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The Last One

Mark Novom

    “I don’t want you to ever get married,” Jessie’s mother told her. “A man will only get in your way.”
    Rachel had always wanted her daughter to be a doctor. For her daughter’s eleventh birthday, she bought her a stethoscope; for her fourteenth, a Special Edition Gray’s Anatomy; for her sixteenth, a list of the best undergraduate programs in pre-med and a private college counselor; and for her eighteenth, she gave her some advice.
    “Mom, what are you talking about?”
    “He won’t understand. He won’t let you be your own woman.”
    “Why are you telling me this,” Jessie was wearing her prom dress and applying her make-up.
    “Because you’ve worked too hard.”
    “Mom, stop being crazy.” Jessie looked at her mother standing at the doorway of the bathroom, but she wasn’t smiling. “Mom?” Jessie put down her eye-liner.
    Her mother was crying.
    Jessie remembered this every time before she went out with a man. This time it was Steve Jefferson, a vascular surgeon who worked in the same hospital as Jessie. Jessie lived near the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, CA. She loved the fact that the ocean was a mere five blocks from her one bedroom apartment on Fifth Street. She loved the street performers that tantalize people in the midst of a shopping spree or date. She loved Los Angeles.
    Jessie, clad in a white bra and panties, stood in front of her lighted mirror in her tiled bathroom. Her college roommate told her that you only wear black bras and panties if you want your date to eventually to see them. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Steve to see them. Her cat walked figure eights between her legs, crying.
    “Stop it.”
    The cat cried.
    “You can’t go out.”
    Jessie finished putting on her face. She prays Steve #2 wouldn’t be like the last one, or like Frank, Tom, Steve #1, Anthony, and Paul. All doctors. All within the last six years. Tom lasted the longest: eighteen months. He was Jessie’s senior by ten years and a widower with two kids. On a night she thought he was going to ask her to marry her, he told her that he still wasn’t over the loss of his wife to colon cancer; he told her that he thought he may never be. She cried for three weeks. Her mother sighed in relief.
    She stared at herself in the mirror and cursed at a pimple to the right of her chin and wondered if at 32 she still had acne, when wouldn’t she. For a moment, she saw herself back in high-school with her nose. For graduation (one of the only presents she received that had nothing to do with getting into medical school), her parents bought her a new nose. They took her to Dr. Weinstein, one of the best nose-men in Los Angeles.
    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Dr. Weinstein asked Jessie while her parents waited in the other room.
    “You have no idea,” Jessie told him. They shook hands, the appointment was made, and two weeks after graduation, Jessie walked out of the hospital smiling brightly under heavy bandages.
    She hated high school. She envied her good-looking classmates and felt that she just was a nose away from being a part of them. She did have her own group of friends, though, and they helped each other get through the most awkward four years of anyone’s life. They did everything together: ate lunch, joined after-school activities, spent their weekends watching movies or studying, and sometimes even vacationed with each others families. For prom, she went with fellow group member Jason Ross, who got contact lenses for this specific occasion. He neglected to practice putting them in, and on the night of prom spent almost an hour in front of the mirror trying to pry his eyes open. His mother even tried to help, but she underestimated the strength of an eyelid. By the time he gave up and decided to wear his signature giant U-shaped slightly tinted glasses, his eyes were bloodshot. And by the time he showed up at Jessie’s door, he had drenched his eyes with so many eye-drops, that Jessie thought he was crying.
    Jessie had a good time in college. So good, in fact, that she lost touch with her friends from high school—even with Stephanie who went to Brown with Jessie. She was too busy getting acquainted with her new nose. For the first time in her life, Jessie felt what it was like to be one of the pretty girls. She attended parties, went out on Saturday nights, hung out with girls that were most definitely in the popular crowd back in their high schools. It wasn’t that her new nose made her a knockout (but it was a definite improvement), but it gave her the confidence she needed to push her over her shyness. And what was wrong with a little plastic surgery if it helped one’s confidence? At least, that’s how she convinced herself to do it in the first place.

