresh pain. Well, she’d come to the right place. Brock knew all about broken hearts.

  Better get that tea.

  The bathroom door burst open and Dan stormed out, his face contorted in rage. “Okay Leila, show me the ring,” he said, his words clipped and short. “Don’t you think that was a little callous? Just a little rude? You knew I’d hear every word.”

  “Daniel, please let me explain.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Giles is right, you know.” The diamond sparkled, even in the gloomy room. “You do need to decide.” Hot, bitter tears streamed down his ruddy cheeks.

  “But, I have. I want you.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it. You know something else? I need to go.” He reached for the doorknob and twisted.

  “Daniel! If you would just give me a chance…”

  Without a word, Dan stepped into the dim hall. It smelled of pine scent and French fries. He needed to think, he needed to breathe, but most of all, he needed to decide. In a frenzied huff, his hair mussed and his tie askew, he made his way to the lobby, home of the infamous revolving doors.

  He never noticed the redheaded reporter gabbing with Marc at the marble reception desk—the one who checked her watch when he rushed off of the elevator—but, she noticed him. No, he was headed for Luther’s Fine Parking. He would pay Luther’s outrageous rate for his fine parking, get June’s car back, and head over to the Dingwerth residence, where he would bet a box of Lucky Charms that Bunny was waiting for June Senior’s homecoming. Oh boy.

  Hey, there was Luther now, wiping down the windshield of a white Cadillac Escalade. So absorbed was he in his work, he never heard Dan’s approach until he was almost directly behind him.

  “Hey!” he finally said, stuffing the rag into the front pocket of his workshirt, “I was about to come looking for you.”

  “Me?” Dan shielded his weary eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun with his hand. “Why? Don’t tell me you lost my car.”

  “Naw, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that somebody came around about two o’clock today, looking all over for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Said Rocco from the club told him where he could find you today. So, he comes to talk to me. And, I’m telling you, I don’t want no part of whatever this mess is, because of I don’t like the kind of message he gave me to give you.”

  “Which is?”

  Luther grabbed the keys to June’s Cadillac from one of the many hooks on a plywood board hung on a dingy wall in his wooden shack. Dan didn’t like the suspicious look on his face when he turned to answer him. This Luther was too shrewd, maybe too much for his own good. “Hope you know what he’s talking ’bout, because I surely don’t. Guy says there’s a big problem with what you want him to do, something about a down payment or something. Says he don’t do no deals—not the kind you looking for—without a little dough up front. You dig?”

  Oooh boy. Rocco hadn’t said anything about a down payment. “You say this wasn’t Rocco?”

  “No man, I know who Rocky is. Me and him had a sodie the other day. Wasn’t him.”

  “So, what did he look like?”

  Luther squinted into the distant horizon, as if he could find the person if he looked hard enough. “Let’s see. He had brown hair. No, make that black, and brown eyes—I think they were brown—and he was about as tall as me and you. Yeah.”

  Which made him stand out like a blade of grass on a lawn, this description. One thing was for sure. Dan had asked Rocco about contract murder because he was pretty sure Rocco had some connections that way. An account of the time that one of Rocco’s enemies mysteriously “disappeared” had told him that much. It hadn’t been that long ago, either. Dan had every right to assume Rocco’s connection was still in business for his business with Bunny, even if Luther, Bunny’s notorious “black man,” wanted nothing to do with the plan.

  There, he’d admitted his guilt. Now though, he was so confused. Things weren’t so clear after all. Yesterday, he’d have bet his future on Leila’s feelings for him. She said she loved him, and besides, he could feel it in the torrid passion between them. Passion was love, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

  All he knew was that he’d never felt this way before and probably never would again. At least, he couldn’t imagine such a feeling twice in a lifetime. He had to seize the moment while he could, or spend the rest of his life wondering what could have been and living with Bunny, Bunny Baby, and June Senior, maybe even Giles, too. There was no contest. The die had been cast.

  Once again, he had a Plan.

  Dr. Hart sat at the nurse’s station, reviewing June Dingwerth’s most recent chart. He didn’t even want to think about all of the others that lingered somewhere in the dark cavern known as Medical Records. How long had June been his professional patient? He flipped through the pages, idly computing the years he’d known her. It was something like twenty or twenty-five, wasn’t it? At least half of her married life. He reflected that it must be trying for old Giles, at times. Married life at best was trying at times, wasn’t it?

  No one knew that better than Dr. Hart.

  Speaking of Angela, why was she calling his cell phone at this very moment? Hadn’t he told her not to call him at work? Besides, his cell phone didn’t work very well inside the dense concrete walls of the hospital. Still, he would answer it, anything to silence that annoying, nerve grating ringtone. “Hello Angela, yes it’s me, how are you, I’m fine,” he droned while he scrawled the word DISCHARGE across June’s chart.

  “So, what’s on your mind? You sound, pardon me for saying so, but you sound so agitated. No, I’m not picking on you. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  He cradled the phone under his chin while he arranged the chart. “Oh, so that’s it. Brock’s late. Well, and why not? He runs—what did you say it was—a salon, that’s right. It was probably an extra busy day, just like I’m having. That’s right, like I’m having, the one that still pays your bills. Let’s not get into this now. My lawyer will call your lawyer, that’s right. Tell Brock good luck for me.”

  The more time he spent away from that woman, the more he felt the divorce was the right thing to do. Why then, did the sound of her voice still upset him so much? Because, he realized while strolling down the corridor to June’s room, because in spite of everything—her infidelity, his occasional gambling problem, her compulsive shopping habit, his binge drinking—she was still the only woman he had ever truly loved. Now that he was about to be a free man once again, he wondered if that would ever change.

  Ooops, there’s June’s room, the one that resembled a floral scented theater stage, featuring June Dingwerth as the main attraction. He paused just outside the room to straighten his tie, and was surprised to see a young, fine-looki
ng man making his way down the hall. Funny thing, he didn’t know June had a son, especially one with such a magnetic smile.

  “Hi,” said the young man, “I’m June’s son-in-law, Dan Hunter. You know, Bunny’s husband.”

  Dr. Hart didn’t want to confess that June had never mentioned him. “Dr. Eugene Hart.” He clasped Dan’s sweaty palm in his smooth one. “I’m afraid you’re a little late for a visit today. I was just getting ready to tell June she could go home.”

  “Really? I was hoping to have a few words with her.” Dan flashed The Smile, the whitest smile that Dr. Hart had ever seen. The doctor was intrigued, but he needed to move on to his next patient. Besides, he did have another motive. He was meeting Marc for drinks at seven o’clock. “I won’t be but a minute, I promise,” he said. Dan tapped his foot.

  “Neither will I,” said the doctor. “I need a few moments with Mrs. Dingwerth, please. Alone, if you don’t mind, please.” Anxious guy. Wonder if he’s like that all of the time? He rapped on June’s door. There she was, propped up in bed, surrounded by flowers. If she’d been lying down, she might have been mistaken for an expensive corpse.

  “Eugene,” she said, “should I stay another day? What do you really think? Is it safe to go home, I mean, really safe?”

  Dr. Hart took a deep breath. After all, he did not have a crystal ball. “June, how long have we known each other?”

  “I’m sure I don’t actually know. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Because I’m going to say something I’ve never said to any other patient of mine before, and frankly, I can’t believe I’m saying it to you.” He stared at the pale woman with the tiny yellow teeth. There was no turning back now.

  “Do you recall what you said to me about, oh let’s see, how did you put it? You said something like, if you should die suddenly, it might not be an accident. It might not be the way it was meant to be, or something like that. Do you remember that discussion?”