DRAG STRIP DATE (fifth installment)

Here is the fifth installment of Drag Strip Date.

Synopsis:

Darla Rigs is a freshly minted medical doctor with a bright future.  She’s escaped a bad relationship and moved to Victoria, British Columbia.  But now she’s met Luke Bertolucci, a philosopher/stone mason.  Darla likes Luke a lot, but will she be able to put the past behind her and start fresh?

DRAG STRIP DATE (fifth installment)

by Jerry Donaldson

Darla ducked into the clinic with her heart in her throat.  The waiting room was full of patients, as usual.  She crossed the waiting room, responded to a young staffer’s cheery ”Good afternoon, Doctor Sims” with a muttered “oh, yes, hi”, then went into the staff washroom and locked the door.  She stood for a good five minutes, leaning on the sink cabinet and staring into the mirror until her breathing slowed.  How did he find me? she thought.  Once her breathing and heart rate return to normal, it became obvious  how Conor located her.  She was a medical doctor and her name and office address would be published in the Physicians Directory her professional association published annually.  The more pressing concern was: why was he in Victoria and what did he want?

She‘d neither seen nor heard from Conor since that awful night back in Toronto, when he had attacked her in a drunken rage.  She briefly considered the unlikely possibility that the present situation was an awful coincidence, a cosmic joke.  Maybe Conor had sold the BMW, and the new owner had driven it to Victoria and parked it in front of the clinic.  No problem, nothing to worry about, just a funny story to tell Lisa and Carol over drinks.  But, in her heart she’d known this day would come, and she recalled the words of her lawyer, the courtly Mr. Robinson: “Watch your back”.  Okay, she thought¸ it is what it is, get out there and do your job.­ So, she washed her hands and dried off with a paper towel.  She took a final look in the mirror, then turned, unlocked the door and walked back to the reception desk.

The regular receptionist, a mild young woman named Rachel, was on lunch.  The office manager, Sandra, was covering for her, as she did at lunch every day.

“Hello, Sandra,” Darla said.  “How is everything going today?”

Sandra was a middle-aged woman built like a fire plug.  She wore thick, heavy frame eyeglasses and her steel-gray hair was pulled back into a bun.  Sandra had been in the medical profession for 30 years or so and she brooked no nonsense.  Everyone else in the clinic trod carefully in her presence.

“We are close to being on-schedule, Doctor Sims.  It’s been pretty steady all morning, but there are three physicians on duty, including you, so maybe we’ll be able to close on time today.”  The clinic was open to walk-in patients from 8 am to 5:30 pm, six days a week.  On a busy day it might take an hour past then to see the last patient treated.

“That’s great, Sandra,” Darla said.  Then she asked, as casually as she could, “Say, was a man in here asking after me today?”

But, having dealt with the basic pleasantries, Sandra had already moved on.  “Next please, number twenty-seven.  Number twenty-seven, please come to the reception desk,” she announced to the crowded waiting room.  A harried looking mother with a toddler on her lap responded, and got to her feet.

“Sandra?” Darla repeated.

“I heard you, Doctor,” Sandra said without looking up. “No-one spoke to me, and Rachel didn’t say anything.  You’ll want to check with her when she’s back from lunch.  Your first patient is in Examining Room 3.”

“Thanks, Sandra,” Darla said.  By now the young mother was standing at the desk, and Sandra was taking her particulars.  So Darla walked down the hall to Examining Room 3, took the patient’s file out of the rack on the door, opened the door and went inside to see her first patient of the day.

The afternoon passed.  Patients came and went and Sandra’s prediction was accurate.  At 5:30 Rachel locked the door and turned the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’.  Three patients remained in the waiting room, and Darla arranged with the other two physicians that she be allowed to leave.  Of course there was some good-natured ribbing.

“Hot date?” said Doctor Milne, a graying woman in her mid-sixties with four grandchildren.

“Uh, oh, yes,” said Darla.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Doctor Milne with a wink.

