Polly Prude Plays Dress-Up

Polly Prude Plays Dress-Up

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~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

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Another day done,

Polly Peverly thought as she pulled into the driveway of her condominium complex.

She smiled as she exited the car, taking a deep breath. After a stifling summer, it seemed that Mother Nature was deciding to reward them for being good. October in Chicago could be tempermental, with days of sultry heat alternating with cold rain and gloomy, cloudy days that reminded them of the long, cold, dark winter to come.

But today, at least, had been glorious. A few white cumulus clouds slowly drifted across a deep blue sky, and the temperature was hovering in the low sixties. She didn't bother to put on her jacket as she walked across the immaculately landscaped grounds to her own building, choosing to enjoy the feel of the cool fall air on her skin. An eddy of wind passed by, pulling a few yellow and orange leaves from the trees overhead, sending them swirling through the air before depositing them in the nearby pond, where a few geese paddled around lackadaisically.

"Evening, Frank," she said, smiling at one of her neighbors.

"Evening, Dr. Peverly," he replied. An older man in his seventies, he and his wife had been fixtures since before Polly had moved in. Dressed in jeans and a disreputable flannel shirt that looked at least ten years old, he reminded her of a chimney sweep from "Mary Poppins," rather than a successful investment banker. "What's new?"

"Nothing, which is just the way I like it," she said with a decisive nod. "Excuse me. I have to get home."

The man means well, but he'll talk your ear off. I don't want to get dragged into another hour-long discussion about what the condo board has to say about grills on the balconies or plants on the patios.

She climbed up the stairs to her front door, shouldering it open with a sigh. As she did, two hurtling balls of fur struck her lower legs, caroming off in random directions.

"And hello to you, too," she said, reaching down to run her fingers along Bonnie's back. The tabby cat, less than a year old and still long-legged with adolescence, rubbed her cheek against Polly's hand, purring ecstatically. "I've only been gone for nine hours, you know." Clyde butted his head in, demanding his share of affection, and she ran her hand along his back.

She set her purse on the counter, and shrugged out of her suit jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you two actually liked me. But I know you only put up with me because I feed you."

As if in answer, Bonnie darted over to her food bowl, meowing piteously. "Yes, I know. You're wasting away to skin and bones. Poor thing. And you do so much here while I'm gone. Sleeping, napping, dozing, licking yourself, and more sleeping."

Bonnie eyed her suspiciously, and Polly giggled as she emptied a tin of cat food into each of their bowls. The two cats fell to ravenously.

In her pocket, her phone began to ring softly. She fished it out, looked at the screen, and held it to her ear. "Hi, Mom."

"Hello, Polly," her mother returned. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm okay," she replied. "No, no, stop it, you rotten little verminoid," she hissed down at her feet, where Bonnie had apparently decided to sharpen her claws on her new shoes.

"What?" Her mother's voice was startled.

"Nothing, Mom. Just talking to the cat."

Alice Peverly chuckled. "Watch out, Polly. Talking to your pets is one of the first signs that you're starting to go around the bend. You don't want to end up as the crazy cat-lady, do you?"

"I think I have a ways to go before that happens," she replied. "What's up?"

"I'm..." for a moment, her mother's voice grew tentative. "I've met someone."

"Oh?" She kept her voice carefully noncommittal. Her mother hadn't been in a serious relationship in years.

"Yes. And I want you and Ronnie to meet him. Could you come over for dinner on Friday night? Maybe around seven?"

She blinked. This

was

serious. The last time her mother had actually dragged a man home to meet her two children, she had been in junior high, she thought. And Ronnie would have been in elementary school. "Sure, Mom. Do you need me to bring anything? What's the name of the mystery man?"

She could hear the smile through the phone. "His name is Edgar. Edgar Wagner."

"What's he like? What does he do?"

"Nope." Alice's voice was firm. "I'm not going to talk about him. I know you, Polly. You'll start to psychoanalyze him over the phone, and by the time we're done, you'll have my head all twisted up in knots."

"Mom! I will not!"

"Hah. You will so. Remember the family picnic two years ago? You had your cousin Anne convinced that her boyfriend was addicted to porn based on the shape of his skull."

