Four

MAY 1. MAYDAY. MAYDAY.

Dear Diary,

I’m tired of being tragic.

Hot Flash Queen of America reporting in: Yesterday I timed them—like perverse labor pains—2.6 per hour averaged, a new record. By the end of the day, I was exhausted with the surges and the sheer effort of ripping my clothes off and then putting them back on. The blazing heat and drenched clothes are bad enough, but it’s the nausea and vertigo that really whack me. Lucky Lindsey, you win the rare triple whammy!

So I was going through the checkout line at Food Land (ha! no more Nick telling me where to shop) and there in the impulse-buy rack was this battery-powered Chinese plastic purse-size fan. On special at a buck! I slipped one in with my groceries, hoping no one was noticing.

Then of course the little cutie with the curly hair and soul-patch goatee picked it up, cocked his head, and gave me a puzzled look. “These are selling pretty hot lately, but it isn’t even summer yet.”

The gal in line behind me started chuckling, gave me a nudge. “Oh, honey, you got the reverse curse, too? Men just don’t know how lucky they are!”

Then down the line a blue-haired granny type piped up, “Don’t worry, you’ll be glad to put all that behind you. Think of the money you’ll be saving on those glad rags.” In her cart I saw she had a packet of adult diapers.

By this time the whole line was chortling, and the poor checker had gone beet red, whipping the rest of my stuff through the scanner as fast as he could.

So naturally all this triggered another flash, roaring up my back prickling and blazing. Broke out into a sweat, face ready to burst, but I’d be damned if I was going to cap off the performance by tearing off my sweatshirt right there to the applause of the crowd.

And the beat goes on….

“Hrrm. Lindsey? Ted Horner here. Hrrm. Yeah, well I thought I’d just say hi. How you doing?”

Out of the blue, it’s a phone call from an old friend – no, really just an acquaintance – from high school days. Or maybe not so out of the blue. The hometown web seems to be wired, signals going out and in. Seems Ted ran into Cheri, living in Seattle now but up for a visit, and she’d been talking to Don, who mentioned he’d seen Nick with his new girlfriend.

Ted keeps clearing his throat. “You know, when I saw you last winter out with Megan and Joe at the Grizzly Bear, I don’t know why I didn’t ask you to dance.”

Lindsey doesn’t remind him that was when Megan asked about his wife who wasn’t in evidence.

“Well, since Zhia and I split, I figure I’ll get out more. Hrrm. I’ve got two tickets to the Theater Guild this Friday….”

All that sticks in Lindsey’s memories of him is a vague image of shaggy brown hair and a motorcycle. He was on the football team. Now he tells her he owns a commercial fishing boat in Alaska, where he captains it during the summer salmon season.

What the hell, he’s being straight with her, so she says yes.

The play’s a farce – a bedroom bedlam of closed and opening doors, lovers and would-be lovers hiding in bathroom and closet while jealous wives stalk and disguises get swapped. Lots of pratfalls and exaggerated facial contortions. She and Ted are sitting front row, where they can literally see the actors spraying spit. And Lindsey can’t stop laughing.

She always used to embarrass her big sister when she’d tag along to the weekend movie matinees. Fran would threaten to gag her. And now Lindsey’s doing it again, breaking out even during the beats when no one else in the theater is getting tickled, her helpless laughter echoing over the pause. It’s almost like she gets possessed – like those Voodoo dancers when the gods take them over and they eat coals – and the line between pleasure and pain gets blurred, her gut spasming, and she breaks into a sweat it’s so absurd. Joni Mitchell had it right on so many things: it’s the same release, laughing and crying.

By this time the woman sitting next to her is looking over pointedly, but Ted doesn’t seem to mind. In between her laugh attacks, he whispers questions about the plot or makes comments like, “Oh, it’s really the boyfriend in the Italian tenor’s costume.” Which makes Lindsey laugh even more helplessly, when she realizes he’s serious.

