Plain Jane (3 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Plain Jane
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Mike wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it down on the table. She wondered if that was a sign he was interested in her case or that he thought she had a screw loose. She hoped it wasn't the latter.
“This sounds like a plot for a novel. When's his next appointment ?”
“This afternoon at four o'clock. He leaves work at three, goes home, cleans up, and he's in my office promptly at four. He owns a trucking company.”
“I have appointments all afternoon, but I'll arrange to take a shot at him next Thursday. That'll give you today to pave the way for my sitting in on the session. Just don't be surprised if he balks.” Mike glanced at his Rolex and noted the time. “I hate to eat and run, but I have a one-thirty. You should see this guy. He wears some sort of panic button gizmo on his wrist. He sleeps with it, takes showers with it. For all I know he even wears it when he has sex. He carries a pair of spare batteries in his hip pocket and wears a fanny pack holding a dozen more. He reminds me of the Energizer Bunny. With any luck, today is the day I find out what's up with him.” Mike pushed his chair back. “Stop worrying. Everything's going to turn out okay. And don't forget, we're on for seven tonight with me bringing Chinese and you supplying the beer, right?”
“Yes,” was all Jane could think of to say.
“You're lookin' good, Jane. I like that hat. See ya tonight.”
Jane watched as every single female in the restaurant followed Mike's retreating back. He liked her hat. Fancy that.
She finished her lunch, considered dessert, only to wave the waiter away. While her mouth watered for chocolate thunder cake, her hips said no. She laid a couple of bills on the table and left, certain no admiring male glances were following her. She bemoaned the ten extra pounds she'd picked up over the summer. It seemed she would never again see a size eight, just like she'd never again see a size eight shoe.
Inside her tomato red Honda Civic, Jane reached for her cell phone. She dialed the station and waited until she heard Tom Bradley, the station manager's voice. “Tom, it's Jane. I have to cancel dinner this evening. Something's come up. No, it isn't serious, and no, I'm not up for company later.” She put her key in the ignition. “Listen, I'll stop by the station tomorrow if I can free up some time, but promise me you won't try to talk me into anything. I'm up to my eyeballs with work as it is. A once-a-week radio show is all I can handle, and besides, why would you want to mess with something that is working perfectly? No, a partner is not out of the question but not Harry Lowell. He's too arrogant, plus he drinks too much. I'll give it some thought, okay?” She pressed the
end
button and tucked the phone into her purse.
Maybe Mike Sorenson would be interested. He seemed impressed with the whole radio-show thing, said it was a coup. Cohosting might work out, especially if he was the co part. It would be one way to see him more often, to get to know him better. Suddenly the idea was immensely appealing. She wished now that she'd worked the conversation around to personal issues, like was he involved with anyone?
She wished she knew someone to call and ask before tonight. She hated the Q & A thing. Maybe she could tell Trixie she needed a rundown on him because she was considering asking him to cohost the show. Trixie knew all the ins and outs and would get off on doing something like that. She'd call her when she got to the office.
 