“I won’t,” said Darla, “see you on Monday.”  Then she gathered up her things and left the clinic.  She had by now spoken to Rachel, the receptionist, who reported no-one had asked after her.  There was no black BMW parked across the street, and by now Darla was wondering whether she was over-reacting a bit.  There’s more than one black BMW in the world, she thought.  And the feature that made the car so memorable to Darla, the peculiar skull decal on the hood?  Well, anyone can buy one of those. Maybe there’s a hundred cars around with that exact same decal. So Darla resolved she would not stress.  She would watch her back as advised.  And by gum, she thought, I’m going to get Luke unto bed tonight and fuck his brains out.  So, she stiffened her back, walked to her car in the clinic parking lot, and drove home to get dressed for dinner at the Faculty Club.

She met Luke at the Faculty Club at 7:30. Located behind the Arts Building, among the mature trees on the Eastern edge of the campus, the Faculty Club was a large, converted Arts and Crafts-style home, built long before the University was incorporated.  On the main level were the dining room and cocktail lounge, upstairs on the second floor were two meeting rooms, and in the basement was a games room equipped with a pool table, card tables and stacks of folding chairs.  Gardens surrounding the building featured dozens of varieties of heritage roses, all maintained by enthusiastic volunteers.  The building boasted a covered veranda on three sides, and it was in a chair on the veranda that Darla found Luke.  He was engrossed in the campus newspaper and whistling tunelessly through his teeth.  She stopped at the bottom of the veranda steps and took a good, long look.

He was wearing a blazer and lightweight gray flannel slacks.  White dress shirt and narrow rep tie, brown leather shoes with argyle socks.  She wasn’t close enough to see, but she knew he’d be freshly shaved.  She couldn’t detect at this distance the delightful, very expensive after-shave he preferred.  She liked the way he was dressed, so casually elegant, and so . . .so . . . academic.  She especially liked that he wore a necktie, rather than leaving the shirt open and gaping at the neck as so many men did these days.  That was Conor’s practice, and to Darla it just looked sloppy.  God, he’s hot,  she thought.  He looked up over the newspaper and saw her.  A smile spread across his face.

“Hey, Darla,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.”

Luke folded his newspaper and placed in the magazine rack beside his chair.  He got up, walked down the stairs, took her by both hands and kissed her on the cheek.  Darla felt weak in the knees.  The fire within flared up and she felt the rush of blood to her cheeks.  He let her left hand go and placed his now-free right hand on the small of her back.  She became aware that “Lady in Red”, that slow, sweet, sappy 90s love song was playing somewhere, providing a faint soundtrack to this incredibly romantic moment.  Without further ado she placed her left hand on his shoulder and her head against his chest, and now they were dancing.  Slow and sexy, round and round, their lower bodies pressed together, for a wordless two minutes, no more, they moved together in perfect unison. She felt her nipples harden and her womanhood moisten, and she thought¸ my God, if he touches me down there I’m going to come, right here and now.  How can this be? And then the song ended and he kissed her cheek, then reluctantly moved his hand from her waist.  And then they stood and gazed into each other’s eyes for a few more magic moments, until a trio of girls passed by them, giggling, and went up the steps and into the Faculty Club.

“Luke, what just happened?” she said.

“Dunno, babe, we were just feeling it, I guess.  The old blood was a-boiling.”

“I’m falling for you, Mister Mason/Philosopher, you’re in my bloodstream.”

“Same,” Luke said, “And now we’d better get inside.  Evelyn and Bruce are waiting for us in the lounge.”

“Who?” she said.

“Dr. and Mrs. MacDougall.”

Now she felt like a complete ninny. A  sex-crazed ninny,  she chided herself.  “Of course, yes.  I hadn’t heard you use his Christian name before.”

“Come on, cookie,” he said, “let’s get in there.”

The lounge was a cozy, oak-panelled room in the rear of the building.  Darla’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, and then Luke was guiding her toward a booth in the back.  Doctor MacDougall and his wife sat there.

“Doctor MacDougall, you know Darla from the coffee shop,” said Luke.

“Hello, my dear, how nice to see you again.  And, please, both of you, call me Bruce,” Doctor MacDougall said.  “Evelyn, this is Darla Riggs.  Darla, please allow me to introduce you to my wife, Evelyn.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Evelyn,” Darla said.

