What the hell was I doing here? I’d had a Pap smear just six months ago and that had come back clear. I had no menopausal symptoms and I knew David was just using this as a means of exercising his power: and I was letting him. Again.
I was ashamed of myself for being so weak. Part of me wanted to get it over with to appease him for a few more weeks; but another, newer, bolder part was telling me to stand up to him.
Somewhere a door opened and the moving air caused posters tacked to a bulletin board to flutter colorfully. The notice for a women’s rights group caught my eye: ‘However we dress, wherever we go—yes means yes, and no means no’.
There was something about the simple wording that resonated—perhaps it was my turn, at last, to say no.
I took a deep breath and stood up. The appointment receptionist looked irritated to see me standing in front of her window for a second time.
“Yes, may I help you?” she said curtly, clearly having no wish to help me whatsoever.
“Yes, you may. I had an appointment for 10 am with Dr. Ravel, but I’ve decided to cancel it.”
“Cancel it?”
“That’s right. I apologize for wasting Dr. Ravel’s time.” But not yours, you sour-faced bitch.
“Well, that’s most irregular. Dr. Ravel is a very busy woman.”
“Hence the apology.”
“Hmm, well. I can give you another appointment in five weeks and…”
“No, there’s no need. No appointment necessary. Thank you.”
And I left, leaving her puzzled and annoyed.
Damn, that felt good! Even though I knew I’d have to face David’s ire later. What the hell: I was a habitual irritation to him anyway. For the first time, it occurred to me that he might even be a happier man without me in his life. I wasn’t sure he’d see it that way, without his cook, cleaner, party organizer and occasional sexual toy, but it might even be true.
I drove out of the hospital parking lot feeling elated and jittery. I’d taken my first baby steps toward independence.
On a roll and feeling unusually daring, I headed out to the country club. I knew Sebastian had taken a double shift. He hadn’t been happy at not seeing me in the morning, but when I said I was having a doctor’s check-up, he’d acquiesced at once and said he’d work to take his mind off ‘things’. He promised to text me on his break but now I was hoping to see him before that: a surprise.
The country club was located at the end of a long, private driveway, fringed by an avenue of mature palm trees. The single story was old Spanish-style—white with tall arches, a wide, cool veranda running around three sides, and frothing with bougainvillea in rich magenta. Broad steps led up to an impressive frontage, and green lawns flowed down toward an 18 hole golf course. Behind the building, I could see the ocean stretching to the horizon, breakers rumbling in the background. Whoever had picked the location had done half the job of selling memberships.
My old Ford looked so out of place I dumped it in the rear parking lot, deftly avoiding the valet service as I walked to the entrance.
It was clear that the dress code was more than advisory: men wore polo shirts with collars, and women’s skirts were of a decent length. I couldn’t spot an un-tucked shirt anywhere. A handsome young man in uniform smiled at me as I walked up the steps. Sebastian had hinted at the way staff were selected: those I could see were young and attractive, wearing Navy blue shorts and plain, white t-shirts with the club’s logo discreetly positioned.
I was glad I’d dressed up for my abortive hospital appointment, otherwise I’d have felt even more intimidated by the grand surroundings.
“May I help you, ma’am?” said the well-dressed young woman at the reception desk.
“Yes, I’d like a membership form, please.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Would that be an individual membership, associate member, executive or junior executive member, non-resident membership or social membership?”
“I … I…”
“The individual membership starts at $1,000 per month, with an initial fee of $4,000 or for a social membership, if you don’t wish to play golf…”
“I believe Mrs. Wilson is entitled to the Active Duty Military Membership.”
The voice made me jump.
“Of course, Mrs. Vordstadt,” said the receptionist, rummaging through her files, then passing over a thick sheaf of paper.
I turned to find Donna standing behind me, smiling at my surprise.
“I didn’t figure you for a country club type, Caroline. Or perhaps this is more David’s thing?”
I tried to wipe the shock from my face but I don’t think I was entirely successful.