"Come on, Mom. I was just having some fun with her. He's a man, isn't he? That made it a pretty good bet to begin with. Besides, I was hot, tired, bored, and Aunt Betty had made me drink at least three of those terrible mojitos she makes. And Anne was making fun of me for being a 'shrink,' as she calls it. I can't be held responsible for my actions after that."

"The answer is no, Polly. You can form an opinion of him when you meet him. His daughter, too."

"Oh? He has kids?"

"Just one. In high school."

"All right. Is Ronnie coming?"

"If he doesn't, he's going to find out he's not too big to spank."

*****

Three nights later, she pulled up to the small house she had grown up in, in the southwestern suburbs of Chicago.

Don't be big. Don't be important. Be hard to find.

While towns on the western periphery of the suburban sprawl were spreading out like ugly tumors, nothing but strip malls and used-car dealerships as far as the eye could see, Westmont had survived by being small and sane and quiet. Her mother's house was a perfect example. Set on a small plot of land, it was meticulously groomed. The yard was in perfect condition, freshly-mowed despite the lateness of the season. The house had been repainted just a year ago, and the shutters that framed the windows glinted a cheery red in the fading light. In the back, she could see the bright colors of the autumn blaze maple that she and Ronnie had climbed in as kids glowing in the last light of the setting sun.

Holding a covered dish in one hand, she knocked on the door with the other.

It quickly opened, a tall figure looming in the doorway like a giant. It raised its hands, its fingers curled like claws. "Rowr!"

"Ronnie, you idiot. Get out of the way and let me in."

Her younger brother grinned at her and stepped aside. "Nice to see you, too, Polly."

She sniffed the air, her mouth watering at the enticing smells drifting from the kitchen. "Smothered pork chops?"

"And twice-baked potatoes. And brussel sprouts. And rolls. And apple pie."

"Dang." Her mother must really like this guy. Alice Peverly didn't make her special smothered pork chops for just any stranger who wandered in off the street. "I guess the pasta salad I brought might be gilding the lily, huh?"

Her brother took it from her. "If it is, I'll be happy to take it home with me."

"And deposit it in that bottomless pit he calls a stomach." Her mother glided in from the kitchen, graceful as always, and folded her in a hug. "Hi, kiddo. Good to see you."

"You too, Mom," she answered honestly.

Alice Peverly hadn't changed much from her high-school photos. Her shoulder-length blond hair was now faintly threaded with silver, which gave it a glimmering sheen in the lights in the dining room. But her figure was still trim, her face still cheerful, despite the blows that life had dealt it.

"I'll take that," she said, lifting the dish from her hands before she could utter more than a faint protest. "You two stay in there and catch up," she continued over her shoulder, sailing back towards the kitchen. "Too many people clomping around in here will make me nervous."

Silence fell over the dining room. She wandered over to one wall, where pictures were carefully hung, framed portraits from their parents' wedding side-by-side with school pictures. Her own graduation photo from the University of Chicago held down a particularly important spot, right next to a wire-service photo of Ronnie signing his first professional contract.

She stood quietly, looking at a picture of their father, standing tall and proud in his army uniform, the two stripes of a corporal on his shoulders. Her fingers reached out, almost as if she could touch him through a window twenty years in the past.

"Do you remember him?" Ronnie's voice made her start.

"Just...glimpses, really." Her voice was soft. "Sometimes I don't even know if they're true memories, or if I've heard the story so many times that I just

think

they're memories. The mind is a funny thing. It can trip you up."

Ronnie nodded his understanding. "But I do remember one," she continued. "One that I'm certain is my own. It couldn't have been long before...before he died.

"We were in a church somewhere. I can't remember if it was for a wedding or a funeral or what. All I know is that I was hot and tired and cranky and I didn't like the dress I was wearing.

"And Daddy picked me up. He was so tall! And he held me and kind of rocked back and forth." She demonstrated, her body swaying from side to side. The sort of movement one used to settle a fussy child. "And I felt safe and loved and peaceful."

"It was for my friend Janet's wedding," her mother said quietly from behind them. They turned around quickly, unaware that she had been listening to them. She blinked back tears. "Roger died about six weeks after that."

She seemed to be about to say more, but was interrupted by the doorbell. "Go and get that, will you, Ronnie? I don't want Edgar to think I've been crying."

