Chapter 3
Dirk
APPOINTMENTS: Lunch with Jamison
Not my best day. With Millie gone two years, I’d finally agreed to retire early and relocate to the city, closer to my children. I’m still getting into the swing of my new life – and now I’ve spilled coffee on a stranger in Jill’s frock shop.
Won’t mention it to the kids. Jamison and Dee are so grown up they now boss me around. Jamison asked me to collect his car after its overnight service; insisted I take a spin in his shiny red convertible, so I visited my sister at her dress store.
The last payment from selling my family medical practice in Franklin came through yesterday, so I wanted to tell Jill in person I’m cancelling her debt to me.
Unfortunately, I had trouble starting Jamison’s fancy car. The kid at the service desk told me I didn’t actually need a key, and when he fiddled with my phone and the engine started up by itself, my old face was as red as the car.
I still had time to drive to Jill’s boutique, surprise her with the good news, and then meet Jamison at his business with the car. He’s promised me lunch in return.
My mistake was to overdo the whole Jill thing. I got take-out coffees for us before dropping in.
I drop in, alright – drop coffee on Jill’s classy customer.
I don’t generally notice women – Millie was my one and only – but I’d be lying if I pretended this one didn’t catch my eye, so ... shapely. In one of Jill’s best gowns – emerald green, sleek as an otter – she reminds me of Elizabeth Taylor.
The coffee lands on the full skirt and I breathe a sigh of relief, glad I avoid giving her beautiful bare back third degree burns. Jill’s horrified. She loves her stock.
Flush with cash for the first time in my life, I take the easy way out – fish out some notes and hand them over to the customer – to let her buy the dress and get it dry-cleaned. She hands the cash to Jill. Win. Always feels good to do the right thing.
Okay. I see the price tag when I helped the lady with the zipper.
Expensive, but all of Jill’s stock is expensive.
Accidents like this must happen from time to time in retail.
Jamison calls it risk management. They even happen in medicine, though I worked like a demon to keep my patients as healthy as possible and heal them fast. Sure kept me busy.
Too busy. Whole decades went by while I wasn’t looking.
Jill frowns at me. She always was a terrible sulk.
Her customer flashes her extraordinary eyes all the way down me and up again, then gives me full beam. Are they violet, or deep green? When she flutters her eyelashes, she has me stuttering like a teenager.
Those eyes are quicksilver. She masks her shock; replaces it with something else – curiosity?
A calculation? I’ve met thousands of people.
As a family practice doctor, I never saw them at their best. For sure, no patient was ever dressed in a gown this alluring; more like farm overalls.
And they were in pain, or sad. This woman’s in great health and raring to go . .. somewhere. With me?
I tear my eyes away from hers; stare down at the eye-catching waistline of the outfit. Frying pan to fire. The woman whips out her phone and asks for mine. Sends herself a message so she has my number; says she’ll pay me back if the stain comes out.
The customer – Lucy – rushes to the changeroom; dress swishing. Then she sticks her head out from behind the change room curtain and dazzles me with a smile.
“You’re far too generous, Dirk,” she says. How does she know my name? Oh yeah. Jill mentioned it. Should I worry?
“No need to dry clean it,” Lucy says, her voice musical as an actor’s. “Let me at least pay half. I was going to buy it anyway, and perhaps I can remove the stains myself.”
“No, please,” I say. I want to see her smile again. “Allow me. And coffee. Let me bring you a fresh coffee, too. Jill?”
“Thank you, Dirk,” says Jill, cleaning cloth in hand, down on her knees. “It’s the least you can do.”
“Oh, Dirk, thank you,” says the woman from behind the change room curtain. “Perfect! Skim latte. One sugar. My only vice.”
Vice. The word has connotations. This Lucy has a voice like artisanal honey – with a hint of double meaning. I smile. I need to get it out of there – fast – so I go to get fresh coffees, including the one for her.
Back at the coffee shop, there’s a queue. I survey the cakes, then change my mind. The last thing Jill needs is more sticky food on her merchandise.
Time is ticking. My parking spot is for fifteen minutes only and the parking enforcement officers are merciless here, so close to downtown, but I’ve given my word. Besides, what’s the price of a parking ticket compared to everything else?
But when I return, I can’t believe it. The woman, Lucy, is sitting in Jamison’s car – sure, she matches the thing; racy – but ...
She looks great there – as if she belongs. Audacious. But as I open my mouth to protest – again, that utterly distracting smile.
She’s done something with her hair that shows off her neck; twisted it up and secured it with ... a pencil?
“Dirk!” she says as she springs out and holds out her hand for her coffee. “Don’t be alarmed. I saved you a parking fine.”
She accompanies me back into Jill’s store, as if I’m on a tv show with her and she’s the elegant hostess, all glamor and ease, and I’m the witless interviewee, being wheeled in for a quick exchange.
Is that it? Have I seen her on tv? Never watch it, though I was interviewed once, way, way back, before the illegal tackle that cracked my head against the goal post, that moment that changed everything.
Back inside the store, Jill takes her coffee. She’s unusually quiet while Lucy beckons me across to the shirts.
As we sip our drinks, Lucy asks my opinion. I know nothing about fashion, beyond what Jill’s told me over the years, about stock and the changing seasons. Long sleeves. Short sleeves. No sleeves.
“What colors match my eyes, please, Dirk?” Lucy says.
Seriously? Still, makes a nice change from staring at bruises and bandages and scars and everything else under the sun. And now that I’m retired, with too much time on my hands and not enough ways to spend it, why not stay a few minutes?