Chapter 28

When Helga brought in our mid-morning coffee and Danish the next day, I asked her opinion of my vanity plate gift idea. She laughed, “Mike, you hate vanity plates! You were SO rude about Dr. Schreiber!”

I chuckled. Yeah, guilty on that count. Shortly before the turn of the year, I’d let off some steam to my loyal assistant on my return from one of those interminable and pointless meetings; of which the unquestioned nadir had been the good doctor absolutely insisting on showing everyone the photos of the “his’n’hers“ vanity plates that he’d bought his new wife for Christmas.

It hadn’t been so much the plates that had incurred my ire; it was the fact they were attached to matching shiny new “his’n’hers“ Lexus SUVs displayed outside the dealership. I’d heard Dr. Schreiber’s second wife and her hotshot lawyer had cleaned him out in the divorce – well, that was what he’d been telling most anyone who would listen – but now it seemed that his bank balance was more than okay again. Uh, until his next divorce, that is. Office scuttlebutt couldn’t quite work out why a guy who was rumored to be congenitally unable to keep it in his pants insisted on being married; he was almost certain to succumb to temptation again, and pretty soon. Not my favorite person, even if he was a gifted surgeon who brought the hospital a lot of business. I got a strong feeling he believed rules didn’t apply to him.

Grinning back at Helga, I clarified my position, “Yeah, but I’m not against them in principle. Just that some vanities are ... more vain than others?”

(Kind of hard to be against vanity plates when our hospital parking structure sees more than its fair share of them – I’ve personally spotted quite a few, for example ‘HIP DR’, ‘SONIA RN’, ‘DR JESS’ and ‘DOC FAB’, and I’d heard that the more subtle ‘FIBRIL8’, and ‘SED8’ had also been seen around. I guess it’s all part of the California culture; if you want to push your tree-hugging credentials, you signal your virtue by driving around in a Toyota Prius; if you’re successful, you are seen in your car more often than at home, so your late model luxury car and its plate become the public expression of your success. Speaking statistically, the letters ‘DR’, ‘MD’, ‘DOC’ and ‘RN’ are seriously over-represented on the license plates entering and leaving our hospital. So, no, it would be hypocritical and wrong of me to hate vanity plates; it is the ‘I’m so wonderful!‘ attitude of some of the personalities I dislike. Did I mention that we also have more than our fair share of prima donna types on our staff?)

Helga smiled; almost certainly reading between the lines again – she knows me all too well. “So, Mike, what exactly did you have in mind for Mel?”

I felt myself blushing to reveal this, but, hey, I don’t have very many secrets from my secretary, not even personal ones. The clue is in her job title. “MAMOAO. Standing for Mike And Max’s One And Only. It’s available, I checked.”

She weighed it up in her mind, then scribbled it down on her ever-present note pad, squinting and then frowning. “I presume, boss, that you WILL be asking her opinion before you apply for it? You might want to think about it just a little more. If I saw MAMO AO, being just a tad politically incorrect here, my first guess would be the Madam of an Asian brothel.”

Oh my.

I could see that now. I’d been so fixating on the double palindrome MAM OAO that I’d not looked at the other possible patterns. Maybe choose something else?

My friend continued, “Mike, did I hear you say ‘One And Only’? Does that mean?...”

I blushed again, stammering a little in my reply, “I ... I believe so. I haven’t asked her, but we’re together most nights now, and it seems to be working out okay. More than okay...”

She smiled, picked up the cups and plates, and kissed me on the forehead. “Just so you know, both Clifford and I think she’s a very nice person, and we’re rooting for the two of you to make it. Don’t rush into it, but don’t let her get away, either, okay?”

That evening, I broached the topic of a vanity plate. Mel sat there silent for a moment, gazing at me as if I was retarded. “Honey, don’t you remember, I explained my worries about being stalked? The very last thing I want to do is drive around with a distinctive plate!”

Damn. I’d totally forgotten that part of the conversation. How could I have been so stupid? Yeah, for sure, a vanity plate would be a potential security breach. I apologized for being quite so dumb. She smiled; “Now, I DO appreciate the sentiment, so, if you were thinking some kind of completely-over-the-top gold or platinum vanity bar brooch with those letters picked out in diamonds or rubies, nice big ones, then yes, I’d absolutely love it.”

She giggled almost uncontrollably at my expression of horror, telling me that I’d sure walked straight into that elephant trap, and that ordinary regular-sized diamonds spelling out the letters would be just fine. As long as they were set in at least 18-karat gold, preferably 22 or 24. Nothing cheap or tacky.

Okaaay. Riiiigghht.

Maybe I’d better buy myself a lottery ticket or two.

Next morning, I reported the conversation back to Helga; she laughed and smirked as I described my discomfiture. “I’m sure Peter Marco or Harry Winston on Rodeo Drive will be able to offer you something... acceptable to Mel?”

She laughed at me as I spluttered. Even I had heard of those two stores; heard enough to know that I most likely couldn’t afford to shop there, even if they would let an ordinary civilian like me in the door without seeing at least an American Express Platinum Card, more likely a Black Card. Amazing prestige and exclusivity, amazing craftsmanship and quality, amazing prices to match. Nope, I had a great job, but not THAT well-paying.

She gave me a little comfort, “If you do want to do something like that, boss, you’ll find a lot of jewelry stores carry silver letters they can string together on a chain to form a pendant, or a bracelet with any word you like. But, a word of advice, do it some other time, as a little gift, like the Kokopelli earrings. You can upset a girl badly if she thinks she’s getting something amazing, but only receives the skinflint version!”

