To Sleep... Perchance to Die Read online

  About five-foot-four, Frankie looked to be in her mid-twenties. She had a boyish body and natural red hair. “I got my hair from my mother. She’s pure Irish and, as they say, has the map of Ireland on her face.”

  Bret guessed her emerald green eyes, small upturned nose, and pale mini-freckles that illuminated her skin like fairy dust were also bequeathed from the same source. If she received features from what he assumed was her Italian father, they were hidden by clothes.

  Most of the rooms in the lower level were cluttered with the paraphernalia of an artist. Paintings and canvases were strewn everywhere. Multicolored dried paint was seen in copious amounts on furniture and floors, although most of the paint spatters and brush wipes were on Frankie’s bib overalls. The overalls, Bret was to find, were an all-purpose outfit she wore and may have slept in. The acrid odor of cigarette smoke clung to everything in the house. It was the one thing that could be considered offensive, and he was sure Mai would wash their clothes the moment they returned to their house.

  Throughout the home were several photographs of a woman who looked younger than Frankie. Dark haired and sultry, the mysterious lady seemed as serious and contemplative as Frankie was lighthearted and carefree. Judging from pictures of her with Frankie and other family members, she was adored. Bret assumed she was a sister who resembled their dad.

  In contrast to her demeanor in the photos, a portrait of the young lady hung over the mantle. She was wearing a red dress and smiling as if she had heard a hilarious joke and was about to laugh. The portrait was signed by Frankie. As Bret was examining it, Frankie came to him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and said, “That’s Sara Cunningham. She was my partner before she died two years ago from ovarian cancer.” Shaking her head, “She’s left a big void in my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” was his automatic response as he glanced at Mai.

  In a positive tone, Frankie replied, “Don’t be. I miss her very much . . . more than I could have thought possible … but the happiness we shared was enough to last two lifetimes. For that, I’m grateful. From what I’ve seen, most people never experience the kind of love we shared.” Her eyes reflected the sincerity of her words, “I truly hope you and Mai have what we had.”

  Bret felt a tightening in his throat and looked toward Mai. “We do,” he said.

  Although Mai had been a guest in Frankie’s house several times and familiar with the photographs and portrait, she appeared affected by the genuine display of love for Sara. Going from photo to photo, she gazed at them as if trying to memorize every detail and concluded with a study of the portrait. Wiping tears with the side of her hand, Mai turned and made a beeline for Frankie and embraced her.

  These rare views of Mai’s inner feelings were welcomed by Bret. He was eager to glean as much about her as possible, and moments like this exposed facets of her personality hidden by an aura of sophistication. The more he learned, the more impressed he was by the depth of her emotions. Early in their relationship he came to realize that within her was heartfelt compassion for the suffering of others. He remembered walking into her New York apartment and catching her weeping as she listened to Bob Dylan’s Boots of Spanish Leather, a ballad about a woman who sails away and out of the life of the man who loves her.

  While Mai grieved, Bret couldn’t keep from pondering the sexual relationship between Frankie and Sara. Although physically feminine, Frankie had an outgoing and assertive personality he considered masculine. Bib overalls added to her masculinity. On the other hand, both in portrait and photographs Sara seemed feminine and submissive. Those have to be the roles they played in their daily lives and in the bedroom. Images of the two women in the throes of lesbian sex flashed in his brain. Aroused, he went to Mai and put a hand on her shoulder, “Don’t you think we should be getting back?”

  That evening Bret got the welcome he craved. Lying in bed with arms behind his head, he looked to Mai whose back was to him. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “It’s very likely we’ve come to the community where we will die. Hopefully, of very old age.” He propped himself on one elbow and pressed against her back to determine if she was awake. She was sleeping. He continued talking as if Mai was listening. “This is where almost all our good and bad memories are destined to be made. Where our kids, if we have any, will be born.” Another nudge garnered no response. “And less than two years ago, I was no more familiar with this place than the dark side of the moon.” In the answering silence, he turned, arranged his pillows, and went to sleep.

