Big Beautiful Dreamer
ridiculously contented
BHM, WG
Chase Clairmont’s stomach growled. “Shut up,” he told it. “We’re almost there.” Signaling, he pulled around an SUV with Florida plates and took the exit ramp.
His stomach growled again, a long rumble ending in a whine that sounded like a dog yawning. Chase pressed a hand to his stomach to quiet it. It was a pretty average stomach, as such things go. A little softer than it once had been, waistline a little thicker now that he’d passed 30. But Chase biked the two miles to work and back every day and had a nodding acquaintance with green vegetables, so he figured he was in good shape.
As he approached his parents’ house, he saw at once that he would have to park at the curb; the driveway as stacked with four cars already. Mom and Dad, obviously; plus his brother and sister-in-law’s car, plus his sister’s. Everyone else was here already.
He wasn’t even all the way out of the car when he was hit with a flying tackle. His older brother, Daniel, grabbed him in a bear hug from behind. “Hey hey!” Daniel shouted. “Ya made it!” He stepped back and, slinging an arm over Chase’s shoulder, trooped him into the house.
“Oh, honey, you’re here. Happy Thanksgiving,” his mother said, reaching up to hug him. “Yes, happy Thanksgiving,” his dad added, patting his shoulder. After that, he made the round of hugs: Daniel again, then Daniel’s pregnant wife, Rachel, and their son, 2-year-old, Sam, then sister Stacy, then hello-what-was-this?
“Joanne, this is my other dumb brother, Chase,” Stacy said, giggling. “Chase, this is my roommate, Joanne.”
“Hi, my roommate Joanne,” Chase said with a straight face, firmly pumping her hand. That made everyone laugh. Then Chase’s stomach grumbled again. Chase, still holding Joanne’s hand, closed his eyes in embarrassment as he felt the blush spread across his face.
“Hungry, are we, Doctor Clairmont?” Stacy asked cheerfully.
“Yeah, I guess,” Chase mumbled. Catching Joanne’s eye, he winked to cover his embarrassment.
“Your mom’s got the cure for that,” his dad said. “When’s dinner, honey?”
“Oh, gosh, not till four o’clock,” she said. “But there’s plenty of snacks out in the sunroom. You all eat up now. Can’t have anyone wasting away on me.”
Dutifully, they all moved out to the sunroom, Chase stopping to grab a Coke from the fridge. Settling in, Daniel tuned the television to a football game, Dallas and somebody. United in their loathing of the Cowboys, they cheered every fumble, interception, and failure to gain yardage. Mindful of his grumbling tummy, Chase snacked steadily throughout the game. When the final whistle blew just as his mother poked her head in and announced, “Dinner’s on the table,” he realized that he wasn’t all that hungry. Rats, he thought. Eating’s the whole point here.
Once he sat down, however, the familiar smells reawakened his appetite and he piled his plate high with turkey and gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, peas and pearl onions, creamed corn, rolls, cranberries, cranberry sauce, squash casserole. He quickly ran out of actual plate space and, like urban architects, started building upward, not caring that the foods ran into one another. Gravy and cranberry made its way into everything, creating a smooth unity to the meal.
While they ate, Chase made conversation with Joanne, discovering that they both liked the same authors, movies, and music. When she discovered that he was a cardiologist, she asked him about her dad’s bypass surgery a few years ago. They amiably complained about the politics of the day and the idiocy of health care coverage and made fun of McGyver’s ability to defuse a bomb with a paper clip, shoelace and credit card.
“I once actually popped open a locked door with a credit card,” Chase said, then realized how it sounded. “My own door. Somehow I locked the bathroom door and then when I closed it … I didn’t know what to do, so I actually tried it. I felt pretty dumb about it.”
“But then it worked,” Joanne pointed out.
“Yeah – just like on TV.” They both laughed, and Joanne said, “Here, give me your plate. You look ready for more.”
Actually, he was stuffed. His belly felt filled to capacity, and he was contemplating unbuttoning his jeans. But there was something maternal and intimate in watching her heap his plate. How could he say no?
He took the plate and began eating as they reminisced about their favorite ’70s television shows. “The turkey drop on ‘WKRP in Cincinnati,’” he said. “Yeah, that was the best,” Joanne agreed. “I loved it when poor Les Nesman put yellow tape on the floor around his desk.”