“Yes, the pleasure is mine,” said Evelyn. Evelyn was a round, cheery little woman with twinkling eyes and a ready smile.  Her British accent, it seemed to Darla’s untrained ear, was the same as her husband’s.  Evelyn turned her attention to Luke.  “And young Mister Bertolucci,” she said, “so nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Evelyn,” Luke said. “Can I order drinks for everyone?”

“I think we’re fine, aren’t we dear?” Evelyn said, looking at Bruce.

“Yes, we’re fine,” said Bruce. “You young folks go ahead and order.”

“White wine for me,” Darla said to Luke.

Luke walked to the bar to order drinks.  Darla settled herself into the booth with the older couple, and exchanged the usual pleasantries.  The pleasantries attended to, she did what she had decided to do earlier, to deal head-on with the matter of Carol’s ex, Dave.

“Evelyn,” Darla said, “Luke tells me you play violin in the symphony.”

“That’s right,” Evelyn said.  “Are you a symphony-goer?”

“I am, replied Darla, “I have season tickets.”

“Very good!  It’s always good to meet a patron of the arts.”

“And,” Darla ventured, “you may know my sister’s former husband, Dave Dennison.  He plays viola.”

“Ah yes, Davey-Boy!” said Evelyn, “We are close friends.  He is a very entertaining fellow, lots of fun to be around.”

Darla bit her tongue before she said out loud what she was thinking: are you sure we are speaking about the same Dave Dennison?  Because, “lots of fun” was not anything she would have ever said about the staid, serious Dave Dennison she had known for so many years.

Evelyn continued: “Aside from our work with the symphony, “she said, “Dave and I play in the same ukulele orchestra.  Strictly amateur, for diversion, you know.”

Ukeleles?  Dave?  Darla was amazed.

“Luke tells us you play the guitar,” said Donald. “And that you are very good at it.”

“He’s being charitable,” said Darla, “I just play for my own amusement these days.” And she thought, Luke’s never heard me play, so what’s he talking about?  She cast a quick glance at Luke, and he smiled and winked, just for her, because he was out of the MacDougalls’ line of sight.  And she thought, What a nice, ‘couplesie’ thing to do!

“Perhaps,” said Evelyn, “you would be interested in the ukelele.  Our group is always recruiting new members.  We just play for fun, for the social aspect.  Sometimes we perform at seniors centers.”

“As it happens,” said Darla, “I own a ukulele.  I began playing when I was a child, and then I kept it up though high school.  I was pretty serious about the guitar until around graduation time, and the uke was a diversion, a stress reliever.  I played in a ukulele group back in Montreal.”

“Well, fancy that,” said Evelyn. “You must consider joining us.  We practice once a week.  Not many of us make it to every session, that would be too much like work.  There might be as few as six of us at a rehearsal, or as many as fifteen or so.  We meet in the recreation room downstairs at 7 pm each Wednesday.”

“That sounds like fun, I’ll give it some thought,” Darla said.

During this exchange, Luke had returned from the bar with two glasses of white wine and seated himself in the chair beside Darla.  Now he reached over and gave Darla’s hand a gentle squeeze.  She turned her head, and saw that he was beaming at her.  And so the two couples relaxed and enjoyed their drinks in the cozy little lounge, and Darla put her stresses and troubles behind her for a while and enjoyed good company.  At 8 pm the quartet moved to the dining room to order dinner and were seated at a window table.  Darla order seafood bisque to start, and her entre was poached salmon.  The food was delicious and the company stimulating.

Everything was just so, so .  .  .  right, and Darla felt happier than she had in days.  The MacDougalls were a lively, engaging couple, and Darla felt as if she had known them forever.  They discussed music, current affairs and university life.  Darla related her experience at the YMCA that morning, dealing with Vern’s epileptic seizure.

Bruce said, “It sounds as if that chap was jolly lucky you were there.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Darla.  “Lots of people know first aid, and helping out someone having a seizure is a pretty straight-ahead business.”

“Don’t ever think that way,” Evelyn said.  “You stepped in and helped out, and not everyone can do that.  I think you will be a wonderful physician.”

Too soon, it seemed, dessert and coffee were served, and then the last plates were cleaned away by the smiling bus-girl and dinner was over. The two couples said their good-byes on the walkway in front to the Faculty Club.

