Chapter 16 #2
“What you do in your own time is up to you.” He paused. “I won’t need you in Houston next week. It’s only one night.” Was that rude? Had he just hurt her feelings?
“Okay. I’ll double-check your flight and hotel and all that.
” She paused, and he waited, hoping she’d say something profound.
Something that would help him understand the chaos of feelings he was having right now.
“By the way, do you know who owns that sweet dog? The golden retriever who romps on the beach most days?”
“No. I’ve actually only seen her with you.”
“Huh. It was pretty cold out the other day, and she was all alone for a while. I—ah, never mind. Have a nice night, Lorenzo. See you tomorrow.”
Her feelings did not seem hurt in the least. “Very good. Wait. Tomorrow?”
“My brother’s bachelor party.”
“Oh.” His heart fell with a nearly audible thud.
She laughed. “I feel the same way, but he’s my brother.
The bus will pick you up around six.” A bus?
“Dinner first, then whatever else Austin has planned. The words mini-golf were mentioned, so maybe it won’t be all bad.
See you then.” With that, she gave him a quick smile, grabbed her backpack, and left.
He heard the garage door open, then close, saw the flash of her headlights cross his living room wall, and let the quiet settle around him.
A night in his lovely home. Alone. And while that had always been something he looked forward to—cherished, even—it felt a little empty. Hollow.
Maybe he should get a dog.
* * *
Why had he agreed to this particular circle of hell?
Lorenzo asked himself as the bus lurched around a corner.
There were so many people on this bus—himself, Winnie, Dante, the elderly Mr. Smith, Grady, who was married to the bookstore sister, Robbie himself, and the bride’s father, Victor Wolfe, an entertainment attorney.
Then there were half a dozen man-children who whooped and yelled and chugged.
Victor Wolfe had become their god for the night, as he told stories of celebrities behaving badly and was paying for the entire night.
It hadn’t started out awful…dinner at the Chatham Cut, an excellent steakhouse.
He sat between Winnie’s grandfather and Rosie’s father.
Robert Smith, whom everyone else called Grandpop, was charming, slightly hard of hearing, and wore a well-tailored suit.
If Winnie had told either her grandfather or brother, he’d slept with her, they didn’t seem to hold it against him.
Victor Wolfe, in his mid-sixties, was urbane and charming, clapping Lorenzo on the back and asking him to pick out the wine.
“Make it top-drawer,” he said. “Even if it’s wasted on some of these infants.
” Lorenzo did enjoy that part—like himself, Victor believed alcohol should be excellent and consumed responsibly.
The sommelier loved their party for that, and also loved the man-children, who drank less responsibly and had no problem saying, “What do you think, Vic? Another bottle?” to which Victor would respond, “Your livers won’t thank you, but go ahead, boys. ”
Lorenzo indulged in one glass of Tenuta Casanova di Neri Cerretalto 2016 (blackberry and plum, dried cherry, tobacco, limestone, graphite and soil).
He ordered chicken Milanese, since he’d already had red meat that month, and listened to Grandpop debate whether or not he should pop the question to his own significant other.
“While she is quite lovely, I don’t fancy changing domiciles,” he told Lorenzo.
“Why, I might get lost in a new place! Or wander into someone else’s yard.
I can do that in Wellfleet. They all know me.
The other day, in fact, I wandered over to the school during recess!
My great-granddaughter was there, and believe it or not, the child didn’t know how to double Dutch.
Happily, I still do! Granted, my knee gave out, and I collapsed in a heap, but the little children were very kind, and of course I knew the first responder, and we ended up going out for lunch rather than the hospital. ”
Lorenzo was grateful for the old man’s meandering tales. All he had to do was nod and make humming noises. Across the table, he watched as Austin, the head man-child, put his arm around Winnie’s shoulders and brayed with laughter. Winnie, he noted, smiled.
He should not have found that irritating.
When they were done, Lorenzo was instructed to get back into the rented van, the garish, embarrassing kind with neon lights and loud, awful music.
Worse, everyone was singing about bringing sexy back.
Even Grandpop. Lorenzo felt hives forming on his neck.
Would it be too rude to put his hands over his ears? Or to feign illness?
They were dropped off at a mini-golf course, broke into smaller groups and hit the balls through giant rabbit legs and under a windmill.
