7 #DrCookie

Jon pushed both hands into his pockets and turned from the door to survey the cobbled driveway and beyond.  The lawn was neatly manicured, as were the shrubs and trees whose leaves were swaying in the breeze.  A weed wouldn’t dare make an appearance in the pristine white flower beds, making it obvious that Dr. Montgomery kept landscapers on the payroll.

The presence of household staff wasn’t as obvious, since nobody had answered the damn doorbell yet. 

Flipping his wrist, Jon saw that it was almost five minutes after his scheduled appointment time.  The other car on the driveway told him that somebody was here, so either the maid had the day off or the good doctor wasn’t the punctual type.  Maybe her last appointment was running late. 

Who the hell would think a Facebookologist would have back-to-back appointments?  Not Jon.  Theodosia was obviously a flake.  How the hell had he let himself be talked into this gobbledygook?

Blowing out a subtle huff of annoyance, he turned his back on the lawn design to again face the house.  His finger was poised above the bell when the door swung inward, and light bounced off the beveled glass inset. 

Jon fired up his polite smile, ready to pair it with a similar greeting, but the woman who answered beat him to the punch. 

Kind of. 

Considering that she was looking at him like he had dog shit on his shoe, there was no smile or politeness in her crisp, “Forgive my frankness, but you’re not supposed to be here.”

The corners of his mouth slipped into a more neutral position as Jon’s eyes narrowed with speculation.  He knew this woman from somewhere.  The question was... where?

He unobtrusively skimmed her from head to toe for a clue, but there was nothing particularly memorable about the rigid posture.

Slender feet were encased in linen shoes and trim ankles connected them to legs, whose shape was hidden by baggy beige half-pants that hung from narrow hips.  Her waist was narrower, according to the white t-shirt hanging loosely at the sides in contrast to its drape over modest breasts.  There was a silver chain whose charm disappeared under the neckline, he noted when lifting his speedy inspection from body to a face that was more remarkable than her wardrobe. 

Honey waves framed classically beautiful features schooled into a mask of serenity that didn’t quite hide her displeasure at his presence.  Pique aside, this lady obviously found some joy in life, as evidenced by the feather of laugh lines at her sky-blue eyes.   

What makes this stuffy woman laugh?  

Familiarity nagged at the edges of his subconscious, but he couldn’t fully grasp it before her crisp voice reached out again. 

“My assistant was instructed to cancel our meeting.  I’m sorry you didn’t receive the message.”

“So you’re Dr. Montgomery?”  Jon’s brow lifted with interest as her breasts and nostrils both expanded with a quiet breath. 

“My apologies.  We haven’t been formally introduced.”   The lady of the house wiped a reluctant palm on her pant leg, as though she planned to shake hands, but her head whipped around for a scowl and vehement shake at something inside.  When she turned back his way, all he got was an absent nod.  “Teddi Montgomery.”

The momentum swung her curtain of hair along with it, stirring a breeze that curled into Jon’s nostrils like sweet confection.  An identical scent had lingered in his apartment all weekend, thanks to a dozen vanilla kippers..

“Cookie,” he corrected with a half-cocked slant of his lips.  “From the Cuban place in the Village.  I’d recognize that smell anywhere.”

A sky-blue twinkle erased the scowl, spreading to the corners of her eyes, and giving Jon a first-hand view of the facial expression responsible for those laugh lines.  She looked more familiar with a flush to her cheeks.  The pinkness was the same one that flooded them during her friends' teasing.

“Yes.  You did mention I smelled like cookies.”

Jon’s eyes did another quick visual sweep before returning her smile. 

Still beige.

“Did you have a nice birthday?”

“I did.  Thank you for contributing to it.”  Her voice had lost its crisp edge.  She almost sounded apologetic when saying, “But I really did cancel our meeting.”

Dr. Montgomery tugged at the chain around her neck, withdrawing its charm from under the t-shirt.  It was a dainty filigree thing that she rubbed between thumb and forefinger, which she’d also done the other night, he thought. 

“Mind if I ask why you cancelled?”

“I regret that my schedule does not permit me to accept new clients at this time.” 

Her gaze flicked to the left.  To the casual observer, she was checking out his car in the driveway.  Jon, however, had long-ago learned to identify that maneuver as a sign of someone telling untruths. 

Why the hell would a long-time – and supposedly avid – fan want to give him the brush off?  Especially when he came bearing a potential paycheck.  Something didn’t add up here. 

When pulling into her driveway, Jon hadn’t wanted a damn thing but to be done with this meeting.  Now, though, he was intrigued by the good doctor – and her damn cookie scent.  That meant he was starting to see the benefit of social media in his Hall of Fame quest.  And who better to guide him than an expert who’d spent decades following his journey?    

He just needed a chance to convince her of that. 

“Does your schedule permit a short conversation that doesn’t take place on your porch?” he inquired with a dose of charm that stacked another rosy layer onto her already pink cheeks.

“I…”  She flicked another gaze toward his car, searching for the lie that would release her of the obligation to invite him in.  “I’m in the middle of another appointment.”

“Appointment?” a feminine voice chortled from behind Dr. Montgomery before manicured fingers curled around the door’s edge and pulled it wider.  The short woman with dark-rimmed glasses must be who was on the receiving end of that stink eye a minute ago.  She eyed Jon like a piece of prime rib before correcting, “I’m hardly an appointment.  Just family who was very disappointed to have missed the birthday dinner.  Tori Lancaster.”

