No Hope for Gomez! (12 page)

28.

Blog entry: Another clinic day.

I sat in the waiting room feeling apprehensive about seeing Dr. Hargrove. This would be our first meeting since I asked her about her underwear and I wasn’t sure how to behave. Wasn’t sure how she’d behave. I decided I’d have to take my cues from her. If she was angry, I’d be angry (‘
why the hell do you keep calling me anyway?’
) If she was defensive, I’d be defensive (‘
how was I supposed to know you weren’t wearing any underwear?’
) If she pretended nothing happened, I’d pretend nothing happened (‘
so, I see you’re wearing you lab coat again…’
(no, perhaps something else...)).

My predecessor came out looking preoccupied. He left the clinic without acknowledging me but I was too stressed to make a big deal about it. Went in and sat down, waited for Dr. Hargrove to greet me. She was standing at a filing cabinet with her back to me.

Blog entry: Visit went well, all things considered. Dr. Hargrove seemed to be in good spirits and nothing about her demeanor indicated she was still mad. She didn’t make any advances either, though.

Took my pills, told her about my pee turning deep yellow after my last visit, then answered her form questions. Felt it was time to act. I’d set us upon a path leading nowhere but I wasn’t about to let this almost-beautiful thing between us simply peter out. One final lunge for the gold ring!

I mustered up all my courage, chose my most relaxed, most I-don’t-care-if-you-say-no tone of voice, and asked, “Dr. Hargrove, how about you and I get a cup of coffee after work?”

Dr. Hargrove looked up from her form and donned a thoughtful expression. Probably selecting an easy put-down. Not only wasn’t she supposed to fraternize with test subjects, she actually hated me. She hated me with intensity. How could she not? I’d mistakenly shown myself to be the kind of guy (test subject) who stood out in her garden wondering about her underwear. Plus, I’d hardly made it clear whether I meant we should get a coffee after
her
work, or after mine. Girls don’t like guys who are vague all over the place.

I’d really killed it now.

Dr. Hargrove’s thoughtful expression made way for one of sympathy. “Sorry, Gomez,” she said, “I don’t really like coffee.” She shrugged, moved on to the next form question.

Blog entry: I wasn’t fighting back tears. Of course I wasn’t. My eyes were burning, true, but I reacted differently to the pills every time.

Blog entry: Who needed girls anyway? When you had a good job – like working in a hip antiques store – and great friends – like Hicks and Warren – who needed female companionship?

Not me.

No, Sir!

Blog entry: Rest of the visit was uneventful. We wrapped things up, made a new appointment, and said our goodbyes. As I opened the door to go, Dr. Hargrove said, “Wait, Gomez. I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t mind, I mean, if it fits in with your coffee plans and everything, I’d like to get a Coke with you after work.”

I was stunned.

“I mean, after
your
work, of course, and mine, actually. After both our works. Sorry I didn’t make that clear.” She made an apologetic gesture. “How about it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Dr. Hargrove shot me a seductive smile. “Are you sure? It’s on me.”

“Well,” I said, subduing a glow that would’ve melted the entire building and parts of the next, “in that case, why not.”

I Rule!

I Rock!

I Rock ’n Rule!

Told her where to meet me and left before she could change her mind.

Blog entry: Hurried home and spent a great deal of time trying to figure out what to wear and what to talk about on our first date. Ran my mind ragged, then decided on: (1.) What I was already wearing, and (2.) The weather.

I was good to go!

Blog entry: We met up at the deli across from the clinic and chose a booth. Dr. Hargrove smiled and asked if I also thought Coke was great.

“It’s pretty cool,” I said. “For some things.”

She giggled, nodded her agreement, then asked me what I’d meant.

“Well,” I said, “it’s cool for some things, like drinking, but not for others like, say, cleaning carpets.” I shrugged. It’d made sense in my head, but not when I said it out loud. Dr. Hargrove giggled nonetheless, and asked me if maybe I liked good music.

“Not only that,” I told her, “it’s the
only
music I like.”

She took a sip of her Coke, glanced about nervously, then gave me another smile. “It’s so nice to get out,” she said. “I spend all my time cooped up at the clinic, sometimes I forget it’s possible to have a personal life.”

“Come now,” I said, “pretty doctor like you? I’m sure you go on dates all the time.”

Dr. Hargrove giggled and said I was funny. I had no idea why. I was about to mention the fair weather we’d been experiencing when her pager went off.

“Shit,” she said, glancing at the number. “I have to go.” She shot me a devastated look. “It’s an emergency. Not a very big one, I think, but I have to be there anyway. Can you forgive me?”

I could. I’d almost reached the end of my banter anyway. Any longer and I’d have lost my cool edge.

Dr. Hargrove stood and dropped some notes on the table. I decided it was time to assess my level of importance in her life. “How about going out at
night
sometime?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Sounds like fun, let’s do that.”

“How about going out on a
Friday
night
?”

“Okay.”

“How about going out
this Friday night
?”

