Double Trouble (7 page)

That ticked him off. He rapped his cane noisily, making sure he walked a step ahead of me, shouting loud enough that people in Hawaii would hear him. “You’ll not be telling me that I need a hearing aid, no you won’t. And you’ll not be tricking me into getting one, no you won’t.”

He shook the cane at me when he paused at the intersection, proving he didn’t really need it and nearly decapitating me in the process. “I won’t have one!” he roared. “I don’t need one!”

He marched across the street, oblivious to the traffic and I nearly put my hands over my eyes. But he strode with such confidence that two cars squealed to a halt.

He was apparently unaware of them, though even I didn’t believe that. I shrugged to the two cursing drivers and darted after my father.

Just as I suspected, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. My own demented leprechaun.

“Damn fool drivers. It’s time enough they learned to keep a slow pace near a school.”

“Self-sacrificing as always.”

His twinkle disappeared. “How many times have I told you that it’s not polite to mock your elders? You shouldn’t be trying to trick me by lowering your voice so.”

“Who me?” I mouthed the words, making no sound at all, and thought for a moment he would slug me.

Then he laughed, a real witch’s cackle. “Wicked, wicked girl! You’ll not fool me, no you won’t.”

I might have thought that was the end of it, because he practically bounced up the steps to the doctor’s office, but he spun on the top step with unexpected agility. “When are you going to get married again?”

“I’m never
ever
making that mistake again. Don’t hold your breath.”

He shook his head and smiled a sly smile. “Ah, then you have found a man. You make sure you invite me to the wedding.” He darted away with all the agility of Fred Astaire.

What?

I was hot on his heels through the glass doors, ignoring the people who paused to stare. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

He was as delighted as a child with a new toy. “You usually say that you’re not the marrying kind.”

I paused and realized it was true. “Well, so what? I’ve changed my line. No big deal.”

“Ha! I knew your mother was going to marry me when she said she never
ever
would.” He fired me a sharp glance, enjoying my discomfort a little too much. He jabbed his finger at me. “Mind you get married before I’m dead, you hear?”

I propped my hands on my hips, not caring that we were entertaining the locals. “I thought you were so young and virile that you were going to live for another fifty years or so. I’ve got time.
Lots
of time. Maybe even time to figure out you’re talking about.”

“Ha!”

He bounced into the elevator and I nearly abandoned him right then and there. Instead I followed, then slumped against the back wall and watched the numbers light up, considering that if my father could see what I was thinking, then I was in trouble.

God damn that dimple.

“He’s a she,” my father reported as the doors slid open.

I had no idea what he meant. “What? Who?”

“The doctor. He’s a she, so mind your manners for a change.”

* * *

Dr. Wendy Moss greeted my father with a bemused smile. She was about fifty and looked sufficiently no-nonsense to fend for herself. To my relief, she was a general practitioner, not some kind of specialist whose involvement I had heard nothing about. My father was in reasonably good shape for his age, a vigorous seventy-nine.

“What happened to Dr. Havermann?”

“Retired,” my father said with dismissive scorn. “He’s
old
.”

“Or maybe he’d rather play golf than deal with the likes of you. It has a certain appeal, and you know how I feel about golf.”

“Women are nothing but trouble,” my father announced to his new doc by way of greeting. He jerked a thumb in my direction. “She’s always following me around.”

“Please, Dr. Moss, don’t suggest that he can’t live alone,” I begged, determined to get even. Eyes widened in the waiting room. “He’d have to bunk with me since he’s so destitute, we’d have to eat cat food and I just know that he would eat all the best kinds on me. One day I’d have to kill him to keep my sanity.” I sighed. “I’ll spend the rest of my life in jail, and for what? Let him get his own cat food.”

His eyes were dancing now. “Nothing but lip, that’s what I get from this one.”

Dr. Moss bit back a smile and beckoned to her patient. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. O’Reilly. Would you like to come in?”

I sat down to peruse dog-eared magazines that had been pretty dull before they became office origami and weren’t much better now.
The Economist.
Oh joy.

