Page 108 of RomeAntically Challenged
Les barreled into the public relations office and walked right up to the counter. No one was manning the help desk, so Les started rapping his cane against the window.
“Dad, they can hear you in California,” Emmitt said. “Let’s take a seat and I’m sure someone will be out in a minute to help.”
“Dottie said I could come anytime. Well, it’s anytime.” He rapped again.
Emmitt was about to take away his cane when a petite blonde in her early fifties came around the corner.
“Les,” she said, opening the glass partition. “How nice of you to visit.”
Les patted down his hair and straightened. “I saw her. She was walking out of the infusion room again, and I nearly caught up with her, but she’s slippery, that one. Managed to get away again.”
“Actually, that’s what I was doing in the back,” Dottie said. “I was able to figure out the problem, and it’s an easy fix. All I need is for you both to fill out this form and you’ll have your name back.”
“Name back?” Emmitt asked, hoping that maybe there was a simple explanation for this whole situation that didn’t end with learning his dad was losing his mind.
“It seems Mr. Leslie F. Jacobs here and a Mrs. Leslie E. Jacobs had their files mixed up.”
“One little missing line and some lady’s in charge of my life.”
Emmitt laughed. “Seems to be going around a lot lately.”
“Well, the buck stops here. She doesn’t get to say what happens to my boys.” Les used one hand to shield the other as it pointed to his crotch. “They’re mine and I want them intact.”
“I’ve been a widow for over a decade. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with your boys,” announced a petite blonde who’d been sitting unnoticed in the back of the room. She had likely been born in the same decade as Les and was dressed as if going to church. Her poise and honeyed accent made Emmitt think of a southern belle.
“You must be Mr. Leslie F. Jacobs.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Leslie E. Jacobs.”
And just like that, one pretty little soft-spoken Southerner took all the bluster out of the mighty Leslie F. Jacobs.
“Dad,” Emmitt whispered. “Shake the lady’s hand.”
“What? Oh, right.” He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips. “It’s so nice to finally make your acquaintance. I was telling my son, here, that I couldn’t wait to put a face to my name.”
Les clearly needed some help on his game, but Leslie E. Jacobs didn’t seem to mind. Nope, hand to her chest, she let out a musical laugh that left Les blushing.
“I just feel so awful about this mix-up,” she began. “I’m new in town, and my penmanship isn’t what it used to be. I reckon when I filled out my paperwork, the E for Elizabeth looked more like an F for, well, I guess I don’t rightly know.”
“Frank. Leslie Frank Jacobs.” Resting on his cane, he took a bow. “I’ve lived in Rome my whole life, and it would be a pleasure to show you around.”
“Why don’t we sign these papers and then see about getting some iced tea. I don’t know about you, but that treatment really takes the wind right out of my sails,” she said, and Les did everything he could not to meet Emmitt’s gaze. “Plus, I’d rather not wait until I’ve lost all my hair before our first date. Although, yours seems to be holding strong.”
Les smoothed a hand over his hair and said, “It’s a toupee.”
Which explained the ridiculous color and style. But for every question that was answered, a dozen more sprang up in its place.
“Bless your heart for being honest. Mine’s a wig too, but I didn’t think it would be wise to lead with that.”
“Mrs. Jacobs,” Dottie said. “Would you mind coming to the window and filling this out?”
“Excuse me,” the older woman said and waddled—the same waddle Emmitt had noticed Les using at the family dinner—to the counter.
When it was just the two of them, Emmitt asked, “Testicular cancer?”
“Afraid so,” Les said, giving Emmitt the respect to meet his anger head-on.
Anger Emmitt had no right to be feeling. It wasn’t as if he and Les had much contact, or the kind of relationship where Les would want to come to him with the scary truth. But he felt it all the same.
“Do Paisley and the guys know?”
