A New Kind of Bliss (6 page)

“And the night after that and the night after that,” he continued, his eyes on mine, “but something tells me that’s not how it’s supposed to be done, so I’ll just tell you that I’m glad you’re staying in town a little longer. But I don’t mind you knowing how I really feel.”

“I think it’s a lovely thought.”

When we were inside I held my index finger to my lips. “I’m just going to check on my mother. I’ll be right back. Go ahead and sit down.” I snapped on one of the lamps in the living room. In spite of the dark apartment, I knew Mom was home; I’d seen her car outside. I decided it would be best to warn her Aaron was here so she wouldn’t come stumbling out to the bathroom in her rollers and nightgown.

She sat propped up in bed, dozing, an open book across her lap and the TV turned to a movie on the Lifetime network. One look at her and I knew that if it weren’t for me she would have put the book away and turned out the light. Like she said, I was her baby. It didn’t matter that I was forty-two years old.

“Mom, I’m home,” I said softly.

Her body jerked. She looked like she’d been caught doing something illegal. I half expected her to hold her hands up, like a criminal who’d been suddenly apprehended.

“Emmie, hi,” she said sleepily after recognizing me. How’d the date go?”

“It went fine. Aaron came in with me. I just wanted to let you know I invited him in, but I don’t expect him to stay long.”

“Doggone it. If I didn’t have my hair set for church tomorrow I’d put on my clothes and come out and meet him.”

“Another time. I’ll see you in the morning. I don’t want Aaron to think I forgot about him.”

“Come back and tell me when he leaves. I’d like to get a peek at him, at least.”

A thought occurred to me. “Mom…you haven’t told your friends that I went out with Aaron, have you?”

“Of course I did. How often does my daughter date doctors?”

I sighed. What was it about my mother’s generation, where so many of them thought doctors and lawyers walk on water?

“You should have seen the look on Mavis’s face.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that. “I’ll be back,” I said as I closed her bedroom door behind me.

Aaron sat poised on the edge of the couch. He rose as I approached. How gallant, I thought.

“Is your mother okay?” he asked.

“She’s fine. She was waiting up for me. Isn’t that cute?”

“Very cute,” he said, and from the way his eyes roamed over me I knew he wasn’t thinking about my mother. My, he had sexy eyes. I loved the way they drooped downward slightly at the outer corners. His woodsy cologne fused with his skin and gave off an intoxicating personal scent. I knew the time had come for a good-night kiss. He took a step toward me and dipped his chin, and I raised mine. It was the quickest of kisses, feather soft…and a little bit disappointing. I should have known Aaron wasn’t the type to French kiss on the first date. Any other dude would be teasing my tonsils by now.

Still, I thought of those healing hands of his, and I knew…Aaron Merritt would eventually become my lover.

R
osalind called the next morning to grill me about my date with Aaron, just as I was being grilled by Mom.

“All right,” I said firmly, looking at Mom while holding the telephone receiver against my ear. “In the absence of a speakerphone, I’m going to talk to both of you at the same time so I won’t have to repeat myself.”

I cleared my throat and spoke slowly and clearly. “Aaron arrived on time. I wore a black dress, and he wore a navy suit.” In hindsight, we both looked like we could have been going to a funeral. “His car rides like a dream. It’s a Jaguar,” I said to Mom, who stood gesturing for more information like her life depended on her winning a game of charades.

“Ooh,” she said excitedly, sounding like she was all of eight years old.

I named the restaurant we went to. “It’s in Dobbs Ferry. We had a table with a wonderful view of the river and the Palisades.”

“I’ll bet he tipped the maitre d’ to get it,” Rosalind said.

“What’d she say?” Mom asked.

I repeated Rosalind’s statement for Mom’s benefit.

“What’s a maitre d’?” she wanted to know. “Is it like a hostess?”

Mom, bless her heart, was a woman best described as having simple tastes.

“Sort of, except it’s a man,” I explained. “Anyway, it was lovely.”

“What’d you have to eat?” Mom asked.

“Chicken parmigiana.” I knew that had nothing to do with the quality of my date, but I knew my mother, so I answered patiently. I think that being a child of the Depression lay behind her almost unhealthy curiosity about food.

“And what did Aaron have?”

“Veal scallopini, Mom.” This time my voice came out sounding just a little sharp. Poor Rosalind, she must have thought my mother was a candidate for Bellevue. “Now, can I get back to my summary?”

“Go right ahead,” she said indignantly.

“Anyway, it was lovely. He mentioned that I’m the first woman he’s dated since his wife died.”

Rosalind let out a whoop. “Go, Emily!”

Mom was impressed, too. “Emmie, that’s wonderful!”

“So what happened when he brought you home?” Rosalind asked.

“Don’t get personal,” I said playfully. “Anyway, Rosalind, I told my mother I’d go with her to church this morning, so I’ve got to start getting dressed. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Can you call me when you get in? I’m trying to organize a twenty-five-year reunion for our graduating class, and I’d like to run some ideas past you.”

