Confluence - 4. Owen's Follow-Up Appointment

Chapter 4

Mrs. Ogilvy’s thin voice barely carried over the sound of Layne scrubbing his hands. “Doctor, there’s a young man who insists on seeing you. I told him you were in surgery and he was rather put out. It was all I could do to make him wait. A Mister Owen.”

“You may show him in. I’m done now. Jordan is finishing up.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Owen shuffled in. As soon as Mrs. Ogilvy was out of hearing, he said, “Old bat. Kept me waiting for an hour.”

“That old bat, as you call her, keeps my practice running like a clock and defends me like a mother lioness. The man in my surgery just lost two fingers crushed in the machinery at a mill. I had to send for Jordan with no warning. Fortunately, he got here in record time.”

“Who is Jordan?”

“A colored boy who helps me with surgeries. Administers ether, keeps watch on the patient’s heartbeat and breathing, hands me surgical tools. Some day he’ll be a fine doctor.”

“A boy does all that?”

A young black man entered. “The patient is awake now, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Jordan. Jordan, this is my friend and our neighbor, Mister Owen, just taking the shop next to us. Mister Owen, Jordan Moreau. Well, what’s wrong? Shake hands.”

After an awkward handclasp, Jordan moved to the door. “I’ll be going now, Doctor Layne. Of course I’m always glad to help, but I had to leave my little sister alone at home.”

“By all means, Jordan. We’ll settle up later.”

With a slight nod to Owen, Moreau left by the front door.

“You said he was a boy,” Owen said. “He’s as old as I am. You wouldn’t call me a boy, I hope.”

Layne was momentarily flummoxed. “Well, you’ve got me there. Force of habit, I suppose. You grow up hearing colored men of any age called ‘boy,’ and you don’t even think about it.”

“I bet they do.”

“I bet you’re right.” Layne finished drying his hands. “I shall mend my ways.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“And I to you. Let’s meet for lunch in an hour. Where we went before. Right now I must tell my patient how to care for his hand. I only hope that he will still be able to work. He has children to support.”

********************

Owen picked at his corned beef hash. “Now Ellie is taking an interest in the shop. She thinks the soda fountain will go over well. And she’s talking to her father and her uncle about being partners.”

“Does that bother you?” Layne’s chicken pie was, at least, superior to the chess pie he endured before.

“Well, they know things, and they know people. They could get the best Vermont marble for the counters and all. But I want it to be my idea. I want it to be the way I want it.”

“And you’re afraid you’ll be giving up too much control?”

“I don’t like something that I thought was mine slipping away in little pieces.” Owen looked earnestly at Layne. “Is Jordan like us?”

“What?”

“Jordan. Is he the way we are?”

“If you mean, do his affections run to masculine company, yes, I believe they do.”

“Have you done with him what we did together?”

Layne put down his fork. “Jordan has a dear friend. They are quite devoted to each other, from what I see. When I first met Jordan, he and I may have had one or two encounters, but that’s over.”

“Well, was it one or two?”

“I don’t think I’m going to answer that. Paulie, what is this about?”

“You’ve done all this before.”

“I’ve done my share. Mostly in the army.”

“But I haven’t. I don’t know how this works. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re so matter-of-fact about it.”

“Paulie.” Layne folded his hands. “You weren’t in the war. Men react to war in different ways. I might seem subdued in how I express myself. But inside, my passions are no less forceful than yours.”

“How could you have had -- encounters, in the army?”

“You’d be surprised how much men loosen up when they don’t know if they’ll be alive tomorrow. And the lack of gossiping women and sour-faced preachers watching their every move makes a difference, too. Mostly it was just lonely, frightened men looking for a little comfort, one hour that wasn’t all death and mud and bad food, just once. But I did have one dear friend I loved. He died a week before the war ended.”

“There’s no war here,” Owen said. “I have my whole life in this town, and now there’s you, and I don’t see how I can do both. They don’t fit together.”

Layne sighed. “If you don’t wish to continue what we started on Saturday, I will respect your choice. I will be very disappointed, but I will accept it. And I will not breathe a word to anyone.”

Owen nervously shoveled in one forkful of hash, then another. “I don’t think I have enough knowledge to make an informed decision. You said on Saturday that you wanted to do it again, and more. What did you mean by ‘more’?”

A slow smile appeared on Layne’s face. “I would have to show you.”

Owen considered. “Tonight?”

“Tonight would suit me just fine.”

*******************

Layne’s vantage point was perfect for appreciating both the sprinkling of hair on Owen’s chest and stomach and the fur on his legs below. Like a faun, he thought. Owen lay back, his head thrashing back and forth, his body rigid, his hands in Layne’s hair.

“Win!”

“Mm.”

“Win, what if I - release, while you’re doing that?”

Layne came up for air. “Then I shall swallow and be grateful.” He returned to the task at hand.

“Win! What are you doing now?”

“I’m stimulating another sensitive area with my finger.”