    “This is the last one.” Her cat cried. “Right, Seymour?” Cry. “Then the internet.”
    Her best friend from medical school had just been married to a man she met on the internet. She has been trying to get Jessie to join for the past year. At their wedding, Sarah and David had giant-sized copies of their internet dating profiles gallantly displayed at the entrance of the reception. Next to the two tripods a beautifully decorated table housed a little velvet book with their emails transcribed. Phrases like “This message is to confirm that I must meet you for coffee quite soon as your emails are absolutely charming!” and “Wow, so now when I meet you I have to smile, look pretty & act charming; what pressure!” and “Last night was wonderfulÉcan’t wait for tomorrow” were being read by guests in suits and dresses while eating finger foods and drinking wine. While Sarah and David loved to share their history with their friends and family, Jessie stared in disbelief at family members reading about their sexual escapades.
    By the time Seymour completed his twenty-sixth figure eight, Jessie, still in her underwear, stood in front of her closet.
    “Tomorrow, we go shopping,” she told Seymour.
    Seymour cried.
    “For now, Steve #2 will have to settle for something old.” She let the dress fall onto her body, scratched her cat on the head, and put on her shoes.
    Seymour cried.
    “I know, but mommy’s got to go out. I gotta at least try.”
    Steve was already five minutes late, and Jessie was uncharacteristically ready before her date arrived. Sometimes, when she already knows the guy fairly well, Jessie purposely isn’t ready before her date arrives. She answers the door in her pajama pants and an old t-shirt that is a couple of sizes too small and so worn and thin that you could not only see the curve of her breasts but also the shape of her nipples. With Paul, the effect was so successful that they missed their dinner reservation and almost missed the play at eight because they took a little longer than expected in the shower.
    She did know Steve #2 fairly well and definitely wanted to have sex with him, but for some reason (she couldn’t explain it, just an intuition), she didn’t want to play that game with him. She walked into her kitchen and opened the refrigerator and then quickly closed it. She slipped her dress over her head, found a hanger, and let it hang from the kitchen doorway—something else she learned from her best friend in college so that the dress wouldn’t wrinkle before her date arrives. In her underwear, she sat at the kitchen table and looked at the newspaper. The front page had a story about an eighteen year-old boy who beat his sixteen year-old girlfriend and killed his unborn child.

    Steve drove his new luxury car fast, but Jessie was comfortable. She knew and trusted him. She’s never owned a new car and envied the smell. Combined, they were close to a half a million dollars in debt. However, unlike Steve, Jessie was still a surgical resident and only making forty per year; Steve, on the other hand, was well into six figures.
    “Where are we going?”
    Steve looked at her and smiled. The first time he smiled like that at a girl was 1985.
    Valentino’s was crowded and entirely filled with couples—in twos or fours.
    Jessie objected to his choice, stating that it was unnecessary to take her to such an expensive restaurant. Steve’s reply? “It’s completely and totally necessary.” Jessie held her peace.
    The day before in the hospital’s cafeteria, Jessie sat with her friend and fellow resident Samantha. They sat alone, eating lunch, overlooking a gridlocked Sunset Blvd.
    “I heard he’s taking you to Valentino’s,” Samantha said seductively.
    “Heard? From whom?”
    “Dr. McClure.”
    “Jesus, does everyone know?”
    “Of course. The nurses hate you.”
    “Well, they hate me for other reasons, I guess one more won’t hurt. If he takes me there, it’s going to be over before it begins,” Jessie put a fork-full of macaroni and cheese in her mouth.
    “What? Why?”
    Jessie finished chewing. Then: “I can’t stand men who have to show off how much money they have on a first date. A fifth or sixth fine, but not a first.”
    Samantha didn’t understand Jessie’s reason. Samantha wished a doctor would take her to Valentino’s on a first date. Samantha wished Steve Jefferson would take her to Valentino’s on a first date. Jessie didn’t know this, and Samantha was scared she would see it in her face.
    “Well, if he takes me there, you can have him,” she winked.
    “Deal,” Samantha held out her Diet Coke to Jessie who in turn held hers up. “That’s if he’ll ask.”
    “Oh, he will. He’s just working his way down the female residents year-by-year, alphabetically,” she joked. “They say that after he’s done with the residents, he’ll move on to nurses.” They both laughed.
    Dr. Jefferson transferred to Kaiser Santa Monica two years ago and had already dated three residents. Jessie doesn’t know why she’s going out with him. Perhaps it’s something to do. Perhaps she still thought it possible to meet and date a sensible man who would respect her career choice. Of course, her mother objected.
    “But mother,” she would always say before going out with a fellow physician, “he’s a doctor, too.”
    “All the better to ask you to put your career on hold. He can afford to support the two of you.”
    “So are you saying I should date a poor man?” she asked snidely.
    “I’m saying you shouldn’t date period.”
    “Mother, I’m not, not going to date. I like sex too much.”
    “You can have sex without dating.”
    That would be the end of the conversation. The daughter would get tired of the mother trying to run her life, and the mother would get tired of the daughter’s inability to see the future. Jessie’s mother had an uncanny sense of things to come. Rachel’s other daughter, Margaret, who was six years Jessie’s minor, owes her life to Rachel’s sixth sense. All Jessie owes is a career she fears she no longer wants and an inability to keep a man.

