Games Men Play

Kalar arrived at the Den the next morning, a restaurant bar for the medical set, forty-five minutes after he kissed Letitia goodbye. Sales and media professionals knew to get the scoop on hospital activities, and nourish deals that would eventually be made by the hospital's purchasing decision makers, meant making their presence known at The Den. More contracts had been negotiated there than any allocated location for such deals in the hospital. The reconstructive surgeon knew his way around The Den like he knew his way around the surgery suite. A white buxom brunette with an overtly forward personality and thick feathery lashes blocked his path. She seemed more suited for a jock's locker room than a doctors' den. Shamelessly batting her eyes she said, “Good evening doctor. I've been looking for you.” “Jonie Corket…looks like you're busy researching another story.” He looked through the throng of people gathered around the bar and spotted the sandy haired specialist she'd been dating nursing a beer. “I'm not letting you off that easily,” she said. “Anything newsworthy I can televise? I heard you made a big difference in another young woman's life today.” “Only doing what I do best,” he said. “So when will you clear time for me on your schedule doctor?” She sidled up to him her firm breast jutting into his personal space. “I'm off duty, Jonie.” “I'm not, remember? I do some of my best work impromptu.” How could he forget? One night they were flirting shamelessly aboard a yacht during a medical convention and the next morning they were awkwardly rushing off in opposite directions. “I'll never forget.” He said, and he wouldn't. She played on his mind like a song; her brunette hair moving like an ensign in the wind while sailing into the Cabo San Lucas sunset. “I`ll let you go this time,” Jonie laughed, “but you better hurry before I change my mind.” Jonie went back to her date. She lifted a glass to her lips never lacking admirers. Starry eyed interns hoping for fame associated with her stories stood by waiting for her acknowledgement. Kalar made his way to a corner table where his friends had gathered. “I thought we'd need to call a paramedic to get you away from that ambulance chaser,” Greg, the tall dark brown Anesthesiologist laughed easily. He had an easy going demeanor and good looks that made women want to spend a lifetime in his arms. His clothes were as impressive as his features adding to his good guy image. “What's she masquerading as today: reporter, sex-crazed maniac, or attention starved newcomer?” “A woman with a mission,” Kalar said shaking hands with his friends. “I'd be her mission of mercy any day.” Shelton, the tall light lanky architect whose laughter resonated from the depths of his larynx, stood to greet his friend. “You'd run for cover, man,” Kalar smirked and clasped Shelton's shoulder good naturedly. “Sorry I'm late my brothers,” Ron stepped toward the table. Shorter then the rest, the fast talking lawyer had an ego that mirrored Johnny Cochran's and a lust for women that matched Ray Charles'. “I bet she's sorry, too.” Kalar said. “You know I don't roll like that.” Ron fell into a seat at the table. “I wish you'd roll in on time,” Kalar said. “What's time got to do with it?” Ron asked. “What's it?” Greg and Kalar laughed. “A vise grip, my brothers. My head was stuck and I couldn't get it out.” “What was your head doing stuck in a vise grip?” Shelton skeptically looked at Ron his friend of many years. “Drilling for oil in mother Africa, baby,” Shelton and Kalar groaned as Ron got a little dap and pegged laughter from Greg. “I had to drill down deep until I triggered an eruption followed by gratuitous screams of pleasure.” “She was placating your ego is what she was doing.” Kalar said. Ron ignored him, “I'm talking major orgasmic tremors reacting to this big rig being thrust to her depths.” “You're talking lust!” Greg said. “I'm in lust, but she's in love.” Ron laughed. “In love with the maintenance man,” Greg laughed. “Hey! I don't write the rules, my brothers.” Ron continued, “I simply enjoy them.” “We're all maintenance men.” Kalar said under his breath. “Since when, are you a maintenance man?” Shelton asked Ron. “Since it wasn't, Zima,” Ron called his wife's name under his breath as he looked around to ensure no one out of his circle of friends heard. “Man, she's your wife.” Kalar said. “I know that!” Ron retorted. “But that well's run dry.” He whispered; agitation in his voice. “You're not making sense.” Shelton looked away in disgust and back. He'd often vent with displeasure at Ron's blatant disrespect for his wife and the mother of his two children. “You and Zima were making all kinds of noise at the resort a couple weeks ago.” “Look, different people do different things and this girl loves to do those things. All I want to do is maintain a relationship she finds acceptable, and enjoy myself in the process.” Shelton shifted uneasily in his seat. “Trouble is going to catch up with you one of these days.” He mumbled. Shelton, his wife Tricia, Ron and his wife Zima were the best of friends. Their children went to school and day care together. Tricia and Zima were on the same committees, volunteering for the same organizations. They were neighbors by choice. But Zima turned her back on reality. Her short brown Willie Garret look alike husband was a full time philanderer, part-time father and nanosecond husband. For years Ron made it home long enough to sleep four hours, take a hot shower, shave, change clothes and read the morning paper in silence while their children ate breakfast. He'd grunt his goodbye to Zima then spend another sixteen hours tangled between boardrooms and bedrooms with a menagerie of people in between. Ron had moved his family to the suburbs