No Time For Kisses
NO TIME FOR KISSES Everyone has a limit. But until that point in their life is reached, no one is exactly sure how much they can take. Jacklyn Wyclex-Evans had reached her limit. In the dimly lit kitchen, she frantically crushed rat poison into minuscule pieces, then tried to mix it with the vodka, but it wouldn't dissolve. Anxiously, she bit her finger nails and that's when she noticed the calendar. Wednesday night was circled, scrolled in bad penmanship was her husband's writing: "Seminar at the Bedford Medical Center." She scowled, even more determined to dissolve the rat poison. She got a pot of hot water, and watched as the bubbles frantically boiled, just like her blood. Time was running out, he would be awake soon, and the vodka was too hot. "Ice," she whispered and ran to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the ice bucket. Now all traces of the rat poison were gone, carefully she poured the concoction into a vodka bottle, then giggled in devilish delight. It would work, she mused, it simply had to. She screwed the cap back on the bottle, and envisioned her husband's morning routine. She had witnessed it for so long that she knew it by heart. First his alarm would go off, he would sit straight up, hit the button, swing his legs out from underneath the sheet and sit there. He would whistle a theme from a James Bond movie, stand up and do five jumping jacks to get his circulation going, he had explain. Then he would prepare a vodka martini in a silver shaker, fill it with ice. Set the glass in the freezer to chill, stop whistling long enough to take a 15 minute shower. Next he would wrap a white bath towel around his waist without drying himself, shave and then head back to the liquor cabinet. On tippy toe, he would pour the vodka martini into the chilled glass. And as always, he would manage to ignore the water that dripped all over the carpet. With an olive added, splashed with a few drops of olive juice, Geoffrey would sniff, then sigh dramatically, as if he had just smelled what heaven must be like, then he would gulp it down in one swallow. He would brush his teeth, rinse with mouthwash and begin to dress. First one sock, then one shoe. How Jacklyn hated that, and Geoffrey laughed, and put one sock on, one shoe on, delighted that he had gotten under her skin. Then he would do the same thing with the other foot. It was his routine and she knew it all too well. Geoffrey's alarm clock sounded in the other room and snatched Jacklyn from her daydream. "Good morning," she called from the kitchen, and listened closely. This morning's musical theme came courtesy of James Bond's "Gold Finger" movie. She waited and when he went into the bathroom to shower, she crept down the hall, carrying the slightly hot bottle of vodka. "Morning," he tiptoed past her. And Jacklyn melted as she always did. Water dripped from his masculine body, as his fingers ran through the thick crop of ashe-blonde hair. A slight smile crossed her lips as he patted his perpetually tanned bald chest. Geoffrey was a cardiologist, primed and raised to be a doctor. Lately, he had begun to act and look more like his father, the most revered cardiologist in Polima, California. The elder Geoffrey was a pillar of ice. Cold-hearted, ruthless and daring, and his son was becoming a chip off the old block. Jacklyn's anger melted away and she cozied up to her husband, wrapped her arms around him, still holding the warm bottle. "Let's take a trip down to Nags Head," she kissed the nape of his neck. "Jacklyn," he said impatiently unwrapping her arms, "you know that I can't go. Hey, why's that bottle so warm?" "Maybe it was the sun," she lied, then continued more to herself than to Geoffrey, "if we had a baby I wouldn't be so lonely..." but he exploded. "No children!" he screamed. "We decided there would be no children!" "I never did," she retorted, "you decided that, Geoffrey! But of course we'd have to have sex in order to have a baby, now wouldn't we?" "I don't want to be late," Geoffrey ignored her snide remark. "Why don't you chill that bottle, would hate for that to go bad." "Sure," she swung the bottle behind her back, "don't I at least get a kiss goodbye?" "No time for kisses!" he replied over his shoulder and left. Jacklyn closed her eyes and remembered a time when the air between them was not quite so stifling. A time when they frolicked beneath the sheets as soon as they laid down on the bed and again before the alarm went off in the morning. "Are you using protection?" Geoffrey had begun asking and she always did. Because she believed him when he said that they would have children when the time was right. "Lots and lots," she had