    What had bothered Jessie more than Steve’s asking her what she wanted and ordering for her was the fact that she would agree with her mother that that is an antecedent to how Steve would treat his wife. (Steve was a romantic-traditionalist. He didn’t realize that his treating women as if he was courting them at the turn of the century—the 19th to the 20th, that is—was completely insulting to the woman of today. Women didn’t want to be held up on a pedestal. They merely wanted to be held up as equals. And while our poor Steve thought he was being a gentleman, the women he dated merely thought him annoying.) No matter how often Jessie and her mother bickered, she feared that she was on the inevitable path of the realization that her mother had been right all along.
    “Is the duck not to your satisfaction?” Steve asked with a forkful of veal an inch from his mouth.
    Jessie wanted to say, “No, the duck is fine. What I’m having a problem with is your snobbishness.” But all she managed was (which was the truth), “no, it’s wonderful.” And she ended it there, with no explanation of her apparent boredom.
    Steve didn’t think twice. He continued, “Would you agree?”
    For the past twenty-five minutes, Steve had been ambushing Jessie about the administration at the hospital and comparing it unfavorably to the hospital he had transferred from. It seemed to Jessie that every sentence began with, “Back at St. Joseph’sÉ” and would end with a diatribe of Kaiser Santa Monica, a hospital and staff Jessie had grown quite fond of in her five years of surgical residency.
    “Steven? Can we stop talking about work, please?”
    “I’m sorry, of course.” He put another forkful of veal in his mouth. Still chewing: “what would you like to talk about?”
    Jessie was glad that she wore her white underwear. It was now that Jessie understood that Steven wasn’t in control. It seemed that his ability to win people over, which he had up until medical school graduation, seemed to be no longer with him. He was no longer charming and he had no idea how it happened. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He was still himself. He did everything the same. What was different now than it was ten years ago? He had no idea.
    He still had women during his residency, that didn’t change—he was only getting better looking as he aged. What changed was that they left him; they seemed to get bored with him. This didn’t hurt his reputation as a ladies man, however. Actually, on the contrary, it only helped. And actually, he began to enjoy it. It saved him from the guilt of having to break up with them. The sex was great, his latest escapade would say. It was greater than great. It was amazing. But he’s just soÉI don’t know. And they wouldn’t be able to complete the sentence.
    By the time his residency had finished and he moved to Los Angeles, he was tired of sleeping around and started to want a family. So he made a vow not to sleep with anyone until the tenth date. He was going to be a new man. He didn’t want that reputation anymore; however, unbeknownst to him, his plan fell apart before he could even implement it. Sally Michaels, one of his many women during his residency, knew a surgeon at Kaiser Santa Monica and told her about him. It wasn’t a warning, but an encouragement. So, this surgeon sought him out. When, after six dates, she didn’t get to experience “the fuck of her life” as Sally put it, and had to put up with the now annoying Steve Jefferson, she ended it quickly. And to top it all off, to avoid embarrassment, she lied to Sally and told her that, indeed, he was the fuck of her life.

