Blue Like Elvis (12 page)

Later, as I
drove home, I kept thinking of Dr. Love’s story. How God saved him from what
surely would have been a marriage from hell. For anyone, of course, but especially
for a pastor. What a nightmare that would have been.

And then I
wondered why I’d never thought to thank God for saving
me
from the same
kind of nightmare. I wondered why I’d been so focused on never being able to
trust again . . . instead of thanking God for interceding before
I walked down the aisle.

Chapter 17

“What is that
SMELL?!”

I’d just walked
into the apartment after work on Friday. I’d dropped Sandra off at the sidewalk
in front of our townhouse, then drove around to pick up our mail near the
clubhouse. When I returned and walked into our apartment, the stench nearly
decked me. Something was dead. I just hoped it wasn’t in the oven.

“Sandra! Where
are you?”

She came flying
into the living room. “I can’t find it! Do you smell that? It STINKS! It smells
AWFUL!”

I covered my
nose and mouth with my hand. “It’s horrible! What is it?”

She rattled off
a long diatribe in extremely animated Spanish.

“English!” I
demanded.

“Dead mice! It
has to be dead mice. Our neighbor told me she’d been having problems for
several weeks. Now they’re here! This is
disgusting
!”

“Where?” I said,
cringing at the thought.

“In the walls.
She said they get into the walls then can’t get out and they just die in there.
I think I’m going to puke!”

I held my nose
and took the stairs up to my room. The odor wasn’t quite as bad up there, but
it was still pretty ripe. I dreaded the thought of inhaling this all weekend.
We had to open the windows and get some fresh air coming in.

“AAAHHH!”

Sandra’s scream
reached all the way up the stairs, through my bedroom, and into my bathroom. I
ran to the landing. “What is it? Why did you scream?”

“I SAW A MOUSE!”

“What? I thought
you said they were in the walls?”

“NO! IT JUST RAN
INTO THE KITCHEN!”

“It’s alive?!” I
ran down the stairs and found my roommate standing on one of the dining room
chairs.

“SHELBY, GET IT
OUT OF HERE!” She shrieked more in Spanish, but I had no doubt what she was
saying. I dashed into the hall closet to grab the broom. I wasn’t sure what I
was going to do with it, but at least I was armed. Just as I turned to go back
to the dining room, something scampered by my foot.

“AAHHH!” I jumped
up into the chair beside Sandra. “It almost ran over my FOOT! But it came from
the bathroom, not the kitchen!”

“THERE’S MORE THAN
ONE?!” she screamed, clinging on to me for dear life.

Just then
doorbell rang.

“COME IN!” we
both yelled in unison.

The door opened
and there stood Tucker. He looked at us then narrowed his eyes. “Have I come at
a bad time?”

Sandra and I both
screamed, talking at once, simultaneously telling our situation in two
different languages.

He raised his
hands. “Whoa! Wait a minute—one at a time. Shelby, what’s the matter? And what
is that
awful
smell?” he asked, covering his nose.

“MICE! Dead ones
in walls and LIVE ONES IN THE HOUSE!”

“Are you sure?”
he asked, stepping carefully as he came closer.

Our neighbor Bonita
walked in the open door behind him. “Sandra, what’s wrong? I heard the
scream―” Her hand covered her nose. “Uh oh, you’ve got the mice in your
walls. Oh, that’s horrible. That’s even worse than mine!”

By now Sandra
had started whimpering. “I HATE this! Get them out of here, Tucker!”

He turned back
toward us. “Me? What do you want
me
to do?”

I handed him the
broom. “Chase them out the door or something. Just hurry! There are at least
two that we know of. DO SOMETHING!”

“I’ll get Harry.
Be right back.” Bonita rushed back out the door.

“Who’s Harry?”
Tucker poked the broom here and there.

“Her cat.”

Tucker looked
back at us. “You know, I’ve seen this in cartoons before, but I’ve never really
experienced it. The whole screaming-women-standing-on-chairs thing. I wish I
had a camera.”

“SHUT UP!”
Sandra yelled, though I could hear the break of frustrated laughter in her
voice.