  Morning brought a gust front that promised rain, and the wind played a dissonant tune through the trees. Bret performed a final review of applications for his 10 a.m. interviews. His plan was to spend about a half-hour with each candidate, but he would be flexible if circumstances warranted.

  By noon and the start of a torrential rainstorm, he had chosen two assistants: Juanita Perez, called Pearlie, was a graduate of the local dental assisting school, and Ronald Franks, a combination licensed practical nurse and emergency medical technician, was a recent discharge from the military.

  Pearlie was twenty-years-old and possessed the enthusiasm characteristic of her age. Tall with full lips accented by dark eyes and jet black hair worn in a ponytail, Pearlie was fluent in English and Spanish, skills useful in a dental office. She wore a necklace holding one large black pearl around her neck.

  “I’ve never met a Pearlie before, is it a family name?”

  “No. As you can see from my application, my birth name was Juanita. When I was a child, my father found this black pearl while clamming at the shore.” She held the pearl from her neck with her thumb and index finger to give Bret a better look. “His habit was to eat the clams on the spot as he dug them up. Always had Tabasco and lemons with him. Just as he was about to swallow one, dad felt something hard. It turned out to be this pearl. Good thing he didn’t swallow.” She let go of the pearl, “Working with jewelry is his hobby, so he set it in a necklace for me. I’ve worn it ever since. My friends started calling me Pearlie, and the name stuck. Now, everyone knows me as Pearlie. I like it better than Juanita.”

  In his early thirties, Ron Franks was of average height with a trim athletic build and buzz-cut brown hair. He was ex-Special Forces, having been a member of the elite U.S.A.F. Pararescue unit until an injury resulted in a permanent limp and ended his military career.

  Upon discharge from the Air Force, he earned LPN and EMT certificates and worked at several jobs including a hospital emergency room and an ambulance service. Bret was happy to have him on board, although the interview led him to suspect Ron had a bit of wanderlust and would seek a more exciting job when the opportunity presented. Until that time, Ron would be a good man to have working with him.

  On the glass door of the reception room, Bret Manley, D.M.D. and Jacob Warden, D.D.S. were stenciled in black paint. In smaller lettering was Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery. An unmarked staff entrance was available, but pride and excitement caused Bret to use the main entrance on his first day in private practice.

  The physical set-up was typical of two-doctor dental offices with three operatories, laboratories, a reception room, and business area. Jake and Bret had separate offices for privacy. Paintings and prints adorned the pastel colored walls and satellite radio supplied music.

  His most interesting patient that day was Giovanni Rossi, an elderly Italian man brought in by his wife. He was frail and anemic looking and unable to stand without assistance. Bret recognized his condition was grave.

  Taken to an examining room and interviewed, Mr. Rossi’s heavily accented words revealed that English was not his first language. “I tella you I hava no much money. I pay you with vegetable from my garden. If that’sa all right with you.”

  “It would be wonderful, Mr. Rossi, we would love fresh vegetables. But, at the moment, I need to know what’s bothering you.”

  The old man pointed to his gums with a finger, “This’sa. They bleed.”

  Bret suspected a form of
leukemia. Bleeding gums were a common symptom of the disease. “I have to take a blood test. Is that okay with you?”

  “Schuu.”

  A stat blood confirmed Bret’s suspicion, and he referred Giovanni to a hematological oncologist.

  When his last patient of the day had been discharged, Bret poked his head into Jake’s office. Jake was sitting at his desk completing records. “Thanks for booking patients for me and filling my first day’s schedule.”

  “No problem. I wanted you to be busy, although you’ll find it’s a lot less stressful here than in the clinic at Manhattan Memorial.”

  “I found that out by lunch. Pearlie and Ron were great. I set the bar high, and they exceeded my expectations. I can say my debut into the practice of oral surgery in Windham has been a resounding success.”

  “Glad to hear that. Having good people to assist is important.”

  “By the way,” Bret said, “I was going to consult with you about a patient I saw, an old Italian gentleman by the name of Giovanni Rossi. He told me he was from, as he quaintly put it, the old country. Talked with a heavy accent.”

