Doctor Winston Perkins read his newspaper thoroughly and efficiently while his wife put their breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Not a word escaped his intense eyes. He even read the entire text of advertisements.
"Want anything else, Win?" Merry asked.
"Hm-mh," Winston grunted, turning a page.
"Do you remember me telling you about Joe Coulter?" Merry asked, raising her voice above the drone of the dishwasher.
"Who?" Winston grunted absently.
"Joe Coulter. That male-chauvinist intern."
"Mmh."
"You'll never guess what I heard. He's got AIDS! Can you believe that? AIDS!"
"Hm!"
"It's not funny, Win... I heard he's near death."
Winston didn't reply.
"Don't you keep up with anything at the hospital?" Merry chided, playfully tapping his paper.
"Not if I don't have to," Winston said, turning a page.
Merry poured a fresh cup of coffee and placed it near Winston's right hand. She sat at the dining room table and looked at him. His face was obscured by the paper.
"We've got new blood in my department - Malcolm Landers."
Winston lowered the paper and looked at her, his eyebrows raised.
"Landers?"
Merry nodded. "Nephew of Madeline Landers, senior director of the hospital board."
"Hmph." The paper went back up.
"Granted, I just met him yesterday, but I'm not impressed," Merry said. She sighed. "He'll probably end up getting that Assistant Vice President position I've been working my ass off for."
"That's the way it goes," Winston mumbled.
Merry glanced at her watch, took a last sip of coffee, and stood. "I'm gone, Win."
"So early?" Winston asked. "I thought we could ride in together."
"I've got to stop off for donuts - my contribution to the birthday party for Paul."
"Paul?"
"Paul Thompson?" Merry reminded Winston, leaning over his paper. "My boss? Head of accounting for the hospital?"
"Oh."
"Winston, do you ever listen to me?"
"Honey, you know I'm terrible with names."
"I know," she smiled. She kissed him. "I love you. You have a good day. And don't let anyone die."
"Not if I can help it," Winston answered and resumed reading the classified ads.
Winston and Merry sat facing each other in their jacuzzi. The hot, swirling water soothed their tired muscles. They had just completed a competitive tennis match, which Merry had won, 4-6, 6-3, 7-5.
"Hey, loser," Merry said, rubbing Winston's leg with her foot. "I love you."
"Love you too," Winston mumbled. His eyes wandered down from hers to her submerged body, her breasts barely hidden by the roiling water. "You're beautiful, m'Lady."
Merry smiled and closed her eyes.
She looked up in dismay as the small black beeper Winston kept near him at all times began to hum quietly.
"Oh, no, I hope you don't have to leave..."
Winston picked up the beeper and read the message.
GOLF TOMORROW? CALL ME. KP
"It's just Kevin Palin," Winston said. "I'll call him later."
"Good," Merry sighed with relief. She closed her eyes again.
"How are things at work?" Winston asked, his voice slurred with relaxation.
Merry groaned. "Mom called late in the afternoon. She said Dad's doing a little better, but she's so worried about him. It's depressing to talk to her."
"Hm."
"Oh, forgot to tell you - Terri's pregnant."
"Terri?"
"My friend Terri. Terri Hopkins. The pretty young blonde in Admin who got smashed and was all over you at last year's Christmas party. Don't tell me you don't remember her."
Winston smiled.
"Anyway, she's excited, but nervous too. This is her first baby," Merry said. "Sometimes I wish we had time for a baby."
"Mmh," Winston groaned.
"Speaking of Terri, she's had something else to be nervous about. That new janitor, Tom Jacobs, seems obsessed with her. Have you met him yet?"
"Hm-mh," Winston mumbled, shaking his head.
"They haven't sent him up for a physical yet?"
"Hm-mh."
