A Day Late And A Dollar Short Part 30

"I don't know why. You should call your doctor. Sometimes they forget."

I hang up. "It's my dentist!" I say into the phone as I speed-dial his number. "h.e.l.lo, Sylvia, this is Paris Price. I was hoping to get a refill on my prescription, but the pharmacist said that Dr. Bronstein hasn't called it in. Is there a problem?"

"Hold on and let me put Doctor on."

More waiting. I'm waiting for Dingus to walk through that door, because last night I decided to ask him if this girl is pregnant by him or not. I'm tired of walking around here like everything is just hunky-dory. I'm also waiting for a client to fax me directions to her home, which is at least an hour's drive from here, all the way in Hillsborough, somewhere up in the hills, off a windy road. She's the CEO of one of the top advertising agencies in San Francisco. And throwing quite the s.h.i.+ndig for Lord only knows who. What I am sure of is, she's willing to spend the hundred thousand plus that I quoted her. I just need to see the place in person.

"Paris, this is Dr. Bronstein. I didn't refill your prescription because I'm wondering why you're still experiencing discomfort with your gums after all this time. If you are, then you need to come in and see me right away and let me take a look to see what's going on."

Without even thinking, I hear myself lie: "It's not my gums, Dr. Bronstein, I think it's my tooth, the one in the bridge that we talked about before."

"Oh, yes. It's starting to give you trouble, huh? Is there any way you could come in to see me today?"

"I can tomorrow, but not today."

"Okay, then. Hold on and I'll put Sylvia back on to set it up, and I'll see you sometime tomorrow."

"Wait! But what about today?"

"Are you in that much pain?"

"Yes I am."

"Have you tried Tylenol or Advil?"

"They don't work."

"I'll call in six Vicodin. That should get you through until tomorrow, and we'll see if we can't get you fixed up. Take care, Paris. Here's Sylvia."

After scheduling the appointment, I know full well I'm not going to see him tomorrow, because there's nothing wrong with my tooth. The kind of pain I'm feeling doesn't ache or throb. In fact, I think I'm finally starting to catch on that it's not pain at all. I want to be distracted. I want not to care what happens one way or another. I want things not to bother me. I would like to be more nonchalant, less emotionally charged up. The problem is, a lot of things bother me that I wish didn't. Things I can't control. When I take one or two pain pills, it helps me pull back, hand the reins over to the G.o.ds in charge.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I happen to care whether or not my son is going to be a father at seventeen. I care whether or not my mother is going to be happy living in her new condo, alone, without Daddy there to irk her, but with her new teeth, driving her new car. I know that's not going to be enough. Even though I'm p.i.s.sed at Daddy for what he's done and how he left, I'm worried about him, too. I'm worried that this young chick is using him, and what'll happen when she's through with him. I don't want to see him hurt either. Don't want to see him kicked to the curb. He doesn't deserve that. Not at his age. He's worked too hard for too long. All of us know that Mama shut him out a long time ago. We all saw it. But what can you do to fix your parents' lives when yours isn't perfect?

I'm lonely. I admit it. But it's not something you want to go around broadcasting-don't want to share it with the world-especially your family- world. It's embarra.s.sing, really, to be lonely. It makes you feel inadequate in some way. Like you don't measure up in this area of your life. It doesn't even seem to matter that I'm successful, because I feel like a failure as a woman, and I hate feeling like this. I know it doesn't make any sense, and I've tried to trick myself into believing that it's okay to be lonely, that it's not the end of the world, that I'll survive, but it still makes me feel like I'm lacking in something. Missing out on what other people have. In some ways, it even seems like a form of punishment, except I can't figure out what crimes I've committed.

This is just one more reason on the list I can think of as to why I've been taking so many of these stupid pills. They're no panacea, I know that, but they have helped me not think about how long it's been since I've been kissed and held. They help me forget all about pa.s.sion. I honestly wish that my son's love was enough to sustain me. Wish my work was enough, but obviously they're not. And until I can come up with better, smarter solutions, this is just a temporary thing.

"Hi, Ma," Dingus says, coming through the door with the mail. He bends over and kisses me on the cheek and drops the pile on the kitchen island, then lets his backpack crash to the floor. He goes through each envelope, magazine, and catalogue and pulls out what apparently are eight or nine more letters from colleges. I think he's up to about eighty of them now. He keeps them in shoe boxes under his bed.

"Hi," I say, not budging from the stool I'm still swiveling on.

As usual, he opens the refrigerator to see what he doesn't want, closes it, then changes his mind and grabs the gallon carton of orange juice and goes into the pantry to find a bag of cookies or chips-it doesn't matter-and comes out and heads toward the hallway. But before he reaches the doorway, I say, "Hold it!"

He stops dead in his tracks. "Yes, Mother Hubbard," he says, turning to face me.

"Would you look and see if there's a fax in there?"

He disappears and immediately returns, holding it between his teeth. "It looks like directions," he says.

"Thanks. Now sit," I say, taking the paper from his mouth.