“With a dotted line for the doorway,” Chase added. He stifled a belch. He was really awfully full now. Bloated and taut, his belly pushed firmly against his waistband. He fumbled under the table and managed to get the button undone, but his stomach was already so distended that it didn’t help. He gulped some ice water, feeling a little better as the cold liquid sloshed into his belly, bathing his swollen and aching midsection. People were standing, stretching, groaning, patting bulging bellies. Was dinner over? Chase pushed his chair back and stood with difficulty. His shirt was straining to cover his distended abdomen, tight as a drum. Stretching, he thumped his aching stomach. “Oof … ate too much,” he grunted.
“Join the club,” Daniel said, patting his own belly and stifling a belch. Chase noticed that Daniel had loosened his belt and unfastened the hook of his pants.
“You pig,” Rachel, his wife, scolded teasingly, handing him their two-year-old. “Here. Change the monkey and put him down for a nap.”
With the others, Chase, stupefied with food, staggered out to the sunroom. With a groan of relief, he sank into a seat and propped his feet up on the wicker coffee table. Hoping he was being discreet, he eased the zipper down on his jeans and slid his hand into the waistband of his underpants, trying to ease the pressure of the elastic digging into his bloated belly. He was so full he felt ready to burst. He’d eaten much more than he intended to. He massaged his tight stomach, which really hurt.
Coming back into the sunroom, Daniel noticed and gave Chase’s rounded midsection a playful slap.
“Ow,” Chase mumbled.
“Eat too much, little bro?”
“Yeah (urp).” Sheepishly, he laughed.
Daniel flopped onto the sofa next to him, rubbing his own bulging belly. “Me too,” he admitted, stifling a belch. “Good food.”
Sated, dopey, they sat in silence, watching another football game, neither really noticing who was playing. Dusk closed in, and Mom brought out coffee and large wedges of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. Moaning about how full and how fat they were, everyone nonetheless dug in, relishing the smoothness, spiciness and cool, creamy whipped topping. Chase, to his surprise, quickly ate all of his. After that, he must have dozed off, because when Rachel bent in to give him a kiss goodbye – a light peck on the cheek – it startled him. He stood up, blinking owlishly.
“Bye, sleepyhead,” Daniel said, slapping him on the back and handing him Sam for a goodbye hug.
Goodbyes said, they headed for their cars. Joanne, walking past Stacy’s car, followed Chase to his. “I really enjoyed talking with you,” she said.
“Me too.” He paused, then it dawned on him that he was through with med school and residency and could actually take time for girls again. “Um, let me have your phone number.” He pulled out the little notepad and pen he always carried. Lowering her eyes to hide her smile, she wrote in neat printing.
Chase drove off, whistling, thinking about Joanne. The window open, cold air streaming in and the radio turned up loud, helped keep him awake. Once home, though, he plodded straight into bed, fell onto it, and was instantly asleep. The phone woke him at 4:45.
“Lo,” Chase mumbled, illogically hoping it would be Joanne. “Dr. Clairmont?” Crap, a call. Guess his holiday was over. He hastily put on clean clothes and shaved before hopping into his car – no time for a bike ride – and scorching over to the hospital, where one of his patients, Vince Forliani, had presented complaining of mild but continued chest pains.
“What did you eat yesterday?” Chase asked mildly, adjusting his stethoscope.
“Too much,” Forliani admitted. A hard-working, good-natured immigrant from outside Rome, he ran a deli. He was almost 60 years old and a good 40 pounds overweight. “Lots of turkey, lots of pie. I went to bed, have chest pains. I think it’s just something I eat. But they don’t go away.”
Holding up a hand to shush him, Chase listened intently. “I don’t think they’re going to go away, Mr. Forliani,” he said. “You’re not having a heart attack, but I don’t like what I hear. I’m going to get you in for a scan so we can have a good look at that heart.” Pulling off his stethoscope, he shook his head, trying to frown but failing. “You know better than to eat like that,” he said.
“I know, I know,” Forliani said. “I can’t help.”
Mr. Forliani and his chest pains turned out to be just the beginning of a long day for Chase. By the time he got home, it was already dark, and he was pooped. He thought of Joanne, and his eyes brightened. He called.