giggled. "Yes, lots and lots of little Jacklyn's," he smiled. But she grew weary, as her biological clock had slowed. Lately, the tick had become more of a tock and the tock more like a tick. Then she stopped using protection and got pregnant. First he pretended he was delighted with the news, but that soon changed and he completely ignored her. He argued that she deserved more than to just be a cardiologist's wife, more than just a mother. Within a month, he convinced her of two things, the first was to take culinary courses at the University, where she excelled. The second was to let go. "Hon, come on now," he cooed into her ear at the clinic, "this is the right thing to do." And she agreed. But she never stopped wanting to have a baby. And she never stopped loving Geoffrey. As the Mercedes pulled out of the driveway, Jacklyn hid the bottle of tainted vodka. She decided that a gourmet dinner might help their twelve-year marriage, by turning back the hands of time. By 6:30, the roast was done and she was slicing carrots, to add color to the meal. The phone rang, the knife slipped, just missing her thumb. She stared at the phone, all day she had been getting strange hang up calls. "Hello," she spoke timidly, no response, only the strange sound of water. Rushing water, then dial tone. She carried the phone with her to the window, lifted a corner of the shade and peeked out. The fiery sun was beginning to close its eyelid, while cumulous cloud moved in like a soft blanket. "If you'd like to make a call," a recorded female voice was saying, "please hang up and try again." Haltingly, Jacklyn put the receiver on its cradle, the calls made her antsy. All she wanted was for Geoffrey to walk through the door. She examined her thumb, then continued cutting the carrots. But the phone rang again, she jumped and sliced her finger. "Damn it! " she exclaimed, stuck the finger into her mouth and slammed the knife on the counter, it spun away. "Stop calling here!" she screamed into the phone. "Hello," Geoffrey was taken aback, "maybe that's why you don't have many callers." "Sorry," Jacklyn applied pressure to the cut with a towel, "it's just that I've been getting hang up calls all day, I just sliced my finger, and the roast is almost dried out." "Your finger OK?" "It's fine," Jacklyn sighed, "it's just so creepy. There's no one there, only a noise, like running water in the background. What time will you be home for dinner?" "That's just it," he hesitated, "I won't be home for dinner." "Oh!" Jacklyn couldn't hide her disappointment, "Why not?" "Because I can't," Geoffrey's voice hardened. "I would if I could." And then Jacklyn heard it; she hadn't noticed it before, the sound of water rushing in the back ground. "Geoffrey, did you call earlier?" "No, I didn't," he shouted. "Look, Jacklyn, I have to go, I'll be home around eleven. Bye." "I love you," she said, but he had already hung up. Geoffrey put his cellular phone down and glanced over at the majestic water fountain in Jefferson State Park. The pigeons frolicked about, only slightly annoyed with the little boy who ran after them and squealed in delight, as they took flight. "Jeff! Jeffrey," he called, "were you playing with my phone again?" "Sorry, daddy," the little boy walked over, "I only pressed one button," he held up one pudgy little finger, "only one. Mommy told me it's OK to push one." "But not on daddy's cell phone, OK?" he lovingly patted the boy's head. "O.K., daddy," he smiled, "I won't. Daddy?" "Yes, son." "When are you going to live at my house?" "Soon," Geoffrey smiled, stuck his hand into his pant's pocket and handed some pennies to his son. "Here, throw these into the water fountain, then make a wish." "Close your eyes," Geoffrey called after him, "or your wish won't come true!" The little boy ran lickety-split to the water fountain, placed one hand over his eyes and pulled his arm back, then threw the pennies. All but one fell to the ground and he began to cry. Geoffrey laughed out loud, and strolled over to his son. "We're going to have to teach you how to throw, aren't we?" Geoffrey pulled the little boy into his arms. The little boy looked just like his mother. He had the same brown oval eyes, same little mouth, and same dimple, that his mother Ty Lee had. He picked up his son, twirled him around and around. Laughing robustly as the little boy giggled. "Time to go," Geoffrey said and placed the boy up high on his shoulders, they sang happily as they walked to the car. "Gold Finger," they crooned, "he's the man, the man with the golden touch." It was dark when they pulled into the parking garage of Ty Lee's posh apartment complex. Geoffrey checked the mailbox, then carried his sleepy