*****

"So is it true? You're a major league ballplayer?"

Polly rolled her eyes at the adoring tone. Edgar's daughter Melissa had been practically drooling over her younger brother almost from the minute she and her father had walked in the door.

Cheerleader body, cheerleader brains,

she thought snidely, then flushed guiltily. The girl seemed nice enough. And it wasn't her fault she was all blond hair and blue eyes and with a chest large enough to draw any male's gaze.

A chest that Ronnie seemed pathologically incapable of looking away from.

Come on, Ronnie. Her eyeballs are in her head. Not her cleavage.

He shrugged elaborately, clearly enjoying the attention. "Well, that might be saying a little too much," he said. "But I did get a call-up with the Brewers in September."

God, hadn't that been a night! Ronnie had called them from Colorado Springs, where he had been with the triple-A team. When her phone had rung at 1 AM, she had been sure someone had died. And it had taken her minutes to understand what all the yelling was about.

"Polly! Sis! They called me up! I'm going to The Show!

I'm going to The Show!

" he had screamed.

In that instant, all his hard work had paid off. She had been horrified when he had ditched the scholarship offer from USC and signed his first pro contract right out of high school. How many other teenagers, she had demanded, blew their chance at a free education and flamed out in the minor leagues?

"

I've done the research, Sis," he had answered. "The most productive years of an athlete's career are in the early to mid-twenties. If I go to USC, I can't be drafted again until after my junior year. I'll be blowing three years when I could be earning top dollar in the major leagues."

"

If you make it. What if you don't?"

"

Then I'll have the signing bonus to fall back on. A third-round pick doesn't get peanuts, Shrimp. If they want me, they're going to have to make it worth my while."

And he had been right and she had been wrong. It had taken him four years, working his way up from Helena to Appleton to Biloxi to Colorado Springs. But that moment when he had come up to pinch-hit in the bottom of the seventh of a meaningless game against the Reds last month would be forever engraved in her heart.

"

Now batting, making his Major League debut, number sixty-two, Ron Peverly."

She and her mother had been in the stands, of course, cheering themselves hoarse. Ronnie had popped out in that first plate appearance, fooled by a low change-up. But three nights later he got his first hit, a ringing double to right-center. She and her mother had been watching the game at her house, and had screamed so loud the neighbors had called the police, convinced someone was getting killed.

Now her brother glanced at her and her mother. "That reminds me. I should have told you. I got a call yesterday. The big club put me on their forty-man roster."

She exchanged a confused look with Alice. "What does that mean?"

"It means they have plans for me. Next year, even, maybe. There's a couple of outfielder spots open, since Martinez and Jackson are probably going to be cut. Being on the forty-man means that I won't be left unprotected in the minor league draft in January. And I'm going to get a salary bump. A big one. Not the major league minimum, but at least enough that I can stop dipping into my bonus money." He frowned. The starvation wages the major league teams paid their minor league peons had been a sore point with him for years.

"How much do ballplayers make?" Melissa asked curiously.

"Well, it depends on how good they are."

"How good are you?" The girl's voice deepened, and she fluttered her lashes at Ronnie.

Polly nearly choked on her milk. God, the little tramp was trying to flirt with her brother!

"I'm pretty good," Ronnie answered. His return smile was frankly inviting.

Edgar cleared his throat, and Melissa flushed. "Didn't you play baseball when you were in high school, Dad?" she asked, obviously trying to divert his attention.

The older man shrugged. "I played. Some. But don't embarrass us by comparing what I did with what Ron does. I never had to try to hit a ninety-five mile-per-hour fastball. And I would have peed down my leg if I'd had to."

"So how did you meet my mom, Mr. Wagner?" Polly asked.

He smiled across the table at her, and Polly felt herself warming to the man. His face was unremarkable, but his faded blue eyes were kind. "Should we shock the youngsters with the details of our whirlwind courtship?" he asked her mother.

"Eddie!" Alice giggled, her cheeks turning red.

"It's not that big of a mystery," she said to her children. "Eddie works as an insurance adjuster. He came out to inspect the roof when I lost some shingles in that bad storm we had back in June.

"When he was done, he asked me out. I don't know why I said yes."

"Because of my animal magnetism."

