The McLean sisters Di and Leanne looked through the shades at their new neighbor standing hands on hips watching the to relocation team drive away in their huge truck. Their mom Heather joined them.
"Nice ass."
"Act your age mom," Leanne said and she and Di sniggered.
"I wonder if he likes sex," Di (22) said, winking at her year-older sister, knowing that sort of remark riled their mom. But Heather remained silent and her expression appeared to be reflective. The sisters stared blankly at their mom as if wondering what was going on in her head.
Heather thought he looked about thirty and would be a business executive. Well he'd need to be paying the high price the McLeod's had held out for their substantial home. She was disappointed the guy appeared to be alone. Nothing she saw being carried in suggested a woman's possession and no woman had appeared on the scene.
"I wonder if he'd married?" Di sighed.
"Nah, he's gay. Real men don't stand with hands on hips like a riled woman."
"You'd want to rest your hands on something after lugging in all that furniture and cartons," Heather reasoned. The girls sniggered and she told them to behave like ladies.
She said she hoped there would be a woman, either his mother or a wife or a girlfriend because she'd always been used to having a female friend directly across the street. "Let's find out about him," she said. "We'll make a date and nut log and take over a bottle of wine to welcome him to the neighborhood.
She did the baking unassisted. The girls had rushed off to change and apply make-up.
The guy stood at the door nervously. "Hi."
"Hi, I'm Heather McLean from directly across the street in the cream brick house and this is my eldest Leanne and her sister Di."
"Good evening Heather, Leanne and Di."
There was an awkward pause until he said, "Ah, I'm Hugo Hatfield."
"Are you English?"
"Yes Di. Are you guys American or do you claim Scottish ancestry?"
"Even mom a McCallum was born in Massachusetts and dad's folk have lived here in Springfield since arriving from Scotland in 1902."
"Nicely answered Di."
Heather said, "Hugo, welcome to the neighborhood. Would you please accept this piece of cooking and wine."
"Oh guys, how hospitable and charming. Please come in and view the mess."
* * *
Heather, home at 3.30 after finishing her theatre shift at Baystate Medical Center, handed coffee to her older friend Helen Fields who'd called in.
"What's new Heather?"
"We have a new neighbor in the mansion opposite. Initially he introduced himself just as Hugo Hatfield but I was astonished to find he is our new and fourth orthopedic surgeon and comes from Bristol in England. He arrived from Boston where he qualified for registration and certification and is now undergoing induction, in hip and knee replacement surgery."
"Well that's news. I have a wonky knee. What's his wife like?"
"He's not married and told me women don't take to him romantically."
"What, is it too small?"
They cackled over their coffee.
"Di and Leanne both agree with his assessment of himself. They both made independent pitches for him and got nowhere. He actually took Leanne out to dinner and she told us she was bored stiff. His music tastes are classical, he doesn't read fiction or magazines or watch much television and says his main recreational interests are ice-skating, kayaking and visiting galleries, museums and libraries."
"Claire!"
"What? Oh your Claire. God Helen, it would be a perfect match. He's thirty-three, just a year older than your Claire. Look, let's arrange a dinner party here – I'll get the girls to stay out late – and you bring Barry and just Claire."
"Very well. You set it up."
"Good, I'll just tell him it's dinner with long-standing family friends and their daughter who paints."
"And who is director of Fisher Gallery."
"No, and don't tell Claire he's a surgeon. Give them some things to find out that will surprise them."
* * *
Claire frowned, "Dinner Saturday night at the McLean's? Well I suppose so since Heather has especially invited me. I haven't seen her for a while. Her daughters are a bit scatty for me."
"Oh thank you darling for accepting. We'll try to brighten up your evening. I really do think you should be going out with young men. How can your father and I become grandparents when you steer clear of guys?"
"I'll find the right one eventually and would you and Heather stop ruining my reputation by being worried I might have a closet girlfriend."
