Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (82 page)

The final notebook was only half used and ended three years ago. Pete Harlow was dead. Amos did not describe the death other than to record that he wished he had murdered Harlow rather than allowing him to die of natural causes. Stone wrote, “I have never hated anyone as passionately as I hate Pete Harlow. May he burn in hell throughout eternity."

Most of the entries dealt with his concern that Pete's nephew, Tim Dollar, might discover tapes and other incriminating evidence.

Someone was knocking on the door. Penny rubbed her eyes, looked at the empty coffeepot and then noticed sunlight was beginning to stream through the window, announcing the dawn of a new day. She groggily staggered to the front door and opened it.

“Billy ready to work.” He held a cardboard suitcase in each hand.

“Oh, God, Billy. I forgot you were coming. I've been up all night. I've got to take a nap before we tackle the greenhouses, but come on in.” She led Billy up the staircase to a bedroom across from the one she was using. “Put your things away and look around the house while I take a nap."

“This Billy's room?"

“Yes."

“No."

“What do you mean, ‘no'?"

“Billy sleep in Penny's room."

“Not yet, Billy. Maybe later.” She went to her room and stretched out on the bed. Visions of video cameras and naked, tortured women danced in her head. She thought Billy was taking off her clothes, but she told herself she was dreaming. She thought Billy was having sex with her. She started to tell him the condoms she bought for him were in the bedside table, but then she decided there was no need since it was only a dream.

She was naked and tied to a sawhorse. Her legs were pulled back and strapped beneath her head. They led a Shetland pony to her. She could see his fully erect ugly red penis. She pled with her captors, but they just laughed at her. They walked the pony into position, hovering over her. It was rubbing its penis against her. It found the spot.

She sat up in bed screaming, her naked body covered with perspiration. The clock read two forty-six. She saw the stain on her bed and Billy's semen leaking from her vagina.

“Shit,” she said. “That part wasn't a dream.” She went to the bathroom and douched carefully before stepping into the shower.

She found Billy sitting at the kitchen table, eating a ham sandwich. He smiled sweetly at her.

“Penny wake up,” he said.

“Billy,” she screamed, “you raped me."

His face became contorted. “Billy don't know rape."

“You had sex with me when I didn't want you to."

“Billy do sexual intercourse good,” he smiled.

“No, damn it. That was not good. That was very, very bad."

“Penny mad at Billy?"

“Yes I'm angry with you."

“Penny not like sexual intercourse with Billy?"

“Billy, you raped me."

“Rape is when Billy has sexual intercourse with Penny but Penny don't want to have sexual intercourse?"

“Yes, damn it. You must never do it again."

“Billy sorry. Billy not ever have sexual intercourse with Penny again?"

“I didn't say that, Billy, but I need to teach you how to do it right."

“Billy not do sexual intercourse good?"

“You have a lot to learn,” she said as she began to make a sandwich for herself. “For one thing you must wear a condom."

“Billy not know condom."

“A condom is a thin rubber glove a man wear's on his penis to catch the semen when he ejaculates."

“Semen messy in Penny's pus ... uh, vagina?"

“Yes, it is. But the bad thing is that semen makes babies and I don't want to have a baby right now."

“How semen make baby?"

“I'll explain it to you later,” she said, wolfing down her sandwich. “Promise me you will never have sex with me again unless I ask you to."

“Billy promise."

As she finished her sandwich, Billy beamed and said, “Billy pick vegetables."

“Yes, we need to go to the greenhouses and pick everything that is ripe."

“Billy already pick vegetables."

“Oh, God,” she cried and she hurried to the back door with Billy close behind. She threw open the door to the nearest greenhouse and walked down the rows of tomato plants. There seemed to be no damage. All the plants were full of tomatoes in various stages of ripening.

“Did you pick the tomatoes in this greenhouse?” she asked.

Billy smiled broadly. “Uh huh,” he replied. “Billy pick vegetables in all greenhouses, just like out of mama's garden."

“It looks like you did a good job, Billy, but where are all the vegetables you picked?"

“Man come in truck. He give Billy paper.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and proudly presented Penny with a check for one thousand and fifty dollars. “Billy did good?"