"Yes. That must be it," she returned, her expression deadpan. But her eyes glinted appreciation of his humor.

"Anyway, we've been going out for about four months." She reached out her hand, and Edgar took it. Their fingers twined together as their eyes locked. "It's been a long while since I've been so happy, kids. A real long time."

"And since I asked her to marry me last weekend," Eddie said, taking a small velvet box out of the pocket of his suit jacket, "and since she said yes, well, we both thought it was high time we should start getting to know each other."

"Mom!" Ronnie half-stood as their mother opened the box and slipped the diamond ring onto her finger. "You're engaged? And...and you didn't even tell us?"

"I think we just did."

"You...you stinker!" Polly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You didn't even wear the ring?"

"Hah. You'd have noticed it in five minutes. And then I would have had to explain everything. And it would have spoiled the surprise."

*****

"So what do you do, Miss Peverly?"

Polly smiled at the younger girl. "I think we're going to be family of a sort, Melissa. You can call me Polly." She smiled. "I never expected to get a step-sister." She cocked an eyebrow. "Which one of us will be the evil one?"

"I thought it was the step-mother who was the bad person in all of the fairy tales," Edgar put in from the porch swing where he and their mother were sitting. His arm was around her waist, and her head was on his shoulder. They looked very comfortable, and she felt her heart twist enviously. "Better watch out, Missy. Alice will have you living in the attic with the mice and bats."

She tossed her head, slanting a smile at her father. "I'll just teach them to make me dresses like Cinderella did."

"I work as a clinical psychotherapist at Adventist Hospital in Bolingbrook," Polly said, answering the original question.

"A what?"

"She pokes around in people's heads," Ronnie explained.

"What? Like a brain surgeon? Eww!"

"No. Stop messing her around, Ronnie." She glared at her younger brother, who smiled back, unrepentant, saluting her with a bottle of beer he had pulled out of the fridge. She sighed, shaking her head. Brothers...

"I help out people who have emotional problems," she explained to Melissa. "Depression, eating disorders, anger management, that sort of thing."

"Oh." The pretty forehead wrinkled. "Aren't there, you know, drugs for that sort of thing?"

"Sometimes there are, sometimes there aren't. Sometimes my patients would rather have a stick jammed up their butt than admit they need help from chemicals. And sometimes the insurance companies won't cover the costs.

"And a lot of the time, people just need a chance to talk things out. To have someone who isn't judging them listen to their problems. Just being able to talk about helps out a lot more people than you could guess.

"It's not easy being the low woman on the totem pole, though," she sighed. "They assign me all of the weird cases. The 'odds and sods,' as my supervisor calls it. There's this one woman who has a thing about swallowing coins."

"Coins?"

"Yeah. Lucky pennies, to be exact. You know. Find a penny, pick it up..."

"And all the day, you'll have good luck," her brother finished.

"Right. So when she finds a penny, a

heads-up

penny, she picks it up, takes it home, cleans it up, and swallows it.

"It's terribly unhealthy. She manages to pass some of them, but she's still had three surgeries to remove them from her stomach. If she doesn't stop, it's going to kill her, eventually."

"Wow." Melissa's eyes were wide. "You must have to deal with a lot of freaks."

She frowned at the teenager. "They're not freaks. Their brains are just wired a bit different than yours or mine. The trick is finding a way to get them to deal with their issues without putting them into some sort of chemical haze."

"So what are you doing for this poor woman?" Eddie asked curiously.

She sighed again. "I'm trying to get her to do something else with the pennies. Something that will divert her desire to swallow the dang things. I'm still working on it."

*****

The conversation flowed back and forth after that, with Polly trading stories of some of her patients (lightly edited, of course) with some of the outrageous claims Eddie had come across in his career as an insurance adjuster. And Ronnie had all of them rolling with a tale of how he and three of his teammates had been caught by the manager of their minor-league team at a bar after curfew, and the increasingly-ridiculous story they had concocted to try to cover their tracks.

The night deepened, stars coming out in the velvet black expanse of the night sky. As the hour grew later, an autumnal chill crept into the air. At last Polly yawned and stretched.

"I'm sorry. But if I talk any longer, I'm going to turn into a pumpkin." She stood up. "Eddie, it was wonderful meeting you and Melissa. But I think I'm going to head on home."