Joanne answered on the second ring. “Hey, Joanne, how are you? … This is Chase Clairmont, Stacy’s brother … yeah, me too … I know it’s kinda late, but I just got home from work and I was wondering if you would like some dinner… Great! Where would you like to meet? … Carl’s Country Buffet, yeah, I know where that is… Great, see you then.”
Chase whistled as he pulled on clean jeans and a crisp white shirt. Leaving the collar unbuttoned, he rolled up the sleeves. Quickly, he shaved again and headed out. Joanne had beaten him there, but only just. She wore a blue wrap dress that looked comfortable and that flattered her nice chest, solid but trim waist, and lovely legs. She gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.
“You had to work today?” she asked sympathetically.
“Yeah, I got called in to see one of my patients. He’ll be fine. Just too much Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Half the country could have been treated for that,” Joanne said, laughing.
“Yeah, including me,” Chase replied.
“You? You’re slim as a lathe,” Joanne replied. “I guess being a doctor you know better than to overeat.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Usually … but I really overdid it last night. I better take it easy tonight.”
With the best of intentions, he started with a large salad, plate piled with crisp leaf lettuce, cucumber slices, shredded carrots, chick peas and only a little low-fat Italian dressing. He went back for roast chicken, green beans, squash and a roll.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Joanne’s eyebrows rose, although her plate was similarly healthy. “You’re a big boy. You need more than that.”
Making a rueful face, Chase slapped his midsection. “Better not get too much. It’s bad advertising to be a fat cardiologist!”
“Yeah, imagine if you had a heart attack,” Joanne chimed in.
Despite his intentions, Chase found Joanne so alluring that he kept going back for more to keep the dinner from ending. He was vaguely aware of his belly bulging, pressing against the button of his jeans, which he was determined not to undo. He hated for the meal to be over, but after three huge platefuls on top of a big salad, he was stuffed to the gills, just plain out of room.
“Better not,” he said regretfully to Joanne’s suggestion of dessert. He patted his stomach, then had to stifle the resulting belch. They lingered as long as they could, but it got late and the wait staff started to give them looks. Finally, they parted, with promises to go on a hike and have a picnic Sunday if it wasn’t too cold.
Joanne brought the picnic, Chase’s contribution being a bottle of wine. She unloaded so much food that Chase joked, “Who else did you invite?”
“Just you,” Joanne said, smiling. They nibbled, talked, watched clouds, napped, ate some more, finally rising to leave only when the sun started going down. Chase found that it was harder to get to his feet than he expected, and the walk back seemed a little more strenuous.
Doctor's Orders
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
by Big Beautiful Dreamer
Chase Clairmont’s stomach growled. “Shut up,” he told it. “We’re almost there.” Signaling, he pulled around an SUV with Florida plates and took the exit ramp.
His stomach growled again, a long rumble ending in a whine that sounded like a dog yawning. Chase pressed a hand to his stomach to quiet it. It was a pretty average stomach, as such things go. A little softer than it once had been, waistline a little thicker now that he’d passed 30. But Chase biked the two miles to work and back every day and had a nodding acquaintance with green vegetables, so he figured he was in good shape.
As he approached his parents’ house, he saw at once that he would have to park at the curb; the driveway as stacked with four cars already. Mom and Dad, obviously; plus his brother and sister-in-law’s car, plus his sister’s. Everyone else was here already.
He wasn’t even all the way out of the car when he was hit with a flying tackle. His older brother, Daniel, grabbed him in a bear hug from behind. “Hey hey!” Daniel shouted. “Ya made it!” He stepped back and, slinging an arm over Chase’s shoulder, trooped him into the house.
“Oh, honey, you’re here. Happy Thanksgiving,” his mother said, reaching up to hug him. “Yes, happy Thanksgiving,” his dad added, patting his shoulder. After that, he made the round of hugs: Daniel again, then Daniel’s pregnant wife, Rachel, and their son, 2-year-old, Sam, then sister Stacy, then hello-what-was-this?
“Joanne, this is my other dumb brother, Chase,” Stacy said, giggling. “Chase, this is my roommate, Joanne.”
“Hi, my roommate Joanne,” Chase said with a straight face, firmly pumping her hand. That made everyone laugh. Then Chase’s stomach grumbled again. Chase, still holding Joanne’s hand, closed his eyes in embarrassment as he felt the blush spread across his face.
“Hungry, are we, Doctor Clairmont?” Stacy asked cheerfully.