“Billy did very good,” she said and she hugged him. She did not scold him for holding the embrace longer than she intended or for fondling her left breast.

“I can see how busy you are,” Jo said as she was ushered into Dr. McGee's office thirty-five minutes after the appointment hour. “I'll try not to take much of your time."

Mary Lou sat heavily in her desk chair and sighed. “Some days are worse than others,” she said, trying to smile. “All patients are important to me, Jo. Take all the time you need."

“Thank you. Randy and I were watching one of those television news magazine shows a few nights ago. There was a segment on test-tube babies. I can't help but wonder if that might be a possibility for me."

Mary Lou playfully tapped her forehead with the heel of her right hand. “I should have suggested the procedure to you before. I'm sorry. I know how important having a baby is to you. To answer your question, you would need to undergo a careful examination, and so would Randy, but yes, I do think in-vitro fertilization might be a viable option for you."

“Why Randy?"

Mary Lou smiled. “I am assuming you want Randy to be the father."

“Of course."

“We would need to know that his sperm are capable of fertilizing your eggs."

“Well, I'm sure he's all right. Hell, I can tell you from experience that he produces it in great quantity,” Jo laughed.

“The people at the Wake Forest University Medical School in Winston-Salem, have considerable experience with in-vitro fertilization. They have been at it since the late seventies. Would you like for me to arrange an appointment for you?"

“I would like to know something about the procedure first,” Jo replied.

“It's not my specialty, of course, but I can give you a thumbnail sketch. They will examine your eggs and, if necessary, they will use medication or hormone injections to stimulate egg production. At the optimal time, they will harvest eggs from your ovaries. In the laboratory, specialists combine your eggs and Randy's sperm. A few days later, they transfer the resulting embryo to your uterus. The pregnancy then should proceed normally, but I will want to keep a very careful check on your progress."

“It sounds so simple, but my guess is that it isn't."

“From your point of view it is fairly simple. There is, of course, some discomfort associated with the harvesting of your eggs and with the implantation of the embryo. The complicated part is the laboratory work. In recent years, that part of the procedure has improved considerably. They now treat the sperm to increase fertilization capability and implant a single sperm in the healthy egg, guaranteeing success. There have been so many advancements in the field of in-vitro fertilization that you could chose to have twins, triplets, or even more—but I certainly don't advise that. You need to know that occasionally multiple births occur unintentionally."

“It's all so ... so clinical,” Jo said.

“And not nearly as much fun as the old fashioned way,” Mary Lou joked.

“What does all this cost? It sounds expensive."

“I don't know, but I can get that information for you when I call for an appointment. In the meantime, you should check with your health care provider. Not all companies will pay for IVF."

“I'll do that,” Jo said as she stood up and extended her hand. “Go ahead and make the appointment for me."

“Jo,” Mary Lou said as she stood and grasped Jo's hand. “It's none of my business, but I am curious as to why, all of a sudden, you are so determined to have a baby."

“You're not going to like my answer."

“Try me."

“I really like Randy's mother. She wants grandchildren badly. Randy's her only child and therefore her only hope."

“So you're doing this for Randy and his mother."

“Yes, but don't get the idea that Randy is pressuring me. He isn't. Neither of us is too keen about changing dirty diapers."

Mary Lou laughed and wrinkled her nose.

“It's for me too. I'm not the same person I was when I had my tubes tied."

“If you were talking to my husband,” Mary Lou said with a grin on her face, “he would quickly point out that none of us are the same person today that we were yesterday."

“Another reason that I want the baby is to lure Randy's mother to move in with us. She's in a nursing home in Maryland. She doesn't belong there and she's miserable."

“I take it you have invited her and she declined?"

“Yes. She has agreed to visit us in the spring, but I think she just doesn't want to horn in on Randy and me. She doesn't fully realize how much I honestly want her to live with us. I think that if we have a baby for her to help look after it will make a difference. Of course, she also said something about not wanting to leave her doctor."

“I can't blame her for that. The patient-doctor relationship is very important, especially for senior citizens. If Randy's mother is fortunate enough to have confidence in a specialist in geriatrics, she should think long and hard before moving away."

