Page 17 of Lovetown, USA
Trey
The phone will not stop ringing.
I swear it hasn’t been quiet for more than thirty seconds since I got to work this morning.
Lane’s column is a big reason for that.
But I have patients to see, so the nosy ass townsfolk, local reporters, a few of my neighbors, and the mayor will have to wait.
The first time I get a chance to breathe is lunchtime, but I only take five minutes to scarf down the sandwich Asia bought for me before I shut myself in my office, close the door, and pick up my phone. The first person I have to call is Mayor Daphne.
She picks up on the first ring, already at full throttle.
“What the hell was that?” she yells. “Do you have any idea the damage she did with that article? And it’s just the first of many, Trey! HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!?!”
I sit back in my chair. “First of all, you ain’t about to be yellin’ at me like that, Daphne. I’m a grown ass man. Watch your fucking tone.”
Silence stretches between us for a few moments before she says, “Sorry. I’m frustrated.”
“I get that. But listen, Lane is a journalist, not a pet I keep on a leash. I don’t control what she does. Or what she writes.”
“I know that,” she says, her voice aggressively controlled. “You were supposed to charm her. Woo her. Instead, she doesn’t even take you seriously.”
I blow out a sigh. “I haven’t exactly had a chance to romance her yet.”
There’s a pause, then her voice sharpens. “What about City Hall? The letters? I arranged that for you, Trey. It should have been a slam dunk.”
“It was. But she’d probably already written her column. Those things don’t get posted live. I’m sure she sent it to an editor and all that jazz.”
She’s quiet.
“And that was just the first step,” I say.
“First step,” she repeats, then I hear the click of her tongue. “I hope you aren’t losing your touch.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. My touch is just fine, believe me.”
She chuckles.
“I just need more time. Patience, Daphne. It was never your strong suit.”
“Whatever. Listen, don’t screw this up. There’s too much at stake. I’m serious.”
“I got it,” I mutter. “I’m on it.”
When the line goes dead, I lean back in my chair and think about her last words to me. I know she cares a lot about tourism and the way the town is branded, but the way she said it, the fear in her voice…there’s something deeper behind it. Something I don’t understand.
I brush the thought aside. I have enough problems without adding political intrigue to the pile.
Like Lane, for example.
I dial her next. Her voice is light when she answers, like she’s been looking forward to my call. But that can’t be right.
“Well if it isn’t the town’s resident Casanova,” she says.
“Yeah. About that.”
She bursts into loud laughter. “I hope you didn’t take it personally, Trey. It’s storytelling, that’s all.”
“I didn’t take it personal,” I lie, relieved that she doesn’t really see me that way. “It was funny. You’re a great writer.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“What are you up to?”
“I’m actually getting ready for a date.”
Pause.
A date?
That’s not good.
“Date with who?”
“A guy named Deacon. Know him?”
Yeah, I know that nigga. He plays ball with us occasionally. And he works at the fucking zoo. I don’t actually have an issue with that, but it’s all I have in my mind to be negative about at the moment.
“I’ve seen him around,” I finally say. “Have fun.”
I thought I put a little enthusiasm in that, but it came out flat as hell.
There’s a pause, then her teasing lilt. “Jealous?”
I let the silence hang. Then, quietly, I say, “Yeah.”
“Wait. I was kidding.”
“ I’m not.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I keep going, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “I meant it when I said you were the best I ever had. Any man would be jealous to share his best with somebody else.”
Her breath catches before she laughs it off. “Relax. You and me—we’re just friends with benefits, right?”
“Right…”
“I’m a considerate and responsible woman. I wouldn’t add another person to the mix without telling you.”
That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, but ain’t shit I can do about it, so I say, “That’s good to know. And the same goes for me.”
“Good. Alright, I’m gonna go.”
“Enjoy yourself, Lane. And be safe,” I add before I hang up.
The silence in my office feels heavier now that her voice is gone. I scroll through my contacts and ring my son again. Straight to voicemail. Same as this morning.
Frustration builds, so I go to the next name on my mental list.
Desiree answers with suspicion in her tone. “What happened?”
“I got a question for you.”
“Make it quick. I’m busy.”
“When we were together…was I romantic?”
She barks out a laugh. “Hell nah.”
I wince. “Not even a little bit?”
“No.”
“What would you have wanted from me?”
She sighs loudly. “Exhibit A right here. You didn’t listen to a word I said.”
“So, listening then.”
“Yeah, but listening to learn and understand, not to say, ‘I heard you.’ Also, little things. Random flowers. Play my favorite slow song and dance to it. Cute little love note in my purse sometimes. A surprise weekend away. Or even just one night. Just…putting a fucking smile on my face. Effort , Trey. That’s romance. ”
Her words land like stones. I scratch the back of my neck, fighting the urge to remind her I was busy becoming the doctor she was so proud to tell people I was. And that half of that time, she was fucking the male best friend from college she told me I didn’t need to worry about.
“I hear you,” I say instead. “Thanks.”
“Mm hm. Did you reach Cam?”
“Not yet, Desiree. I’m still—“
“Trying. Of course.”
“Aight, then. Have a good one.”
I disconnect before we get to arguing, her words echoing in my head. Flowers. Notes. Listening. Effort.
Things I’ve never been good at.
The listening part, maybe. But I’ve always listened for only two reasons; to diagnose, and to fix.
Even before I was a doctor, that was my thing.
I suppose Des wanted me to listen to her heart or some shit.
Which is just as much of a skill, in my mind.
But like anything else I’ve learned, I can do that. It will probably just take practice.
Lane is worth it.
Well, my clinic is worth it.