She’s limp by the end, and he ushers her outside, apologizes because he forgot to open the car door for her. He explains again about his other car – the Mercedes – that’s in the shop so they had to take his SUV. And even though the evening’s mild, they now have to wait while the huge vehicle warms up, so he can demonstrate the features of the leather seats. She feels something weird under her butt, really pretty unsettling, then she laughs some more when she realizes it’s a heater and not some new insane menopause symptom.

Which thought in itself triggers another massive hot flash prickling down her back, blazing out through her skin. She manages to resist the urge to rip off her jacket and run the car window all the way down for the short drive back to her place.

It’s only polite to ask him in for a glass of wine. HighJinks strops himself on Ted’s legs while Sombra, still suspicious of men after Nick’s raging around the house, sits atop the scratching post fixing them both in the high beams.

“Nice little place you got here,” Ted says. He’s average height, but stocky, and somehow seems to crowd her small living room as he paces over to check out the windows. “Nice, looks like the original wood trim. Good investment, houses in this neighborhood. Hrrm. I’ve got a rental like this, fixed it up and I’ve had the same tenant for twenty years, she could have bought the place twice over by now. But I never sell. That’s my rule. Just live in them for a while, fix them up, use the collateral to buy a new place. I’m good as gold now, any bank will loan me a hundred grand no questions asked if I just walk in. I planned it all out that way, it’s working out good.”

“Oh,” Lindsey manages. “And you like the lifestyle, fishing? I guess you’d get a lot of time to travel during the winter.”

“Well, I stay busy trading online. I like to buy cars, too, drive them while I detail them out, then sell and I come out okay. I like Mercedes.”

“Oh.” Now she’s the one Hrrmming. “And you go to plays a lot? I haven’t been to the Guild for ages, didn’t realize they were so ambitious with the productions. That was really pretty tightly choreographed tonight–”

“Well, it’s something to do, get out of the house. I watch cooking shows, too. I got this incredible new high-def TV, gets direct satellite downloads. The picture is so sharp you can really see the moisture in the people’s eyes, see inside their mouths. You’ve got to come over and see it. You won’t believe how real it is.”

All Lindsey can manage is “Hrrm,” as he goes on to explain his longterm investment strategies and retail philosophy in buying only quality. He shows her the label inside his jacket: “One hundred percent camel hair. That’s why it’s so warm.”

Which Lindsey pounces on as his exit cue. “Well, I have an early morning tomorrow.” Gets jacket on him, and he’s out the door Stage Left. Sagging back against the closed door, she lets out a long breath. Outside, a stretched-out silence. Then, finally, his SUV starts up, growls down the road, and fades. Curtain.

From: HotDawg Horner

Subject: Good Time, etc.

Hey, Lindsey,

Great to connect with you last night and spend the evening together. I’m planning to get rush tickets tonight for the jazz band concert at the Starlight—if you get tix on the day of the show it’s a big discount and you sit up on the balcony where the sound quality is great. I bring my Fujinon binocs for closeups. If you’re free, I’ll pick you up, got the Mercedes out of the shop. Dinner first? My treat.

Got a confession: I am smitten….

Luv, Ted

“Megan, my god, what am I going to do?” Lindsey clutches her new phone – she’s finally accepted the inevitable and purchased a simple cell phone so she wouldn’t be completely left behind “progress.” She glances down the hall and over to the patient waiting lounge, trying to keep it to a whisper in case anyone from Medical Records comes by. She’s finally managed to catch Megan between meetings. Megan’s always juggling meetings, when she’s not juggling kids and husband and nieces and nephews, and Lindsey can’t grasp how she clearly thrives on hyperdrive. She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

“Well for heaven’s sake don’t get all wrought up over it. Just tell Ted you’d like to be friends but you’re not ready for anything else.”

“I already did that. He doesn’t seem to get it, keeps emailing and calling.”

“Well then I guess you have to explain it. Different interests, the chemistry’s just not there, blah blah. Ted’s a decent guy, just maybe not the sharpest tack in the box. He needs things spelled out.” Of course Megan remembers him, she probably has the entire Fairview census databank downloaded in her social matrix.