“Oh, Dr. Wood is not a gerontologist—she's a GP. She's a black lady who couldn't find a suitable position. Apparently she's just working at the home until something opens up for her."

“What did you say her name is?” Mary Lou asked with obvious renewed interest.

“Are you looking for someone to help in the clinic?"

“I sure am. I haven't had any success yet in finding a doctor interested in a small town practice, but if I don't get some help soon, I think Mack may leave me."

Jo noticed there was neither a smile on the doctor's face nor mirth in her voice. “I have her phone number in here somewhere,” Jo said as she dug into her large purse. “Her name is Angela Wood. I haven't met her, but she sounds nice over the telephone.” Jo unfolded a torn bit of yellow paper. “Here it is, Dr. McGee."

Mary Lou copied the name and telephone number on her pad. “You say you talked with her on the telephone?"

“Yes. Randy's mother insists she does not belong in the health care unit. Randy and I could not get a satisfactory answer out of the nurses, so I called Dr. Wood to get the straight dope."

“And?"

“Dr. Wood agrees that Mrs. Nickels does not need to be in the health care unit, but she does need to be somewhat supervised. Mrs. Nickels is subject to mini-strokes, during which she may momentarily lose her balance or even consciousness. Dr. Wood says its not uncommon as people grow older and that it is unlikely to be life threatening. The home's insistence that she live in the health care unit has to do with liability. If she were to continue to live alone in one of the rental apartments and injured herself in a fall, the home, knowing of her condition, would be subject to a liability suit."

“The new American past-time—sue the bastard,” Mary Lou said, shaking her head. “Liability insurance costs me a fortune and I have no choice but to pass it on to my patients. Listen, I thank you for providing Dr. Wood's telephone number. I'll call her before the day is out. If I can convince her to join my practice, it may provide just the incentive Randy's mother needs to make the move to Dot."

Jo checked her watch as she waited for the elevator. I'm late, but not much, she thought. Thank goodness the clinic and our new offices are in the same building.

Randy and the three prospective editors were sitting in the freshly furnished office of the Dollar Publishing Company. Jo thought the job applicants were surely the most homely looking trio God ever created.

“I'm sorry I'm late, folks,” she said. “I had a doctor's appointment and she was running behind schedule."

“Jo, let me introduce you to Isabel Jacobson, Albert Blakely, and Arthur Turner. Lady and gentlemen, this is my bride, Jo Nickels."

Everybody shook hands and, as they sat down, Jo asked, “How was your flight?"

“Frightening,” Isabel laughed. “The plane was on schedule and arrived in Charlotte ahead of schedule. That's never happened to me before."

Randy coughed, indicating he wanted to end the small talk. “Jo, I've given these good people the grand tour of Dot and we were just beginning to look at the approved budget."

“What do you think of our fair town?” Jo asked.

“Bucolic,” replied Turner.

Responding to the blank look on Jo's face, Blakely added with an ingratiating smile, “It's not a curse word, Mrs. Nickels. It means rustic, pastoral, uncomplicated. Dot is a far cry from New York City."

“I am amazed at the prices down here,” Isabel said. “We ordered a fabulous lunch at Dot's Diner for less than five dollars, and Randy showed us some lovely new homes for under three hundred thousand."

“First time I ever ate southern fried chicken,” chipped in Albert Blakely.

“Me too,” laughed Turner, “but it sure as hell won't be the last."

For four hours the group pored over the budget, discussed goals and concepts and hammered out a mission statement that looked good on paper but meant nothing in reality.

After exchanging glances with Jo, Randy at last said, “Folks, this meeting has lasted so long that we must skip supper in order to make your flight back to New York. As far as Jo and I are concerned, you are the people we want working on our team. I'm sorry you think our salary offer is too low. It's the best we can do, and I think it is a damn good offer. As Miss Jacobson pointed out earlier, the cost of living is much lower in Dot than in New York City. I hope that all of you decide to accept our offer, but I must ask for your decision within one week. Now, we'd better get on our way to the airport."