“Uh…sure.” I hesitated because it seemed like reunion plans should have started a year ago. This month marked twenty-five years since graduation. What could Rosalind possibly hope to organize between now and the six months left in the year?

The smile plastered on my face as we stood outside the church was sure to have my jaw aching by the end of the day. My mother’s friends all told me how beautiful my hair looked. I got the distinct impression that none of them approved of nappy hair.

The kicker came from Helen Brown. “I’ll bet your new boyfriend really likes your hair.”

I raised an eyebrow. New boyfriend? Surely she didn’t mean—

“Oh, yes, the doctor,” Bea Pullman chimed in. “Your mother told us all about him.”

“Well, I think it would be a tad premature to call him my boyfriend,” I said politely. “We just met a few days ago.” Our first meeting actually occurred less than forty-eight hours ago, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, but he’s pursuing you, Emmie,” Mom said. “He called as we were leaving the house. I still say you should have taken the call.”

“Mom, maybe if it was Easter I would have, but the services today aren’t going to last until dinnertime. He’ll call back.”

“Spoken like a woman who knows she’s got a man’s attentions,” Mrs. Brown said with a knowing nod.

I smiled weakly and excused myself, moving on to chat with someone else.

Mom and I hadn’t been home five minutes when Aaron called again. He made no mention of having tried to reach me, even though the call history showed two previous calls from an unidentified number. His name and number showed the first time, but, hey, if you’re calling someone every hour on the hour, wouldn’t you want to block your number from showing? Either he had a pretty good idea I’d be back by now, or he felt three hours was a long enough time to allow his number to show again.

“I was wondering if you might be interested in seeing the Jazz Score exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art.” He chuckled. “Maybe seeing is the wrong word, although film clips are included. Hearing it is probably more accurate, but they’re including exhibits and panel discussions. They’re covering films with music scores written by Elmer Bernstein, Duke Ellington, Quincy Jones, and that guy who wrote the theme to
Mission Impossible,
among others.”

“Sounds like fun.” I started humming the theme to
The Magnificent Seven.
“Were you planning on going this afternoon?”

“Yes. I figured I’d get in a little culture before heading back to work tomorrow.”

“I just got back from church, but all I need is a few minutes to get changed.” I’d promised to call Rosalind back, but she’d have to wait.

“Great. How about if I pick you up in half an hour?”

“That’ll work. See you then.”

Over the next week I talked to Aaron every day, often more than once, and saw him whenever I could. I thought it amusing how slowly the sexual side of our relationship was progressing. The day we went to the museum, which was the first time Aaron met my mother, he actually kissed my cheek upon returning me home. The next time we had dinner, during the week, he returned to kissing me on the mouth, but still no tongue. I wanted a real kiss so bad, complete with his arms around me, I feared I might lose it and thrust my tongue into his mouth.

When not daydreaming about how it would feel to be held in Aaron’s arms, I spent the week putting in applications and went for an interview at a local practice. Dr. Wiley Norman had been practicing in Euliss for as long as I could remember. Two of his four sons had now taken over the practice. I didn’t know any of the Norman offspring. Although they were in my general age group, they’d gone to parochial school.

Working at the Norman Family Practice would be more convenient than working at Euliss General, because it was closer. And employment at a private practice meant I wouldn’t have to sit through one of those insufferable two-day orientations, complete with film shorts where the actors were picked up from Theater 101. They made Tanis’s performances look Oscar worthy. And I swear, if I had to listen to just one more human resources associate whose blouse pulled because it was too tight across the chest and who tapped the floor with her ankle-strap shoes tell me how to dress appropriately for the office, I think I might lose it.

The Norman practice was located in what was laughingly referred to as “the plaza,” a rather upscale euphemism for the town center that was downtown Euliss. The plaza consisted of a pharmacy, a liquor store, an outdoor newsstand, four banks, maybe three pizzerias, an electronics store that offered a layaway plan (naturally), a furniture store where the furniture’s drawers were guaranteed to stick, a music store, a deli, a fish market, a cheap shoe store, and about eight discount stores. If you wanted jewelry or clothing or decent shoes or good furniture you had to go to the mall in the white section of town.

I arrived for my interview promptly at ten minutes of two. The patients in the waiting room were typical of a busy family practice, ranging from screaming babies, exasperated-looking young mothers, an obviously ill youngster whose whining was interrupted only by coughing fits, and a few elderly folks. The one thing that jumped out at me was that they were all black and Latino.

I found myself unable to conceal my shock when I was ushered into an office and greeted by none other than Wiley Norman himself.

“Dr. Norman,” I said, surprise in my voice. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Uh, are you still practicing?” I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice, but the man was a contemporary of my mother. He had to be at least seventy-five years old. The only thing more ridiculous would be if he still used the suffix of “Junior.”

He chuckled, a wheezy sound that itself sounded old. “Oh, I just come in a few days a month to see some of my longtime patients. My sons are good doctors, mind you, but some of the old-timers don’t feel comfortable with anyone so young.”