“I feel awful. I really wasn’t leading him on, just thought it would be fun to get out. Reconnect with some of the old crowd.”

“Don’t think so much! Just a sec….” Megan rattles off something about extra chairs to someone, then gets back to Lindsey. “Look, men are wired different. They don’t get so complicated about this stuff, sometimes they just keep swinging at the balls, figuring it’ll up their odds of scoring. Maybe ‘smitten’ doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does you.”

“Oh.” Lindsey never was able to figure out the dating scene, even when she was young. Maybe the Pacific Northwest hippie worldview soaked into her since childhood, and she can’t get over believing that if everyone were just open and sincere, everything would be clear. “Why am I so clueless?”

“Lindsey.” Megan’s voice has softened. “You are a total sweetheart, and I love you to pieces. Just lighten up, have some fun with this stuff.” She clears her throat. “How’s your mom doing?”

Bingo, she’s zeroed in. And that’s what Lindsey loves about Megan, she really does manage to care about all the multitude of people in her “clan.” It puts Lindsey to shame, but she can only handle letting a few in that close.

“Lindsey? You there?”

She clears her throat. “It’s getting bad again. We’ve got to come up with a plan. But Fran’s got her hands full managing the furniture store and mothering all her kids and their kids, half the time she’s got one or more of them living back home with her. And Joanie—now Eric and his girlfriend got back on the drugs, they have to go through treatment again, and Joanie’s got custody of the baby. Plus her fulltime job. So it seems like I’m the only one with time to think about where all this is going….”

She sighs. “Dad fights us any time we try to get them to reorganize. Mom, too. It’s like they hate their lives and each other, but would rather die than change anything.” She takes a deep breath.

“Time we had lunch, kiddo.” Megan is laser focused now. “How about Friday? I’ll pick you up at the hospital entrance, 12:30, we’ll zip over to Murphy’s for a bite.”

Lindsey’s eyes are prickling again. “Thanks, Megan.”

“Keep smiling, sweetie.”

Lindsey furtively wipes her eyes on her sleeve before turning toward the hall, heading back to Medical Records. And comes up face to face with Marlene, Jenny, and Sono. Damn. She sniffs, hopes her eyes aren’t red.

“Break time!” Jenny shakes out her fingers, rotates her wrists. “They’ve got Crispy Cremes in the cafeteria today!” She flashes a mouthful of braces.

“Oh.” Lindsey blinks. “You mean those donuts? I’ve never had one.”

Sono shakes her head, chin-length glossy black hair bobbing. “Never had a Crispy Creme? Are you serious?” She pushes her thick glasses up and focuses on Lindsey.

Lindsey takes a breath. “I guess it’s time. Do you mind if I come along?”

Marlene blinks in surprise.

Sono pushes her glasses up again, then cracks a grin. “Let’s go before those greedy docs snap them all up.”

“Oh, no!” Jenny—thirtyish, plump, and single—has one of those high, breathless little-girly voices, and Lindsey is never sure if her matching persona is for real. “We better hurry then, those creepos!” She grabs Marlene’s arm and tugs her down the hall, breaking the awkward freeze.

Lindsey and Sono fall in behind, regroup at the elevator doors. Lindsey balks then, glancing over at the stairwell door—it’s only one flight down for heaven’s sake—but she bites her lip and goes along.

“Watch out if you go for one of your walks today, Lindsey, those protestors are out there again.” Jenny tugs her sweater down over her skirt. “I could hardly get through them this morning.”

“Yeah, I got more of those flyers about the park stuffed under my windshield wipers,” Marlene grumbles in her nasal tone. “If they’re so damn environmental, maybe they should stop wasting all that paper. Think they’re going to convince me some frogs and birds are more important than saving human lives?”

Lindsey takes a breath as the elevator door opens. “You’re right, I think they’re just antagonizing everyone by now. It doesn’t have to be black and white.”

