office. On the job training. I think I got too expensive so Hal had to marry me instead of paying me the big salary I was worth. Sometimes I think I should have stuck with a pay raise!”
Leslie thought about that romance. Working with someone closely, respecting their knowledge and devotion. The respect turning into admiration and love. One thing leads to another and pretty soon you’re doing it on an exam table after hours. She remembered meeting Chris at the hospital. Corporate Vice President for the hospital chain. In and out of town on a scheduled basis, but soon in more than out and one thing leading to another.
“Dr. Cohen, dear, you okay?”
She nodded.
“It just looked like you were off somewhere else for a minute there. I hope it wasn’t something I said?”
“Brenda, this is a little difficult, so I’m just going to say something right now, to you, because it’s easier that way rather than in front of everyone at the dinner table.”
“What is it sweetheart? This sounds serious.” Her voice was so kind and concerned. Leslie almost wanted to be held by her. She could be her mom. The southern accent was soothing.
“Well, see, my husband passed away last year. It’s why I’m here. It’s why I’m not married.” Leslie pressed on, not pausing to give Brenda the opportunity to give the usual condolences. “Casual conversation always comes around to ‘Why’s a nice girl like you not married?’ or people try to set me up with someone they know. It’s just easier for me to try to control those conversations by bringing it up on my terms.”
Brenda stopped what she was doing and came around the island in the middle of the kitchen. The dogs got up and followed her, wagging their tails, oblivious to the moment. She took Leslie’s hands in hers and squeezed them, held them there for a moment.
“Sweetheart, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. This is so unexpected. I don’t even know you and yet my heart is just plain broken for you.” Her eyes glistened. They understood each other, because Brenda was going there too someday. Only thing was, Leslie knew she had just told the first lie and kept the first secret. The one no one could understand.
“Now Leslie, where’s your momma and daddy? A girl needs her momma after this kind of thing.” It was a simple question, but Leslie had never been asked that one before. She did need her mom after that kind of thing.
“My parents were older when they had me. They died a while ago. Chris was my only family.” There, done, seal off any ideas about the possibility of children.
Just then the doorbell rang. Brenda reluctantly headed for the front door. The dogs stayed with Leslie. There was opportunity here and they knew it. She let them jump up on her thighs, one at a time. Jake jumped while Booker glanced out the door toward the foyer. Assigned to be a lookout. He came back for a leg up and a chin scratch. Leslie grabbed a couple of scraps of meat off the counter top and popped one in each gaping mouth. She could hear Brenda talking to Terryl and Selma. Then, “Jake, Booker, you’re not bothering Leslie, are you?” They glanced at Leslie, turned and trotted out the kitchen door, barking at the newcomers. “Jake, Booker, sit.”
“Selma, this is Doctor Leslie Cohen. Doctor Cohen, my wife, Selma.” Selma was a handsome, Hispanic woman in her forties. She had a very slight accent.
Leslie shook her hand and asked her to call her “Leslie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Leslie.”
“Same here.”
Leslie and Terryl sat down in the living room at Brenda’s request while she and Selma went into the kitchen. They came out with some hors d’oeuvres. Iced tea, Coke or water was offered. No alcohol. Was Abilene in a dry county? No alcohol except on the outskirts of town, sold in seedy little strip shopping centers. In New York, one rarely went to a party where there was no hard liquor offered. Gin and tonic, 7&7, scotch on the rocks. In the south it was usually beer and wine. But sometimes no alcohol was served. She was driving. She didn’t care one way or another. Leslie never went out and drinking alone wouldn’t have occurred to her.
They made small talk for a while. The sound of a diesel engine coming down the street put the dogs into a frenzy, barking and running back and forth into the kitchen, where there was a back door leading to the garage. The engine idled in the driveway and Leslie remembered that, of course, it wasn’t using any extra fuel. The dogs were literally howling when the door opened and Doc Hawley greeted them like they were his kids. “Booker, Jake, howyuboys doin’?” Silence from the dogs, but she could hear their collars being jangled around by their tail-wagging bodies. Brenda got up and headed toward the kitchen.
“Hal, long day huh? Honey, you’d better go get changed. I’ll take care of your things.” And then “Jake, Booker, you leave dad alone.” Husbands and wives start to call each other mom and dad sometime after their children start talking and understanding. Chris used to call her “mommy.” The title sticks.
“Lemme just say ‘hi’ real quick.” Leslie heard them kiss each other. Terryl stood up and took a few steps toward the kitchen. Selma stayed seated. Leslie decided to stand. Better to meet people at their level. Not seated. It puts you in a submissive position. She heard steps across the kitchen. Where Leslie was expecting the elegantly graying, seersucker-suit-wearing doctor, there came a short burly man who looked more like the guy on TV who builds motorcycles with his sons. Greying, yes, but not elegantly. Wearing scrubs. Smiling. Clearly happy to see everyone.
“Terryl, what a day! They had me working out of two rooms over there, and still, what?” He looked at his watch. “Still didn’t finish up until six. You need to give those folks a raise. They worked their asses off!”
He looked over Terryl’s shoulder, “Selma.” He greeted her with a nod.
“Hi, Doc.”
Then he turned directly to Leslie and walked over to her. “And you must be my replacement!” He extended his big hand and gave hers a big squeeze. “Hey, do they charge extra for pretty ones, Brenda?” He laughed at his own joke. Brenda just rolled her eyes.
She squeezed hard and returned the shake. Leslie hated weak handshakes. Women usually gave weak handshakes. The problem with weak handshakes is that if you’re shaking someone’s hand who gives a strong one, it rolls the metacarpal bones of the fourth and fifth fingers together and squishes the muscles and nerves in between. It hurts like hell, but if you give it right back it sort of protects you. She had learned to sense the intensity of the grip quickly and squeeze in a commensurate fashion. You lower your shoulder and bring the forearm directly forward, keeping the wrist in line with the arm. None of this dropping the wrist like the hand is to be held or turning it sideways and handing it to the gripper like a dead carp. She knew Doc could hand it to her better than she could so she prepared for the metacarpal roll. She could have expected what came next.
“Man, I like a gal with a strong handshake. I can tell you’re gonna fit right in. Don’t you think so, Brenda?”
“Of course she is.” Brenda gave her a wink.
“Leslie Cohen, Doc. Pleased to meet you too.”
“Same here.”
Brenda reminded him to go get out of his scrubs, but he was having none of it. “If y’all don’t care then neither do I.” He didn’t wait for a confirmation. “Brenda, how ‘bout some tea.” Brenda disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray of big glasses
