Bud Grossmann’s Words of the Week for the Week of April 24, 2011 Fiction first published in 1992. © 1992 by Bud Grossmann. All Rights Reserved.   Man in Scrubs, 1989 © 1989 by Bud Grossmann TRAVERSING THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW D ouglas Berrington, of Baltimore, in his early forties now and married to the same woman for twenty-one years, has always had “an eye for the ladies.” Though Doug would wince if he were told that anyone had seen him as a man “on the prowl,” he might have confessed to one or two of his male friends that he does keep an ear cocked for the knock of Opportunity.      For their wedding anniversary each year, Berrington presents to his wife, Luanne Sanchez, M.D., a single red rose and a card with a brief, buoyant, handwritten poem of his own composition. Some years ago, Sanchez ceased to requite the sentiment. The couple usually celebrates each passing year of married life with a special dinner out, sometimes with their children, now ages ten and four. This year the wedding anniversary fell on a Friday. Doug and Luanne made reservations at a restaurant for the two of them alone.      It so happened, however, that Luanne’s best friend from med school days—a woman named Christina Munter—called to say she was arriving from out of town on Friday afternoon to attend a weekend conference at Johns Hopkins. With Doug’s cheerful acquiescence, Luanne invited her to dinner.      Dr. Munter practices cardiology in Kansas City. At least a dozen years had passed since Luanne had seen her. They had exchanged holiday cards and occasionally kept in touch by telephone, but on this occasion in Baltimore they had much news to share. Doug himself had not known Christina well. He vaguely recalled that she was both married and pregnant during her third year of medical school. Doug now learned that Munter had, for the past ten years, been sharing a domestic relationship with another female physician.      As Christina sipped wine and began telling a story about “who wears the pants in the family,” Doug wondered why he felt exceptionally comfortable in the company of lesbians. He recalled three whom, over the years, he had found particularly appealing. Did he like them, Doug wondered, because he shared their fondness for femininity? Or might it be that he was attracted to their strength of character, their defiance and self-possession?      “I make Claire’s breakfast and pack a lunch for her every morning,” Christina said, speaking of her partner. “And last week one morning I changed all my appointments and stayed home to wait for the furnace man—we had the thermostat maxed out, and the house was still freezing! Well, anyway, the furnace man came, and he couldn’t find the thing, what do you call it, the filter, and I was so embarrassed because I had to call Claire at her clinic to ask her where it was.”      “You were embarrassed?!” exclaimed Berrington. “Christina, I bet the furnace man was embarrassed!”      “Oh, yeah,” Christina agreed, “I suppose he was, listening while I talked to Claire in a ‘helpless wifey’ kind of way.”      “No, no, I don’t mean that!” Doug said. “I mean, he is The Furnace Man! Shouldn’t a furnace man know how to locate the filter, for goodness’ sake? If you hadn’t been able to reach Claire, he’d’ve had to call his wife for help.” Then Doug blushed and added, “Or, well, come to think of it, maybe call his lover.”      Doug’s dinner companions began eating their salads. Christina apparently considered her narrative complete. After a moment, Doug asked, “So, anyway, Christina, where was it?”      “The filter?” Christina flashed a warm and wonderful smile. “Oh. It was inside a little door on the side of the furnace.”      Douglas Berrington, heated by the glow of Christina Munter’s smile, blushed once more. He poked his fork into a stalk of watercress and tried to make sense of a fluttering in his chest. It wasn’t anything he would want to consult a doctor about. Not yet. The man had received no encouragement beyond a girlish grin. Nevertheless, Berrington was certain he could discern, above the crunch of garden greens, a tap, tap, tapping on a little hidden door. ♦         ARCHIVES         Click for a list of other Words of the Week I would welcome your thoughts on this page (or any of my others).  Write to me at the following address.  Please be sure to spell Grossmann with two n’s and mention what page you are writing about. Thanks!  BUD GROSSMANN Top of this page | HOME | Fine Photography | Picture of the Day | Writings | | Words of the Week | Mom & Pop Prop. Mgt. | FAQ |

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