Chapter Four: She Lands One
The phone started ringing. I turned on the water and began washing dishes. The grits-hater lumbered, grumbling, into the other room. While I scrubbed and cleaned I went through my finances; I wasn't able to teach the full load I had anticipated, so my income had almost disappeared. Fortunately, my ex-husband had committed to paying the COBRA for my health insurance, so the hospital's bills shouldn't be too crippling. My grandfather had bequeathed me a healthy portfolio when he died, so I had the financial resources to survive the year of pseudo convalescence if I was careful and my stockbroker was clever. I had just finished putting things away when Blue Eyes came back into the kitchen. He was ashen.
"The grits not agreeing with you?"
He motioned towards the other room. "The phone. My old girlfriend." His face was blank.
"She has some good radar. Does she call every time a woman is in your apartment?"
He coughed uncomfortably. "I have to go see her. You need to get off your feet. Why don't you rest here, on the couch, and I'll take you to the hospital when I get back."
I started to suggest I just return to my apartment and skip the hospital altogether, but he was beginning to look ill. I backed up a little. "Do you need to throw up or something?"
He rubbed his hands through his hair and absently took one of his pills, dry swallowing it. "Yeah. I'll be back."
I watched as he, trance-like, picked up his jacket and left. I had one of those devilish urges again; I went to the phone and checked the caller ID. The name was Stacy Warner. I dialed it.
"Hello?" a very elegant voice answered.
In my best southern belle drawl, I said, "Stacy, Greg wanted me to call you and let you know he's on his way." I laughed in as lilting a voice as I could fake. "This
morning sickness keeps cropping up at the most inopportune times."
There was an awkward silence. I just waited.
Finally, I heard her sigh. "Well, thank you for letting me know."
"You're certainly welcome, honey," I cheerfully answered. Somehow, calling her hadn't been as much fun as I had anticipated.
I sat down on Blue Eyes' leather couch and covered up with a blanket. I put the TV on ESPN in hopes of SEC football, but I promptly fell asleep. A repetitive whacking on my leg woke me up.
"Why are you poking me with your stick?"
"Why did you call Stacy?"
"Oh." I sat up. "Did I get you in trouble?"
He plopped down next to me and popped two of his pills in his mouth. "She can't make up her mind what she wants."
"What she wants or who she wants?" He screwed up his face in confusion. "I teach English – is she wanting inanimate objects or people?"
"Men, plural"
"Then the relative pronoun would be 'who'."
He nodded. "Thank you."
"No problem, Blue Eyes."
We sat in an uneasy silence until I could stand it no longer. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm getting the feeling Stacy wants you again."
He laid his head back against the couch. "She's separated from her husband. She wants us to 'date.'" He got up and poured a generous serving of scotch in a glass and then sat back down. "How can I date a woman I lived with and loved for five years? I don't know how to date."
"I might be nitpicking here, but is she legally separated from her husband, because, in Alabama, married women who date are subject to public ridicule and wholesale humiliation."
"You're worried about what society thinks, and I'm worried about how I start back at Basic Dating 101. We have totally different operating systems."
"First, Blue Eyes, I don't really care what society thinks; however, I was pointing out that some societies actively torture those they deem deserving of torture. Secondly, in response to our having different operating systems, DUH!"
B.E. emptied his glass and refilled it, bringing the bottle back with him. I saw my opportunities to escape to my apartment or even the hospital sliding down his throat with the scotch.
"So, you're telling me you want to date her?"
He started flipping through the television channels. "A couple of years ago we tried to reconnect. I sent her away."
"And that would be because . . ."
"I told her I couldn't make her happy."
He paused on the QVC channel. Were we shopping?
"But you don't believe that, Blue Eyes."
"Who made you so f#cking smart?" He had another glass of scotch in his hands.
"Then look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong."
He looked me in the eyes and belched.
"What's Jim's number?"
"Why?" he asked.
