typea_all (26 page)

     "Dr. Rossini, I think that I should..."

     "Should what, dear?”

     "I'm leaving." I started to walk out, just dropping the results on the floor, but the door was locked. I fumbled with the doorknob and the lock, but couldn't get the door open. 

     "Open this door immediately!" I demanded and turned around. He was standing directly in front of me, luckily with his underpants still on.

     "Please my dear, you have no need to worry. Just continue reading the results."

     "Are you kidding? Are you nuts or something? I'm not reading anything, just let me out!"

     "Why don't you sit down, calmly?"

     "I am not sitting down. I am not calming down."

     "My dear..."

     "Okay, I've had enough. Listen you demented old fart; I am not your dear. I am nobody's dear. I’m a MT ASCP and I demand a little respect. You will put on your pants now. You will put on your lab coat now. You will let me out now."

     "But..."

     "But nothing. You've lived a long time, obviously too long. If you want to live long enough to see this day end, you will come over here and open this door. Now!"

     He pulled a key out of his underpants, walked over and unlocked the door, looking very confused. "I...I...I," he mumbled.

     No matter how much this guy disgusted me, I felt sorry for him. I supposed at one time he was a robust, productive member of the medical community, a pillar of society. The later years had not been gentle on him, and his facilities now showed the strain of age, the strain of fighting disease and saving lives. He was a proud scientist, now fighting one last battle against nature. My anger turned to pity.

     "Listen Dr. Rossini, is there someone that I can call? Is there something that I can do to help?"

     "I...I...I"

     "You need help, that's all. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

     "I understand," he said. He turned around, slowly walked back to his desk, and picked up a hospital phone directory. "I have a phone number in this book somewhere. If I can find it."

     I walked over and gently took the phonebook from his trembling hands. "I'll find it. What is the doctor's name?"

     "Dr. Seymore Hynie" he said, and then he pulled down his underpants and took his penis in his hand. "Want to see more, my dear?"

     See more? I could hardly see what he had already.

     I opened the phone book and slammed it shut on his penis, then left his office, closing the inner door with a bang. As I opened the outer office door, I saw the two FBI guys lounging at the end of the hallway. When I see an opportunity, I jump on it.

     "The mob," I started yelling. "Vincent The Pervert Rossini is in there," pointing to the door. "He's got his gun in his hand."

     Both of the agents pulled out their guns and ran down the hallway, visions of commendations dancing like sugarplums in their heads.

     "Move aside," one yelled.

     "He's in the inner office. God, it was terrible." It almost sounded like I was crying but it was really stifled laughter.

     They went through the outer door, and each stood to a side of the inner office door. "This is the FBI, Rossini. Drop your gun and come out. We'll give you ten seconds, and then we're coming in."

     They counted down. "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. We're coming in!"

     One of them stood back and kicked open the door, then both took firing positions in the doorway: one crouching, the other standing up. Inside the office, Rossini was standing there holding his penis.

     Both of the agents turned around and looked straight at me. Finally, they smiled. Okay, maybe they smirked, but it was good enough for me, and it just made my day.

     I wasn't sure how they'd report this one, if they had the nerve to report it at all. Maybe they'd charge Rossini with assault with a limp weapon, or conspiracy to masturbate. Maybe they'd just get his clothes back on and forget about the whole thing.

     It was past five when I got back to the lab, and the place was empty. I collected my stuff and drove home, without seeing the FBI on my tail. Maybe they finally gave up.

     Luke was parked at the corner of my street when I got home. The Longport police frequently park on various corners, watching the traffic flow down Ventnor Avenue. In the last week, it seems that they've picked my street corner more often, and today it was Luke.

     I stopped by his car before going in.

     "Hi Luke."

     "Hey, Brooke. How's everything?"

     "Just fine. I want to thank you for helping me out on Sunday."

     "No need to thank me, I really didn't do anything. What's cake is cake."

     "You just made it go easier. I'm sure the other officers wouldn't have been so friendly if you weren't there."

     "Oh, they would have been, they know all about you."

     "What does that mean? You didn't brag about being in my panties, did you?" I was actually a little annoyed at the thought of him joking and bragging about it.

     "No, I didn't say anything. I didn't have to."

     "What does that mean?"

