“Is anyone here a doctor?
I think I ate something that just exited from the south end of roadkill. Jeez, that tasted terrible. Is this really a restaurant or a test facility for toilet cleaner? I feel like I’m dying.”
He hollered even louder. “Hey, is anyone here a doctor?”
Janet tried to shrivel up as small as her body would allow to become invisible, or at least be inconspicuous, to the surrounding diners and wait staff.
“Quiet down, Bart. Lord, I’m the one dying. This is so embarrassing. Everyone’s looking at us.”
I’m sick and tired of him pulling this stunt every time we go out to eat so the manager will void the bill just to shut him up. If I wasn’t so afraid of him, I’d leave the monster. His threat to kill me is not an idle one, though.
“What seems to be the problem, sir?”
This poison you serve here, that’s what ‘seems to be the problem.’ I’ll probably end up in Intensive Care and die before the night’s over.
“Can I offer you another entree, something more suited to your taste?
“Listen to me, el stupido. This food is killing me. Why in hell would I want something else from your most-likely rat-infested kitchen? Or is this fried rat I’m eating? Where’s the manager? Get me the manager.”
Janet stood up and hurried to the restroom to do her usual ‘hide-and-cry-until-it’s-all-over’ routine. It never got any easier. Each time Bart insisted they go out to dinner, he promised there would be no “Is anyone here a doctor” performance. But, whenever his plate was nearly empty, her actor husband started the show. She knew he wouldn’t keep that promise, but was compliant with whatever he asked or demanded because of fear.
She dried her eyes and combed her long, amber tresses over the side of her face., trying to hide from any curious onlookers when she left the restroom. Once outside, she hurried to the car, desperately hoping to avoid further embarrassment. Bart was leaning on the front of their black Chevy Impala, face pointed toward the sky, deeply inhaling his Cuban cigar. When he heard Janet approaching, he turned and headed for the driver’s door. Once inside, he started to laugh, and was still laughing maniacally, when she slid onto the passenger seat.
“Wow, got a good one this time, old girl. That dinner bill would have been over seventy dollars.”
“How can you keep doing this? It’s dishonest and so embarrassing. I feel like wherever I go, people are staring at me, remembering some restaurant scene they observed.”
Continuing his annoying laughter, “They’re probably just jealous they didn’t think of it.”
Silence was the sound she craved for the remainder of the trip home, but Bart continued to laugh and reward himself with endless “attaboys.” She reached into her sweater pocket to locate the card given to her by a co-worker. The woman found her crying in a hospital restroom just that afternoon. She rubbed her thumb continuously along the edge of the business card formulating a picture in her head of the words it contained. The co-worker made an attempt to press the card into Janet’s hand, but when she resisted, the woman placed it in her sweater pocket.
When they arrived home from the restaurant fiasco, Bart headed for the den, flipped to the sports channel on TV, plopped into the recliner, and loosened his belt.
“Hey, babe. Bring me a beer.”
Oh, how I’d love to just shove it up his…….
“Right now, bitch. Hurry up.”
Another night brought another day where she wished she never met Bart Fenton.
What did I ever see in him? Why did I marry him? Why am I too afraid to walk out and leave him?
She pulled the card from her sweater pocket and read the information.
COUNTY WOMEN’S SHELTER
Where Your Safety and Privacy is our Primary Concern
783-804-3357
She daydreamed most of the day, puzzling over what to do with the rest of her life. She knew Bart would hunt her down and kill her if she left, but she hated his cruelty and the dishonest games he played for his own amusement.
She found it difficult to concentrate on her patients during the shift, so she was happy when the new staff arrived at three o’clock to relieve her.
Every day for the week’s remainder, Janet planned and mentally packed to make her escape, but the dark of the night triggered her fear and, by morning, she was unsure. Again.
In the past, she always loved working with her patients. It was therapy for her soul and balm for her bruised sanity. But, lately, work became routine and a distraction to her own disturbing thoughts. She wandered through her day as if a record was stuck on the turntable playing the same three notes over and over again. Give meds to the patients, feed the patients, bathe the patients, more meds to the patients, and feed the patients once more. When she left at the end of each day, she worried she may have omitted a necessary treatment, given the wrong medicine, or forgotten to chart an important change or symptom.
Janet dreaded the return home at the end of each workday. She squared her shoulders and entered the front door, attempting to look comfortable and unafraid. She hollered out, “I’m home,” and headed for the kitchen to prepare dinner.
Bart walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“Don’t fix anything. We’re going out. I want to go to that steakhouse over in Falls Cliff again. It’s about an hour’s drive but we haven’t been there in over a year or more. Bet my little “Doctor, doctor” game is gonna get me a great big t-bone.”
Janet shuddered and closed her eyes. She dreaded the coming evening.
When they entered the restaurant, she kept her eyes roving around the room. She was ready for a quick exit, with or without Bart, if she recognized any of the servers or if they started whispering when they spotted her husband.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when they were led to their table. After a glass of wine, their meals arrived. Bart ate with gusto, chomping on huge chunks, enjoying the juicy steak. Janet, strangely calm, picked at her food, knowing the stunt that would soon evolve.
Bart looked at her with wide eyes, his face the red of an Arizona sunset and dripping wet as a late afternoon shower. He appeared to be gagging and couldn’t speak. As he grabbed at his throat, she leaned toward him and said, “Wow, Bart. You’re playing the scene a little different this time, aren’t you? When are you going to call for the doctor? Think I’ll go to the restroom while you entertain the crowd.”
When Janet returned to her table, Bart lay unconscious on the floor with two waiters applying CPR, other waiters and diners crowding around watching.
“Oh my God. Is anyone here a doctor? She hollered loud and continued to race from one diner to another. Appearing frantic and distraught, many tried to calm and comfort her.
The ambulance arrived and, shortly, pronounced Bart dead. The ‘outwardly-grieving’ widow could only think of her unbelievable stroke of luck.
He must have lodged a huge chunk of steak in his windpipe. Of course, I knew he needed the Heimlich maneuver, but I really DID have to go to the bathroom.”
Janet smiled as she drove home that evening. She pulled the County Women’s Shelter business card from her purse and tossed it out the window.
And Bart, you even got your meal free tonight. Son of a gun.
Gypsygma 