Not Later

Cosmetic Addictions, New Breasts - Part 9 of 9

I took long fast strides toward the elevator. Dee could follow if she wanted.

I pressed the elevator button. I was happy to hear the ping of the arriving elevator, but I kept frowning. I was happy for the company of an old lady in the elevator. Dee and I wouldn’t talk. I kept my frown.

“Hurry Dee,” I said, holding the door.

“Hold on,” she said as she hurried.

I stared at the elevator lights for the short ride to the lobby. I could tell that Dee wanted to speak.

I stepped off before Dee. I said, “We’re not going.”

“Going where?”

“We’re not joining Dr. Marty socially.” We walked past several elderly in obvious need of care. I was interrupted before getting to the circular doorway. Men are supposed to go first according to most etiquette books. Dee bulled ahead of me, spinning the door at speed.

As I exited, I continued, “And I am not buying a car. I need to go back to work.”

Dee stopped walking and said, “Go.”

“And no, I don’t want to talk about this later.”

“Did your car pass inspection?”

“No,” I said, standing aside to let an older man in a wheel chair use the handicap access ramp. Dr. Marty worked in a mixed use building filled with accountants, lawyers, dentists and doctors. Apparently, there was a medical call at 10:15.

“What’s it going to cost to get it fixed this time? Didn’t you just spend $500 on repairs.”

“I don’t know.”

“Any guess.”

“No. It’s the clutch. I’ll get several bids.”

“You’re going to take it to several shops just to see if you can save $50.”

“No.” I had to get out of the way a third time, so I started a slow walk to the parking lot. I hoped to see Dee’s car so that I wouldn’t have to walk to mine first.

“No?”

“I don’t want to get ripped off.”

“Or you could get a new car.”

“I don’t want another car,” I said. I noticed Dee’s car and walked in that direction. She drove a four year old Jeep Liberty that her older brother sold her at a great price. She liked the car but it was not her style. She wanted me to get a new car before she got one.

She opened her car door, and I said, “I really need to get going.”

“No problem.”

“Good.”

“I’ll just let Dr. Marty know that you won’t be joining us when we get together.”

“Us?” I looked a her. She didn’t even twitch. “We?”

“I’m going to go.”

“Us? We?” I put my hands in my pocket and started playing with my keys. “That’s supposed to be you and me.”

“Yes.” She got into her car.

“So?”

“So are you going to come?”

“We will talk about this later.”

“Fine.” She started her car. Her smile twitched.

She has a beautiful smile.

Go to Hell.

Perseverate that.

——

Cosmetic Addictions, New Breasts

Part 9: Not Later
Part 8: Old Pal, New Pain
Part 7: Elective Pharmacology
Part 6: My Car, Her Breasts
Part 5: Next Action?
Part 4: Dee On The Desk
Part 3: Clacking
Part 2: Smell The Writing
Part 1: Detail, Time Square