Calm, Cool, and Adjusted (11 page)

He lifts my chin tenderly once again. “Are you?”

I catch my breath. “I have average things to do. I have my childhood home to clean out, patients to see, a bridesmaid to be, a run to train for. I’m average, and I’m happy with that. Not that my own natural spa isn’t extremely tempting, Simon.”
And those brown eyes asking me—not that that isn’t tempting.
I pause for a moment. “What’s this about Hawaii anyway?”

“I just have family business there, and there are a few opportunities I want to pursue while I’m at it.”

“Right.” Is it just me or was there really no answer in that? “Simon, I’m not buying a car here. Answer the question.”

“Well, I’m bored, Poppy. A man cannot live on golf alone. I’ve dabbled here and there with a few start-ups and helped them get moving, but I just want more. I went to Hawaii a few weeks ago, and I met with a local whose golf business was failing. Poppy, I knew exactly the problem, and I knew how to solve it. This is my gift. And like I said, there’s the family issue, but I’d rather not go into that.”

“It’s a nice thought, Simon, but my friends are here, for one thing. My Spa Girls are fabulous, and they’re not in Hawaii. I don’t just up and make friends. I like the old ones. If you think I keep my clothes a long time, you should really hear about my friends.”

“Your friends are in San Francisco, an hour away, and they’re all getting married. Your father’s leaving town and leaving you with a house to be fixed up. Poppy, you don’t have as much keeping you here as you think.”

“Do you listen to everything that goes on here?”

“Well, it’s not exactly private here.”

Mary looks up from the massage table. “It’s really not, Poppy.”

Simon ignores her. “So you don’t even like the spa.” He looks down at me as he stands up, and I swallow hard at the accusation.

“How do you know that?” I ask him. I notice Brian asking me with his eyes if he can finish. He’s battering poor Mary and she’s looking wan. I hold up a finger.
One more minute
, I plead with my eyes.

“Because you can’t sit still. You complain about Lilly being like a hummingbird, but I know the truth. I know that the entire time you’re getting smeared with facial creams, you’re thinking about the run you should be on, or how many laps in the pool you could have done. I bet your leg jiggles like a nervous rabbit.”

My mouth is agape. Simon is truly a mystery. Part businessman, part engineer, and a huge part observer. Like a lion waiting for its prey, I feel as though I’ve been ambushed by him, that he’s seen way more of me than makes me comfortable. All those years, I let my guard down because he diverted me by the simple act of asking me out each week. I cross my arms across my chest and look at him with new eyes. I am completely exposed: the good, the bad, and the anal.

“You’re quiet,” he says to me, and just as he says it Brian turns off the massager beside us. The silence is deafening. “To be continued later then?”

“You have my answer, Simon.” I feel the sudden urge to escape and run, but Mary has been pummeled with the massager until she looks unable to stand.

Simon shakes his head, ignoring Mary and Brian’s weary looks. “I don’t think I do have your answer. I have the answer you
should
give me. The one that good-girl Poppy will always render first. Go home and obsess a bit like you do, and come back to me. I can wait.”

I step back. “I should have known better than to call my girlfriends with you in the room. You’ve been spying on the Spa Girls for years, haven’t you?”

He raises his eyebrows and offers a sideways grin. “
Spying
is a strong word, Poppy. You overestimate my fascination with the Spa Girls.”

“You’re just nosy is the fact of the matter.”

He’s laughing now. “When can we discuss this further?”

“I think you already know enough about my friends and me.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He raises his eyebrow in that oh-so-charming way he has, and I purse my lips before speaking.

“Simon, please don’t do this to me.” I whisper at him. “These are my patients. I can’t have them thinking there’s even the possibility I will walk out on them. Alternative medicine in Silicon Valley is finally happening. I do maybe 50 percent chiropractic and the rest is my allergy-clearing treatment. I’m hardly going to walk now.”

He gives me one last puppy-dog look. “Please think about it.”

I’m not made of stone. It’s a ridiculous notion I’d never consider, but Simon’s smile forces a nod to indicate I will think about it. Realistically, I’ll think about Simon, and that’s not good. Simon couldn’t commit to playing golf on the same course two days a week, much less a woman. What kind of man makes a woman an offer like her own clinic anyway? I think he’s been watching too much reality television.