Having the old man in the office sure made for a hell of a lot of Dr. Normans, but his reasons did make sense. After all, the man’s specialty was family medicine. His age wouldn’t deter him from accurately diagnosing and treating everyday maladies. It wasn’t like he used scalpels or other sharp instruments that could be dangerous in a less-than-steady hand.

“I’m so sorry to hear about your father, Emily,” he said.

“Thank you. We appreciated you and Mrs. Norman stopping by the funeral home to pay your respects.”

“And are you returning to Euliss?”

I began to relax. This seemed more like a conversation with an old friend than a job interview. “It’s a rather uncertain set of circumstances. My brother and sister both live out of town. My mother is bound to have a hard time adjusting to life without my father. I decided to come back for an extended period of time to help her out.” I wouldn’t have been so honest about the possibility of not remaining in Euliss had I been talking to some anonymous hospital administrator—okay, I would have flat out lied—but I couldn’t do that to Dr. Norman, who had been giving me checkups all through my school years. “I’m licensed to work in both New York and Indiana,” I volunteered. “I’m going to make my condo in Indianapolis a short-term rental unit for business travelers. But I can’t give you a guarantee that I’ll be staying in New York indefinitely. I might be here six months. I might be here three years. Or I might not ever leave.” That last sentence, for pure dramatic effect, came out with some difficulty. Stuck in Euliss for the rest of my life? Not a chance. Fortunately, Dr. Norman didn’t seem to notice.

“I see,” he said, nodding. “Well, it just so happens that Gina, our P.A., is having second thoughts about coming back to work after her baby is born. We can’t guarantee her that her job will be available for her after the required maximum time for the Family Leave Act, but this might benefit both of you. It’s not generally known, but…”

I recognized that to mean,
In other words, don’t go blabbing this all over town.

“…we do plan to open a second office on Woodlawn Avenue.”

The main drag stretched from the Bronx all the way to White Plains. Most of the shopping, restaurants, and multiplexes in the area were located along that fifteen-mile stretch of road. There would always be a need for a medical office in the plaza, which could be accessed easily by patients without cars. But Woodlawn Avenue would give the Norman practice more visibility.

I began to feel hopeful.

“I’m going to call in my sons. You can tell all of us about your work experience.”

I felt pretty good when I left the office. My interview had gone well. The two younger Dr. Normans conveyed a polite but distant demeanor, in direct contrast to their father’s warmth, which I read as “don’t think that just because Dad knows your family the job is yours.” I, of course, played it professional, sounding knowledgeable, not smiling too much, trying to convey by my body language that they didn’t intimidate me.

I had an interview scheduled at Euliss General after my return from Indianapolis, and I had a feeling that I’d be able to pick which position I wanted. The benefits would probably be better at the hospital, but I’d have more freedom at the family practice. Then there was the consideration of money. Instinct told me that the only ones who did well in a family business were members of the family.

“Emily!”

Startled to hear my name, I stopped my stride and glanced around the waiting room for a familiar face. Something vaguely familiar about the pretty dark-skinned sister who sat comforting a cranky-looking little boy. Especially around the eyes…

She smiled knowingly. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

I took a few halting steps in her direction. “Marsha?”

“Yes, it’s me. How are you, Emily? I didn’t think you still lived in Euliss.”

“I don’t. I mean, I haven’t been living here, but I’m coming back.”

“I heard about your father. I’m terribly sorry.”

I took a seat in the vinyl-upholstered chair next to her. “Thank you.” I realized I was staring, but I couldn’t help it. “Marsha, you look fabulous.”

She chuckled. “Thanks. I’ve made a few changes since high school.”

I’ll say. I’d known Marsha Cox since grammar school, but the chic woman sitting opposite me bore little resemblance to the child who stood five seven by the time she was ten years old and wore her mother’s too big clothes to school and also pinned on her falls. I’ll never forget the day Marsha and Tracy Turner got into a fight in sixth grade and Tracy pulled off Marsha’s fake ponytail. Tracy had always been a mean bitch. My heart hurt for Marsha that day in the playground. She’d been so embarrassed, and naturally the kids watching thought it was the funniest thing they’d seen since Sammy Davis Jr. kissed Archie Bunker on
All in the Family.
I remember leading her away while I glared at Tracy.

Marsha, an only child, lived with her mother in a tenement on Dellwood Avenue that had since been torn down. I went over there with her a couple of times, and it was just awful, all musty smelling and creaky. They didn’t even have their own bathroom; they had to share a hall bath with other tenants on the floor. To me, nothing says “poor” more vividly than two things: One is a street address that ends with “and a half,” as in “15-1/2 Garver Street,” which suggests to me that the residents were too poor to afford a whole apartment. The other is having to share a bathroom with your neighbors. I can’t think of anything less sanitary. My ex-husband, bless his sloppy heart, couldn’t even manage to hit the target half the time when he relieved himself. Whenever, in a moment of weakness, I found myself missing him in the period immediately following our separation, I would console myself with the thought that I would never again have to wipe up the floor behind him…or the seat, depending on whether or not he felt like lifting it up.