"We haven't expressed our fears to anyone."
"Ohmigod, for the first time you've admitted you talk to her about that."
"That's not fair; you tricked me into that admission," Helen complained. "Oh, before I forget. Heather has also invited a new neighbor to dinner."
"Ohmigod, what a couple of scheming women you two are. I ought to refuse to go."
"Aw darling, please.
"Well if you promise we'll leave by 10:15."
"Yes dear, I promise, even if I have to drag you out by your hair."
"Dream on you wicked witch."
Claire, with her wispy blonde hair up but bits dropping down untidily and she drooped, being addicted to soft and unreinforced bras, entered the McLean's home feeling mildly interested. Heather was all over her with kisses and stroking which irritated her, Arnold kissed and performed a mild grope that she habitually tolerated and thank god the kids weren't there. Nor was he. She thought ah well, he probably wouldn't have liked her anyway and was in love with his mirror.
God, she thought, what a cow. She pulled Heather into the kitchen and asked, "Why are you doing this?"
"Because your mother and I agreed he was right to you."
"But I'm not ready to meet a guy for the purpose you two have in mind."
Heather smiled. "Then when will that be darling?"
"I-I don't know."
"I thought that would be your answer. Please go and sit by your mother. I can hear his footsteps."
"Oh god," Claire said, moving off and patting her hair.
Claire was relieved to see him. The guy (she hadn't been told his name) was at least an inch shorter than she was in heels; he looked serious and swarthy and his teeth were too big for his mouth, giving him the appearance of perpetually smiling and his bulge...there was not the slightest evidence of one behind his tight linen trousers. Was it a case of Dr Hermaphrodite I presume? She was even more relieved when Heather introduced him to her father Barry who looked anything but impressed and the guy and Arnold just smiled a greeting without punching each other's knuckles like guys who know one another sometimes do.
As to be expected her mom almost curtsied and Heather, as if pausing for the drum roll, then said with great deference, "And this is our star guest Helen's daughter Claire who is an artist with a rising reputation."
"Oh good evening Claire. May I ask what style do you paint?"
"Oh just a bit of this and that," Claire said absent-mindedly, wishing he'd go and grab a beer and drink with the men.
But she wasn't permitted to get away with that brush-off. Heather said grandly, "This is an example of Claire's work and switched on the light over her portrait at the fair end of the room.
"Jesus," said the doctor as if he was an authority on religious painting and strode down to view it.
But instead of standing off he went right up to it.
Oh god, he's looking at brushwork thought Claire. And then he came out of a bit of a stoop to look towards top center and she knew what that about – he was looking at the eyes, the core of what a portrait was about – expression. This guy was no art bimbo or whatever the male term for it was.
Dr Hatfield returned to Claire and said gravely, "You are very good."
He could have spewed out adjectives that glittered, or attempted to align her with a portrait painter of reasonable merit but that simple statement just hit Claire between the eyes and made her blush and have a great urge to rush to the bathroom. What was he doing to her?
"Grab a beer darling," Heather told Dr Hatfield.
Claire looked at her and the others. It appeared none had been aware of that little byplay between Hugo and her, for which she was very grateful. Instead of arriving back with his beer he returned with a wine bottle and topped the ladies' glasses.
How couth. Claire was captivated and hoped he'd produced romantically tinged feelers during the evening. But he didn't. Her disappointment cut to her inner core. How could he be sensitive about art and not be sensitive about her?
Hugo left first and kissed Claire on the cheek in exactly the same manner as he did the older women.
As Claire left she whispered to Heather, "He didn't notice me?"
"Oh yeah." Heather giggled and that was it. What was that about? Normally Claire's difficulty was to stop Heather talking so much to get a word in.
Driving home Claire's father said, "Hugo appears a nice guy. He showed no interest in you though."
"I'm he didn't," Helen laughed. "I'm a married woman. He was gob smacked by your portrait darling."