Mary, my other client, is more than done with the massage portion of her treatment. She sits up and pushes away Brian. Her eyes laser at me as she awaits her adjustment. Simon notices too. “She’ll be right with you. This is important.”

Simon takes me into a corner by my private office. I can smell the light scent of his aftershave. “I’ve known you for a lot of years. You used to have a smile that brightened the entire office, but it’s wearing down. You’re taking on too much of this place. You need to get out more and be with other natural health people to encourage one another.”

I feel hopeful at his words. The romance of being taken away from all this is every girl’s dream. The reality, my nightmare.

“Simon, enough of this, all right?” I say it, but I don’t move away and our proximity stirs something within me that I haven’t wanted to admit. So I go straight back to business, the safe topic. “I believe in this mind-body connection, but I’m not a New Ager and nearly everyone in my field is. I am a Christian and I believe the energy of the Holy Spirit is the most cleansing type of energy. Where are you going to find people like that in my line of work? On a little island no less. You may be good, but you’re not a miracle worker.”

“Are you trying to convince me or you?”

“I dance to the beat of my own drummer. I don’t want a health spa.”

“Your own drummer? Then what’s the purple skirt about?” he asks, looking at my trendy, Sharon A-line skirt.

I feel myself starting to get hot. Why has everyone taken to analyzing me? Fixing me?
I’m
the one who offers advice.
I
fix people. This is
my
gifting. “Simon, I have to go to work.”

He waves over his shoulder without turning around. “Think about what I said; you won’t get a better offer or an easier shot.”

I don’t answer him. I just change the paper on the table and motion for Mary to lie down, awestruck at how small she feels after Simon’s muscular frame. I suck in a deep breath and get her in the right position for her adjustment, but my mind wanders into the lush greenery that is the Aloha Spirit.

The bell rings in the foyer and I look over the swinging doors to see the blonde I saw in the convertible yesterday in the parking lot. “I’ve got to run,” I hear Simon say to her. He kisses the blonde on the lips as he walks outside. I flinch at the image. Naturally, with his money, he’d be toting a trophy woman to his events. An elegant lady like Morgan who could hold her own at all his business events. (Well, like Morgan except for the screaming into the cell phone part and the public discussion of divorce. Morgan would never resort to such commonness.) I try to focus on Mary’s back and swallow the lump in my throat.

“Simon really does want a personal chiropractor,” I whisper aloud. The revelation is like a cold shower on a brisk day.
And that’s all he wants.

She’s not good enough for him, and she’s not even divorced yet.
Why are men such idiots?
How can they start huge companies and yet succumb to something so common as a blonde in a convertible? I wonder if Simon neglected to tell me she was coming to Hawaii as well. She’ll probably get one of those quickie foreign divorces with a man like Simon on the line. A girl like that doesn’t catch and release.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with telling the man how you feel. The worst he can say is that he’s not interested. He’s leaving, so what does it matter?” Mary stands up and slings her large handbag over her shoulder. I start to comment on how bad that is for her back, but I quickly clamp my mouth shut.

I shake my head. “It’s not like that.”

She pats my shoulder. “Whatever you say, Poppy. See you next week.”

I follow Mary into the foyer and watch her leave. “Poppy? You all right?” Emma asks while munching on a wheat-free bread stick. “What’d you do to Mary? She didn’t even pay.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I probably made Mary run late. She’ll pay next week.” I point back at the tables. “Send in the next patient.”

When I get back into the examination room, Brian is just finishing up with another patient’s warm-up massage. “I’m here,” my patient, Claire, says. “You’re running late; that’s not like you. I’m feeling neglected.”

Claire drips with diamonds and high-end clothing. She’d feel neglected if her Visa bill wasn’t ten grand this month. Besides,
neglected
is a strong word for your chiropractor. The expectations for any kind of service here go well beyond the call of duty. They want me to be their savior.

