“Mr. Kramer?”
Jason turned and looked at the smiling young nurse who had called his name. “Right this way,” she said.
Jason put down his magazine and followed the nurse into an examination room. “Nice sweater,” Jason said. The nurse looked down at her blue cardigan. “Thanks,” she said. “I knitted it myself.” She handed him a plastic cup. “I’ll need you to fill this,” she said. Jason blushed, and the nurse smiled and left the room.
It was only a minute or two after Jason had filled the cup and returned to the exam room that the doctor came in. He was a big man, with a bald head and a tidy mustache. He wore thick glasses and was stuffed into a shirt that was too small, his collar a starched cotton garrote, his neck extruding up and over the top. The doctor extended a beefy hand. “Gerald Montweiler,” he said.
Montweiler’s paw engulfed Jason’s hand. “Jason Kramer,” he said, grateful when the doctor finally let go. “Keith Lawrence sent me,” he said, lowering his voice.
The doctor smiled. “This is not a speakeasy, Mr. Kramer.”
Jason tensed, embarrassed. “Of course not,” he said. “I only wanted to make sure you knew this was an insurance physical.”
“As a matter of fact, Keith Lawrence did call to tell me you were coming.”
Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “He did?” Jason asked. “What did he say?”
“Only that we should take very good care of you.”
Jason smiled and peeled off his regulation Anderson Kaplan white shirt and tie and tossed them over a chair. Dr. Montweiler began probing Jason’s chest and back with a stethoscope. “You look like you’re in pretty good shape for a bean counter,” Dr. Montweiler said. “Are you a runner?”
The stethoscope was cold, and it tickled. “Financial analyst, and yeah,” Jason said, trying not to squirm. “I go about five miles every morning.”
“Mmm hmm,” Dr. Montweiler said, listening to Jason’s heartbeat. He removed the stethoscope and hung it around his neck. “Any current health problems?”
“No,” Jason said.
“Any family history of illness I should know about?” he asked.
Jason thought for a moment, his eyes locked on the doctor’s, then looked down. “Nope,” he said.
“Mom and dad still alive?”
“Um, yep,” Jason said.
The doctor picked up a clipboard. “Do you use alcohol or tobacco?” he said, making notes.
“Tobacco, no.” Jason said. “Alcohol, an occasional social drink.”
Montweiler jotted more lines, and Jason relaxed a bit. “Can I get dressed now?” he asked.
Montweiler kept writing. “Sure,” he said, “but leave a sleeve rolled up. Wendy will be in to take some blood.” Montweiler handed the clipboard to Jason and pointed to the bottom of the form. “Sign here,” he said.
Jason scratched his name on the paper and returned the clipboard. “Is that it?” he asked.
“Depending on the lab results, I would say yes, that’s it.”
“How long does it take to get the lab work back?”
“Couple of weeks, usually.”
“And then the policy is issued?”
Dr. Montweiler laughed. “That’s up to the company, not me. And of course, it depends on the test results, too.”
Jason nodded. “Of course,” he said.
Montweiler again extended his hand and Jason shook it. “Good luck at Rockport,” the doctor said.
Jason swallowed. “Thanks,” he said. He watched Montweiler gather up his things and leave the room. As the door closed, Jason exhaled and realized he was covered with sweat. He wiped his face and began to flap his arms to cool off, but just then the pretty nurse with the blue cardigan came into the room carrying a syringe and three corked test tubes. Jason looked up and blushed, his arms frozen in mid-air, elbows up and out. “You must be Wendy,” he said, grinning and lowering his arms.
“Wendy Ross,” the nurse said, grinning. “No relation to Betsy. And you must be The Famous Chicken.”
Jason laughed. “No. It’s just a little warm in here,” he said. “So, you’re also a blood sucker, huh?”
“Phlebotomist, thank you,” she said. She knotted a length of surgical tubing around Jason’s arm and watched the veins distend while Jason looked at the wall.
“Squeamish?” Wendy asked. Jason nodded, his face pale. Wendy inserted a needle into a vein in Jason’s arm and filled the three vials with blood. “Do you know your blood type?”
“Um,” Jason said, “B-positive.”
“Me too! I can always remember that because my mom, who was a nurse, always told me to ‘Be Positive!’ She thought that was so funny,” Wendy said, as she applied a bandage to Jason’s arm.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said.
“Just wait ‘til you see the bruise you have tomorrow,” Wendy said.
Jason probed the bandage Wendy had applied, checking for soreness. “I heal quickly,” he said. “I gave blood last week at work and didn’t even get a bruise.”
Wendy nodded. “I see. I’d better make a notation in your records about the donation. Sometimes they get weird results when you’re down a pint.” She put a rubber band around the vials of blood and put them into a manila envelope.