Bonita walked
back in with a large tabby in tow. “Here, let Harry get to work. He’s the best
mouser I’ve ever owned.” She put him down and he took off down the hall.

Tucker
introduced himself to our middle-aged neighbor. She wore her usual housecoat
with a red cardigan wrapped around her. There was a pink curler dangling in the
back of her once-blonde hair.

“I spoke to the
landlord last week,” she said. “He promised to have someone come and see what
the problem is with all these mice. I think we’ve got a major infestation, but
he wouldn’t admit to such. I’m just glad to have Harry. He’s kept them out of
my place for weeks. Course, he can’t do anything about the ones in the walls.
Isn’t that the worst smell ever?”

I had to admit I
felt kind of queasy myself. I wondered how long it would take that smell to
dissipate since we couldn’t get inside the walls to get rid of their wretched
little corpses.

“OH MY GOSH, OH
MY GOSH! HE GOT ONE!” Sandra shrieked again.

Sure enough,
here came Harry, proud as he could be with the little critter dangling from his
mouth. Mickey’s tail whipped back and forth letting us know he was still very
much alive.

“Tucker, kill
it!” I yelled.

“I’m not gonna
kill it! Let’s just try to get it outside. Here Harry, here kitty kitty kitty.”
Harry sat down, holding his back ramrod straight as if he’d just found the
crowned jewels.

“Get it out of
his mouth, Tucker, or it’ll take off again,” I suggested.

“And just how do
you expect me to do that?”

“I know!” Sandra
yelled. “Get those pliers out of the kitchen drawer then try to grab it by the
tail.”

We both looked
at her like she was crazy.

“That’s not a
bad idea,” Bonita said, making her way into the kitchen. She yanked open the drawer
and grabbed the pliers.

Tucker looked at
us, then shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He cautiously
approached the cat who pulled back. In a flash, Tucker clamped the pliers on
Mickey’s tail. Harry refused to relinquish his prize catch . . .
until another one flew by him. We all screamed, startled by the blur of gray
fur that dashed by Tucker’s feet. But Tucker was too busy holding the little
varmint by the tail as it swung back and forth trying to free itself.

‘‘GET IT OUT OF
HERE!” we shouted.

He hurried to
the door and ran outside. Through the dining room windows, we watched him run across
the parking lot to the open field by the lake where he released it. He returned
just in time to see Harry prance out of the kitchen with another one in his
mouth.

Sandra ripped
forth with another string of Spanish, clearly saying what I was thinking. This
was bad.

Later, half an
hour after Harry and Tucker had repeated their routine six more times—yes, SIX—we
decided we were mouse-free. Except for the wall-encased corpses, that is. Sandra
and I finally came down off our chairs. Bonita took Harry and returned to her
apartment, promising to give our landlord a piece of her mind for us. But there
was no way we could stay in our apartment. At least not tonight.

“Just grab some
stuff and come stay at my place,” Tucker said, putting the broom away.

“Oh, we can’t do
that,” I said, uncomfortable with the idea.

“Why not? I’ve
got an extra bedroom. Besides, I’m on a 48-hour shift tomorrow starting at the
crack of dawn. You’ll have the place to yourselves the rest of the weekend.
Maybe by then your landlord will figure something out.”

Sandra looked
back and forth between us as I pondered what to do. With a huff, she said, “You
don’t have to ask
me
twice. I’m outta here.”

“Are you sure?”
I asked. “I really hate to impose.”

“Get your stuff.
Besides, we were supposed to go out tonight. Remember?”

I’d completely
forgotten. I blew my hair out of my face. “You still want to go out after
chasing the beasts out of our house?”

“Are you
kidding? I’m starving! Hurry up!”

I had a feeling
this would be a first date I’d never forget.

We’d invited
Sandra to join us, but she insisted she’d rather just stay in and watch a movie
on TV. I knew better. She knew I was nervous about going out with Tucker, and
she didn’t want to be a third wheel. Tucker showed us around his house, pointing
out where everything was. Food in the refrigerator, television, stereo system,
a guest bathroom . . .  It was a beautiful older home in
midtown, not far from Overton Square. I was shocked at how clean and tidy it
was, wondering if he had maid service. He was a doctor, after all.