“But -- It’s --”

“Is it unpleasant?”

“No!”

“Well, let me know if it becomes so.”

“Ah -- ah!” With a few sharp breaths, Owen shot his seed into Layne’s mouth.

“Evidently not unpleasant at all.”

Owen shook his head, then pulled Layne up for a long kiss.

*********************

Owen’s head was cradled in Layne’s shoulder.

“How am I going to marry Ellie? But I’ve got to marry her. I promised.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. We’ve been friends since we were children.”

“Successful marriages have been based on less.”

“I’m not sure, I’m not sure.”

Layne shifted to look into Owen’s eyes. “Paulie, are you in love with her?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“You suppose so! I think you’d know if you were. Does your heart beat faster when you see her? Do you find yourself grinning like a fool? Do you feel as though you just took a big whiff of ether? Because I’m already there when it comes to you, sir. My heart leaps at the sight of you. If you feel half of what I do --”

“Ma says such feelings don’t last.”

“She’s right. They change. If we’re lucky, they mellow, like a good wine. If we’re not, they turn sour. But to deny yourself the chance ever to fall in love! I think that’s a very high price to pay to keep living exactly as you have been in this town.”

“I do.”

“You do what?”

“I do feel those things. I think about you all the time. Everything else seems like waiting to see you.”

“Well then. Do you have enough information now to make a decision?”

Owen ran his finger along Layne’s chest. “No. I still need more study.”

Layne smiled and kissed Owen’s hand. “My little polliwog.”

Owen glared at him.

“Sorry!” Layne held his hands up. “My big polliwog.”

******************

Owen woke suddenly. Through Dr. Layne’s bedroom window he saw the sky turning pale. “It’s late. I’d better go before people are up and about. I’ll have to think of something to tell Ma.”

Layne stretched. “Tell her you were busy having carnal relations with your good friend Doctor Layne.”

Owen dressed as quickly as he could. “Where are my trousers? Where’s my tie?”

Reluctantly the doctor rose and began searching. “They can’t have gotten far. My quarters aren’t all that large.”

“I’ll tell her I was working late and I curled up in a corner in the shop.”

“I wish you could stay here every night.”

“Ha! And Ellie calls me impractical.”

“Found the trousers!”

“And here’s my tie. Now, Win, don’t delay me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Buttons buttoned, tie tied, Owen turned to Layne for a brief kiss which turned into a long one. “I’m warning you, Doctor, don’t slow me down.”

“No, of course not.”

Owen kissed him again. “I’m headed out that door. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Stop you! I find myself obliged to push you.” Layne guided Owen to the door. “I trust you can find your way down through the office?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Latch the front door behind you.” Layne gave Owen a gentle shove and closed the door behind him.

********************

Mrs. Ogilvy found that as she advanced in age she slept less. Often, if she retired early, she found herself wide awake at two or three o’clock in the morning. With a sigh she sat up in bed. Sarah Ogilvy, she thought, you know there’s no point in trying to fall asleep again at this point. Might as well catch up on your work.

Before Dr. Layne hired her to organize his office, she had chafed at the idleness of a widow’s life and the restrictions of a widow’s pension. Now she had a little more money in her purse and her hours were occupied. More than that, she genuinely admired Dr. Layne and was quite taken with what she regarded as his Southern charm; in her conception Ohio was part of the deep South.

The Monday after Layne attended church, there was a sudden swell of requests for appointments for various ailments, real or imaginary, from Franklin’s better-off citizens. She had asked Layne if he really wanted to see so many women whose principal medical condition seemed to be wealth.

Layne had merely smiled and said, “Don’t be an anti-rich snob, Mrs. Ogilvy. Their money will enable me to reduce my fees for the less fortunate.”

She admired him more than ever.

Between the stresses of the mill worker’s emergency surgery and having to deal with ‘that young Mister Owen,’ Mrs. Ogilvy did not accomplish as much as she wished in paperwork for the would-be patients. And so in the very early morning she walked to the office to begin an extra-long day.

The streets were deserted. She was surprised as she approached the medical office to see a figure emerge from the front door. She almost called out to Dr. Layne, but then saw that it was not he, but someone else who was swiftly walking away. That’s young Mister Owen, she thought. What on earth?

Later, when Dr. Layne descended from his apartment to the office, Mrs. Ogilvy asked him, “Is Mister Owen all right?”

“Hm? Mister Owen? Yes, quite all right. Why?”

“Did he spend the night in the infirmary? I saw him leave this morning.”

“Oh, my, you were here early. It’s nothing serious. Just wanted to keep an eye on him. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to him -- he finds it a little embarrassing.” He patted his stomach. “Tummy trouble.”

“Oh,” she replied with motherly concern. “That can be very unpleasant. I’ll send a little prayer his way.”

“You’re an angel, Mrs. Ogilvy. I know he rubbed you the wrong way yesterday, but he’s a good sort, really. The impatience of youth is something he will outgrow in time.”