    The ride home was surprisingly more bearable than dinner, and to her surprise she agreed to a quick stop for ice-cream. Jessie didn’t know if it was because she had already made up her mind that she wouldn’t see Steven socially again or if he actually became more tolerable. Whichever reason it was, Jessie found herself actually involved in a conversation she enjoyed. Apparently, Steven was fond of classical music, which Jessie appreciated because of her sister. Jessie suddenly feared that he might ask her to see a concert in the future. He never will.
    When they got back to her apartment building, luckily for Jessie, there were no free parking spaces. Steven offered to double-park, but Jessie (telling the truth) told him that police frequent the street for just that offense.
    “So, I had a good time,” he said after he turned off the engine.
    “I did too,” which wasn’t a total lie.
    “Would I be out of line if I said that I would like to do this again sometime?”
    “Steven, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
    “I kind of felt that coming.”
    “It’sÉI think I’ve realized that I can’t or shouldn’t date physicians.”
    “I see.”
    “I’m sorry. I hope we can stay professional.”
    “Of course.”
    Jessie, for the first time, was seeing a side of Steven she actually liked. He was pathetic. He was totally vulnerable. For a moment, she thought she might want to see Steven again.
    “I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
    He couldn’t look at her. “No you’re right. I always get myself into these things. I should stop, too.” He was talking about dating other physicians. Jessie understood.
    “Maybe you should.”
    There was a silence in the car where both of its occupants didn’t know what to do. Jessie unbuckled her seatbelt.
    “Jessie?” He finally looked at her again.
    “Yes?”
    “What do others say about me? I mean, the other female physicians and residents.”
    But she knew what he meant.
    “What do they think of me?” He was a new student at a new school without any friends. She loved it.
    Jessie knew she shouldn’t or even couldn’t lie. She knew that he wanted to hear the truth. “Steven, honestly, you’ve created quite a reputation for yourselfÉof someone who sleeps around.”
    “But I don’t,” he said with a finality of defending his honor.
    “Have you with any?” The second she said this she wished she didn’t.
    “No, not one.”
    She believed him.
    “Do they say I do?”
    “Some do, yes.”
    “Why would they do that?”
    She hated being a woman at this very moment. “I don’t know.” But she remembered a story about her college roommate (the same that told her about wearing black bras and panties) that would explain things pretty well. “I’m sorry, Steven,” is all she could muster up.
    “It’s my own fault, I suppose. I should leave my personal life and my professional life separate.”
    Jessie immediately wondered if she had a similar reputation. She has dated a number of physicians and residents in her time at the hospital. She didn’t dare ask.
    “It’s not your fault. Women can just be— Especially female physicians, they can be—” She couldn’t explain how women can be.

    Jessie put the key into door at the top of the stairs. During the past year (her last year in Los Angeles), she has been making an effort to remember every time she comes home that she won’t be coming back to this home soon. It made her feel empty, but she liked that feeling sometimes. It comforted her. She heard Seymour through the door. Before she could turn on the light, she saw Seymour’s flashlight eyes. She turned on the light and surveyed her apartment like she does every time she opens the door.
    She looked down at him. He looked up at her. He cried.
    “Seymour, this is Steven.”
    She closed the door.

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This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine. Saddle-stitched issues are no longer printed, but you can requesting it “re-released” through amazon sale as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.

This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.