"I thought I'd get him to drive me back to the hospital." And babysit you, I thought.
"Oh, you've got the oncologist itch now."
I stood. "Shut up." I went to his phone and again searched through his caller ID. Finally, I found Jim's number.
"Sure," he said growing exponentially louder, "call ole Jimmy-boy. He just loves consoling sick, screwed up women. He'd probably marry you and tell everyone the rapist's baby was his. Everyone knows his favorite words are, 'I do' and 'I obey.'"
Jim answered and I carried the phone into the kitchen.
"This is Audra. I'm at Dr. House's apartment. To make a long story short, he's had an upsetting day and is no longer sober enough to drive me home. If you're not busy, could I impose on you to come get me?"
"What happened, Audra? Are you all right?" He sounded sincerely concerned.
"The old girlfriend called. Stacy? She wants to get back with Blue Eyes. He's tormenting himself over it."
"His Achilles' heel. I'll be right there."
I heard Blue Eyes clomping after me as I hung up the phone. "Is Oncology Boy coming to save you from the big, bad doctor?" He had a glass of scotch in his hand.
"Go sit down, sugar," I told him gently.
"Don't patronize me," he sneered.
I pushed past him heading for the front door, but he grabbed my arm. I swung around and punched him in the jaw.
"F#ck, that hurt!" I yelled. I tried to jam my whole fist into my mouth.
He stumbled back against the kitchen table.
Jim had just been opening the door when he heard the skirmish, so he ran to the kitchen in time to see Blue Eyes clasping his cheek.
"What . . ." he started.
"You can mother him later. Please take me home first," I pleaded as I leaned into his arms.
Jim helped me to his car. He reluctantly agreed to take me to my apartment. I'm sure he was anxious to deposit me somewhere, anywhere, so he could go back to Blue Eyes, and I was unscrupulous enough to take advantage of his indecision. I struggled into my low-rent apartment and crawled between the covers of my make-do futon. I slept for fifteen hours straight.
I had to go back to the hospital. My cell phone was there along with the university's laptop. I hadn't been officially discharged, and I needed a referral to an obstetrician. I decided to just brazen my way through the inevitable encounter with Blue Eyes.
I made it to the hospital by 8 am Monday morning in my Toyota Tacoma (yeah, I drive an old truck). It was stripped down and well-aged, but the passenger seat looked roomy enough for a baby seat. I left it in the guest parking garage and found the information desk in the hospital lobby. They gave me directions to Blue Eyes' department. I recognized the conference area outside his office when I reached it. His office door was locked, but there was a doctor I didn't recognize in the larger room. I went in hesitantly.
"Excuse me."
"Yes?" the doctor asked. He was standing by a coffee pot fiddling with the filter.
"I'm Audra Jeffrey. I was a patient of Dr. House's."
The doctor nodded and offered his hand. "Of course. I'm Dr. Foreman."
"I'm pleased to meet you." I had morphed into Miss Manners. "I left the hospital over the weekend, and I need to get my things."
"Have you checked at the nurse's station on the floor you were on?"
I pointed at a small pile in the corner of Blue Eyes' locked office. "That's my laptop, or Princeton's laptop, which I need since it's my only internet access and I have to update the assignments for my online class. The gym bag isn't mine, but the clothes, books, cd, and purse inside it are mine. Could you please get them? You'll find my ID inside the purse."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Jeffrey, but Dr. House isn't in yet and his office is locked."
"Yes, I noticed that when I tried to open his door."
We continued staring at each other. Finally, I took the coffee filter, which he had shredded, from him and started making the coffee from scratch. I began chattering in my 'helpless girl' voice.
"I need to have Dr. House arrange a referral with an obstetrician. Could you recommend someone? I just moved here right before I got sick and I don't know a soul."
"There are several excellent doctors who have experience with at risk pregnancies." He wasn't warming up to me at all.