“Yeah, I guess,” Chase mumbled. Catching Joanne’s eye, he winked to cover his embarrassment.
“Your mom’s got the cure for that,” his dad said. “When’s dinner, honey?”
“Oh, gosh, not till four o’clock,” she said. “But there’s plenty of snacks out in the sunroom. You all eat up now. Can’t have anyone wasting away on me.”
Dutifully, they all moved out to the sunroom, Chase stopping to grab a Coke from the fridge. Settling in, Daniel tuned the television to a football game, Dallas and somebody. United in their loathing of the Cowboys, they cheered every fumble, interception, and failure to gain yardage. Mindful of his grumbling tummy, Chase snacked steadily throughout the game. When the final whistle blew just as his mother poked her head in and announced, “Dinner’s on the table,” he realized that he wasn’t all that hungry. Rats, he thought. Eating’s the whole point here.
Once he sat down, however, the familiar smells reawakened his appetite and he piled his plate high with turkey and gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, peas and pearl onions, creamed corn, rolls, cranberries, cranberry sauce, squash casserole. He quickly ran out of actual plate space and, like urban architects, started building upward, not caring that the foods ran into one another. Gravy and cranberry made its way into everything, creating a smooth unity to the meal.
While they ate, Chase made conversation with Joanne, discovering that they both liked the same authors, movies, and music. When she discovered that he was a cardiologist, she asked him about her dad’s bypass surgery a few years ago. They amiably complained about the politics of the day and the idiocy of health care coverage and made fun of McGyver’s ability to defuse a bomb with a paper clip, shoelace and credit card.
“I once actually popped open a locked door with a credit card,” Chase said, then realized how it sounded. “My own door. Somehow I locked the bathroom door and then when I closed it … I didn’t know what to do, so I actually tried it. I felt pretty dumb about it.”
“But then it worked,” Joanne pointed out.
“Yeah – just like on TV.” They both laughed, and Joanne said, “Here, give me your plate. You look ready for more.”
Actually, he was stuffed. His belly felt filled to capacity, and he was contemplating unbuttoning his jeans. But there was something maternal and intimate in watching her heap his plate. How could he say no?
He took the plate and began eating as they reminisced about their favorite ’70s television shows. “The turkey drop on ‘WKRP in Cincinnati,’” he said. “Yeah, that was the best,” Joanne agreed. “I loved it when poor Les Nesman put yellow tape on the floor around his desk.”
“With a dotted line for the doorway,” Chase added. He stifled a belch. He was really awfully full now. Bloated and taut, his belly pushed firmly against his waistband. He fumbled under the table and managed to get the button undone, but his stomach was already so distended that it didn’t help. He gulped some ice water, feeling a little better as the cold liquid sloshed into his belly, bathing his swollen and aching midsection. People were standing, stretching, groaning, patting bulging bellies. Was dinner over? Chase pushed his chair back and stood with difficulty. His shirt was straining to cover his distended abdomen, tight as a drum. Stretching, he thumped his aching stomach. “Oof … ate too much,” he grunted.
“Join the club,” Daniel said, patting his own belly and stifling a belch. Chase noticed that Daniel had loosened his belt and unfastened the hook of his pants.
“You pig,” Rachel, his wife, scolded teasingly, handing him their two-year-old. “Here. Change the monkey and put him down for a nap.”
With the others, Chase, stupefied with food, staggered out to the sunroom. With a groan of relief, he sank into a seat and propped his feet up on the wicker coffee table. Hoping he was being discreet, he eased the zipper down on his jeans and slid his hand into the waistband of his underpants, trying to ease the pressure of the elastic digging into his bloated belly. He was so full he felt ready to burst. He’d eaten much more than he intended to. He massaged his tight stomach, which really hurt.
Coming back into the sunroom, Daniel noticed and gave Chase’s rounded midsection a playful slap.
“Ow,” Chase mumbled.
“Eat too much, little bro?”
“Yeah (urp).” Sheepishly, he laughed.
Daniel flopped onto the sofa next to him, rubbing his own bulging belly. “Me too,” he admitted, stifling a belch. “Good food.”