son into the elevator. But as soon as he turned the key in the lock, Jeffrey struggled awake and hopped out of his arms and ran down the hall. "Mommy, we're home," he called in a singsong voice. "Me had fun." "I," Geoffrey corrected him, "I had fun." "I had fun," the little boy repeated, as his mother helped take off his clothes. "Daddy showed me how to throw money away." Geoffrey raised an eyebrow and smiled at Ty Lee. "He's kind of young for that," she scolded playfully, and carried him into the bathroom. "Good night, Daddy," the little boy now dressed in one piece bottom snapped pajamas, hopped into Geoffrey's lap, wrapped his little arms around his neck and kissed him. "What's this?" Geoffrey stuck his finger into a hole worn into the sole of the pajama feet, "what's this, uh?" Geoffrey repeated and tickled the pudgy toe within. "OK," Ty Lee entered the room, "that's enough! Time for bed." "Night, Tiger," Geoffrey kissed his son, then gave him a piggyback ride to his room. Ty Lee smiled, as the two men in her life waltzed down the hall. Geoffrey read to his son, then crept quietly into Ty Lee's bedroom, having plotted this sneak attack all day, he disrobed quietly, slid into the bed and waited. "Geoffrey!" Ty Lee called softly, then came into the room, "where are you?" "Come here," his finger motioned and she crawled into the bed. "So," she teased, "you're teaching our son how to throw money away, eh?" He silenced her words with a kiss, "no time for talking," he grinned and took her. Jacklyn was furious when Geoffrey walked in and headed straight for the liquor cabinet, looked in the ice bucket and hurled the lid across the room. "God damn it, Jacklyn, can't you keep ice in this thing?" "You son of a bitch!" Jacklyn shot back, "I spent all day preparing a dinner that you never came home to eat! Now you have the unmitigated gall to be angry because there's no ice in the bucket! Why don't you use your cold-hearted finger!" He looked at her bloodied Band-Aid. How ironic, he mused, the finest heart surgeon in the state perhaps the whole country, and my wife can't even use a simple kitchen knife. He went into the kitchen for ice, Jacklyn followed. She was whining now. "Oh, save me the pity party, " he droned at her. "You don't even care!" she sobbed. "Oh, come now, I know you're not trying to convince me that you could have died from that little cut on your finger, are you?" he smirked. "Sarcasm becomes you, Geoffrey," her anger returned. "God knows there is no room for compassion! How in the world do you know so much about hearts, when you don't have one yourself?" She tried to look at him, but the tears blurred her vision. She left and returned with a bottle of vodka, thrust it at him. He poured the vodka over his ice, put the glass to his lips and threw back his head, more in disgust than to get drunk. Refilled it, stared at her with an intensity that she had never seen before, and drank... again and again. Then he slammed the glass down on the counter. "One day I'm going to kill you," she vowed. "Today is not that day," he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "and because I can see this will be another war of words, I'll bid you goodnight." Jacklyn watched as he headed down the hall, she stooped down, opened the cabinet, and grabbed the tainted bottle of vodka. For awhile she stood there in darkness, clutching the bottle to her chest. Geoffrey lay restless in bed. His thoughts were dark and the brightness of the full moon angered him as it shone through the drapes. He had to get out of his marriage. Just hours earlier he was making love to Ty Lee. His body stirred now as he remembered their union. He longed to be inside her once more. Instead he was burdened with a wife, whom he simply did not love. He too had come to the realization that he had reached his limit. "Damn it!" he tossed the sheet off and walked to the window. He glared at the moon, its brightness could not ward off the dark thoughts that swarmed in his mind. In the morning and after his routine, Geoffrey went to the door, but did not leave. "What's wrong?" Jacklyn called out, when she did not hear the door close. "I was just thinking." Geoffrey came back down the hall. "You know how you've been asking to get away?" "Yes?" Jacklyn's face lit up. "Well, let's do it this weekend. Just get away." "Really, Geoffrey?" Jacklyn smiled, "are you sure?" "Sure I'm sure. Call and make reservations, OK?" "Oh, Geoffrey," she threw her arms around her neck, "let's go somewhere really cold, so we can spend the whole weekend snuggled, nice and cozy." "Whatever," he pried her arms loose, then regained his composure, "Ah, yes. That would be fantastic, I have to go. You take