I was prepared for a small place with
inexpensive furnishings, but I wasn't prepared for the mess. The door opened immediately to the living room-bedroom. The settee to the right was covered with books and papers, and there were books and papers on the floor as well. There was also a coffee cup, still with some coffee in it; the dish beside it was crusted with leftover pasta. The windowsill was caked with dust, and the rug was frayed clear through in spots.
"I got up late this morning and didn't get a chance to clean up from last night," he explained. "Otherwise, it's comfortable."
Comfortable? I thought. It would be easy to become claustrophobic here. We had closets bigger than Jack's apartment. There was only one narrow window in the living room-bedroom, and the room itself was barely big enough to contain the settee, the bed, a table, and two chairs. Through an open doorway I saw a tiny kitchen with dishes piled in the sink and a small trash can stuffed so full that a takeout pizza box popped up and over the side.
Jack scurried about, clearing off the settee, chairs, and coffee table.
"Just give me a minute," he asked. He carried the dishes into the kitchen and then hurried back to straighten up the bed. "Bachelors," he said with an emphatic shrug. "This is the way we live, but you don't know any real bachelors yet, I imagine," he said. When I didn't reply, he stopped and looked at me. "Do you?"
"What? Oh, no." I couldn't get over how messy his apartment was. A doctor should be concerned about cleanliness, I thought.
"I wasn't raised to be a slob, if that's what you're thinking," he said, reading my mind. "Just wait until you start your internship. You'll see how little time you have for yourself. Unlike you, I come from modest means. My father worked on the oil rigs in Beaumont and was laid off so often that I used to think he was rich and had to work only a few months a year. Medical school is pretty expensive, you know," he added.
"How did you manage?" I asked, feeling guilty for condemning him so quickly.
"My grandmother left a trust for me. When she first left it, it was worth something, but inflation ate up a lot of it and the cost of medical school climbed, so I had to borrow money. I'm in debt up to here," he said holding his hand an inch or so above his head. "It's a great advantage to attend medical school and not have to worry about financing," he said. "But you've got to have more than money to become a doctor. Only thing is . . ." He stopped cleaning up and stared at me, shaking his head slowly.
"What?" I asked, concerned.
"You're really too attractive."
"What?"
"Seems like a waste," he added. "You should be a doctor's wife, bedecked with jewels and furs, running social and charity affairs," he said and then laughed. "Just kidding. Although the only female doctors I've known could scare the germs away." He patted down his bed, which was covered with a plain light blue quilt and two pillows. "Would you like something cold to drink? I've got orange juice, tonic water, and Dixie beer."
I gazed at the kitchen. It looked contaminated.
His face broke into a laughing smile. "I'll wash the glass first. I promise," he said.
"Orange juice will be fine."
"Great. Sit anywhere you like. Sit on the bed if you want," he said and went to get my juice. I sat on the settee and started to peruse the medical books.
"I know it's too soon, but have you considered what you want to specialize in?" he asked from the kitchen.
"I was thinking about pediatrics."
"Good one," he said returning. He had juice for me and a glass of beer for himself. "Especially for a woman. Mothers find it easier to deal with a woman."
"I wasn't thinking of it because of that," I said with some testiness in my voice. "Women are capable of becoming good surgeons, good cardiologists, good--"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I'm not a male chauvinist. I'm just practical," he said, handing me my glass of juice. He sat beside me on the settee. "Hungry yet?"
I had been, but the sight of the room had churned my stomach and driven away my appetite.
"Not yet," I said. I was thinking now that I would study with him for a while and then make my excuses and go home, where I could enjoy some of Milly's leftovers.
"I happen to be a pretty good cook. All that chemistry," he said smiling. He gazed at me and then let his eyes drop softly, moving like invisible fingers over my face, down my neck, and across my breasts. "I bet a beautiful girl like you has had lots of boyfriends, right?"
"No."
"No? I thought girls were more promiscuous these days, collecting male trophies the way boys used to when I was in high school," he said.
"I have always had more important things on my mind, although I did go steady for a while this year."
"What happened? I don't mean to be personal. I'm just curious about young people today," he said.