"Dr. Foreman, you may think this is a silly peccadillo of mine, but after, uh, everything that's gone on, the circumstances, and, well, I think I'd probably have an easier time relating to a female physician. I'm not yet comfortable with, well, the whole being pregnant situation, and I thought, perhaps, you could suggest an especially empathetic female obstetrician. Maybe one who has some experience with rape victims." I couldn't look at him, so I busied myself tidying up the coffee detritus. I hoped I sounded needy enough.
"Dr. Angela Castillo has worked with rape victims through the university's counseling center."
"She sounds ideal! You have been so helpful – you can schedule my consult on any day at any time." I looked, pointedly, at my watch. "Oh, goodness, I'm supposed to meet my department chair in five minutes. He's going to blow a gasket if I don't have their laptop. Isn't there any way I could get it? I wouldn't mind waiting for Dr. House, but I'm already in disfavor because of all the time I've been ill." I gave him the sweetest smile I owned.
I could see him wavering. The coffee started dripping; he looked at the pot, sighed, and pulled a key off the top of a bookcase. He retrieved the gym bag and the laptop.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Foreman. I don't know what I would have done without your help. And please, call the cell number in my chart when you have my appointment arranged."
I slipped into the hall and rushed to the elevator while giving the confused doctor a dainty wave. Of course, I didn't have to meet with Dr. Jacobs, but Dr. Foreman didn't need to know that. I wondered if he would follow through with the obstetrician.
When the elevator doors opened I tried to turn around and run, but Jim grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.
"Good morning, Audra."
I sighed. "Go ahead. Tell me about Blue Eyes." I closed my eyes to listen.
"He has a nice bruise on his left jaw. How's your hand?"
"I don't know; I haven't hit anyone today. Yet. Did you instruct B.E. on courtship for cretins?"
"Instructing House is an oxymoron."
I laughed. I really did like Jim. "I'm sorry I involved you in, well, that. I didn't know what else to do."
Jim sighed. We had reached the lobby and were slowly walking toward the front doors. "House's history with Stacy is complicated."
"You mean Stacy isn't the double jointed hermaphrodite he told me about? Come on, Jim, she had him so rattled he didn't know what to do. And even I know Blue Eyes always knows what to do." We had come to a stop. "I understand a woman being conflicted about her feelings, especially when she wasn't the one who ended things the last time, but to pit two men against each other in some kind of dating duel is egotistical and demeaning. And the amazing thing is that I have no doubt both men will sign on for the competition."
"You think she's just being intentionally spiteful?"
"Jim, I don't know her. But I'd be willing to bet she has Blue Eyes planning romantic dinners and sentimental gifts and, he!!, I'd even bet he comes in today in an ironed shirt with a coordinating tie. He's competitive anyway, and she's just signed him up for the ultimate challenge: win me back from my husband. How could he pass it up?"
"I don't know how much you know, but the truth is, he already won her back from her husband before, and he still sent her away."
"Maybe, if he wins this time, he'll keep her." I smiled wanly at him, lifted my hand in a mock wave, and headed for my truck.
Back in my apartment, I elevated my feet and checked my e-mail. I had a message from Dr. Jacobs:
Dear Audra,
I know you're on bed rest, but I also know you haven't had time to meet any of our other instructors. If you are able, the Liberal Arts Department is planning a Meet and Greet for new and returning instructors Friday, 8pm, at Chastain House. I would enjoy introducing you to our outstanding faculty. Please let me know if I can do anything to assist you.
Joel Jacobs
A Meet and Greet. How Ivy League. At Auburn we'd just get a keg and a game of Twister. Something told me my cut-off overalls and Mickey Mouse t-shirt weren't going to make the grade.
