“I suppose I could do that, as long as we leave the option open to sue her. It gives me pleasure to imagine her sweating that. I’ll hit up the lawyer tomorrow.”
While I ponder other options, the waiter clears our plates and leaves dessert menus. Since Jason hardly touched his dinner, they box it up for him.
I order fried ice cream to buy myself time to think about a strategy that might work to change the board’s mind about him. I have one idea that’s been floating around since earlier.
“How would you feel about doing some pro bono work while you wait to meet with the board?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a free clinic in Little Havana that does amazing work in the community. The doctor who works there was recently in a serious car accident and will be out of work for quite some time. The nurses are doing their best to keep up, but they could use some help.”
“I’d have to check with my insurance carrier. I’m still an employee of East Coast and covered by their insurance, but I also have my own policy due to the high-risk nature of my specialty. I’m pretty sure I can get coverage for any volunteer work I do through that one.”
“Let me make a few calls and see if we can make this happen.” My cousin Maria is a nurse at the clinic, but I’ll keep that to myself until I know whether I can pull this off. “In the meantime, check with your insurance and let me know.”
“I’ll call in the morning.”
I push the fried ice cream toward him.
He uses the second spoon the waiter brought to take a bite.
“What about past patients?”
“What about them?”
“By now you must have a few satisfied customers who can attest to your skill and the care they received from you.”
“More than a few.” The note of cockiness reminds me of the man I met this morning. That seems like a lifetime ago in light of what I’ve learned about him since.
“Can you reach out and ask them to send testimonials we can share with the board? We need to show them the other side of the story.”
“I can ask my former assistant in New York to handle that. She would have all the contact info.”
“Do it. It certainly can’t hurt anything. Have them write to me directly.” I give him my new business card, which includes my email address. “Don’t go through Augustino.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“I barely know him. I have no idea whether he can be trusted, which is all the more reason to funnel everything through me. After being misled, he may not want you any more than the board does, for all we know.”
“True.”
“I need you to know that I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you, but I don’t want to lose my job over it.”
“I understand.”
The waiter brings the check, and we both lunge for it, knocking it off the table, which makes us laugh.
It’s closer to Jason, so he grabs it. “This is on me.”
“I’m the one who owes you money.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“I am worried about it. I pay my own bills.”
“You’re helping me figure a way out of this mess. That’s all the payment I need.” He pulls out the black American Express card again to pay the bill. “I’d be losing my mind if I didn’t have your help in figuring out how to handle this situation.”
“I still say you should have someone far more qualified than I am helping you.”
“I don’t know anyone else I can ask, and you know the area, so that gives me an inside track I could never get with someone else.” He signs the credit card receipt and stands, waiting for me to go ahead of him as we leave the restaurant, which has thinned out since we arrived.
I glance at my phone, stunned to realize that it’s after ten o’clock. How did two hours go by in a flash? Ever since I lost Tony, time has been my enemy. It either goes by too quickly, making me wonder how it’s possible that life just marches on without him. Or it drags interminably, leaving me to question how I’ll fill all the time I have left in a life that no longer includes him.
The valet driver has Jason’s car parked right outside the door.
He hands the young man a twenty-dollar bill. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No worries. That car is sweet. Did you drive it here from New York?”
“I wish. I was short on time, so I had to have it shipped.”
The valet hands a business card to Jason. “If you need someone to take it back for you, give me a call.”
“Will do. Thanks.” Jason holds the passenger door and waits for me to get settled before closing the door. He slides into the driver’s seat and hands me his take-home bag to hold for him.
“What about social media?” I ask when we’re on the way back to my place.
“What about it?”
“Have you thought about using your accounts to change the narrative?”
“What accounts?”
I look over at him. “You’re not on social media? At all?”
“Nope. Never had the time for it.”
“Well, that’s a golden opportunity to take control of your own story. We should set you up with an Instagram account that shows you getting to know your new city, and if we can make the free clinic idea happen, that’d be even better.”
“I don’t know how I feel about volunteering at the clinic to get attention.”
“That’s the whole point.”
“I know,” he says, sighing. “I hate doing altruistic things for attention. It feels seedy.”
“Under normal circumstances, it is seedy. These are not normal circumstances. If you want to save your career, you’re going to have to suck it up and court some positive attention.”
“I hate this.”
We’re about a mile from my place when blue lights flash behind us.
After glancing in the rearview mirror, Jason pulls the car over. “What the hell?”
“This can’t be happening twice in one day.”
“First time for me. Grab the registration for me, will you?”
I open the glove box, where the registration was the only thing in there this morning, and immediately realize it’s not there. “Um, Jason?”
They put us in the same cell I was in this morning, the door closing with the same shocking clatter that jolted me the first time around. The cop said he pulled us over because the car had a taillight out, but when we couldn’t produce the registration for the very expensive car, he had no choice but to bring us in until they could confirm that Jason owns the car.
And so, here I am. In jail. Again.
To my credit, I held it together the whole time we were told to stand with our hands on the hood of the car, our legs spread. I held it together when they told us we were being taken in until they could determine who owns the car. I held it together when they cuffed us and put us into the back seat of the squad car. But being back in that cell with the toilet sitting out in the open takes me right over the edge.
I disintegrate into helpless laughter.
“What the hell is so funny?” Jason asks.
I can’t breathe or talk. I wave my hand to encompass the entire situation.