Marlene frowns, then shrugs. “Well, I can tell you I just get the urge to strangle that jerk in charge. The puffed-up asshole with the bullhorn.”

A choking sound from Sono. Lindsey bursts out laughing.

Jenny stops where she’s hurried ahead to the cafeteria doorway, turns wide-eyed and puzzled.

Marlene’s looking a question from Sono to Lindsey.

Lindsey waves a hand, drags in a breath. “My ex.”

“What?”

“The guy with the bullhorn. My ex.”

Marlene’s jaw drops. “Oh.” She looks chagrined. “Oh. I didn’t mean….”

“No, you’re right on. He is a jerk.”

Sono ushers them all onward. “I can smell those artery-clogging fats calling.”

“Now don’t start on that, Sono!” Jenny giggles and hustles toward the line, skirt swaying over her wide hips.

“I’m in recovery from a deprived childhood of rice cookies and sushi.” Sono winks at Lindsey.

They pick up trays and hot drinks, corral the Crispy Cremes that just look like regular glazed donuts to Lindsey. After all the hoopla, she was expecting something like custard-filled at least. But anyway they’ve broken the ice, maybe she can do this after all. Fit in like a normal person.

“Can you believe those new forms?” Sono starts in, talking around a mouthful. “Act like we don’t have anything better to do. Like, oh yeah, just add on an hour’s worth of paperwork, and of course work twice as fast to catch up the backed-up transcription lines.”

Jennie wipes her hands on her paper napkin, shakes them out, and holds them up. “They’re starting to tingle at night, all the typing.” She rubs her wrists. “Lindsey, does that wrist brace help?”

“Well, bad keyboard position is the real killer, but especially at night if you get one of the braces with the rigid support and strap it tight enough, it does help. I’ll show you how to strap it.”

“Oh, thank you! That’s sweet.” Jennie smiles.

“…say they’re working on new standards for the audit committee,” Marlene’s telling Sono, the two having veered off onto a new topic. “But all it amounts to is shuffling around the HDCA codes.” She sniffs, air laboring through clogged-sounding nasal passages. “If they were serious, they’d look at the complication rates for Dr. Bennerton –”

“Sshhh!” Sono leans forward to grab Marlene’s shoulder, looking alarmed. “She’s sitting over there by the window.”

“What?” Marlene looks startled.

“Keep it down,” Sono whispers, rolling her eyes toward the window, with a tiny jerk of the head. “It’s Mrs. Montague. She comes every day.”

“Who…?” Then dismay dawns on Marlene’s face. “Oh, no.”

Lindsey bites her lip, darts a look over toward the window tables. By herself, a middle-aged woman in a blue parka she hasn’t unzipped sits hunched, staring into a coffee cup. Montague. Her husband is the one Lindsey transcribed that emergency report about, the head injury over a month ago that Dr. Bennerton botched. The one they moved to the longterm care wing. The one on IVs and intubation. The one with no evidence of brainwave activity.

Nausea, sour and hot in her mouth. She wants to jump up, shout it out, tell Mrs. Montague what they’ve done to her husband, but she’s choking on the words. So many words swallowed. Burning sparks, molten lava roiling from her gut up her throat.

Lindsey drags in a breath, pushes her half-eaten donut away, stands in an awkward scraping of chair legs over linoleum. Her face is burning, boiling, she’s a pressure cooker ready to burst.

“Lindsey, what—?”

“Hot flash. Gotta get some fresh air.” To get to the outside door, she has to edge past Mrs. Montague, who doesn’t look up from her coffee cup.

Bile rises on the crest of more surging heat. Lindsey pushes out the glass doors and into the blessed coolness of gray drizzle in the garden off the waiting area. She sinks onto a damp bench, taking in deep breaths as the nausea subsides, fixing her gaze on the drops beading the tulip buds. She wants to fall to her knees and embrace them, but she just sits there, letting them fill her vision. They’re beautiful, perfect, a delicate pink veined with peach, swelling egg shapes of plant flesh on their vibrant green stems rising toward the sky and kissed by silver rain.