  Jake’s interest was piqued, “What about him?”

  He came in complaining of bleeding gums. I did a stat workup. His white cells were off the chart. I was going to ask who to refer him to, but you were in the middle of a case, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I remembered Jerry Pringle. Met him at our opening party. He agreed to see my guy. Said he’d keep me posted on the man’s progress. Thinks it’s one of the curable leukemias. I hope so.”

  Jake nodded, “Jerry’s who I would have told you to send him to. If anyone can cure him, he can.”

  Bret looked at his watch, “Well, I’m going home. See you tomorrow.”

  Jake said, “Till then,” and continued doing his paperwork.

  Entering the house through the back door, Bret headed to the kitchen counter he used as a bar and celebrated his first day of work with a Hendrick’s gin and tonic with a slice of cucumber.

  Mai came from the living room and saw the glass. “I don’t know how you can drink that with cucumber in it.”

  “Well, at first, I didn’t think I’d like it. But the packet that came with the bottle suggested a cucumber slice, and believe it or not, it tastes really good. No one objects to drinking a Bloody Mary with celery.”

  “Well, if you like it.” She went to the pantry, “I’ve got to organize this room better. I can’t find some spices I need for dinner.”

  Bret heard rummaging.

  “Ah, good. Here they are.”

  Bret continued the discussion of his liquor preferences. “It must be my Scottish blood. I like everything from Scotland. You know I think Glenrothes is the nectar of the gods. Glad that reaction to alcohol I was having seems to have disappeared.

  “Uh-huh,” Mai said from the pantry, “I’ve heard that plenty of times.”

  Mai had ironed the tablecloth and set the table as if company were coming. Dinner was a pork loin marinated in red wine and cooked with prunes.

  “This is great,” Bret said as he placed another piece of pork on his plate. “You obviously put a lot of effort in tonight’s meal.”

  “Thank you.” Mai smiled, “You know how terrible my cooking skills were. In spite of all the good Chinese and Portuguese dishes I grew up on, I didn’t learn a thing other than how to eat them. But, I’ve been reading up on culinary techniques. That’s how I was able to make this loin.” With a knife Mai pointed at the leftover pork. “I want to be even better. I’m going to take the same cooking class at the university Jake took.” She added, “If you have no objections.”

  “Certainly not. It’ll benefit me, too.”

  “Ohh!” was Mai’s involuntary reaction when startled by the unexpected rapping at her back door. She had been watching for the approach of Jake’s car. His habit was to enter the driveway and continue to the garage in the back of the house. It was part of their usual Wednesday routine. Braless under a pink sleeveless jersey and wearing denim Daisy Duke shorts, she approached the kitchen door and looked through the window of its upper half. Jake was standing there with a grin on his face.

  Gazing past him to confirm no hiker or nature lover was walking the forested area behind her house, she opened the door. “Quick, come in before someone sees you.”

  Jake entered, and Mai closed the door. It was a gorgeous late summer day and the windows of the kitchen provided a rustic view of tall grass and woods.

  “I didn’t see your car come up the driveway.”

  He removed his royal blue New York Yankees baseball cap and hung it on the pointy back of one of the kitchen table chairs. “I didn’t drive here. My car’s on Plains Road in the recreation area lot. I jogged.”

  Mai took a close look at him, “So that’s why you’re all sweaty.” Jake’s gray shorts and blue tee with the Eastern Connecticut State University logo on it were darkened with sweat stains. She asked, “Why did you do that? More than for exercise, I assume.”

  “It’s safer. At least during those times when people expect to see joggers around. No strange car driving in and out of your yard.” Jake went to a window facing the side yard and pointed in the general direction of the Plains Road ball field. “I pretended to be just another exercise fanatic. It’s less than a mile, but by the sweat on me, you can tell I’m not used to running.” He grabbed a dishtowel hanging from the stove and wiped his forehead. “To make it seem legit to some kids who were playing there, I did some stretching before I started out.”

