The Cover of a Book by Bill Tope

The Cover of a Book by Bill Tope

“What are you even doing with this man?” Annie asked of her sister. Karen sighed. Two years younger than her sibling, she was used to being cross-examined whenever her love life took a twist.

“I don’t know what you mean,” answered Karen, knowing that Annie would never be satisfied with that.

“I mean,” said Annie, putting on her attorney’s hat, “what is the scale of your involvement with Owen?”

That was a switch; usually, Annie just referred to Karen’s boyfriend as “that man” or “him” or “old so and so.” “Well, what I do in the privacy of my…”

“I know what you do; my question is, why do you do it with him? What’s the long-range plan?”

“Does there have to be one?” countered Karen. “Can’t I just enjoy the company of a normal, healthy man for a change?”

Annie scowled, and Karen understood the origin of her dour expression. Karen had been wed to a physically disabled man for nearly five years, until, thought her sister, Karen could no longer stand the nervous gestures, the staccato coughs and the tics. Ronnie had been prescribed medications for his neural conditions, but, shortly after their marriage, had steadfastly refused to take them, because he said they “slowed him down” and “numbed him out,” and had an adverse effect on his libido. Karen had never noticed that it had.

& & &

“Ronnie, Mr. Dorcas will be here in an hour. You’ve just time to take a shave and a shower and then get dressed.” Ronnie Deveraux, a writer of fiction, frowned unhappily from behind his keyboard.

“I’m just hitting a creative streak, Karen. Another hour…”

“No!” she snapped irritably.  “I arranged this dinner for my new boss a week ago and gave you plenty of time to sort out things. Mr. Dorcas is my boss at the firm and I want him…I need him to like me, to respect me. I don’t think your participation in a simple dinner is too much to ask,” she asserted.

Ronnie thrust his shoulders back and twisted his neck, first one way and the other. Then he climbed from behind his keyboard and walked to the bathroom. “I’ll grab that shower,” he said, “but I’m not shaving for a damn lawyer.” Karen blew out a weary breath and went to the kitchen to check on the spaghetti sauce and to make the salad. Her husband had little good to say of her chosen profession, but this was at least a partial victory, she felt.

& & &

The dinner went about as well as Karen hoped it would, under the circumstances. The food was well-received, and Ronnie had even deigned to shave, after all. They all sat in the living room, enjoying a post-prandial drink.

“Ronnie,” said Sid Dorcas suddenly, “could I ask you a personal question?” Feeling renewed stress now, Ronnie stuck his arm halfway out from his body, regained his equanimity, and smiled at Mr. Dorcas. “Shoot,” he invited.

“How long have you suffered from Tourette’s Syndrome?” he asked. Ronnie clearly wasn’t prepared for the query, despite the obviousness of his condition. Also, he knew that Karen had alerted her boss to his condition prior to his visiting their home. She didn’t want Dorcas to suspect that her husband was undergoing withdrawal from opiates or was just plain crazy.

Ronnie considered his answer for a long moment, and stole a glance at his wife, whose face betrayed her worry. Ronnie rolled his shoulder and replied, “Since I was about fifteen.”

Dorcas nodded thoughtfully, then said, “I’m sorry to question you on your personal business, but you see, I have a son — Derek — who was diagnosed with Tourette’s some three months ago.” Ronnie blinked in surprise. This was news. Although he knew that one in about 160 children suffered from the disease at some point in their lives, he had no idea that it had again struck so close to home.

“How old is Derek?” he asked.

“Just six,” replied Dorcas.

“I wasn’t officially diagnosed until I was 19,” revealed Ronnie. “That was in 1994, ten years ago.”

“But you knew you had it?”

“Looking back, I recognized that the symptoms appeared several years earlier,” answered Ronnie.

“Are you on any of the new medications?” asked Dorcas.

Ronnie shook his head. “I’m a writer,” he explained, “and the creativity just seems to drain from me when I take the meds. I know that I would act more normal if I took them, but then I just couldn’t write.” Dorcas nodded sympathetically. “My neurologist says it’s probably psychological, but what if it isn’t?” Dorcas nodded again.

& & &

Karen and Ronnie were abed, getting frisky, as Annie liked to call it. Ronnie was 31 and fit and was a good lover, thought Karen, though making love with her husband could be an adventure. Ronnie lay astride his wife and made passionate love to her. Karen felt like she would climax any second, and she reached out to clasp Ronnie’s shoulders for leverage. She stared dreamily into his eyes. His hands, caressing her torso, were so soft, she thought. Suddenly he coughed cacophonously and, taking his hand from Karen’s breast, thrust it to his side. Karen’s arousal instantly abated.