     He smiled. "When I was in your car, leaning over into your panties, something must have pressed my transmit button." He pointed to the microphone on his shoulder. "When I got back to the station, they presented me with this." He held up a cassette tape. "This is a copy. It's real short, they only put on the good part. Play it when you have time."

     I made the time as soon as I got in the door.

     “Hold still, Brooke. You keep moving.”

“I’m trying to hold still. Do you think its easy doing this in a car?”

     “You’re moving it.”

     “Your thing is just too little.”

     “My thing is fine.”

     “Listen, this is the only way I can do this.”

     The out-of-context conversation took me back to the old days and sweet sixteen’s. The girls used to write down what was said when the gifts were opened, and it made for some funny reading. Only I wasn't sixteen anymore and maybe only Ryan thought I was sweet.

     Luke was already gone when I looked out the window. He must have gotten ribbed about that at the station, but at least now I know why they called me his girlfriend on Sunday.

     I did my usual cleaning and showering routine, and checked to see if my bed was dry from the night before. It was dry enough that I could put on new sheets and sleep there that night.

     After scrounging some food out of the freezer, I settled down with my laptop and my soaps. I hadn't checked email in a few days and there was a lot waiting, but mostly junk. Sophie sent me a message, sending love from her and Joyce.  There were a lot of jokes from friends and a few porno ads.

     I wrote a lot of emails, a few complaint letters, but mostly to get free stuff. Since I had so much luck with the cake mix, I tried a few other bakery companies. I asked for samples of premixed cookie dough from two companies and corn break mix from two others. I responded to offers for free makeup, a sewing pattern, and a miniature soccer ball that I could give away to someone.

     My soaps were particularly good that night. Cameron had his shirt off most of the time, and Eddie spent the whole show in a steam room with just a towel. They finally figured out that Jen was pregnant from Al, not from Christian, but she really wasn't pregnant because her mother faked the results to keep Jen away from Christian, who already had a pregnant girlfriend from another guy, Will, who was her stepbrother.

******

     Adam called about 11:10.

     "Hello, Brooke, it’s Adam."

     "I know Adam. How are you?"

     "Just fine. Remember you asked me about strange things?"

     "The other night, yes. Did anything happen?"

     "I think someone is following me. I've been in the library every day and the same person always sits next to me."

     "What does he look like?"

     "She. He's a she."

     "Okay, what does she look like?"

     "Gray hair, wrinkly face, teeth that chatter when she talks."

     "Sounds like an old lady to me. You haven't seen a car following you, or tough-looking men?"

     "No, just that lady."

     "Do you think she’s following you? Does she come into the library after you've entered?"

     "Sometimes. Sometimes she's there already. Before me."

     "I think you're safe from her, Uncle Adam. I wouldn't worry about that."

     "Then why did you ask me? Is something wrong, Brooke?"

     "Well..."

     "Does it have anything to do with the black car at Fuddruckers – YSG276?"

     "What’s that?"

     "What's what?"

     "The YS something thing?"

     "Oh, that was the license plate on the car."

     "You got the license plate? How did you get that? Why didn't you tell me you wrote it down?"

     "Because I didn't."

     "Didn't what?"

     "Write it down."

     "Then how do you know it?"

     "I remember it. I remember all sorts of things. Like your mother weighed 105 pounds, she had wonderful eyes and smile. She smelled real good."

     "But you remember the license number?"

     "Sure."

     "Tell me the license number again so I can write it down." I didn't know what I’d do with it, but it couldn't hurt to have it.

     "Okay. YSG276. New Jersey tag with the picture of the lighthouse on it."

     "Thanks, Uncle Adam. Can we get together soon? I miss you."

     "How about dinner? I can drive down there, or you can come up here."

     "Well, tomorrow I have a mammogram after lunch, so I'm taking off from work early. We can meet for dinner. Would you mind driving down here?"

     "Not at all. Let's meet in Ocean City, at the nice place right on the boardwalk."

     "The Port-o-Call?"

     "That's the one. I'll meet you there at 6:38."

     "Okay, Uncle Adam. Tomorrow night at 6:38 sharp."

     On top of everything else that was happening in my life, I had an appointment for a mammogram. I know that they save lives, and how important it is to have them at regular intervals, but they are torture.  I mean, whoever invented the mammography must have had serious problems with their mother. 