"Admin's not doing their job, then. Anyway, he's a strange guy... maybe he's just shy and trying to overcome it, but he comes across like a psychopath. He cornered Terri last week - she was working late and he was cleaning up - and he just started jabb ering about all kinds of things: where he went to school, what he does in his spare time, what kind of movies he likes, and on and on. Then he asked if she was married, which she is, of course, but does that stop him? No! When she told him she was married , do you know what he said? He said it must be nice to have someone to have sex with. He said he envied people who don't have to 'pay for a little lovin'.' Then he spat in her trash can! Terri said he must have been chewing tobacco or snuff or something, 'cause his spit was brown. So gross! And he didn't even say 'excuse me.' And as he was leaving, he winked at her and said 'have a good night.' She was so petrified she called Hospital Security for an escort out of the building."
"Hm."
"I had the 'pleasure' of meeting him today," Merry said.
Winston's eyes opened in small slits but he said nothing.
"Apparently he's a computer freak too," Merry continued. "Imagine that - a janitor who's a computer freak! He started in on me this afternoon, asking about my laptop, how much RAM it has, what's its megahertz, and on and on. He was so tedious, Win! I h ad to leave him standing there, still talking. Anyway, he seems harmless enough, I guess. At least he didn't make any sexual advances, but that might have been preferable to his endless techno-babble. Some people just have no couth. It's as if he couldn't sense I was getting tired of him. I finally escaped with the old 'gotta go to the bathroom' excuse. Can you believe that?!"
"There is no hope for some people."
Winston stood at the kitchen sink. He was as meticulous and efficient in his dish-washing as he was in his reading. Not a motion was wasted; the pots, pans, dishes, and silverware of the aftermath of the four-course dinner he had prepared were spotless , dry, and in their places in less than twenty minutes.
Merry sat at the dinner table with her laptop computer before her. She scrolled through pages of a report, occasionally pausing to make a correction or enter a note.
"What are you working on?" Winston asked.
"I told you, Win - Audit's coming tomorrow," Merry said.
Winston grimaced. "Internal or external?"
"External."
Winston made a cross before his chest. "In nomine Patris et Filis et Spiritus Sancti..."
"I'm not quite ready for last rights, Father Win."
Winston smiled. "In that case, would you like a drink?"
"Please. A double."
Winston poured a Rum-and-Coke and set it down by Merry's laptop. "We need to play a few games of chess when you get a chance," he said. "We're going to get rusty."
"We will," Merry said, yawning. "Let me get through this audit and I'll be yours. Some of us are having to carry all the weight - that Landers asshole doesn't do squat."
"If that's the case, he won't take your promotion after all."
"I wouldn't want to bet my work ethic against his Auntie Landers, Win," Merry said, sipping her drink. She grimaced and shuddered. "Whoa. Now that's a double."
"Ask and ye shall receive," Winston intoned. He handed her the bottle of Coke to dilute her drink. "I'm off to bed, honey. I'm tired."
"OK... good night... Win! Wait! Did you hear about poor Tom Jacobs?"
"Who?"
"Oh, Win," Merry said, exasperated. "That creepy janitor I told you about!"
"Oh, yeah! Meant to tell you; they finally sent him up for his physical last week." Winston rinsed his glass. "You said 'poor' Tom Jacobs? I thought you didn't like the guy?"
"He's dead, Win."
"Dead?" Winston looked up.
"You didn't hear? He had a heart attack. A massive coronary."
"Hmph!" Winston frowned. "And he was such a young fellow."
Winston sat in his study, reading an article about the Ebola virus in a medical journal he had borrowed from the hospital. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Merry was almost fifteen minutes late.
He returned to his reading, selecting a point in time where his concern for Merry should become action.
He was relieved to hear the front door open and Merry's voice calling his name.
"In here," he answered.
The door opened and Merry strutted in with a proud grin.
"OK, what happened?" Winston asked, smiling.
"I got my promotion!" Merry exclaimed.
"Congratulations!" Winston said, standing and clapping his hands.
"Thank you, thank you," Merry said, bowing.
"So that Mitchum fellow wasn't such a problem after all," Winston said, sitting down and picking up his journal.
Merry looked puzzled, then laughed as she realized who Winston was referring to. "You mean Malcolm Landers."
"Oh, yeah, well, Malcolm," Winston said, making a dismissive gesture. "Yeah. Him."
Merry's smile faded. She looked down.
Her silence got Winston's attention. He looked up from his journal.
