Dog Training The American Male (26 page)

He found himself outside, the
spots in his vision partially blinding him, causing his heart to race faster.
He managed to locate the Volkswagen van. Keying in, he started the engine, not
to drive (he still couldn’t see), just to power the A/C, which hadn’t run cold
since the unit began leaking Freon six months ago. He crawled in back, feeling
the thick brown shag carpet beneath him as he collapsed face-first on a down
pillow. He rolled over onto his back, hot and sweating in the airless metal
box, suffering and suffocating—hyperventilating thoughts at the moment still
too frightening to consider as the migraine stabbed him in the left eye.

Trapped in purgatory, desperate
to keep from falling into his own private Hell, he felt for the
battery-operated fan, purchased a year ago when he was forced to live in his
vehicle, out of work, out of money, out of options.

The breeze momentarily restored
his sanity.

The rumble in his gut shattered
it.

Sliding open the side door, he leaned
out and puked, the ferocity of the act igniting every blood vessel in his head
as his brain sought to restore equilibrium.

He finished, slammed the door
closed, and searched the back of the van, desperate to quench the burning
sensation in his esophagus. Locating a long-forgotten bottle of water, he swished
the hot remains in his mouth before swallowing, then laid back down, his body
trembling until finally, mercifully, he passed out.

Several hours later, he stirred
in his sauna refuge to Sanjay banging on the side of the van. The migraine had
passed, leaving him with a dull hangover.

“Jacob, come inside please. My
uncle wishes to speak with you.”

* * * *
*

“You’re fired.” Amir
Patel delivered
the news from behind his immaculate desk.

“Please don’t fire me, Mr. Patel.
I just had a bad morning.”

“A bad morning? My friend, you
are in a state of denial. You hate your job, you hate your co-workers, you
speak with disrespect to our clients, and from observing the way in which you
live, I imagine you are at the top of your own shit list. I like you, Jacob,
but what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. What does the
elephant say?”

“The elephant says you are an
asshole.” Patel shook his head, as if to settle an internal debate. “Answer my
questions, and do not lie to me. Are you self-medicating?”

“No.”

“Drinking?”

“Occasionally.”

“Are you seeing a therapist?”

“Sort of. She’s not treating me;
we’re just renting a house together. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Apologize.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter. Apologize,
start seeing a therapist, get on an exercise regimen, speak to a medical doctor
about prescribing an anti-depressant, then come see me next week, dressed in a
white collared shirt, black slacks, and matching dress shoes. If you’ve done
everything I asked I’ll start you out on service calls using one of our company
vans. It’s less money, but it’s a job. You can thank the elephant if you get
that far.”

* * * *
*

The waiting room
at the gynecology
center was packed with women, Dr. Cope running an hour behind schedule. Wanda
grabbed the next chart from the receptionist and opened the door, calling out,
“Cory Verdoliva?”

The forty-eight-year-old mother
of two gathered her belongings, wondering how long she’d have to wait in the
exam room.

Wanda handed the brunette a
plastic cup and clean dressing gown. “Bathroom’s on the right. Pee in the cup,
leave it in the cupboard, then wait in room three and get into this gown, Dr.
Cope will be right with you.”

Wanda was about to close the door
when she spotted Jacob entering the waiting room. “Damn, boy. You look like two
miles of bad road.”

“I need to see Vin.”

“Go wait in his office; I’ll let
him know you’re here.”

Another patient grabbed the door
before Wanda could close it. “Nurse, I’ve been waiting an hour. How much longer
will it be?”

“Not long, Ms. Kirsten.”

“Not long? How many more hours is
not long? I am so tired of doctors over-booking their schedules.”

“Yeah, it sucks, don’t it.”

“Is that your response?”

“Well, I could tell you the
insurance companies ain’t payin’ like they’re supposed to, forcing doctors to
book more patients just so they can afford their malpractice insurance, but you
don’t really care about the
why
, ya’ll just want to bitch and maybe
extract a little payback for those of us making you wait.”

“It just seems like things are
moving extra slow today.”

“Well, we ain’t given pedicures
back there. We’re knee-deep in smelly, leaky, yeast-infected vaginas. Ya’ll
want speed? Get your pootie tuned up at
Jiffy-Lube
. Otherwise, sit your
cute little ass down and wait ‘til I call you.”

* * * *
*

Jacob entered his
brother’s office.
Vincent Cope’s desk was covered with stacks of medical files, his two walls
with Samurai swords and martial arts weaponry. A suit of Japanese armor adorned
a human skeleton.

Damn. Yoko would love this
shit.

Jacob removed a short sword from
its perch, recognizing it as a blade used by Samurai to commit
Seppuku
,
a ritual suicide that involved gutting the stomach. Situating himself on the
edge of his brother’s desk, pressing the tip of the steel blade against his
shirt-covered belly, he imagined himself as a depressed Samurai warrior, about
to meet his death—

—when the door suddenly flew open
and Ruby Kleinhenz rushed in, her naked features flirting with the front of her
half-buttoned patient’s gown.

Startled, Jacob stabbed himself
with the blade, the jolting pain causing him to knock over the skeleton clad in
its ancient suit of Japanese armor.

“Jacob, are you okay?”

“Fine . . . good.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” He looked down at the
specks of blood spreading across his tee-shirt. “It’s okay, just a flesh wound.
Why are . . . what are you doing here?”