     My mammograms are particularly sadistic.  There's something going on in my breasts that make them difficult to photograph. Maybe they move or don't smile into the camera, or maybe one breast makes rabbit ears behind the other. For whatever reason, I can never get away with just one set of shots.

     I'm beginning to think they have a conspiracy going against me, and like good cop/bad cop they're playing good breast/bad breast.

     Bad Breast: "Let's play a trick on Brooke today."

     Good Breast: "That's not very nice; let her get away with one set of shots."

     Bad Breast: "Are you kidding, I love seeing her face when they call her back for more. It makes me tingle."

     Good Breast: "Don't you get tired of being pressed between two pieces of glass?"

     Bad Breast: "I love it. Listen, when they take your picture today, move and make a face when I tell you to."

     Good Breast: "That's not very nice. Let's ask the nipples what they think."

     Bad Breast: "Listen, that's the least you can do for me. After all, Ryan likes you better than me!"

******

     Getting a mammogram is very depressing. How many of the women there will be getting bad news, how many are as frightened and worried as I am? There are about 200,000 new cases of breast cancer every year in the United States, so all of us are living on borrowed time. I look around the waiting room, wondering who will be going home in tears and who will get a temporary respite for another year. I feel terribly saddened for the survivors there getting checkups, not really being able to sense the true depth of their fear.

******

     My appointment was at 1 PM at a place over on Route 9. I wore a button-up sweatshirt so it would be easy to take off for the test, and no earrings. They also told me not to wear deodorant, which made for a fun morning at work -- try telling a type A personality not to sweat.

     I got there at about 12:50, without any sign of the FBI. Hopefully, they finally figured out I was just a nobody and forgot about me. As always, the appointment started with the receptionist giving me a clipboard with a bunch of questions. Most of the questions had to do with my periods, which I couldn't answer because I didn't bring my calendar with me. Other questions were about my mother, grandmother, and every other female relative. The only ones I could answer were about my mother, who died of breast cancer. I don't know about my other relatives, it wasn't the kind of thing my mother wanted to talk about.

     The receptionist also asked for copies of my previous pictures so they can compare the new shots with the old, looking for any differences. When I moved down the shore, which is what Philadelphian's call the New Jersey beaches, I got my old shots from my doctor.

     After filling out the forms, I waited for about 45 minutes. One thing I really hate is waiting at the doctor's office. And one thing I hate even more, is watching women get called up who came in after I did.

     Doctor's really don't make appointments, they make estimations. Here’s what an appointment is to a doctor: "Come in at 1 PM, and maybe I'll be able to see you by 5. After all, I have twenty other women coming in at the same time for their appointments."

     When I got to the doctor's office, I looked around to see which patients were there ahead of me. I expected them to be called first, and then it would be my turn.

As my usual habit, after waiting about 15 minutes, I went over to the reception desk and asked if the doctor was running late.

"Oh no, he's right on time."  So why am I still waiting?

After another 15 minutes I started getting fidgety, so I took a look at the sign-in sheet to see how many people were still ahead of me.

"Do you think this will take much longer?" I asked.

"You’re next, it will just be a few minutes."

"I hope so, I have another appointment that I can't miss." That lie never worked, but I kept on using it anyway.

A few minutes later another woman was called up. She came in after me!

"I thought you said I was next?" I asked.

"You are."

"But that's what you said the last time, and another patient was just called up."

"Sorry, I meant after her."

A few more minutes went by, and I was reduced to making faces at the receptionist. Finally, someone called my name and led me back to the changing area. She handed me a gown and pointed to some cubicles. "Here. Take off everything from the waist up and put this on. Put your personal belongings in one of those lockers, and then have a seat over there until you're called."

The cubicle looked like a small changing room in a cheap department store. It had a curtain rather than a door, with a triangular shaped bench and a clothes hook. I took off my top and bra, and then struggled with the gown that wouldn't close correctly because the ties were either missing or too short.

I was struggling with the gown when I heard a familiar voice outside yelling at a tech.

"I can't believe you kept me waiting all that time. Do you know who my husband is? Do you? He's one of the biggest builders around here."

It’s really a small community down here off-season, but of all places to be and of all people to run into, Julie Reynolds was not my first choice.

I heard her open her locker. "My husband can buy and sell rinky-dink outfits like this...."  Her cell phone rang. "You can go now, I'll take this call.

