Page 1 of Man Glitter
1
Finnie
I popped a baby aspirin in my mouth and swished it down with decaf coffee. I desperately wished for it to be magically caffeinated, but one cup of the real stuff was all I allowed myself. One cup meant good health, two cups meant a dependance on a substance. And I, Finnie Dorado, was dependent on no one and nothing.
Putting the coffee cup down on the chipped tile counter, I surveyed the damage. Twenty-four hundred square feet of brand new carpet and hardwood floors. It was gorgeous flooring, put in by my new contractor, Titus, before I moved in yesterday, but I could barely see it right now, what with the stacks of cardboard boxes in the way. I had some unpacking to do. Like weeks of it if I didn’t tackle it straight away.
My ponytail swished against my back, the tank top and jean shorts I’d changed into signaling I meant business. If I only stopped unpacking for regularly scheduled meals, I could have at least the kitchen and the living room unpacked by end of day. My bedroom was more or less already set up from last night’s activities when I was too excited to sleep.
By lunch, my hands were aching from unwrapping place settings and glassware for twelve, but most of the dishes were in their respective cupboards. By dinnertime, when I made a turkey breast sandwich and called it good, I had the entire kitchen set up. Even my bright turquoise dish towel sat on the handle of the stove like I could whip up a pie at a moment’s notice. Not that I would. Pie for one person seemed too much hassle.
“Good Lord, my feet are about to fall off,” I moaned to the empty house.
This called for wine.
I grabbed the bottle of pinot grigio I’d placed in the fridge after yesterday’s grocery run, finding the cork screw on my first try. I thanked my past self who knew I’d need the sustenance and poured a glass. Yep, that’s right. Just one glass. Two would be overindulgence.
I took the glass of wine into the living room and sat on the carpet, my back to the wall, surveying all the boxes I still had to deal with. Most of them were labeled “Books” which meant they’d have to stay in a box for now. My last place in San Francisco featured built-in bookcases on either side of the fireplace. My new house didn’t, so I’d have to buy some shelves to display my ridiculous book collection. I didn’t overindulge in much, but I made an exception for books. Non-fiction to be exact. There weren’t many topics I wasn’t interested in.
The late evening breeze fluttered in through the open window, the perfect balm to my overheated skin. Moving was hard. Which was why I intended to put down roots in Auburn Hill and avoid moving again at all costs. My business idea just had to work.
I took another sip of wine and leaned my head back against the wall, eyes closed, envisioning my new urgent care practice. In my mind, it ran like a well-oiled machine. The treatment rooms would be pristine, the equipment state-of-the-art, and the waiting room cheery, full of patients looking to me for my expertise.
A loud racket outside my window had my eyes flying open and a frown at the ready.
“What the hell is that?” I said out loud, the words nearly drowned out by something that sounded an awful lot like a saw. An industrial sized saw.
I stood up, groaning at the ache in my feet and the way my back screamed in agony, and looked out the window, seeing a light on at my neighbor’s place. Trees obscured my vision, but did nothing to abate the noise. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. It was early on a Sunday night. No need for me to go over there and demand he or she shut that thing down. But mark my words. If I heard that racket one minute after ten o’clock when the noise ordinance for Auburn Hill took effect, I’d be marching over there to bang on the door. Proper sleep was imperative for good health. Everybody knew that.
After managing to move an entire couch, two chairs, and one end table I could only guess was made of solid lead, I called it quits. A lukewarm shower and my comfy pajamas became the perfect end to a physically demanding night. The loud noise had shut off sometime while I moved furniture, leaving only the symphony of crickets outside my window. All was right in my world.
Pulling back my lavender scented covers, I climbed in and laid my head down. I’d give myself some time to envision my meeting with the mayor later in the week. I’d have my pitch down perfect. This town needed an urgent care, and I was the physician most qualified to spearhead it.
My lips tugged into a smile as I envisioned the treatment rooms again. In my mind, I was rushing from one room to the other to help a patient who desperately needed me, when that damn machine somewhere next door fired up again. My eyelids flew open, and I sat up in bed, seething. Before I could count to ten, I pulled a sweater on, shoved my feet into a pair of Crocs I used for watering plants, and trotted across the side yard toward the beam of light next door.
In my righteous indignation and haste to set this person straight about being neighborly, I tripped over a tree stump and fell to the ground, leaves sticking everywhere to my body. Who knew what other organisms I’d landed in.
“Goddammit, Finnie,” I grumbled, squinting at my hand, which had taken the brunt of the fall instead of my face.
I should have stopped to grab a flashlight, but that’s what I got for not counting to ten before I reacted. I couldn’t see much in the dark, but based on the sting, I figured I’d abraded my palm. The machine cut off and by the time I’d stood and whacked all the leaves off my body, the light beam had shut off too.
“Great. Just great,” I shook my burning fist at my unidentified neighbor and turned back to my house. I needed my first aid kit and another shower.
* * *
I was in that blissful state of half asleep, half awake, about to slide into dreamland when the machine started up again the next night. My eyes flew open, and the rage consumed me in an instant.
“Not again, good sir!” I said out loud, my finger punching the air.
Dramatic, I know, but two nights in a row of that god awful noise was enough to try any woman’s patience. I wasn’t known for good humor anyway, if the feedback reports from my job as an ER doctor in San Francisco were true.
“She shouted at me for not vomiting in the spit cup.”
“That doctor should wear a muzzle. Great stitch technique, but…”
“Listen, I tried to hold the baby in when I saw who was on duty in the ER, but there was no keeping him in there when I was already dilated to ten. I’m going to suggest to Disney their next evil villain should be named Finnie.”
Despite the feedback that I should have taken under advisement, I was ready for action this time. I threw on the sweater, jammed my feet in my Crocs, paused to grab the flashlight, and then flew out of there like a woman on a mission. It was after eleven for God’s sake and I had precious sleep to get if I was to finish my business plan in time for my meeting with the mayor.