This was the real test. It would tell me if she already had a list of pre-standing engagements and, if so, whether she was willing to break them for me. I tried not to hold my breath as I waited for her answer with kept breath.

“I’m so sorry, Gomez,” she said. “I have this
thing
on Friday. Can we make it Saturday?”

“What thing?”

“Just a work thing. I don’t really want to go but I have to. You understand, right?”

“I love work things,” I lied. “They’re always so… interesting. Tell you what, I’ll tag along as your plus one. How’s that?”

“Well…” She looked at her watch, probably thinking of a way to get out of admitting she was lying. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s just, Gomez, we shouldn’t even be seeing each other, what with you being a test subject and everything. I’d like to go out with you, but to a work thing? That would be pushing it, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” I said. “No problem. I understand. I’ll see you on Saturday then. Maybe.”

29.

Blog entry: Return of the Hicks!

He was finally well. Or what passed for well in Hicks-world.

We opened the store together and had a quick chat. I’d really missed the guy, so much so, I’d completely forgotten how annoying and boring he was.

After a few seconds of conversation I sent him to the back to do some sweeping. The back was getting dusty, though, so it worked out for the best.

Blog entry: No customers. Bored out of my mind. Decided to call the clinic.

I told the receptionist I was from ‘The Caterer’ and asked her to confirm a change of venue for the
thing
on Friday night.

“A change of venue for the thing?” The receptionist sounded confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

I knew it! Dr. Hargrove had lied to me. There was no work thing on Friday!

“Are you sure you have the right number?” the receptionist asked. “What did you say was the name of your catering company?”

I was tempted to hang up, but worried the receptionist might track me through caller ID and this whole thing would find its way back to Dr. Hargrove. So instead I made up a fake name. “I’m with the, eh… Eat Something Sweet caterers. Surely you remember contacting us?”

There was a pause. Some mumbling. The sound of someone typing on a cream-colored keyboard, then, “You did say Eat Something Sweet caterers?”

“Yes, that’s right. Maybe I have the wrong number–”

“I have you down for Dr. Franklin’s retirement party on Friday.” She still sounded puzzled. “There hasn’t been a change of venue, though. Are you absolutely sure we contacted you about a change of venue?”

“I think so, yes…” This was one for the books. Had I just correctly guessed the name of the company catering the thing on Friday? Surely not! Surely there was No Hope for Gomez? Had to test this theory further, “Could be a mistake on our end,” I said. “Is the party still in the Waterton building?”

“The downtown conference center.”

“Right. And it starts at ten?”

“Eight.”

“And there’s no dress code?”

“Black tie.”

“Exactly. That’s what I have here as well. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

30.

Blog entry: Showed up at Dr. Franklin’s retirement party uninvited. Needed to make sure Dr. Hargrove was there, and that she was there alone. To this end, I wore an elaborate disguise that made me look like a caterer from a rivaling company. This way I could appear to be part of the help while still looking unfamiliar to the Eat Something Sweet caterers. If I ran into any of them, I’d do an ‘Oops, wrong party’ and re-enter later. Once all the way inside, I’d ditch the disguise. I was wearing my father’s old suit and tie underneath.

My plan was foolproof.

It was also, it turned out, entirely unnecessary. No one was tending the registry and the caterers where nowhere to be seen. I ditched my disguise at the door and entered as guest no. 173.

Blog entry: The main conference hall was a huge space with drinks and snacks tables lining the walls. A small podium had been set up at the front, and 172 other guests mingled in little clusters dispersed randomly about the room. I couldn’t find Dr. Hargrove so I made my way to one of the drinks tables. I wanted to find something to hold in my hand to make me feel less self-conscious. There was an assortment of beers on offer, but no Foster’s. I found the next best thing and gulped down a glass. Then took a second to wash away the bitter aftertaste of the first. Then a third to wash away the bitter aftertaste of the second. By the fourth beer, my taste buds were beaten sufficiently senseless to stop objecting to the cheap crap, and I scanned the crowd with renewed vigor.

Dr. Hargrove was nowhere to be seen.

“What the hell are you doing here!” Dr. Hargrove hissed. She’d crept up behind me. “I told you we can’t be seen together. Get out of here, Gomez!”

“Why, if it isn’t Dr. Hargrove,” I said, out loud, as I turned to face her. “Fancy meeting you here, completely unexpected and unplanned.”

“What are you up to?” She whispered this into her hand while looking away. “You’re going to get me fired!”

“I’m so happy to see you’re actually here,” I said, a little less loud and for her ears only.

“Are you checking up on me?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m here to, eh… save you.”

She glanced at me for a moment, her eyes shooting daggers.

“From boredom.” I added sheepishly. “Haven’t you heard? Three guests have died already, two more are in low spirits, but they could develop complications. We’re keeping our fingers crossed.” I showed her my crossed fingers.

Dr. Hargrove shook her head and stalked off.

I quickly gulped down another beer before I could contemplate how severely I’d just damaged the most important almost-relationship in my life.

Yet again.