He grasped the offered hand and dipped his head.  “Jon.”

“I recognize your face almost as easily as I recognize your ass,” Tori assured with a wink that made him chuckle.  “Teddi, if you don’t invite this man inside…”

Tori was quick to jump to his aid, but the doubtful doctor didn’t immediately comply.  She was still working that filigree pendant like a genie lamp, prompting Jon to coax, “Yeah, Teddi.  Invite me inside.”

Her mouth twisted with either a grimace or a suppressed smile before she flatly informed Tori, “This wouldn’t be a social call but a business meeting.  You would not be welcome to stay.”

The hand that was holding the door lifted in a carefree gesture of surrender.  “Hey, no problem.  One quick selfie and I’ll be out of here – as long as you call me tonight.”

“I’ll call, but no selfies.”  The shake of Teddi’s head was decisive and just as vehement as the first time around.  “My clients are entitled to their privacy.”

He didn’t give a rat’s ass about doling out his nine millionth selfie with a fan, but her refusal to pimp him out earned Jon’s respect – and prompted him to push, “So, we do have a business meeting, then?”

Slender shoulders lifted under the the deep breath she took before exhaling through her nose.  “I believe there’s been an opening in my schedule.  At least for the afternoon.”

Jon’s smugness oozed out of his toothy grin, but he refrained from gloating as he was permitted to enter.  “Lucky for me.”

“Jon Bon Jovi’s getting lucky while I’m getting screwed.  That sounds so much better than it is,” was Tori’s good-natured mutter as she climbed the three steps marking the reception hallway. 

Jon chuckled again and took in the coffee and cream sitting area at the far end of the hall, and all points along the way.  His gaze swept over the walnut floor and bureau, the sand rug with shades of cocoa, the chocolate-on-beige botanical artwork hanging from ecru walls, and all the way up to the white crown molding.  He even craned his neck to peek in at her vanilla dining room with its neutral avian wall-hangings, and then the living room’s tan plaid curtains on the other side of the hall. 

“You really do like beige, don’t you?” he observed with stifled amusement. 

Her family member didn’t feel the need to stifle it and emitted a snort. “Ha!  Ya think?”

“Neutral shades are timeless and classic.”  Teddi’s tone was only mildly defensive, but she definitely closed that heavy-ass door with more force than necessary.

“So is pink, but the sweater I got you last Christmas still ended up as a donation to the homeless shelter, didn’t it?”

Jon would guess the answer was yes, because the doctor's cheeks fired back up again.   “Did you forget that you were leaving, Victoria?”

“Uh-oh.”  Bored eyes lazed in Jon’s direction at the stern reminder.  “I’m in trouble when she calls me Victoria.”

He bit the inside of his cheek when Tori got snagged by the elbow and firmly ushered toward the living room.  

On the way, a hand fluttered in the direction of the nearest doorway.  “Mr. Bon Jovi, feel free to wait in my office.  It won’t take me a moment to send my cousin on her way.”

“Selfie next time?” Tori called over her shoulder, practically tripping over her feet as the good doctor hurried her along.

“Sure thing, baby.”  He released a quiet chuckle and stepped into the indicated room, almost sorry to see the mouthy woman go.  Dr. Cookie kept awfully colorful company to be such a fan of beige.

His quiet chuckle got louder when he got a look at her office. 

At least it’s a different shade of brown. 

Built-in bookcases of golden cherry made up the biggest portion of the walls, and that same wood was fashioned into raised paneling and a variety of ornate moldings at the ceiling, fireplace and doorways.   The floor wasn’t an identical shade but still in the same family, with a rug that was similar to the neutral one from the hall.  Espresso leather covered the chair behind a darker cherry desk, and the guest chairs flanking the fireplace were upholstered in a mocha microsuede. 

If it wasn’t for the rows of books lining the shelves, the room would be as devoid of legitimate color as everything else he’d seen of her house, including the tan brick exterior.

What was it they said about psychology professionals having psychological issues?  Dr. Montgomery was living proof that they did, in Jon’s amateur opinion, but it only fueled curiosity about what lurked behind that lofty demeanor of hers.

Rather than taking one of the guest chairs, he leaned over the desk to check out the framed photographs there.   Did she have pictures of the colorful people he’d met so far? 

Yes – and no.

The first frame was a senior picture dating back to the early sixties if the woman’s flipped hairstyle was any indication.  The dark eyes looked out of place under a blonde side-part, and they held a mischievous twinkle that was only reinforced by a matching smile. 

The other frame held a picture from the Cuban restaurant the other night.

It hadn’t taken her long to get that printed and put on display, he noted with a smirk.  What he also noted was that the image of her wasn’t the stuffy woman he remembered.  Tucked under his arm, she almost looked… relaxed. 

Huh.

Slowly spinning on his heel, he meandered over to one of the bookcases that housed the only other photograph in the room.   It was a little bit weird to find a skull – a very authentic skull – parked next to it, but he gamely leaned in to take a look, anyway. 

The man in it looked like an older Patrick Dempsey and wore a pleasant smile with his dress shirt and sports coat.  Scanning for a family resemblance, he idly wondered who the guy was.

“That’s my late husband.”

Jon straightened slowly, his eyes flicking to the skull. 

What was it he’d just thought about psychologists and their psychological problems?