 
Jane slammed through the door to the tiny suite of offices the way she did everything—with gusto. She took off her denim hat with the yellow sunflower and sent it sailing across the room to land neatly on the coat rack. “Bull's-eye!” she chortled, then tossed her briefcase down onto the top of her spindly antique desk. She glanced at the clock. If she called Trixie now, she would use up the eighteen minutes she had left until Brian Ramsey arrived. Maybe it would be better to wait, to use what time she had left to freshen her makeup, go to the bathroom, read over last week's notes, and, most of all, calm down from her meeting with Mike.
Neat stacks of files lined the credenza behind her desk. She really needed to find someone to help out with the office work, until her right hand, Lily Owens, returned from maternity leave. Perhaps a college student or even an office temp. Anyone who could type up her notes, transcribe and catalog the session tapes, set up appointments, run errands, and listen to her bitch and moan. First thing tomorrow morning she would start making calls.
With six minutes to spare, Jane sat down to study the Ramsey file. Her notes were all of two pages long—everything he'd told her about his wife, his feelings regarding her rape, and her refusal to get help; his complaints about the advice Jane had given to her radio-show callers; her own impressions of him and their sessions. . . . That was it. Not much considering the time she'd spent with him.
She closed the file and took it into the room she used for communicating with her patients. The moment she stepped inside she felt better, calmer. The room was small, cozy, the carpet thick, the two easy chairs deep and comfortable. She'd decorated it herself, using earthy tones that were easy on the eye.
A fifty-gallon fish tank was the room's focal point. She'd opted for large fish versus small ones, and she'd chosen a sunken treasure theme. Even the most uptight patients calmed down and relaxed after a few minutes of staring at the fish.
Her own chair was ergonomic, comfortable but not too comfortable. It helped remind her she was the one in charge.
Jane glanced at her watch as she adjusted a lamp shade. She made a mental note to water the maidenhair fern sitting beneath it. Two minutes until Brian Ramsey walked through the door. Her heart began to race. She gasped when the phone rang.
“Dr. Lewis here.” Brian Ramsey's voice came over the line. “No, I don't have a problem with the cancellation, Mr. Ramsey. I'm sorry your wife is under the weather. No, I won't be billing you for the canceled appointment. We normally do bill if a patient doesn't cancel twenty-four hours in advance, but I'll make an exception this time.” She remembered what Mike had said about paving the way for him to talk to Brian. “While I have you on the phone,” she said, purposely trying to sound upbeat, “I'd like to tell you that next Thursday, Dr. Michael Sorenson will be sitting in on our session. I think you might enjoy having him here. If you have a problem with this, you need to let me know
now.”
She held her breath as she awaited his answer. “Good. Then I'll see you next Thursday. Tell your wife I hope she feels better soon.”
Jane hung up and stared across the room at the fish tank. What was wrong with Mrs. Ramsey? Funny, he'd never mentioned her first name. He always referred to her as
my wife.
A spouse under the weather wasn't enough of a reason to cancel an appointment. Was there something about today that was different from their other appointment days? Only from her standpoint because she'd talked about him to Mike Sorenson. If she hadn't, the cancellation probably would have rolled off her back just like any other cancellation. Mike was right, she was breaking the cardinal rule by getting personally involved. She needed to stop thinking about Brian Ramsey because every time she did, she thought about Connie Bryan.
She had time now to call Trixie. “It's me, Trixie. How's it going?”
“If things get any better, I might have to hire someone to help me enjoy it. In other words, it's
gooder
than grits. Hold on a minute, honey,” she said. “Fred,” Trixie McGuire called to her husband, “Janie's on the phone. Pick up.” Jane smiled as she carried the phone over to the fish tank and checked on her newest additions, a pair of very large angel fish she'd named Gracie and Slick.
Fred came on the phone. “Janie, girl, it's nice to hear your voice. You stoppin' by for a visit?”
“Not today. I might make it out tomorrow, though. Of course that depends on what you're having for supper.”
“Whatever Fred picks up,” Trixie answered, predictably. What that meant to Jane was, Fred would go to the nearest takeout, probably Roy's, and bring something home. “Spareribs would be real tasty, Fred. Janie likes spareribs, doncha, girl?”
“I sure do. Seven o'clock okay? Tomorrow, not today.”
“Okay with me,” Fred said.
“Trixie, I know you keep tabs on the comings and goings here in town. What do you know about the Sorensons? I had lunch with Mike today in Lafayette. He didn't say anything about his family. By the same token, I didn't ask.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “Hmm,” Trixie finally said. “As a matter of fact, I do know a thing or two. His parents moved to N'awlins a year or so ago. Rayne was just too quiet for them, and they didn't want to move to Lafayette for fear Michael would think they were trying to keep tabs on him.”
“Do you happen to know if he's married or if he's seeing anyone?” Jane ventured, knowing she was probably opening a can of worms.
There was a smile in Trixie's voice when she answered. “No, he isn't married. He was seeing a woman, a young lawyer. Coletta was her name. Vivian, his mother, told me she was cuter than a basketful of puppies but that she was jealous of all the hours Mike put into his practice. So they broke up a couple of months back. Does that help?”
Jane grimaced. Cuter than a basketful of puppies had to mean she was spectacular. “Yes, that helps. Is there anything about anybody you don't know?”
“Umm, let me see,” Trixie said as if she was actually considering the question. “No, I don't think so. Why do you want to know about Mike?”
“He's coming over for supper tonight.”
“I see,” Trixie said, the two words full of innuendo.
“No, you don't see. We met today because I invited him to lunch to discuss a patient I'm having some difficulty with. We got to talking, I mentioned my ghosts, and he said he was interested in the paranormal. There you have it. As much as I'd like to think he could be interested in me, it isn't possible. In high school, he was the kind of guy who always went for the cheerleader type.”
“That was then and this is now,” Trixie said. “He's a man now, a professional. Trust me, he doesn't want some
hoochie mama,
he wants a real woman. Like you, sweetie.” Jane heard the TV in the background. “By the way, what's going on with your station manager? I thought you had a thing going with him, though for the life of me, I can't see what you see in him. The man is uglier than homemade soap.”
“Shame on you, Trixie,” Fred piped up. “That's not nice. He can't help that he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Now, I'm not saying he isn't a nice man, it's just that . . . Janie, you need to think about how your children will look.”
Jane shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Not to worry, Fred. I don't plan on marrying him. I'm just using him for sex.” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled as she imagined the shocked look on his face. “Besides, the whole thing is winding down. All the surprises are gone. He doesn't have any zip.”
Trixie cackled with glee.
“One more thing, Trixie,” Jane interrupted. “Do you know a Brian Ramsey? He owns a trucking company outside of town. I was wondering if he's local or if he moved here from somewhere else. I'd like to find out a little about his wife. Don't ask me why I want to know, okay? Don't you have a snoop file or one of those I Spy files or something you use when you're doing your writing and you want to check up on people?”
“I do,” Trixie said smartly. “If you have a social, an address, anything that will help in the search, give it to me and I'll see what I can do. You know you can trust me to keep quiet.”
“By the way, how's the new book going? What number is this again?”
“One hundred four and going great. Blood and guts everywhere. Fred and I were having a serious discussion when you called. I want the blood to river and he wants it to trickle. When you slice someone in two with a chain saw, the blood will river, not trickle. Right?”
The visual image made Jane grimace. “I'm not going down that road, Trixie.”
“Not to change the subject,” Trixie said, “but what are you planning on wearing tonight?”
“Tonight? Why, actually—Absolutely nothing!” Jane teased. “I'll see you both tomorrow and give you a full rundown on what happens tonight.” As she was hanging up the phone, she heard Trixie say to Fred, “Did you hear that, Fred, she's wearing
absolutely nothing
!”
“I heard! I heard!” Fred said before the phone went dead.
 
 
Jane's face broke into a warm smile when she opened her front door. Olive bounded down the steps. Stepping into the foyer, Jane tossed her gear in the general direction of the antique bench before she hunkered down to tussle with the springer spaniel. “I know you're happy to see me,” she said in her baby-talk voice. “I'm happy to see you, too. Did you have a good day? I had a good day and a bad day. Not really bad,” she said, letting the dog lick her face. “Hey, guess what? We're having company for supper.
The
guy of my youthful dreams is bringing Chinese. He's got a cat named Noodle, whatya think of that?”

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