Remaining prone was easier than I had anticipated largely because I became fatigued so easily. Dr. Castillo's office called me on Wednesday and scheduled my appointment for the following Monday; Dr. Foreman came through after all. I agonized over the Friday evening soiree and the appropriate attire. I was past my first trimester with a rounded pooch I desperately wanted to disguise. My limited wardrobe contained a winter white sheath dress I was able to slide into. If one looked closely from the side, Ulysses's bulge was evident, but I decided it was the best I was going to look. My high-heeled, black, f#ck-me-pumps made my ass stick out and minimized any attention given to my stomach. I pulled my curly blonde hair into a high ponytail and just let it go. For an old, weary pregnant woman, I didn't look half bad.
Chastain House had been a palatial home in the nineteenth century. The university used it for social functions and public relations events and the odd office space for positions not easily categorized. I entered the marbled lobby with several other awed-looking geek-types and immediately spied Dr. Jacobs and a petite redhead I assumed was his wife. They gathered me in with much handshaking and laughing.
"You look lovely, Audra. Not at all like someone who's barely allowed out of bed. We're so delighted you could come. This is my wife, Terri Jacobs," Dr. Jacobs chattered rapid fire. His face was flushed; I think he had been sampling the wines.
Terri hugged me enthusiastically. "You poor darling. Joel's told me all about your ordeal. He's been so worried about you. You must be so frustrated to have to delay the beginning of your doctoral work. Joel has been bragging about your work with the British dramatists, especially Pinter."
Damm, she talked even faster than he did, and she wanted to talk about Pinter. I think they intended to be encouraging. Dozens and dozens of people bumped and moved through the rooms of the elaborately decorated building. The Jacobses led me into a drawing room and we picked through a table laden with food. I declined anything alcoholic from the bar, but both of my escorts accepted refills of their drinks. I felt the stiffness in the muscles of my cheeks; I hadn't smiled so broadly for so long since before my divorce. I was introduced to the head of the Creative Writing Program and a tasty-looking young man who was also an instructor in something and a doctoral student in something with a name I never caught. He was dangerously young and kept smiling at me with the kind of eyes that follow one around the room without ever moving.
Joel and Terri became embroiled in a heated debate about the originality, or lack of originality, of great literature, and I slipped into a hallway and found an empty settee. I settled in comfortably only to realize I had failed to notice a man was sitting on the adjoining settee.
"I'm sorry – am I disturbing you?"
He smiled. "Not at all. I'm here with my wife and just thought I'd escape the introductions for a moment."
"That's a shame because I was going to tell you I am Audra."
He laughed. "I am pleased to meet you, Audra."
"Is your wife a new instructor here?" I asked.
"Yes. She's teaching politics. She's a lawyer."
I brightened. "My brother's a lawyer. Where did she get her J.D.?
"George Washington University."
I was shocked. "This is amazing. My brother graduated there last spring. In fact, he loved DC so much he took a job there. What a small world."
A slender, brunette woman in a royal blue cocktail dress walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He smiled up at her, reached for a pair of Lofstran crutches leaning against the arm of the settee, and stood up with their aid.
"How has the meeting and greeting been going, honey?" he asked her.
"I think I'm about meeted and greeted out," she answered with a perfect smile on her perfect face.
The man said, "I'm sure you can stand one more introduction. This," and he indicated me, "is Audra. Audra, this is my wife, Stacy Warner."
I was in the process of standing when the name registered. I hesitated and said, "Succubus."
"Pardon?" she said as she stepped forward to shake my hand.
There was no way I could hide my accent. I started coughing violently. "I'm sorry I must have swallowed something . . ." I said, hacking and choking. I waved my hand and stumbled off as if I would find an EMT to perform a tracheotomy just inside the next room.
As soon as I made it into a crowd of tipsy graduate teaching assistants, I peered behind me to see if the Warners had followed me. I appeared to be safe. So, that was Stacy. And she had a date with her husband tonight. And he was using crutches. Did she have a thing for cripples? I should hook her up with my brother – no, my brother was too much fun. She looked, well, tight. Or tightly wrapped. And she also worked at Princeton. My life was just getting better and better.