Where do they find this stuff? I have a mental image of doctors rabidly raiding dumpsters and recycling trucks, trying to find the most deadly dull discards for their waiting rooms. “Ha,” they must chortle to each other, “
this
will make them feel as though they’ve been waiting forever. This will make them understand what an incredibly important physician I am.”

The only thing worse are the selections in dentist’s offices. Maybe it’s an insecurity thing. I mean, why would anyone become a dentist? Tough to think of it as a first choice. Imagine a lifetime of having your fingers in other people’s mouths. Imagine having to pretend that bicuspids are interesting. It’s got to be a fallback decision.

Like running an Internet advice column instead of writing cutting edge code. Hmm. Bet dentists make better money. Oh yeah, there goes Aunt Mary with her untold millions of internet advertising revenue. Hahaha. Cruising to the Caymans without a care in the world.

I don’t think so.

My father wasn’t gone that long, but when he came out, he was wearing one of those knowing expressions. You know, the smug kind that say ‘I won’t tell’ even more effectively than words.

Those looks freak me out—they make me think evil words like ‘cancer’. Oh yes, that is an evil word.

I wondered what he wasn’t telling me. “Well?”

“Well, nothing.”

“Bullshit. Something’s up. What did she say?”

He walked onward, looking straight ahead. “It’s none of your business.”

“I think it is.”

“I think it’s not.”

“Too bad, I win.” I stepped in front of him and he came to a stop. He stepped left, then right, but I was there before him, blocking his path. Like I said, he’s slower than me now and being reminded of it makes him mad. He swore at me, muttering the curse between his teeth so that it wouldn’t taint my virgin ears.

“Trouble, from start to finish. Uppity, too.”

“Tell me.”

“Or we go no further?”

“Something like that.” I looked left and right. “Sadly, no one is serving tea and I could use a cup. Let’s have the truth, then head home to put the kettle on.”

He heaved a sigh of exasperation. “If you must know, she wanted to touch my balls.” He leaned closer to whisper a confidence, his eyes doing that merry mischief thing. “They all do, you know.”

“They?”

“Women. Women doctors especially. Oh, they make some excuse but I know what they really want. It wouldn’t bother me if she just did it, but these modern women, they’re all talk.” To my shock and dismay, he began to fumble with his fly.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“I know it bothers you to miss out on anything...”

“I am not going to touch your balls!”

I yelled without meaning to, my father’s triumphant glance telling me that I had stepped right into his trap. “What kind of a man do you think I am?” he crowed triumphantly.

I did not call him a demented leprechaun whose every choice is utterly unpredictable. He would have been insulted and that I can do without.

“Not as bold as you’d have everyone believe, are you, daughter mine? You too are all talk.” My father smiled for the world at large—most of which was watching with open interest—then chuckled to himself.

Dr. Moss shook her head and retreated to her office, my father bounced into the corridor.

“Mary Elizabeth, it must be love,” he murmured as we rode the elevator back to the lobby. “I cannot remember the last time I saw you shocked twice in an hour. I can’t wait to meet this man.”

“You’re wrong,” I told him and it had about as much effect as I expected.

In fact, he began to whistle.

“You’re wrong, Dad. You are so wrong.”

My father ignored me. And even if (if! IF!) I found myself in a relationship with a man with a dimple, my father would not be happy at all. No sirree. That would be an ugly little encounter, which was all the more reason to make sure it didn’t happen.

There was that sick feeling again. In fact, I was ready to barf a Twinkie—despite the fact that I hadn’t eaten one.

I tried to change the subject. “I take it this means that you had good news from the doctor?

“She says I shall live to be a hundred.”

“And what’s the good news?”

“Cheek and more cheek,” he charged, but there was no mistaking his relief.

And yes, okay, it relieved me too, even if he wasn’t keen to let me in on the details. Having him around is a habit. “So, what else have you got going this week? Any more appointments?”

“One.” My father’s chest puffed with pride.

“Hot date?”

“I’m going fishing with the boys on Sunday.” He walked a little quicker in anticipation. “You see, one daughter did the right thing and gave me grandchildren to spoil. You might take a lesson there, Mary Elizabeth.”