"Is something wrong?"
Merry turned away.
Winston stood, dropping the journal on his desk. He walked to her, turned her toward him, and studied her face with a clinical stare. He saw the tension, the fear in her eyes, the redness that crying creates.
"What happened?" he asked.
Merry looked at his eyes and then away again, uncomfortable at the sudden, excruciating scrutiny, thankful that most of the time her husband's intense eyes were absorbing words and not reading her the way they seemed to be doing now.
"I... It's nothing..."
"What is nothing?"
"I told you, Landers is a rich kid, you know... they get away with things..."
"What happened, Merry?"
Merry moaned and tried to turn away but Winston held her still.
"Same old sexist bullshit, Win..." she said uncomfortably. "I guess... I don't know... I shouldnt' worry you about it..."
"Merry," Winston said, his voice low and calm. "Merry. Would you please tell me what happened?"
"In the elevator this afternoon... we were in the elevator, Landers and I, coming down from a meeting, and he stopped the elevator! He pushed the STOP button, and I asked him what the hell he was doing, and he asked me what it was that I did for Paul t o get my promotion! I said, I don't know what the hell you're talking about! And he grinned and said, Sure you do... what was it? A blowjob under the desk, maybe a little quickie in a hotel at lunch? And Landers said if I 'did it' for him, I could get a l ot more than just a promotion..."
"Did he touch you?"
"No! No! No... he just smiled and winked... and started the elevator again." Merry's eyes filled with tears at the look on Winston's face. She put her hand on his cheek, moved it down to his neck. "It was just your garden-variety sexual harassment..." she said, laughing nervously. She rubbed his neck. It was hard as adamant.
"Something must be done about this," Winston said coldly.
"You know what, Win?" Merry almost shouted. "Nothing can be done, 'cause he's a Landers! One of Old Lady Madeline's blessed little relatives! Nothing can be done! Nthing will be done!"
Merry tore away from him and ran from the study.
Winston stood alone in silence. Gradually he brought his breathing back under control, consciously relaxing until the red haze of rage faded. In moments, his face was as cold and calm as ever.
Winston walked to his desk and sat down. He picked up the phone, dialed the number for the hospital's voice mail system, and entered the code for the chief of his nursing staff. A female computer voice began speaking.
"At the sound of the beep, please record your message. When you are finished recording, press POUND..."
Beep.
"Angela, I'd like you to schedule Malcolm Landers for a follow-up to his physical. Nothing serious; just something I'd like to double-check. Thank you."
Winston replaced the phone.
"Some things can be done, m'Lady" he whispered. "Something can always be done."
Doctor Winston Perkins and his wife Merry were locked in a battle to the death. Their battlefield was checkerboard, their armies were pawns, bishops, knights, castles, and queens.
From the beginning of the game, Winston peered at the chess board as intently as he read his papers and journals. Merry made her opening moves and then nonchalantly listened to the soothing jazz pouring from their stereo or casually flipped through a m agazine. But as the game became more intense, she too narrowed her focus and stared intently at the board.
She concentrated particularly on the one knight Winston had left, a knight he was using so adroitly, threatening her most valuable pieces while remaining just out of her aim. But Merry's desire to win did not mute her playful nature. She occasionally t ouched Winston's foot with hers, whereupon he would look up at her with a mock glare as if outraged that she had disturbed his concentration.
On the desk was the morning paper, thoroughly read but neatly folded back into place. Its front page headline screamed EBOLA STRIKES LOCAL MAN. The subtitle exclaimed "Mysterious plague death of Malcolm Landers puzzles medical community."
Winston moved his knight to a position where it once again threatened Merry's queen.
"Your move," he prompted.
Merry studied the board. She suddenly saw an opening; a way to eliminate the pesky knight and eventually, perhaps, win the game. She noticed that Winston had already seen his mistake. His lips had thinned as if he was in pain and his head shook slightl y back and forth.
Merry took the knight with her bishop. She held the small white-marble horse up with the relish of a conqueror.
"You are mine," she said.
"Indeed I am, m'Lady," Winston smiled.