Page 26 of Perfect Mess

The smart thing for me to do would have been to rip up Jack’s business card, have a hypnotist erase all my memories, and then join a convent in Tibet.

Then it occurred to me. That’s what the old Mary would have done. Run away and hide. Curl up on the bathroom floor in the fetal position and let life kick her around. But I wasn’t the old Mary, I was the new Mary. And the new Mary didn’t back down from a …fight?Challenge?Super hot, once unattainable guy who, for some strange reason, showed a hint of interest?

The truth was, I had no idea what was going on or why it was happening. Was I still physically attracted to Jack Thompson? Of course.Who wouldn’t be?Was I intrigued by the potential possibilities?Guilty as charged.Did I want to prove to myself that after twenty years I was no longer the Queen of the Geeks?Bingo.

It wasn’t that hard to find him, although the list of people with the name Jack Thompson was surprisingly long. After adding a filter for the keyword “Winter Park”, the town listed on Jack’s business card, I found a reference to a Dr. Jack Thompson in the blog archives of Modern Podiatry.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Because I thought the same thing. A podiatrist? What kind of man enjoys spending all day looking at feet? Feet are all wrinkly. They can be hairy. A lot of times they smell. But then I realized something. A man who knows his way around a foot is bound to give one hell of a foot massage.

After closing my laptop, I glanced over at the bed where Purrfect was curled up against the pillow. She glared at me as if I was to blame for interrupting her beauty sleep.

I hopped in the shower, shaved everything that needed shaving, then shotgunned an entire banana kale smoothie.

After applying my best make-up, I doused myself in perfume, then wiggled my way into the sexy red dress I saved for special occasions. The one that showed off my calves and made my ass look like I did squats every day.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I told Purrfect.

A whisker twitched.

“I filled up your dish with cat treats.” My strategy was to bribe her with food to mitigate the inevitable cat-tastrophe the inside of my apartment would endure. Like a cat-nado. Or a purr-icane.

“Just try not to destroy anything. Please.” She didn’t make me any promises.

* * *

Traffic waslight that early in the morning, so it was easy to get across town. I had an appointment at the nail salon, the first appointment of the day. I ordered something off the VIP Deluxe menu called the Velvet Cucumber, which, coincidentally, was also the stage name of someone Janet and I met on a road trip to Fort Lauderdale back in college.

“Mimosa Mrs. Mary?” The receptionist presented a tall glass of fizzy refreshment on a silver tray.

“It’s Miss. And yes. Thank you.”

Sinking deeper into the massage chair, Vivian, the nail technician, buffed my cuticles, wedged cucumber slices between my toes, then propped my feet up on a soft velvet pillow. The candy red polish was a perfect match for my dress. A slathering of cucumber lotion made my feet smell like spring.

“Another mimosa, Miss Mary?” Vivian dug her thumbs into the back of my calf muscles, firm hands kneading away like she was making a loaf of sourdough.

I checked my watch. I still had plenty of time before my big date. “Why yes, thank you, don’t mind if I do.” Sixty minutes of VIP Deluxe pampering does wonders for one’s mental state. By the time the vibrations from the massage chair subsided, the emotional traumas of my recent ordeals had all washed away on a velvet pillow boat in a river of cucumbers.

After tipping generously, I left the salon and scoped out the tall glass building across the street. I couldn’t help but smile at my own clever brilliance. Strategically, I had booked my pedicure appointment at that salon because of the proximity to that building. A five-minute walk later and I was there.

As I walked through the parking lot, another red BMW caught my eye, almost the same color and model as mine. The personalized plate read, DRMEOW.A fellow cat lover? Hmmm.

As I got closer to the building, I saw a directory listing the business occupants. My heart skipped a beat. There it was, on the right-hand side, in gold lettering near the bottom of the marble slab.

Suite 250. Jack Thompson, M.D.

Like I said, C-L-E-V-E-R B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-C-E.

I took several deep breaths, then made my way to the front desk of Suite 250. I scribbled my signature on the sign-in sheet. My hand shook so badly from nerves it was even less legible than usual.

The receptionist looked up at me from behind the desk. Her name tag read, “Susan”. I tried to smile but when I glimpsed myself in the plexiglass, my face looked like I was about to barf.

“Do you have an appointment?” asked Susan.

“Yes,” I replied.Why was my voice two octaves higher?

“And your name?”

“Mary. Burns. Mary Burns. With a B. And an M.”

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