“Or I might not.”

He chuckled. “Talk to your new man. Maybe he wants children.”

“Oh, that’s encouraging. The opinion of a nonexistent person outweighs mine, just because the fictional person is a man. Hello, Dad, welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“Some things, Mary Elizabeth, never change.”

There was nothing I could say to that.

But I was going to talk to James. In fact, I was going to hunt him down right now and make sure my dad’s interests were defended.

My father adored his grandsons and there nothing,
nothing
, that was going to stand in the way of his right to see them. Not even my sister’s abandoning them. I had to get to James’ office and straighten this out between us
tout de suite
.

God bless Marcia for screwing up my day. Hey, maybe I’d be able to get some sleep this afternoon before working my night shift.

A woman can dream, can’t she?

My father just about bounced up the steps to the house, but I declined a cup of tea, and headed back downtown to the offices of Coxwell & Coxwell.

And no, it wasn’t just a mercy mission executed unselfishly. It wasn’t even a rationalization. Daylight is dangerous stuff. Handle with extreme care. Maybe James wouldn’t look good at all. Maybe that dimple would be in remission. Maybe seeing him in his lawyerly digs doing lawyerly things would make me hate him on principle, just as I had for so long.

It was worth a shot.

Even if the very prospect of seeing him again made me break a light sweat o’ the palms. I even said a small prayer—first time in a long time—that my dad wasn’t right.

----

Subject
: no good loving

Dear Aunt Mary -

My SO and I used to have a great sex life - now nada. I’m worried that he’s going to shop elsewhere.

What should I do?

Chaste and hating it

----

Subject
: re: no good loving

Dear Chaste -

Variety is the spice of good sex. The thrill of discovery is gone so you need to add another thrill instead.

There are lots to choose from. Do it in an elevator. Swap fantasies and act them out. Be playful. Be indulgent. Don’t be daunted by the occasional failure. And be sensible—adding new partners, for example, should include condoms and blood tests.

Sadly, you don’t get a lifetime of great sex for free. You have to work at sexual fulfillment, even with your soul mate and significant other.

A rotten job, but someone has to do it.
;-D

Enjoy!

Aunt Mary

***

Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!

Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:

http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com

----

T
he man did his best to help with my mission to find him unattractive. James glanced up when I was shown into his office, his expression quickly turning frosty.

That was not a change for the better. In fact, he looked royally pissed off even before he saw me, and my appearance did zip to improve the view.

So far, so good.

James’ brow was furrowed and he was wearing his reading glasses. He had been scowling at a document and nearly flattened me with his cutting glance.

“Well, this is an event.” He didn’t take off his glasses, which I assumed was a more upscale way of saying ‘don’t let the door hit you in the ass’.

“Yeah, not my usual territory.” I took the seat opposite his desk, mostly because he looked as if he’d rather I didn’t.

James sighed with such forbearance that I couldn’t miss it, then nodded minutely at his hovering secretary. She hesitated before she left, a subtle combination of clues to let me know that me—and my kind, whatever that was—were unwelcome here.

You’d think she’d have seen enough streetwise disreputables around this place.

I wondered what that prim and proper miss would have done if I had lunged across the mahogany acreage of James’ desk. Attacked him. Or kissed him, depending on my mood.

There is something wicked in me, just as my father maintains, something that prods me to challenge people’s expectations.

The problem was that this particular array of expectations prodded me to be gracious, to outgrace their obvious expectation of vulgarity. Dull, dull, dull. Suspicious people are zero fun.

“Your hair is even the same color as the last time I saw you,” James continued, with no improvement in tone. “That’s got to be a first.”

“I only change it once a day.” I smiled sunnily and he watched me, wary. “You lucky beast, you’ve seen me twice in a 24 hour period.”

James did not look as if he felt lucky. He sat down. He templed his fingers so that his fingertips touched his lips and assessed me in silence. He was as well dressed as he had the night before, and only looked slightly tired. A few lines around the eyes, but otherwise good enough to eat. A Ralph Lauren ad in 3-D. Zero dimple action but it mattered less than I’d expected.