"But I've got tons of homework and I need to clean my room."

"I said sit. Your room was dirty yesterday, it can wait. And homework isn't that important."

"What?"

I knew this would get his attention. "I want to know what's going on with you and Meagan."

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"I overheard something on the phone a while ago that didn't sound like it was about nothing."

"Oh, you mean about her maybe being pregnant?"

"That would be it."

"She made it up."

"What do you mean, 'made it up'?"

"She was faking. Scheming. Trying to run a game on me."

This is a relief, but something's still not right about this whole thing. I have a sour taste in my mouth. "Okay, so, Mr. s.e.x Machine, she 'faked it' this time, but what about the next time you decide to get on top of her without a G.o.dd.a.m.n condom? What if it's when you're about to head off to Stanford or UCLA or US-f.u.c.king-C! Do you think she'll fake it then?"

"Ma, settle down. It's okay. I'm not seeing her at all anymore. Bet."

"Bet, my a.s.s. Don't be so stupid, Dingus. Girls do this s.h.i.+t every day of the week. Back in the seventies and eighties . . ." And then he gets that "here-we-go-again" look on his face, but I really don't care. "Look, this is the little game pretty girls played who didn't have a future of their own mapped out. They'd get these jocks who were headed for the NBA or the NFL or the major leagues all strung out and so grateful to have them as trophies that they'd marry them, and these girls would be set up for life. The point I'm trying to make here Dingus is this: love who you want to and I don't care what color she is really, but know that the ones who don't have at least a two-point-seven grade point average-and aren't thrilled about the idea of going to college-are the girls who usually have an agenda. They want to marry up and they want to marry well. But when and if they ever divorce you, it's pretty much bankruptcy for you. So you won't have too much left to offer the next wife and new batch of kids. It'll be a struggle, even though you might be making millions. Get the picture?"

"I get it, Ma! Dag. I get it! Why don't you take a chill pill?"

"I have taken a chill pill," I say, not meaning to.

"Can I say something here to defend myself?" he asks, walking over and patting me on the head.

"I'm listening," I say, trying to duck away from his hand.

He gets a big grin on his face. I wish his daddy could see him now. "Okay. I'm not being as irresponsible as you think, Ma. I did use protection, and I was told that there had been an accident but now I know exactly what time it is, so no worries. She thinks she's clever, but do not fear, Mother Dear, I will not be throwing away my future over some girl, regardless of what color she is. Comprende?"

"Comprende," I say, feeling relieved as h.e.l.l. "What ever happened to Jade? If you don't mind my asking."

"We're cool."

"What does that mean, Dingus?"

"It means I like her, Ma."

"Why doesn't she ever come visit?"

"Why should she, when I see her at school?"

"I mean to watch a movie, or for dinner, or something. Do you ever take her anywhere? I mean, do you guys ever go on a date?"

"We go to the movies once in a while."

"Take the girl on a date, Dingus. Spend some of your allowance on her."

"Okay! But can we please quit now?" he yells.

"Okay!" I yell back.

"She's my date for junior prom."

"Hallelujah."

"Anything else while I'm standing here?"

"Actually, there is. I have to run out to see a client in Hillsborough so you can order a pizza or something. But-remember when I canceled my London trip when Granny got sick?"

"Yep."

"It was rescheduled, and I'm going over sometime in early June."

"I wish I could go with you."

"Why can't you?"

"Ma. Spring training leads to summer training, plus I'll have a job, remember?"

"Yeah yeah yeah. I'm trying."

"Any parting words?"

"Yes. Get out of my face and make sure that room is clean by the time I get back. Or else."

"Yeah yeah yeah. I'm shaking all over," he says in the good-spirited way I love.

It's four-thirty. Rush hour. What the h.e.l.l am I doing on the 680 Freeway at this time of day? Oh h.e.l.l! I'm stuck trailing behind some hippie driving a lime-green Volkswagen bug with that Westphalia thing on top, which I have never figured out what the h.e.l.l it's for anyway, and of course they're driving below the speed limit and I can't change lanes. Other drivers are just whizzing by us, like the two of us are in some kind of tailgating party. How stupid could I be to have scheduled this meeting at this hour on a weekday? I feel myself grinding my teeth, and I hate it when I do this. I reach down for my purse, but when I look inside that orange plastic bottle, only two pills are rattling in the bottom of it. s.h.i.+t. I'm somewhat surprised when I feel myself panic over this but then I immediately feel a sense of relief knowing that I have six more waiting for me at the pharmacy. But wait a minute: only six? Those'll get me through one whole day, but what about the next day? The pharmacy closes at nine, but, h.e.l.l, I'm a long way from home and I don't know if I can wrap this up in two hours or not. I'm going to have to. Simple as that. Or-I could call and ask Dingus to pick it up for me, but I don't know if he has any money or not. s.h.i.+t. Why didn't I think of this before?

I pick up the car phone and speed-dial my regular doctor. He's so nice. He reminds me of Dr. Welby. The receptionist answers. "Yes, hi, Lisa, this is Paris Price calling, and I was wondering if I could speak to Dr. Lerner."