It’s only nine a.m. and I need to run—at least ten miles. Wait. I’ve been made an offer and dissed by the same man in the space of thirty minutes. That’s at least another mile.

chapter 8

I
t’s the end of the work day, and tonight I get to play princess. Or as my case goes, the closest thing to it: Morgan Malliard. Although I’ve worn her blouse all day, there’s something special about climbing into her heels. I received the extensive “talking to” about my Clarks clogs with the outfit this morning, but I can hardly be adjusting people or manipulating masculine bodies like Simon’s in spike heels. So I spent the day half Morgan, half me. I was the fashion “Don’t” half that might have appeared in
Glamour
. Morgan’s own assessment was reserved. She gave a light cluck of the tongue followed by the words, “It’s a shame. Really it is.”

It still makes me laugh. The things my friends value have absolutely no bearing on me. But after the long day, and Simon’s proposal and announcement of his departure, I am nervous about my date with Dr. Jeff. If you can call this farce a date. I’m wringing my hands as I pace the office floor. I have plenty of office busywork to do, but my mind is preoccupied— and I didn’t want to run and shower for fear my hair wouldn’t dry in time and I’d look like something the cat dragged in. Tonight, I’m going to do Morgan and Lilly proud if it kills me. Or Jeff, as the case might be.

I don’t know why I’m nervous; I actually go on a lot of dates. Perhaps not a lot of second dates, but I do go on quite a few first dates. It’s just I can’t help but see the guy as a potential mate. And there’s the health factor. Simon’s back has nothing on some of my past escorts:

One guy’s eye whites were yellow (bad liver function).

One guy’s face was pocked red, and his nose was bulbous (too much alcohol?).

One guy’s tongue was white (oral yeast—not enough good bacteria).

One guy had a lack of appetite and fatigue through dinner (adrenal insufficiency).

I don’t know why I look at men like gene pools, but it’s part of my health fetish. I can’t help myself. Lord knows someone like Simon will give his next generation a spine from the Dark Side, and yet I can still be tempted, so there has to be more.

With Jeff Curran, MD, my fears are different. First of all, a person could never tell if his health wasn’t perfect, because he’d just cover it with the plastic version. Then, there’s the whole beauty issue. What exactly does a plastic surgeon find beautiful, and is it attainable by anyone? I mean, he deals in perfection all day long, and I’ve changed my skirt. Not that I’m thinking romantically. I’m just thinking of how I can practice for Morgan’s wedding. If I can be “normal” with Jeff Curran, I can take on the world.

My ego’s already taken a hit today. All these years, I thought Simon had a crush on me. In fact, I thought the Hawaiian idea was his way of making one final attempt at a future with me. Then, he kisses the blonde bombshell in my foyer, and here I’m thinking he’s propositioning me two minutes earlier. It’s the ultimate in rejection. It’s been my job to reject Simon. Couldn’t he just leave with that image intact? Was it so hard to spare my ego?

“You’re wearing heels?” Emma asks me as I come into the foyer.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Are you kidding me? You have a date with Dr. Dreamy and expect me not to watch? This is better than
The Bachelor
and Dr. 90210 all wrapped into one delicious package.”

“It’s a dinner between working companions. Trust me, you’re better off with reality television at home.”

She crosses her arms and eats another bite of a protein bar. “Whatever. I’m still sticking around. I wouldn’t miss this for anything. You never go on dates with anyone who would tempt me. This should be good.”

“You really don’t get out enough,” I tell her.

“Look who’s talking.”

I breathe in deeply and open a vial of eucalyptus oil and suck in the cleansing fragrance. Now that will clear your lungs. “Do I look like I’m walking okay in these heels? Or do I just look stupid?” I ask Emma.

“You’d never know they weren’t attached,” Emma says.

Months ago, when Lilly, my fashion-designing Spa Girl, talked me into modeling for her fashion show, I thought I would turn into Lot’s wife pillar of salt right on the stage. I move like a penguin on a Habitrail in heels.

“Did you see Simon’s girlfriend today?”

“You mean that blonde?”

I nod.

“She’s not his girlfriend. Simon’s an intellectual, Poppy. You know that much.”

“Didn’t he kiss her?” I ask.

“He didn’t really
kiss
her. Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’ve just never seen Simon’s type before. I was surprised.”

“You see Simon’s type every morning when you look in the mirror.” Emma rolls her eyes. “You two are pathetic.”