Blog entry: Scanned the crowd while trying to determine my next move. I knew no one else there. None of the other trial participants had shown up, of course, and chasing after Dr. Hargrove would be a bad idea. We needed to talk things over, but I wanted her to calm down first.

Took another sip of beer and tried to look much less self-conscious than I felt.

A gray-haired gentlemen approached me and shook my hand. “Hey there,” he said, “I’m Larry.” He gave me a congenial smile. “You’re chucking those fellows back awfully fast, aren’t you?” He pointed at my empty glass.

“Well, Larry,” I said, “that’s the only way I can keep ’em down; knock ’em back before they can climb out again. Know what I’m saying?”

Larry’s smile wavered. “You know,” he said, “friend of mine lost his job a couple of years back. Couldn’t handle it and started drinking. Dug himself a deep hole. The thing was, he didn’t even realize he had a problem.”

I nodded gravely. “That’s very sad, Larry,” I said. 

Although I was relieved to be talking to someone, I searched for someone to match Larry up with. What was wrong with people these days? Couldn’t a guy have a few beers to drown a personal problem without getting caught up in a makeshift intervention?

“After we talked to him,” Larry said, “told him the things we’d noticed, my friend finally realized something was wrong. He understood something had to change.”

“That’s great, Larry,” I said. “That’s a really nice story, thanks for sharing. It means a lot to me but I actually have to–”

“Then,” Larry continued, ignoring my platitudes, “he worked things out for himself on a mountaintop in Tibet. Came back right as rain. Told us how he finally found himself.  Now,” Larry took my empty glass and placed it back on the table, “I’m not saying you should go to Tibet, it might not be instrumental, but you might want to think about talking to someone, going somewhere to sort things out, maybe go find yourself?”

Blog entry: We were beginning to draw attention. More and more people joined the intervention. They all shot me concerned looks as they shook their heads. They were trying to save my life, my happiness, my eternal soul, and what was worse, they were doing it while blocking the drinks table.

I found myself crabby from slightly too little alcohol and having to mount a defense against a very confusing and unfocussed attack. “Look,” I said, “you’ve got it all wrong. You’ve got
me
all wrong and you’ve got your
story
all wrong. You want me to go find myself? Seriously? That’s a stupid idea on so many levels!”

I had a sudden flash of insight. I grabbed a glass of champagne from one of my would-be saviors and gulped it down before they could react. “Nobody,” I said, “should
ever
try to find themselves.” I handed the empty glass back. “I mean, what if, after all that traveling and sitting on mountaintops you finally find yourself and you turn out to be an asshole? How’s that going to make you feel? Not so happy, right? You’re stuck with yourself for the rest of your life, and now you know, beyond a doubt, that you’re an asshole. Great!” I stole another drink, gulped it down, lost my crabbiness and felt a buzz take its place. “No, thanks,” I said. “If you ask me, ignorance is bliss!”

Blog entry: My saviors mumbled disapprovingly. They didn’t like the way I was treating their drinks and they didn’t see my point about finding oneself. I was about to clarify what I suddenly felt was a very valid observation, when I spotted Dr. Hargrove. She was standing not five feet away, kissing another guy. A large, fat, older guy!

How could things turn so badly so quickly?

I fought my way out of the intervention circle and hurried over. After a kiss on each cheek, Dr. Hargrove pulled back, smiling. I was about to knock the guy to the ground when I realized it was probably Dr. Franklin, the guest of honor. So I tugged on his sleeve to get his attention instead. The cheap champagne had me convinced that this was proper conduct, especially at a party where the guest of honor was bound to be a very lonely person. People tended to congratulate them and move on.

“Howz’it hanging, big guy?” I asked. I gave him a salute, just in case he mistakenly thought I was making fun of him. “Have you ever wondered,” I asked, a thought suddenly occurring to me, “why so many people call you the king of rock and roll?”

Dr. Franklin frowned at this, and even Dr. Hargrove looked suitably perplexed. I immediately diverted all my mental resources to helping them solve this conundrum. “It’s a tough one,” I agreed. “It really is. I mean, you don’t even play an instrument, do you?”

Dr. Franklin stared at me, wrapped up in the conundrum.

“No, I didn’t think you did. So that can’t be it. It must be something else, but what?”

Dr. Hargrove pulled on my arm, trying to wrestle me away. But I couldn’t leave Dr. Franking to solve this mystery on his own, not now I’d suddenly come up with the answer. “Wait,” I said, “forget all about that, that wasn’t you, that was Elvis! Elvis was the king of rock and roll!” I scratched my head. “Now, what was it they called you? It’s on the tip of my tongue. It was something to do with cats and large amounts of body fat…”

Blog entry: The rest of the evening passed in a blur. My memories of it consist of brief flashes. In some, Dr. Hargrove’s there, looking alternately angry and worried. In others, large and serious looking people seem to be handling me. In one or two, I see Warren milling about, but I can’t be sure. For the most part, though, there was blackness. Lots and lots of blackness.