“It was wonderful, just wonderful to meet you,” Evelyn said.  We must have you two over to our house for dinner at some point.”

“That would be great,” said Darla. “And I will give serious thought to the ukulele orchestra.”

“Do,” said Evelyn. “You would enjoy it, I’m sure.”

And then the two couples separated.  “Take a little stroll?” Luke asked Darla.

“Sure, let’s walk the Ring Road,” said Darla.

“Alrighty then,” said Luke, and the young couple began walking along the sidewalk beside the Ring Road, Luke slid his arm around her waist and Darla was in heaven.  They strolled in silence for a few minutes among the lengthening shadows, enjoying the warm evening.  After a bit, Luke said, “That’s quite a pair of coincidences, your brother-in-law being in the symphony, and then the ukuleles.”  He leaned in to nuzzle her neck, and Darla thought she might float away on a cloud of joy.

But, there it was, was the matter of her ukulele, and the ukulele group in Toronto.  And, again, hanging over everything was Conor’s oppressive presence.  Would she ever be done with him?  She had given up the ukulele shortly after she moved in with Conor.  She’d told her friends and family she was just too busy, that university took up all her time and the ukulele had to go.  That she was losing interest in the instrument and her ukulele friends, and that it was time to move on.  None of which was true.  The truth was simple and brutal: Conor didn’t approve.

No, he didn’t approve at all.  He didn’t want her out and about having fun in the evening, while he was at work. Her place, he felt, was at home.  The fights with Conor over her ukulele became nastier and more frequent, and in the end she had given up the activity in the name of domestic peace.  But domestic peace remained elusive, and soon Darla found herself giving up other activities and interests.  Anything that didn’t involve Conor was suspect in his eyes, and over the years she spent less and less time with friends and family, and became more and more isolated.  Because that’s what Conor wanted.

“We were so worried about you,” Carol had said shortly after Darla and Conor split.  “If I phoned for you and Conor picked up, I could feel his hostility right down the phone line.  He viewed me as competition, I think.”  And Lisa said the same sort of thing.  Darla’s contact with her other two older siblings, Naomi and Rebecca, had become infrequent and strained.  Naomi had taken on the role of caregiver to the three younger girls in the years prior to their father’s death, and shortly after he met his end she’d moved to South Africa.  It was not until after Conor was removed from Darla’s life that she really understood how painful it had been for Naomi to hear second-hand from Carol about Darla’s problems.  The rift in the two sisters’ relationship was still only partially healed.

And, she remembered, now Conor might be right here in Victoria.  Should I share that with Luke? she wondered. Or will that just worry him?  If she and Luke were to continue seeing each other the subject was bound to come up.  And not just that uncomfortable bit of history.  That and all the other things that remained unexamined: her violent ex-boyfriend, his cousin-romance, the “Brad business”.  Why can’t we just start fresh? she thought.  Be two young lovers on a brand new planet: no history, no baggage, just a bright, exciting romance in the here and now.  Getting to know each other’s bodies, as well as our dreams and plans for the future.  Leaving the past in the past.

Now they were approaching the Student Union Building.  A live band played in the pub there on the weekends, and the rumble of bass and drums rolled out through the open doors and windows, and into the soft, warm university evening.  Groups of undergrads laughed and talked together on the lawn in front of building. All so carefree, she thought.  Life gets so complicated after graduation.

Luke pulled her closer and put his arm around her shoulders.  She smelt that beautiful after-shave and she snuggled into his chest.  Tonight’s the night. I’m going to ravish him as soon as we get indoors somewhere!  It’ll be smoke, and noise, and flashing lights! Raucous, all-in, pounding, pumping, world-ending sex!

And then he spoke up.  “Wanna hit the Speedway?” he said. And, she realized, that was exactly what she wanted.

“Yes,” she said, “that sounds about right.”  And then she slid her hand down onto his tight little butt and gave it a squeeze.  He jumped a little in surprise, and turned to look at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time.  “That’s right, mister smarty-man.  Let’s go dig all that noisy action.”

“Well,” he said, “in that case, let’s git!”  And git they did.

(to be continued)