care of all the details, OK?" "Yes!" she smiled. "I'll call you at the office to confirm everything." He was gone before she could kiss him. It only took an hour for Jacklyn to arrange their itinerary. Accommodations that included a private villa, ski rental and daily champagne. Happily she dialed Geoffrey's office, ready to burst from excitement, but was stunned when his answering service picked up. "Dr. Evans is on vacation," the nasally voiced woman informed her. "If this is an emergency, I can transfer you to the physician handling Dr. Evan's patients." "Are you sure?" Jacklyn heard herself ask. "Yes, he's been on vacation the entire week. Dr. Hascom is taking his patients. Would you like to schedule an appointment?" The phone slipped from Jacklyn's hand, she stood staring in space. At 6:30, Geoffrey bounced happily through the door, and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. "We all packed?" he asked nonchalantly and mixed a vodka martini. Jacklyn tried to read his face, tried not to be taken in by his charm. She went to the closet and pulled out the suitcases. She packed his underwear, his cologne, his socks and then her toiletries. He never lifted a finger, just stood sipping his drink and watching. And when he finally moved aside, Jacklyn slipped the tainted bottle of vodka into the suitcase, just in case. The three-hour drive to Wonchusetts was uneventful. Geoffrey whistled most of the trip, and Jacklyn read a romance novel. When they pulled into the ski valley resort, the sun was setting and a light flurry had begun to fall. They checked in, received their key and tromped to their villa. Large icicle's hung like stalactites from the drain spouts, like daggers, Geoffrey thought. Inside, their skis were waxed and propped by the door, and a fire crackled invitingly in the fireplace. Jacklyn turned to embrace her husband. "Hon, come on," she purred, "let's check out the bed springs." "I thought we'd ski first," Geoffrey twisted away, "you know they have lit slopes here?" "Oh," Jacklyn faked a smile, "how about a drink first? I bought along a bottle." "Maybe later," Geoffrey grabbed the skis and headed out the door. Jacklyn followed and then, as they walked, Geoffrey blurted it out. "I want a divorce," he said as if asking her to pass the salt at the dinner table "No!" Jacklyn shouted. "Never!" She charged at him like a raging animal, pounded her balled up fists on his chest. "You son of a bitch! You cold hearted son of a bitch!" "Stop acting like a two-year-old." He grabbed her, she yanked herself free. Free of all limitations, she reached up and broke off one of the icicles. And with all her strength hurled it at the back of his Geoffrey's head. He picked it up, held it out in front of him. "What the...?" His sentence fell short, as Jacklyn charged at him, slipped and impaled herself on the icicle. "Geoffrey!" she gasped and fell into his arms. He felt for a pulse, waited patiently until it was no more, then smiled in shocked delight. It had been too easy. Now he could live life as it had been intended, with Ty Lee and their son. Geoffrey checked to be sure no one was around, carried her limp body to a wooded area. "This is perfect!" he thought to himself. He extracted the icicle, held it tightly, then watched it melt. He opened his hand and the icicle was gone. It began to snow heavily and he spent only minutes covering the single set of foot tracks. He chuckled as he realized that that the melting snow, around the still warm body would hemolize any blood destroying it's very nature. "It was too easy," he repeated. Back at the villa, he showered quickly, then strolled into the lounge and asked the hostess if his wife had returned from the slopes yet. "That's odd!" he announced loudly. "She was to have met me here for drinks and dinner." He glanced at his watch. "She's almost an hour late. Please page me when she arrives, I'll be at the bar." He was happily sipping his fourth alibi, when he was paged. "Hello?" he said nervously into the receiver. "Is this Dr. Geoffrey Evans?" a male voice asked. "Why, yes, yes it is." "Sir, you were named the person to contact in the event of an emergency. We regret to inform you in this manner..." "Emergency?" Geoffrey quickly tried to access what was going on, why would the resort bother to call, when he was right there, but he went along. "Sir," the voice went on, "a woman by the name of Ty Lee Sun, and a small boy, presumably her son were in an automobile accident about two hours ago. Both were killed immediately. We'll need you to identify the remains." Geoffrey dropped to his knees, and let out a long silent scream. "Sir...are you there? Sir...
Copyright © 1999 Sharon J Grata |