I nodded my thanks, and explained that I was pretty sure Mel wasn’t the grasping type; she wouldn’t value a gift only in terms of how much I’d paid, or the name on the shopping bag. Helga hurriedly assured me she and Clifford totally agreed with my opinion of my girlfriend, adding that it was a useful rule of life never to promise to deliver more than you could actually afford. Yeah. I’d learned that one back in high school. Not that I could now recall the girl’s name or face.

Helga went on to tell me that Judy had called her, to invite them to observe the filming Saturday, and that they’d be there. I was glad of the advance warning; it would have been a little unsettling to turn up to help out with a porn shoot, to unexpectedly find your secretary spectating. It was potentially difficult enough knowing that she’d be there, but I knew that she and Clifford were very curious about how these things were done.

Friday night, I stopped off at my house, picked up Max and my overnight bag, and drove over to the girls for the weekend. It was getting to be a standard arrangement; with my daily commute my house was more convenient during the working week, but it was good to be at their place for a couple of nights. It was also essential for an early start Saturday that we could load Mel’s little SUV with her equipment the night before.

I was doing some thinking as the two of us sat in the end-of-week rush for the 27 / 101 intersection. Max had his paws up on the dash, excited to be getting out, curious about all the other humans he could see. I’d told him we were going to Mel’s place; did he understand, or does his little doggie mind only live for the moment?

How much longer would Mel and I maintain separate residences?

Like Helga had advised, I wasn’t going to rush Mel and I into anything like living together until I was totally convinced my girlfriend was thinking the same way about reaching that stage in our relationship. And then we’d have some far-reaching decisions to make about exactly where we’d live together.

I couldn’t remember exactly how Marsha and I ended up sharing an apartment; I thought that it was probably her lease ending and her moving in with me until mine finished. Why is it that when they say ‘rent review’, it always goes UP?

That wasn’t going to be the case now. According to the deeds, and with the kind agreement of our lenders, we now paid mortgages instead of rent. That complicated things a little, but wasn’t anything of a mountainous obstacle to overcome. People who own their own homes move in with someone else every day.

But, again as I’d admitted to my work wife, I was seeing Mel as so much more than a ‘mere’ live-in girlfriend like Marsha had been.

If she’d have me, I wanted to help Girl Next Door, 30 achieve the White Picket Fence she was seeking.

If she’d have me.

After so many years of living on our own, we’d both be giving up some freedoms and personal habits, to win something bigger and better. But I knew how proud Mel was of having worked her way up from casual waitress shifts to earn her share of the rent money, to having her sole name on a property deed, building up equity. I’d been lucky with a supportive middle-class family helping me qualify for a professional career; she’d achieved it all by hard work and sheer determination. She could have surrendered her principles for the easy life as the mistress of some rich dude; she must have been sorely tempted at times, but she hadn’t succumbed. She showed real strength of character; I wasn’t convinced that I could have been so strong in the same circumstances.

Sometimes I almost had to pinch myself that this amazing person was so interested in being with me.

The loving welcome I received as I climbed out of my car still astonished me. Mel and her two dogs came roaring into the garage before I’d even clicked the remote to close the outer door. Max leapt over my legs as soon as I opened my door, and while he checked out where Tara and Kara had been, Mel was giving me mouth-to-mouth.

We’d only been apart for ten hours, and I’d spoken to her at lunch time.

How quickly we’d gotten to the stage of hating being apart!

I got another toe-curling kiss when I produced the bunch of flowers. I could get used to this!

The next morning, I’ll admit to some minor trepidation as we arrived at the block where Judy had rented an apartment for the shoot. I mean, I’d almost let myself be drawn in to making my porn debut here, and that would have been so B-A-D bad. I wasn’t 100% certain that Atlanta and Judy might not have one final go at persuading me, even if it was just for Mel and my private consumption. But I’d meant what I’d said; our physical intimacy was too private a thing to be shared with anyone.

I was laden down, hands full with the camera bags – sorry, feminists, I can’t help it. Dad brought me up to always volunteer for any heavy lifting – so it was Mel who was standing at the door when it opened to reveal a big black guy. I mean big. Gotta have been six-four and maybe two-forty, two-fifty pounds? He smiled widely, “Hey, Atlanta, sweetie, you’re looking great! Judy’s still drying her hair, but I got the coffee on.”

They exchanged a hug; he guided her through the door and then turned to me, sticking out a ham of a hand before chuckling at his error. “Hi, Mike, I’m Trent, Judy’s other half. Lemme take a couple of those bags, and consider your hand shaken. Glad to meet you at last. Judy’s been singing your praises. Atlanta’s looking like you’re doing her a whole lot of good. Come on in!”

Mel had already disappeared; I followed Trent into the kitchen and we piled the gear on the central island counter. He ferreted around in the cupboards until he located some coffee mugs, then poured for both of us. “There’s cream in the fridge, I haven’t yet found the sugar. I’m guessing our host is a sweetener man.”

“It’s okay, I take it black this time of day. Whose place is this?”

He grinned, “Some guy wanting to make some quick cash. In other words, yet another sucker trusting Airbnb to vet his ‘guests’ thoroughly! Seriously, it’s not a bad place. Two bedrooms, living room, full bathroom and kitchen. Wouldn’t want to live here myself, but back when I was a young bachelor straight out of college, this would have suited me just fine. Judy and I ate out last night; nice place half a block away.”

“You stayed here last night?”

“Sure. The guy rented it to us for the weekend; we had to pick up the key at five. Seemed sensible to have ourselves a mini-break.”

There wasn’t time to ask him anything else; Judy came charging in and gave me a hug, “Hi, Mike! No second thoughts?”

I laughed, “No, that was the final decision!”

“Great! I’ve got a guy and two girls grateful for the work, so it’s probably just as well you don’t want to change your mind. I’m giving Atlanta an assistant director credit, so I’ll definitely get her name on the cover. I think we can make the narrator and interviewer work as well; that was a great idea.”