  Mai shook her head, although her smile revealed she was impressed.

  Jake continued, “This way, if something unexpected happens, like Bret showing up in spite of our precautions, I can slip out any door and take the path to the Grimaldi property. From there it’s just a matter of sneaking through the woods to get to the road. Then, I simply jog back to my car.” Jake went to Mai, took her hands, and held them. “Pretty good, huh?”

  Being the devil’s advocate, Mai said, “And when it’s cold or there’s snow on the ground and people aren’t jogging?”

  Jake feigned exasperation and let go her hands. “No plan is perfect. I’ll drive into the garage as usual, or you can come to my place.”

  Mai seemed to consider Jake’s words. Her face lit up, “You dog,” she said “You’re absolutely right. And, who would suspect? I haven’t heard of any neighborhood watches in this area, so I guess what you’re doing is safe.”

  Jake gave her an I told you so look.

  It was Mai’s turn. “I’m doing my part, too, by enrolling in the same cooking class at UConn that you took. It will give me an excuse to come to your condo on Monday nights. All you have to do is give me a few pointers.” Batting her eyes and mimicking a Southern belle, “If y’all know what I mean, Rhett?”

  Jake chuckled at the double entendre. It was a good sign Mai was active in arranging for them to be together. He reached out and wrapped his muscular arms around her and pulled her to him. “Why yes, ma’am. I rightly know what you mean, and I intend to give you some, as you say, pointers.” He brought his lips to hers. The familiar and exotic taste aroused him. He wanted her.

  Mai enjoyed their stolen moments of intimacy as much as he, but wasn’t ready for lovemaking. There were issues to be addressed. “Hold on, we need to talk first.”

  “What?” Jake groaned as his arousal subsided.

  Mai said, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe, I can use Frankie as an excuse to stop having sex with him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She walked to the kitchen window and looked at the distant trees before turning and leaning against the counter next to the sink. “Look, I don’t’ want to give you the wrong impression. Frankie hasn’t made the slightest sexual overture toward me. But, what if I told Bret she had?” She paused as if thinking. “What if I said I was receptive to and even welcomed her advances? I’ve come to realize I’m a lesbian. I didn’t know it until her prodding uncovered what I really am.”
r />   Jake wanted Mai to understand her idea wouldn’t work as she envisioned. He knew Bret. The man would become angry, charge Frankie with something she hadn’t done, and want to divorce Mai. Instead of being a solution, her plan would create a Pandora’s Box of problems. He had enough of a problem coping with her last scheme. She was acting in desperation. He had to convince her it was a poor idea without causing an uproar. He asked, “Have you thought it out completely?”

  Mai showed her hurt over Jake’s implied rejection, and retorted, “At least it would keep him off me.”

  Although the words stung, he had to settle her. “Bret would confront Frankie and accuse her of sexual harassment. She’d have no idea what he was talking about and, naturally, would deny it. With accusations and counter-accusations, it would escalate into a real shitstorm.” He apologized, “Excuse my language. You hate it when I swear.”

  Mai nodded and said, “That’s another subject, but, yes, I do. It reminds me of my father, always cursing, and mother tolerating it. He thought I was too young to understand, but I wasn’t.”

  She took a breath, “But I see your point.”

  Seeing Mai accepted his argument, Jake tempered her letdown by suggesting, “Let’s keep your idea on the back burner. Why don’t you develop a close friendship with Frankie, not sexual of course, and make sure Bret is aware of it? We may be able to use your relationship with her to our advantage if an opportunity presents.” Jake turned serious. “Remember, everything between you and Bret has to seem normal for the scheme to work. I hate what we’re doing even more than you, but we’ve committed, and that’s how it’s got to be. We’re in this thing too deep and can’t afford to take chances.”

  Mai put her arms around his neck. “Not only do I love you, I trust you. You’re my lighthouse in a storm, guiding me to a safe harbor. I’ll do what you say.” She kissed him long and deep. It was the signal he was waiting for. She began to rhythmically grind her pelvis into him, and he became hard.