"He's with a parient right now. Is it an emergency, or something that can wait a few minutes?"

"Sure, I can wait. Should I call him back?"

"Why don't you do that. Ten minutes would be good."

"Okay," I say and hang up.

I look at the clock. It's 4:45. His office closes at five. Traffic is picking up, moving a litde better at least. I'm almost on the 580, but still have to go over the Dumbarton Bridge and then drive another twenty minutes or more. s.h.i.+t.

I dial my answering machine to listen to my messages, because I was trying to finish up the final proposal for this meeting and didn't answer the photic all day. "h.e.l.lo, Paris, this is Frances Moore, and I do so apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you, but I've had a death in the family and have had to fly to Boston, so I won't be able to personally meet you today, but you can feel free to come out and look at the house. Sophia, the housekeeper, will let you in, and you can take your time and look around for as long as you like. I should be back in four or five days and I'll look forward to hearing your thoughts. Goodbye."

I'm sorry to hear that she has a death in the family, and I sure feel like turning this car around and going home. But of course I'm almost here now, and it would be stupid, because I'll just have to come back anyway. Actually, this is great, because now 1 won't have to talk to her. I can just cruise through the house to get an idea how we can use the s.p.a.ce and I'm out of there.

Message two: "Paris, you there? This is Mom calling. Pick up. She ain't there. Okay, then. Anyway, I just wanted you to know a few things. First of all, my teeth look good but they hurt like h.e.l.l and the dentist said it was gon' take a few weeks to get 'em adjusted just right, but I look like a million dollars when I smile now. And since it's been so hard for me to chew, I done lost nine whole pounds. If I'da known I could lose weight this way, I'da got me some new teeth a long time ago. Anyway, baby, I get to move in my new place next week. They repainting the whole place even though it don't really need it, and I picked out a different color carpet I like and I need to know if you can do me a big favor and I promise not to ask you for nothing for a long long time, I promise. Can you let me borrow or either just send me two thousand dollars so I can put this dining-room set in layaway at Thomasville that would look so good in my new place, and to pay for the difference in the upgrade for the carpet? If it's asking too much, I will understand. You done done enough for me, but I'm just excited. Love you. Call me as soon as you get this message. And tell my grandson to call me!"

Mama Mama Mama. She loves her some Thomasville, I swear. Nine pounds? She also loves to exaggerate. I'll have to see this to believe it. I should ask her to take a picture, and I bet she comes up with some kind of excuse. She's too much. But I love her to death. She's having the time of he r l ife right now. Living in a fantasy world, which she and all of us deserve to experience at least once in our lives. So-yes, Mama, you can put your dining-room furniture in layaway and get your upgraded carpet and move into your almost-but-not-quite-new condominium.

Message three: "Paris, this is your sister, Janelle. Hope you're doing okay. I'm better. Want to talk to you, about George. Among other things. But. I've had him arrested. I know you're not surprised, but call me when you get this message. Oh, and by the way, our brother's in jail again. He goes to court next week for sentencing. He's probably going to get the electric chair. I'm just kidding, and I know I shouldn't be. But, anyway, he shouldn't get more than a year. I'm surprised he hasn't called you. Have you talked to Charlotte lately? She's going through some serious changes. But then again, aren't we all? Call me. Hi to Dingus."

Wow. d.a.m.n. As the World f.u.c.king Turns, again and again and again. I dial Dr. Lerner again, and when the receptionist answers and I tell her it's me, she puts him right on. "h.e.l.lo, Paris. What can I do for you?"

"Well, Dr. Lerner, a few days ago I was jogging and I pulled a hamstring and fell on the pavement and I went to the Emergency Room and they checked me out and I was fine but they gave me some medication for the pain and they told me to follow up with my regular doctor, and I'm calling to see if you can give me a refill on the medication because I'm out of it and it's still hurting something fierce."

"Oh, gee. When did this happen?"

"Four days ago."

"Was it on the Iron Horse trail, by chance? I've taken a few bad falls along there myself."

"As a matter of fact, it was."

"Gotta be careful. So-you saw someone in the ER over here at the Regional Medical Center, did you?"

"Yes I did, but I can't remember who I saw."

"It's okay. I know all those guys anyway. But what kind of pain medication did they prescribe for you?"

"I think it's called Vicodin, and it has an 'E. S.' after it." "Un-huh. You must've taken a pretty hard fall. You have bruising, do you?"

"Sure do."

"I'll call in twenty for you. Would that hold you until I can get a look at you in a few days?"

"I'd like to think so, but, unfortunately, tomorrow I'm going out of town for a week, so maybe we should make it for thirty, just in case?"

"No problem. How about we just make it for forty, and this way you won't have to worry about having any discomfort?"

"Thanks, Dr. Lerner."

"What pharmacy should we call?"

"Walgreen's in Danville."

"We'll call it right in. Are you icing it?"

"I am."