"Hello. God, Jimmy, I've been trying to reach you all morning. Hold on, let me go into the changing room, it’s more private."

I heard her go into the cubicle next to mine, and I wondered if she was talking to Big Jimmy. I peeked out of my cubicle and noticed that she left her locker open with her clothes still in it. I was dying from the heat and lack of air in the cubicle, but there was no way I was missing this conversation. Anyway, Julie Reynolds was about the last person I wanted to meet face-to-face when I was half-dressed.

"Listen, Jason told me that the low-class bitch is thinking about switching the blood."

Hey, sometimes maybe bitch applies, but not low-class. I now figured it was Big Jimmy, but I could only hear one side of the conversation.

"That's what she said. I thought you scared her off?"

"Well, you did a lousy job of it."

"Hey, I agree. I want you to take over as much as you do, especially because of our deal."

"Are you kidding? Jason won't leave me a dime, and all of that insurance would go to you."

"I don't know, the old guy is just crazy."

"She won’t help me, she takes after her father, and she feels sorry for Jason."

"Well you better do something. If I'm left out in the cold and get nothing, I can cause a lot of trouble."

"Don't you yell at me! I'm not threatening you, just telling you how it is. You get the business and you give me what you promised. Just take care of that vampire, and handle Bruno if you have to!"

"Jesus, okay, I'll hang on."

Nobody calls me a low-class bitch and thinks she can get away with it. I heard Julie pacing while she waited for Jimmy to get back on the phone, so I took a chance. I snuck out of my cubicle, quickly grabbed Julie's bra from her locker, and went back behind my curtain. I made it just in time to hear Julie curse and go to her locker for her stuff. She must have grabbed everything in one handful because she didn't notice yet that her bra was missing.

"Jimmy!" she yelled into the phone. "Pick up you moron."

"Where the hell were you? I'm standing here half naked."

"No, I'm not with the gardener, you jackass, I'm at the doctors."

"Well you better.  Yeah, yeah, I miss you too, kiss, kiss."

"God, what a moron."

"Jesus, I left my bra out there." She flung open the curtain and went back to the locker. "Goddamn it, where's my bra?"

She went back into the cubicle. "Somebody stole my God damn bra. What kind of place is this? That cost me a hundred bucks."

She spent a hundred dollars on one bra! Now I knew she was nuts.

"Help. I want some help over here!" She was standing in the waiting area with her blouse on but half buttoned. "Somebody better get their God damn ass over here with my bra!"

Finally, two techs came running over.  "What's wrong?"

"One of you, or someone around here, walked off with my bra."

"Was it in the locker?"

"Where the hell else would I have put it?"

"Did you lock it?"

"Do I look like a God damn idiot to you? Of course I locked it. Someone is going to pay for this, and pay dearly."

"Did you check in your clothes? In the cubicle?"

"Of course I checked. I want you to call the police."

"We're not calling the police, just yet. Why don't you calm down and look around for it one more time. Let's go look in the back, maybe it got back there somehow."

"I'm going with you."

When they all walked away, I reached out and tossed the bra into her cubicle, and then waited until they returned.

"I told you someone took it. I want the money for that bra right now, and I want the police."

"Please, calm down. I'll check the changing room."

"I told you, you stupid cow, it's not in there. You're all going to be fired for this, I promise you. You're wasting your time."

The tech went into the changing room and found the bra.

"Is this your bra?"

"That's it!"

"It was in there all the time."

"Oh no, it wasn't. You had it! You took it, chickened out and just put it back. What's your name?"

The other tech spoke up. "That didn't happen. We've been together working all morning."

"Well, I can tell you this. I am never coming back here", and she stormed out without putting on her bra.

So Julie Reynolds and Big Jimmy are in this together. The plan is for Jimmy to get the business and pay off Julie for whatever services she's been providing. That's why Julie doesn't want Jason to get the insurance policy.

With that over, and holding the gown closed with one hand and carrying my stuff with the other, I went out and found a locker that still had the key in it.  I shifted my stuff to the other hand, trying to keep my breasts from being exposed, and locked up everything.

     After waiting on an uncomfortable chair until my nipples were almost frostbitten, the tech called me into the room with the radiation equipment. Now came the real fun part.

     "Hi, I'm Janet. Have you had a mammogram before?"