Half an hour
later, Tucker and I sat down at a trendy Italian restaurant called Luigi’s. The
ambience was cozy and dark, with director-style chairs at sturdy wooden tables.
We ordered our meals and made small talk.

“I don’t know
about you, but I’m not really in the mood for a movie tonight,” he said, taking
a bite of the crusty garlic bread the waiter had brought in a basket.

“No, I think I’ve
had about all the excitement I can handle for one night.”

“That was some
nasty smell back there.” Tucker shook his head. “I hope they can do something
about it.”

“Me, too. But
thanks for your brave, chivalrous rescue,” I said with a smirk.

“Darn right, it
was brave!”

“You were kinda
scary with those pliers. Remind me to keep those out of sight next time you
stop by.”

“So noted.”

This was just
too weird. I was actually relaxed with him. Not nervous in the least. We talked
non-stop for the next hour, enjoying steaming plates of pasta. He told me all
about med school and what it was like interning at Vanderbilt Hospital in
Nashville. I was fascinated with the stories he told me about his classes,
instructors, and labs. But I especially loved how his eyes lit up when he
talked about his patients.

“What field are
you specializing in?” I asked. “Or does that come later?”

He pushed his
last piece of bread through the sauce still clinging to his plate. “I’m in
anesthesiology. Can’t believe I’ve never told you that. Basically I pass gas.”

“Ah, yes. Now
that’s
the Tucker Thompson I remember. Quick with the jokes. But why
anesthesiology?”

“Why
not
anesthesiology?”

“Such a
specialized field. But I would think it would be rewarding. And a little
frightening at times?”

“Sure, when
things go badly. But that doesn’t happen often, thank goodness.”

“What do you
like about it?”

“Knowing what I
do is vital to what my colleagues do. Without us controlling the level of
pharmaceuticals to keep their patients under, they wouldn’t be able to do what
they do in surgery. That’s very gratifying.”

“I’m impressed,
Tucker. I really am. I can’t believe all that mischief you and Jimmy got into
could have resulted in such a productive member of society. It’s incredible. It’s
really―”

Suddenly my eyes
were at table level. Literally. Tucker looked down at me in disbelief. I was too
shocked to move.

“What happened?”
He tried not to laugh as he made his way around the table toward me.

“I don’t know . . .”

He helped me up
and we looked at the chair. . . . that stupid director’s chair
with the cloth seat stretched between the wooden legs. Somehow the fabric had
slipped off the bar, giving way. My backside had dropped down and plopped onto
the cross-bars below, my legs folded beneath me. I’m surprised the table didn’t
rip my nose off on the way down.

“Oh, sorry about
that” Our waiter laughed as he approached our table. “Sometimes that happens.”

“You mean, it’s
happened before?” Tucker’s smile disappeared.

“Yeah. Whenever
we take them off to wash them. Sometimes they don’t get put back on right. Y’know,
like they don’t get locked back in place. Slippage.” He hiked his shoulders and
smirked as if it was no big deal.

“Slippage?” I
asked, still feeling the heat in my face.

“Yeah. You okay?”
The kid was still smiling, obviously getting a kick out of the whole situation.

“Other than my
bruised ego, I guess I’m okay.”

“Do you realize
that’s a lawsuit just waiting to happen?” Tucker pressed.

“Uh, no. Hadn’t
thought about it,” he said as he started gathering our empty plates. “You guys
want dessert?”

Tucker just
stared at him. “No, we don’t want dessert. What we’d like is an apology.”

He blinked a
couple of times. “Oh. Yeah. Okay . . . sorry?”

Tucker stared at
the kid. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“That’s okay,
Tuck. Let’s just go.” I pulled his arm.

“Oh, okay,” the
waiter said. “Let me grab your check.”

Tucker put his
hand on the small of my back, moving me toward the door. “No,
you
can
take care of that check tonight. And I suggest you tell your manager to get
some new chairs.”

The kid’s mouth
hung open as we walked away. It took a few minutes for Tucker to calm down.