Page 23 of Single-Minded
“It’s busy in here,” he says to no one in particular.
“It’s the VIP room,” cracks Darcy. “Don’t tell anybody.”
He nods politely, pauses awkwardly as though he doesn’t quite know what to do next, and then exits the pantry as I start rummaging around on a low shelf, looking for another can of Sterno.
“Why do you always do that?” asks Darcy. “‘Not that kind of doctor’… you should stop selling yourself short.”
“I’m not selling myself short. But if I don’t clarify right off the bat then people start telling me about their gallbladder surgery, or their erection issues, or the most recent color of their snot. I’m an environmental psychologist. The closest I come to medical advice is to say, ‘And how do you feel about that?’”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing about his erection issues,” says Darcy, peeking out of the pantry to catch the rear view. “Although I’d be shocked if he had any. That guy is pure testosterone.” She sighs dramatically.
“Sterno Man is gay,” I say. “What straight man knows about chafing dishes?”
“Sterno Man is yummy.” She sighs, and nonchalantly hikes up her strapless bra. “A girl can dream.”
18
“You did good tonight, kid. I know this had to be tough on you,” whispers Michael’s father, Fred, as he ties up the trash bags in the kitchen to take out to the curb.
“Thanks, Fred, that means a lot,” I say, hugging him tightly. You have to love Fred. Here he is trying to be supportive of Michael but he’s still looking out for me. Fred has been like a second dad to me from the time Michael and I first met. Would that go away too? I wonder how he’s dealing with everything. We haven’t talked much. It’s not personal, I’ve barely talked to or seen anyone other than clients. I’ve just been trying to figure out how to get my life back together.
Fred’s a retired accountant. He’s a simple guy who never remarried after Michael’s mom passed away, and spends his every waking hour watching sports. The fact that his only son is an announcer for ESPN is without a doubt the greatest point of pride in his entire life. At Thanksgiving he always jokes that he wants “Father of Michael Miller, ESPN Commentator” engraved on his headstone.
Michael joins us in the kitchen. “Nice shirt, Dad.”
Fred smiles. “Son. Do you kids need anything else before I go?”
“We’re good, Dad. And thanks again for everything,” says Michael, giving his dad a long hug and walking him to the back door.
“Night, Fred!” yells Darcy, as she appears in the kitchen entry carrying a tray loaded with seven or eight drink glasses. She sets them on a tiny space of vacant countertop next to the sink, and throws herself onto a bar stool. Samantha trails behind with a couple of empty serving plates, which she sets precariously on top of a large pile of dishes in the sink.
“Are you staying in the guest room tonight?” I ask Darcy and Sam.
“Maybe,” says Darcy. Sam shrugs.
Michael returns to the kitchen and Darcy howls. “Oh my gawd, you were totally flirting with that hot Cuban guy infront of your dad.”
“I couldn’t help myself.” Michael laughs, downing what’s left of his drink. “Don’t be obnoxious,” he says. “That hot Cuban guy has a name.”
“My apologies,” says Darcy. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know!” Michael roars with laughter. “But I’m almost positive he had one.”
Sam cracks up too, and the three of them sit there, laughing hysterically.
“You’re not just out, you’reall the wayout.” Sam laughs. “And your wife! You flirted with another guy in front of your wife!”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I say, rummaging around for my wineglass. There is not enough alcohol in the world to make this less obnoxious.
“Somebody has to,” Sam says, nodding toward Michael. “You need the practice. Watch and learn, baby.”
“No thanks,” I say.
“You might feel that way now,” insists Darcy, “but you’re probably going to want to have sex again before you die.” She takes a gulp of a nearby drink, and then looks at Michael, and starts laughing again, practically snorting the drink right out of her nose.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
Darcy howls with laughter. “You’ve only ever had sex with a gay man,” she says. “You’re a thirty-one-year-oldvirgin!” She roars and downs the rest of her drink. Michael and Sam start cracking up too.