“What do they check for?” Jason asked, indicating toward the vials.
“Oh, the usual, hepatitis, influenza, HIV.”
He took a deep breath and stood up from the examination table, wobbling, reaching behind himself for support.
Wendy watched, her brow furrowed, and then placed her hand on Jason’s shoulder to steady him. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Between the blood donation last week at work and this today, you might be a little lightheaded.”
Jason recovered, pulling his head up and straightening his back. He smiled. “I’m great,” he said. “Thanks. Kind of a pain, though, just for some insurance.”
“Oh,” Wendy said, tugging the cardigan around herself, the animation gone from her voice and face. “You’re one of the Rockport guys.”
Jason’s smile faded. “Yes. Is that a bad thing?”
Wendy took a step back and examined Jason. “Bad?” she said. “Not necessarily. Disappointing?” Her eyes narrowed. “Definitely” she said, as she turned and left the room.
—
Jason stood in front of the bathroom mirror and probed his bruised arm. “What are you doing in there?” Linda asked through the door, toothbrush in hand.
“I’ll be right out,” he answered. He heard Linda sigh and march off to the living room, where she turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels.
He replaced the bandage, straightened the baggy shorts and tank top that doubled as pajamas, and went out to join Linda.
“It’s about time,” she said when he entered the family room. Her toothbrush was parked on the coffee table next to the remote control.
Jason grinned and sat down next to her on the couch. “That’s why we need a second bathroom.” He grabbed the clicker and changed the channel.
“Tell me about it.” She grabbed at the remote, but Jason stuffed it down into the crack between the cushions. “Hey!” Linda protested, retrieving the device and changing the channel back. “We need another TV, too.”
Jason looked at her, incredulous. “Just so we don’t fight over the clicker? I don’t think so.”
“No, not that,” she said. “Most people have two TV’s, one in the bedroom and one in the family room. Then we could watch TV in bed.” Linda inched closer to Jason as she said it.
“Oh,” Jason said. He watched Linda slide toward him.
“So the physical went well?”
Jason slid away, toward the end of the couch. “No, actually, it sucked. It was invasive, and the doctor was creepy. I can’t believe I let you talk me in to it.”
“But you did it, and you get the policy, right?”
Jason stared at her. “Wait, don’t you mean, ‘Oh, honey, I’m glad you went in to get a physical so we’ll know you’re in good health?’”
Jason felt Linda’s warm soft toes working their way up the back of his foot. “Of course that’s what I meant,” she said. “You always twist my words.” She was now right next to Jason, the green silk of her Victoria’s Secret nightgown slick and cool on Jason’s leg. “You know,” she said, “once you get the policy, you should think about going to work for Rockport, too.”
Jason tried backing away some more, but he was up against the armrest. “Aw, babe, not again. We’ve been through this. I don’t want to sell insurance. I like what I do at A.K., and I’m good at it.”
Linda turned to Jason, her soft hair tickling his arm. “Who said anything about selling insurance? I was talking to Keith—”
“Oh, great.”
“—and he said you could get into management after selling for only a year. Maybe a vice presidency after five years, if you work hard and with his help. Think of it Jason—a vice presidency at Rockport! We could move closer to San Francisco, go on a real vacation . . .” she put her arms around Jason’s neck “. . . maybe even start a family.”
Jason stared at the TV screen, but he could feel Linda’s breath on his ear.
“And you know what? Keith said if you didn’t like it after the first year, you could quit and they’d give you six months’ severance. To help with expenses while you find a new job.”
Jason was silent for a moment before responding. “I couldn’t get back on at A.K.,” he said.
“Oh, baby, that was a dead-end job anyway. You know Keith was right about your not having any real advancement opportunities there, not without a good MBA, anyway.”
Jason scratched the carpet with his free toes, while the others were engaged in serious footsies with Linda. “Well, yeah,” he said.
“The annual starting salary, even without commissions, is more than what you’re making at A.K. now,” she said. “Once commissions kick in, we’re in fat city.”
Jason folded his arms and tried to move away from Linda, but she put her arms around him and held him fast. “You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?” he said.
Linda kissed his neck. “I just want us to be happy, honey. Give A.K. notice. Do it tomorrow. You’ve got so many talents, you shouldn’t be wasting them.”
Jason allowed Linda to nuzzle his neck for several more minutes. “That thing you said about starting a family,” Jason said, his eyes closed. “Were you serious?”
“Mmm hmm,” Linda breathed in his ear.
Jason turned his head to Linda and kissed her, then pushed her back down on the couch. “You know I’ve always wanted kids,” he said.
“You’d be a good dad,” Linda said, as she pulled Jason’s tank top up and off, then kissed his chest. “So, you’ll give them notice?” she said.
Jason took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
Linda continued kissing his chest. “I love you,” she said.