It was fine. Lorenzo employed a little calculus and won within his group (the one that didn’t have Winnie in it).
Then it was into the arcade, the likes of which Lorenzo hadn’t been in since he was roughly ten years old.
More whooping and loud music and celebrating that Ms. Pac-Man had defeated her foes.
“Last stop is the best stop!” Austin bellowed as they once again got into the party van. “Glitter Grotto, here we come!” Many cheers ensued.
Oh, God. Not a craft place. He’d heard about those wine-and-paint places. Glitter? He’d have to strip down in the garage to ensure none got back into the house.
“Don’t even think about abandoning me, brother,” Dante said. “I need you to fight off the women for me.” Yes. He imagined the Glitter Grotto attracted more women than men. His sisters would probably like a craft night. Maybe he’d get them a gift card.
Unfortunately, the Glitter Grotto was not a craft shop. It was a strip club, he learned as they pulled into the parking lot. A neon sign showed a woman wrapped around a pole.
Lorenzo lurched to a stop. “I’ll call an Uber,” he said to no one in particular, and turned to go.
“You are not leaving me alone with a bunch of nearly naked women,” Dante said with a grin. “You know they’ll come for me.”
“Who could blame them?” said Winnie, looping her arm through Dante’s.
“That’s why you’re my favorite sister-in-law,” Dante said. “Don’t tell the others.”
“Are you kidding?” she said. “I’m texting them right now. Come on, Lorenzo, you can’t bail now. If I can take it, so can you.”
With a sigh, he followed. He could be home, working on the proposal for a self-sealing suture that would protect against leaks or micro-perforations in vascular repair. Instead, he was here, where watered-down cocktails, loud music, and soft pornography abounded.
Lorenzo obviously loved the female form; he was straight, he was a physician, he appreciated the aesthetic beauty of women.
He just didn’t want to see them sliding around on a pole of dubious cleanliness, or popping their asses in his face, or doing slow, painful-looking splits in their eight-inch heels.
If he wanted to think about naked women, he’d rather just picture Winnie in that big bed in San Francisco.
But ten minutes later, he was sitting at a bar he’d just swabbed down with an alcohol wipe (he always had two or three in his wallet), nursing a bottle of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (twist-off cap, so the bartender hadn’t touched it).
“She’s very graceful,” said Grandpop, who was sitting to Lorenzo’s left. “I wonder if she studied ballet. Young lady, are you perhaps a ballerina for your day job?”
“Ahn’t you a dahlin’,” said the woman in a thick Worcester accent. “Nope! I’m just naturally limbah.”
“Well, here is twenty dollars for you, my dear. Congratulations on your many gifts!”
She bent down to kiss him on the cheek, and Lorenzo leaned as far away as humanly possible to avoid contact with her shoulder (or any other part). “Robert, I think I’ll, um, check on Robbie,” Lorenzo said.
“You do that,” Grandpop said. “I’m rather enchanted by this lovely wood nymph here. What’s your name, my dear?”
“Sapphyah.”
“Sapphire? How unusual! And how creative your parents were to name you after a jewel.”
“Welp, my real name’s Mahtha. I just use Sapphyah on the stage.”
“Very smart,” Grandpop commended. “Martha is also beautiful name, but I see your point about anonymity. You know, if I were fifty years younger, I’d just ask for your phone number, Sapphire. You’re a very hard worker!”
Lorenzo wove his way through the cheering bro-storm and finally spied Winnie, Robbie, Grady and Dante sitting at a table in the corner.
“Enough glitter for you, Lorenzo?” Robbie asked, grinning.
“More than enough. Your grandfather is having a wonderful time, however.”
Winnie glanced over. “He’s probably about to adopt her.”
“Or marry her,” Robbie said. “Winster, we wouldn’t mind a step-grandmother younger than we are, would we?”
“Whatever makes Grandpop happy,” Winnie said, clinking her bottle against his.
“Lorenzo, do you practice mostly at Mass General?” Grady asked, and Lorenzo was so, so grateful to talk about something normal. Grady had also gone to Harvard, he learned, though their paths hadn’t crossed.
“Dr. Santini? Is that you? Oh, my God, wicked!”