“I was waiting to see your
brother in the exam room across the hall when I saw you come in.”

“I meant, why are you in here? In
my brother’s private office . . . naked.”

“It’s been three weeks since my
surgery; I just wanted your opinion.” She lifted the front of her gown,
exposing her shaved vagina. “Didn’t your brother do a great job on my labia?”

Jacob felt the blood rushing from
his face as his fingers pressed the torn tee-shirt against his stab wound. “Uh,
great.”

Vincent entered in a huff. “Jacob,
what the hell are you doing in here . . . Ruby? Pull your
gown down and get back to your room, you lunatic. Ah, hell, look at my Samurai
armor—and you dislocated Red Skeleton’s collar bone!” He rushed to aid the fallen
icon, noticing his brother’s pale complexion. “Jacob . . . are
you bleeding?”

“Yes, please . . .”

Jacob’s eyes rolled up—Vin
catching him as he fainted.

LOVE
HURTS

Jacob opened his
eyes. He was lying on an exam table, his lower belly in agony. Through his
delirium, he could make out his older brother washing his hands at the sink . . . 
scrubbing
up for major surgery?

“Vin? Vinnie . . .”

“Hey turd-blossom, didn’t Dad
teach you anything? Suicide comes
after
you get married.”

“Sick bastard. Just tell me the
truth . . . how bad is it? Did I slice open the intestine?
Will I have to wear a colostomy bag like Dad?”

Vin peeled open a bandage and
adhered it to Jacob’s wound. “Four stitches. It only needed two but I’m a
Zorro
fanatic. See me in a week and I’ll take them out. Or we could let Ruby bite
them off for you?”

“That’d be funny if I didn’t
think she’d do it. The woman’s insane.”

“She’s not insane, she’s in pain.
Her ex hurt her pretty badly, now she’s trying to bury the last thirty years by
reinventing herself. Having sex with younger men makes her feel alive again
while allowing her to maintain control.”

“You sound like Nancy. Maybe it’s
love? The fact that I’m young and adorable . . . it’s a
curse.”

“Right. The woman probably has a
thing for Panda bears. Don’t be surprised if she wants you to wear a stuffed
animal costume on your next gig.”

“Joke if you must, Vincent, but
this is a serious problem. Thanks to you, Nancy knows Ruby wants me sexually.
It’s affecting our relationship.”

“Just tell Ruby you’re not
interested.” Vin saw the look on his brother’s face. “Uh-oh. Don’t tell me you
tapped that reconstructed glory hole?”

“No.”

“But you’re tempted. You’re
thinking about it.”

“Ruby’s not the only one trying
to reinvent herself.” Jacob winced as he struggled to sit up. “I had a meltdown
this morning at work. I’ll probably lose my job; at the very least I’ll be demoted.
Meanwhile, Ruby has some serious contacts in the entertainment industry, plus a
gig coming up in a few weeks that can pay off all my debt.”

“And the job’s yours, but only if
you play ball.”

“So it would seem. What do I do,
Vin? I don’t want to cheat on Nancy, but I’m behind a month on my share of the
bills. If Nancy finds out I can’t pay the rent again she may throw me out. I
don’t want to hurt her—she’s a good woman.”

“Far better than you deserve. My
advice—don’t mention anything to Nancy about Ruby or any details about your
stand-up gigs. If you cheat on her and she finds out, she won’t just throw you
out, she’ll castrate you.”

DOG
TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE

Lesson Ten: NEUTERING YOUR PET

“It won’t hurt,”
Nancy said, pouring herself another glass of lemonade. “They’ll put you under,
snip-snip, and you wake-up with a small bandage on your penis. No big deal.”

“It’s far less invasive than
breast implants,” Helen added. “Plus there’s the added benefits. For instance,
you’ll never have to worry about getting cancer of the penis. Plus, adult
circumcision also adds a large degree of protection against AIDS. You can never
be too careful.”

 Truman Cabot glanced at the two
younger women seated across from him on his third floor balcony. “Maybe it’s no
big deal to you ladies, but it’s my penis. After nearly eighty-three years,
I’ve grown attached to it—all of it.”

“It’s just the foreskin,” Nancy said.
“Trust us, women prefer men without that annoying skin cape. Your penis will
smell a lot better and it’ll look great.”

“Oh, God, it’ll look amazing,”
Helen agreed enthusiastically. “We’ll practically have to beat my mother-in-law
off with a stick just to keep her from . . . you
know—grabbing you.”

 “You’re sure the Goddess said
she prefers men without a foreskin?”

“Absolutely.”

“What else could it be?”

He glanced three stories below to
the pool deck where Carmella Cope was part of a foursome playing Gin Rummy.
Using his hi-powered binoculars he managed a quick view of C.C. Rider’s sun tan
oiled cleavage.

“Call the doctor, set it up. Soon
as possible.”

“Just one tiny little thing,”
Nancy said, scrunching up her face. “It’s probably better if we don’t mention
this to your daughter.”

Helen nodded. “Not a good idea,
you being eighty-two and all. She’d probably object to any kind of elective
surgery at your age. Not that there’s any danger in this—there’s not.”

“Are you kidding?” Cabot said,
“Do you know what Olivia bought me last year for my birthday? Sky diving
lessons! My step-daughter’s in favor of anything that expedites her
inheritance.”

* * * *
*