& & &

It was a Saturday morning. The wind was a soft zephyr and the sky was awash with the sun’s golden rays, as Ronnie and Karen walked through the park. Without the stress induced by the presence of other people, Ronnie was sometimes almost normal; this was in turn a relief to Karen.

“What’s on your plate for later today?” he asked, stopping to take a sip from a water fountain.

“I’m taking the day off,” she told him. “Maybe we could go to dinner,” she suggested.

Ronnie nodded, bent to take another drink.

“Hey Dad,” shrilled a young man of about eight years. “What’s the matter with that guy?” He pointed a fat finger at Ronnie.

“Don’t point, Joey,” scolded his father. “It’s not polite.”

“But what’s wrong with him?” insisted Joey.

“He’s probably strung out on drugs. You know what I always tell you: ‘Just say no!'”

“I don’t wanna end up like him, that’s for sure,” said the boy.

As was often the case, Ronnie didn’t realize his behavior was so transparent.

Karen furrowed her brow unhappily. Little monster, she thought of the horrible child. She approached her husband, rubbed her fingers lovingly on his shoulder. But he gave no sign that he’d even heard the exchange between father and son.

“Ready to take off?” he asked. She nodded. On the way home, Ronnie drove, and at a red light, a motorcycle policeman chanced to peer through the window of Karen and Ronnie’s car. Seeing something of concern, he waited until the light changed and Ronnie drove down the street. Flipping on his siren, he edged up even with their car and pointed to the side of the road. Moments later, the vehicle had turned into the curb. The policeman alit ponderously from his motorcycle and approached the other vehicle.

Ronnie rolled down the window, looked out at the cop. “License, registration, proof of insurance,” snapped the cop. Having secured these items, he journeyed back to his bike and checked Ronnie out on the data bases. “Get out of your vehicle,” instructed the officer gruffly. Ronnie exited the vehicle.

“Sir,” began the policeman, “have you been drinking.” Ronnie shook his head no. “Illegals?” the cop inquired further. Again, Ronnie shook his head. The cop regarded Ronnie dubiously. “Follow my finger,” he instructed, moving his finger from his nose to his chin and to the top of his helmet. “Let’s see you walk in a straight line,” he told him next. Ronnie shook his head in vexation.

“What the hell for?” he asked angrily. The cop narrowed his eyes, gently patted his holster.

After the two men stared each other down for a few moments, Ronnie asked, “Was I driving erratically or something? Why did you stop me?”

The cop shook his head. “No, Sir, but I can recognize somebody coming down of a binge.”

“I have Tourette’s Syndrome,” said Ronnie reluctantly. Most of the time, he preferred to deny that his condition even existed.

The cop was unfazed. “Never heard of it,” he muttered shortly. Ronnie went on to explain the symptoms and significance of his condition and at length, the cop got on his radio and inquired if anyone at the police station had ever heard of Tourette’s. Gaining a positive response from whoever it was he talked to, he returned to Ronnie and said, “Okay, you can go, this time. But, I’ve got my eye on you, and he returned Ronnie’s license, climbed back onto his motorcycle and sped away.

& & &

Tonight, thought Annie, with some misgivings, she had dinner with Karen and her new beau. Annie had never really given Owen a chance, she reminded herself. She’d seen him only a half dozen times and had never really talked with him. She had only Karen’s unstinting admiration for Owen. But Karen was on the rebound from Ronnie, who had been the love of her life. It had been just a year since the divorce. Tonight, Annie told herself, she would scratch through the carapace he exhibited, and decide if he was right for her sister. As the older sibling, it was her responsibility, she told herself.

As Annie walked through the door to Karen’s apartment, the room was redolent with the savory aromas of roast beef and potatoes and carrots and homemade rolls. She licked her lips. Karen was not only a good lawyer, but she was a terrific cook.

Karen greeted her at the door. “Hey, I told you to bring a date if you wanted to,” Karen reminded her.

“I didn’t feel like bringing a date,” answered Annie. “I wanted to enjoy my sister by myself.” Karen smiled at the compliment.

In the living room sat the man of the hour: Owen. Annie told herself to be fair, to give him a chance.

Owen stood up from the sofa. “Annie! How are you?” Annie smiled, came forward and shook Owen’s proffered hand.

“I’m good,” she replied.

“Can I pour you a drink?” he asked.

“Beer,” she said. In a moment, Owen had handed her a frosty bottle of lager.

Annie spent the forty minutes before dinner trying to peel back the onion-like layers of what was Owen Fisher. She discovered that he supported some of the same charitable entities that she did. He was also a proponent of Annie’s favorite NFL team. She wondered, had Owen been coached by Karen to say those things with which she knew Annie would approve. No, she thought, Annie might be a successful and clever attorney, but she was neither conniving nor duplicitous.