Lorenzo turned and found himself eye-to-nipple with someone. Rather, eye to a nipple covered by a black leather studded thing five centimeters in diameter. In order to avoid being blinded (and sued), he jerked back, nearly toppling his chair. Robbie leaned forward and righted him, laughing.
“How do you know Dr. Santini?” Winnie asked, and her eyes were dancing with glee.
“I’m an intern at Cape Cod Hospital! This is amazing! Dr. Santini, listen. I hope I’m not being too forward—”
“You are,” Lorenzo said, tilting his head to be as far away from her left breast as possible.
“I get it. You’re celebrating something?” she asked.
“It’s my bachelor party,” Robbie said. “I take it you work here?”
“That’s right. The tips are a lot better than at the ice cream stand, you know what I’m saying?
My name’s Greer Henderson, stage name Luscious.
Nice to meet you and congratulations!” She leaned across the table to shake Robbie’s hand, and this time Lorenzo had to slide out of his seat to avoid being hit in the face by her punk-rock pasties.
In addition to the, ah, coverings, she wore a leather thong and ridiculously high heels.
Her feet would be deformed before she was forty.
“Dr. Santini, I would kill to get into grand rounds with you,” Greer said, looking up at him.
Her eyelids were encrusted with glitter, and he could see a blob of glue on her false eyelashes.
Glue, near the human eye. Ridiculous. “I’m just an intern, but I feel strongly that I’m heading for surgery. Do you have any advice?”
He glanced at his companions. “Yes. My advice would be not to approach me in public.”
“That’s cold, Lorenzo,” Dante chided. “She’s seizing an opportunity to pick your mighty brain. Now’s as good a time as any, right?”
Later, he would kill his brother and apologize to Lark.
“Greer, sit down,” Robbie said, and she did without apparent concern about the cleanliness of the chair.
“Lorenzo is an incredible mentor,” Winnie said. “You were just talking about that in San Francisco, weren’t you? Mentoring young medical students?”
He took a slow breath, turned to this Greer person and, looking only at her hairline, said, “Here’s my advice, Dr. Henderson.
Learn anatomy in theory and in practice.
Think in three dimensions. Spend twenty minutes a day practicing suturing and knots, beginning now.
Stop wearing those ridiculous shoes or you won’t be able to stand for twelve hours in an OR.
Listen to the nurses. They will know more than you for the next decade.
Don’t be defensive when criticized. Learn the instruments.
Start training yourself to function on four hours or less of sleep.
Show up early. Don’t ask questions before trying to answer them yourself.
Keep a journal of lessons learned from your mistakes and don’t make them again. Best of luck.”
Winnie, Robbie, Dante and Grady burst into applause. Greer said, “Thank you so much, Dr. Santini! I’m so glad I ran into you! Everyone’s gonna be so jealous I got a one-on-one with Dr. Satan! Can I give you a hug?”
“No,” he said. “Winnie, help me.”
Winnie was laughing so hard tears sparkled in her eyes, and for a second, Lorenzo felt like smiling.
She stood up, put herself between Greer and himself, and said, “Greer, if you really want to make a good impression on Dr. Santini, maybe don’t mention we dragged him to a strip club for my brother’s bachelor party, okay?
He’s here under duress, and only because he’s a good guy. ”
“Oh, yeah, sure! I get it, a hundred percent.” She looked at Lorenzo, and he quickly averted his eyes. “But can I sit in for grand rounds next time you’re in Hyannis?”
The woman knew when to press an advantage, he’d give her credit for that. “Done.”
“Heck yeah! Well, I’ve taken enough of your time,” she said to the rest of the group. “Happy wedding! I’m sure she’s a lucky woman, or he’s a lucky man, or whatever. Mazel tov!”
“Robbie,” Winnie said, “Lorenzo and I are leaving, okay? Enjoy the rest of the night, and keep in mind that it’s already 1:30, so you should be heading home. Grady, don’t let Grandpop spend our inheritance on tipping the ladies. Dante, you’re perfect. Give Lark a kiss from me.”
Then she took Lorenzo’s hand and towed him through the bro-crowd and other patrons into the blissfully cold night air. The quiet was deafening in comparison.
“Want a raise?” he asked, but she just grinned, let go of his hand, which then felt strangely useless, and called them an Uber.