Wake-Up Call. Joaquin De Torres

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you’re looking for Doug? Well, he wouldn’t be in this area; he hates our kind!” Then the laugh, a politician’s laugh, fake and non-contagious.

      I hate your kind, too, asshole. I wanted to reach over and slap that grin off his face. He didn’t ask if Doogie was in trouble? He didn’t ask for the circumstances behind his son’s disappearance. In fact, neither parent used the word “son” when referring to him.

      “Have you checked the Occupy Movement areas?” he asked. “He could be camped out there?”

      “Yeah, that’s where the homeless hang out,” spat Faye.

      “You’re wrong, Mom,” objected her daughter. “They are not homeless; they’re protestors.” I nodded in agreement.

      “That’s right, Brittany.” She smiled, proud of herself.

      “Well, whatever they are, they have no right standing in front of Bank of America or any of the other banks we use.”

      “That’s because Bank of America is ripping the people off, Mom. They’re the most corrupt bank in the country concerning practices with minorities and the lower class.” She looked at me and raised her shoulders apologetically. “Case studies.” I gave her a thumbs up. I noticed her smile had a somewhat different look to it.

      “To answer your question, Mrs. Tuckman, no, I haven’t checked the Occupy Movements because people in your son’s mental condition are loners and avoid large crowds.”

      “Well, he wouldn’t even know how to get out here,” Blaine added. Then that laugh.

      “Dad, that’s just mean! Brittany objected, now sitting next to me sipping on a frosty margarita her father just brought over from the cabana-style pool bar. She didn’t bother to wrap a towel around herself, and I found my eyes roving from her firm athletic body dripping and beading with pool water. She caught me twice-my eyes visually inspecting her-but on both occasions, she simply smiled demurely and batted her eyes. She obviously enjoyed the attention of a stranger.

      “Doctor Flores? Strawberry margarita or apple martini?” Blaine asked from the bar, already dropping a pitcher of ice into two mixers.

      “Appletini for me, dear,” answered Faye as she checked her messages on her smartphone.

      “I’ll let you try one of my strawberry-mango margarita’s, Doctor.” Blaine said proudly. “Got in a crate of fresh strawberries from Los Gatos yesterday.” He chuckled. “Well, at least the Mexicans still have jobs!” The laugh. I was now offended, and wanted to get up and smash the blender over his skull, but was distracted again by Brittany who adjusted her patio chair so that it was facing towards me. She brought her arms over her head, tilted her head back and arched her back in a stretch. This sent my eyes into a visual feast of her tight and tanned torso. She recovered and caught me again.

      “Sorry, just a little tight from all the swimming,” she said smiling. I bet. She caught me looking at her feet. I noticed her toe nails were exquisitely painted with designs.

      “Do you like them?” she asked lifting one foot and placing it on my thigh. She pointed her foot forward like a gymnast to display her slender toes.

      “The artwork is fantastic,” I admired. “Very detailed.” She then raised her other foot and placed it on my other thigh, again pointing it sharply. I nodded admiringly.

      “Mom, he likes Melanie’s work,” she called out.

      “That’s fine, dear,” Faye remarked absently as she continued texting.

      “Hold them,” Brittany said quietly. I looked up. “My feet, hold them.” I didn’t know what she meant. “In your hands.” I didn’t know what this girl wanted, but I followed her instructions. I brought my hands to my lap and took a foot in each hand. I was on autopilot as my hands began to rub the tops and sides of them. Then she pointed them further as my fingers slid under her heels and followed the contour of her high arches. Her eyes expressed a measure of pleasure. My fingers slid from her arches to her toes and back again several times.

      “I like that,” she murmured. I felt myself getting aroused as she purposely slid her beautifully shaped feet in and out of my thighs. I was awoken with a splash of shame and turned my head to Mr. Tuckman.

      “So, Mr. Tuckman, about your company-” Just then, Brittany’s iPhone chimed.

      Thank, God! She pulled her feet gently out of my hands, retrieved the phone and settled back into the chair, drawing her long legs up to her chest. Like her mother, she was instantly lost in the device.

      “Please, just call me Blaine, Doctor.”

      “Okay, Blaine. There was no way Doug could have found employment with your firm? Because there are new federal tax incentives and benefits for hiring the homeless and people with disabilities.”

      He didn’t even raise his head to look at me when he shook it.

      “No way. Even with the benefits, Doug couldn’t be hired.”

      “May I ask why?”

      “He didn’t have the skill set or the aptitude. My company deals in high-end security electronics. You have to have a degree in a computer science-related field, at least, just to apply.”

      “Perhaps a custodial position, window cleaner or mailroom-” He cut me off with another quick shake of his head.

      “Doug is not corporate material, if you know what I mean, Dr. Flores.” That laugh again, but with a tinge of frustration. He didn’t like talking about Doogie and it showed.

      “He didn’t finish high school even with the private tutors I hired for him.”

      WOW! You paid for private tutors! That must have broke the bank!

      “It came as no surprise, really. I mean, we knew he was retarded when he was in junior high, so he was attending Special Ed classes all through that time.”

      “Your son had an intellectual disability, sir. We don’t say retarded anymore.”

      “Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, by the time high school came around, he was already too far gone. We gave him to the state after his speech started going south.”

      Going south! That’s how you put it, asshole?

      “He couldn’t even talk,” Faye said in a rare moment when her thumb wasn’t touching the phone keys. “We couldn’t even understand him. He couldn’t do anything normally. His retardation-”

      “His disability.”

      “His disability got in the way of everything. It completely altered our lives. So, like Blaine said, we thought it best to let the state penitentiary-”

      “State mental institution.” Idiot!

      “Yes, the mental institution handled Doug from there.” Suddenly Faye’s phone chimed and she immediately picked it up.

      What a work of art, this one!

      “Try this!”

      I

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