As the evening wore down, Annie received some startling, breathtaking news. After first exchanging a furtive nod with Karen, Owen revealed that he and Annie’s young, innocent sister were engaged to be married.

“Wh…when is the big event?” she managed to ask.

Owen grinned. “In six months,” he replied. “Karen will be a June bride,” he boasted happily.

“Kind of a whirlwind romance,” she suggested.

“When you know it’s right,” Owen said, ‘you know it’s right.”

Yes, thought Annie anxiously, but anything could happen in six months. She still harbored a dream-like plot where Karen and Ronnie reunited. However, both Karen and Owen seemed besotted. Annie worried that, having forsaken the best thing that had ever happened to her, Karen would plunge into a well of commitment that she didn’t — and shouldn’t — feel.

“Congratulations, Owen, and Karen,” Annie managed to utter.  The couple, sitting aside one another on the sofa, fairly beamed at her.

& & &

Next day, Annie and Karen enjoyed lunch at Annie’s bungalow. Annie felt compelled to raise the question of Owen.

“Are you just marrying Owen in reaction to your break-up with Ronnie? she asked doggedly.

“There are things in a relationship which aren’t readily apparent to outsiders,” said Karen. She seldom spoke to her sister about her ex-husband.

“Ronnie is gone, Annie. He’s out of my life, permanently; there is no going back.”

Annie nodded sullenly. She had loved Karen’s first husband to an almost embarrassingly extent. She had fought hard to keep the pair together. “Ronnie has moved on and so have I, and I think you should too.” There, Karen had said it.

& & &

“I have to ask you, Karen,” said Annie, having lunch at an Olive Garden restaurant a couple of days later. Karen looked up from her salad, at her sister. “Do you like Owen because he’s not disabled, like Ronnie was. “I mean, I can understand your emotional fatigue, but still…”

Karen shook her head. “I love Owen,” she said simply. “I have been lonely,” she admitted. “But Owen fills in all the gaps for me, he makes me complete in ways that Ronnie never could. Besides,” she added, “don’t assume things that you don’t know.”

Annie peered at her sister questioningly. Owen has a prosthetic leg,” Karen explained. Skiing accident when he was fifteen.”

“I…didn’t know,” murmured Annie, feeling hopelessly presumptuous.

“Owen doesn’t wear it on his sleeve,” said Karen quietly.

& & &

“Hi, Ronnie,” Annie greeted her one-time brother-in-law warmly, meeting his unexpectedly on the street and touching him affectionately on the arm.

“Hi, Annie,” said Ronnie, smiling roguishly, and encircling her waist with his arm. She frowned a little. Ronnie had never gotten so up close and personal with her before. “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he went on. grinning a laughing skeletal smile.

“What have you been doing?” asked Annie. His fingers crept lower on her back and she felt uncomfortable.

“Writing, you know, the usual,” he replied. “And,” he added, “I’ve been getting laid.” She stared at him. Was he kidding her? she wondered.

Then she noticed the difference. He wasn’t constantly manifesting the tics, the coughing, the jerking, all of that. “What’s happened to you?” she asked finally.

“Been taking my medicine,” he replied cryptically.

“But, I thought it kept you from writing,” she said.

“You know as well as I do, Annie, that Karen has a mother complex; she can’t help but nurture and all that shit.”

“So why did you start medicating, Ronnie?” she asked.

“My wife,” he said, “wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“But, I thought it interfered with you writing,” Annie reminded him.

Ronnie smirked. “That’s what I thought, but it wasn’t true after all.” he laughed recklessly. Annie thought she smelled both alcohol and cannabis. Ronnie had apparently taken up some new habits.

“You know,” said Annie, “I always hoped that you and Karen would have children. I would be their godmother, and…”

“Now you sound like your sister,” he said gruffly and pointing an accusing finger. “All she could say was, ‘let’s have children.’ Hah! Karen was burden enough without adding some damn brats into the mix.”

“Burden enough?’ repeated Annie.

“Always trying to have a career, and shit like that,” he scoffed. I make good bread as a writer,” he said, “And she was always trying to undermine me.” They looked speculatively at one another for a few moments. “I’ve just one use for a wife,” he added, “and you know what that is!” He leered at his one-time sister-in-law. “Say, Annie,” he said coaxingly, “what say we have lunch at the Hilton. And then,” he added, “we can get a room…”

“But I thought you had a new wife,” she protested.

“It’s an open relationship,” he said. “Something your sister never would go for,” he pointed out with a frown.

Annie felt crushed by knowing the new Ronnie — or perhaps the Ronnie he had always been — and begged off. “No,” she said, “I’ve got to get going. Take care, Ronnie,” and she hurried down the street, busying herself with contemplating the dress she would buy for Karen’s wedding.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Bill Tope 2024