"Things are getting pretty boring here," the attractive young man whose name I never heard said from behind me.
I turned around too quickly and grabbed his arm for balance. "Sorry, I'm lightheaded."
"Too much wine?" he asked with a leering sort of smile.
"No, I don't drink. I'm sorry, but I never caught your name."
He couldn't have been over twenty-five. "I'm teaching developmental English. You're working with the British dramatists, aren't you?"
"Only the contemporary ones. Not so much the deceased playwrights."
"I'm just fascinated with American dialects. I could listen to you talk all night."
He had left me speechless with that remark, but he was, fortunately, entertaining to watch. His teeth were white and straight with just the slightest of overbites. He had several piercings in his ears and, it seemed, an orange ball in the middle of his tongue. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
"How would you like to go listen to some music and talk? I know a place with a great jazz pianist."
I wasn't normally one to go off with a young man whose name I didn't know, but I had been hypnotized by his tongue. Besides, I figured I could meet him there since I was driving my truck.
I followed the tongue guy to a small club on a very dark street. I guess I should have been more cautious after my experience in the azaleas, but I was preoccupied with meeting Blue Eyes' old girlfriend and her husband, plus I hadn't yet really seen much of Princeton except for the hospital and my apartment. When I got out of my truck, tongue guy was waiting.
"Have you read much in southern dialect? The Uncle Remus stories, Legends of the Old Plantation, are written in authentic nineteenth century southern dialect, although Walt Disney completely bastardized it."
"And thank god. That dialect is unreadable."
We entered the crowded club through a short, narrow vestibule. Tongue guy paid the cover charge for both of us. We found seats against a side wall at a small, cluttered table. I motioned at a waiter and he cleared the bottles. Tongue guy asked for a Guinness while I asked for a glass of water. The pianist was on break which meant I had to endure more of tongue guy's grilling.
"Do you not feel Joel Chandler Harris's re-creation of the southern dialect was accurate?"
Screw the dialect and the author who recreated it. "I'm not sure how accurate the re-creation of a dialect of talking animals could be."
As the waiter delivered our drinks and tongue guy was paying for his Guinness, someone moved around me with a chair.
"Aren't you a little overdressed for a dingy college club?"
Blue Eyes was sitting in front of me and Jim was standing behind him. Tongue guy was stuttering on the other side of the table.
"Blue Eyes, this is tongue guy who is obsessed with southern dialects. Tongue guy, this is Blue Eyes, an obnoxious doctor, and Jim Wilson, Oncology Boy." I had entered comic-book-land.
Jim shook hands with tongue guy. Blue Eyes kept staring at me. "Does tongue guy know you're pregnant with Ulysses?"
"You're pregnant? Aren't you too old to get pregnant?"
I turned to tongue guy. "Give Oncology Boy your seat. Now." Tongue guy moved rather hurriedly.
Jim took the vacated seat. "Oncology Boy?"
"That's what Ms. Break-and-enter calls you when she fantasizes about you," Blue Eyes said, still staring at me.
"Don't make me punch you again."
He didn't flinch. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
I moved to stand. "Yes, thank you for reminding me. Jim, it was nice to see you again."
Jim hopped up. "Let me walk you out."
Blue Eyes stood, too, and started to follow us. Jim looked at him and ordered, "House, stay."
Blue Eyes stopped.
Jim and I stepped out into the autumn night. "How are you, Audra?"
"Jim, I'm going to tell you something, but I think it probably needs to stay between us."
"Okay."
"I saw Stacy tonight. Apparently she's now teaching at Princeton. Politics. But I saw her with her husband. I mean, he introduced her as his wife. If Blue Eyes is dating her, I hope he's aware she's also dating her husband."
We reached my truck. Jim looked at his feet while I floundered for my keys. "I'm not asking you to tell me what he's doing – but I don't want him to be hurt."
"Were you really out with tongue guy?"
"Only until I realized he could talk."