Sated, dopey, they sat in silence, watching another football game, neither really noticing who was playing. Dusk closed in, and Mom brought out coffee and large wedges of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. Moaning about how full and how fat they were, everyone nonetheless dug in, relishing the smoothness, spiciness and cool, creamy whipped topping. Chase, to his surprise, quickly ate all of his. After that, he must have dozed off, because when Rachel bent in to give him a kiss goodbye – a light peck on the cheek – it startled him. He stood up, blinking owlishly.
“Bye, sleepyhead,” Daniel said, slapping him on the back and handing him Sam for a goodbye hug.
Goodbyes said, they headed for their cars. Joanne, walking past Stacy’s car, followed Chase to his. “I really enjoyed talking with you,” she said.
“Me too.” He paused, then it dawned on him that he was through with med school and residency and could actually take time for girls again. “Um, let me have your phone number.” He pulled out the little notepad and pen he always carried. Lowering her eyes to hide her smile, she wrote in neat printing.
Chase drove off, whistling, thinking about Joanne. The window open, cold air streaming in and the radio turned up loud, helped keep him awake. Once home, though, he plodded straight into bed, fell onto it, and was instantly asleep. The phone woke him at 4:45.
“Lo,” Chase mumbled, illogically hoping it would be Joanne. “Dr. Clairmont?” Crap, a call. Guess his holiday was over. He hastily put on clean clothes and shaved before hopping into his car – no time for a bike ride – and scorching over to the hospital, where one of his patients, Vince Forliani, had presented complaining of mild but continued chest pains.
“What did you eat yesterday?” Chase asked mildly, adjusting his stethoscope.
“Too much,” Forliani admitted. A hard-working, good-natured immigrant from outside Rome, he ran a deli. He was almost 60 years old and a good 40 pounds overweight. “Lots of turkey, lots of pie. I went to bed, have chest pains. I think it’s just something I eat. But they don’t go away.”
Holding up a hand to shush him, Chase listened intently. “I don’t think they’re going to go away, Mr. Forliani,” he said. “You’re not having a heart attack, but I don’t like what I hear. I’m going to get you in for a scan so we can have a good look at that heart.” Pulling off his stethoscope, he shook his head, trying to frown but failing. “You know better than to eat like that,” he said.
“I know, I know,” Forliani said. “I can’t help.”
Mr. Forliani and his chest pains turned out to be just the beginning of a long day for Chase. By the time he got home, it was already dark, and he was pooped. He thought of Joanne, and his eyes brightened. He called.
Joanne answered on the second ring. “Hey, Joanne, how are you? … This is Chase Clairmont, Stacy’s brother … yeah, me too … I know it’s kinda late, but I just got home from work and I was wondering if you would like some dinner… Great! Where would you like to meet? … Carl’s Country Buffet, yeah, I know where that is… Great, see you then.”
Chase whistled as he pulled on clean jeans and a crisp white shirt. Leaving the collar unbuttoned, he rolled up the sleeves. Quickly, he shaved again and headed out. Joanne had beaten him there, but only just. She wore a blue wrap dress that looked comfortable and that flattered her nice chest, solid but trim waist, and lovely legs. She gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.
“You had to work today?” she asked sympathetically.
“Yeah, I got called in to see one of my patients. He’ll be fine. Just too much Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Half the country could have been treated for that,” Joanne said, laughing.
“Yeah, including me,” Chase replied.
“You? You’re slim as a lathe,” Joanne replied. “I guess being a doctor you know better than to overeat.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Usually … but I really overdid it last night. I better take it easy tonight.”
With the best of intentions, he started with a large salad, plate piled with crisp leaf lettuce, cucumber slices, shredded carrots, chick peas and only a little low-fat Italian dressing. He went back for roast chicken, green beans, squash and a roll.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Joanne’s eyebrows rose, although her plate was similarly healthy. “You’re a big boy. You need more than that.”
Making a rueful face, Chase slapped his midsection. “Better not get too much. It’s bad advertising to be a fat cardiologist!”
“Yeah, imagine if you had a heart attack,” Joanne chimed in.
Despite his intentions, Chase found Joanne so alluring that he kept going back for more to keep the dinner from ending. He was vaguely aware of his belly bulging, pressing against the button of his jeans, which he was determined not to undo. He hated for the meal to be over, but after three huge platefuls on top of a big salad, he was stuffed to the gills, just plain out of room.
“Better not,” he said regretfully to Joanne’s suggestion of dessert. He patted his stomach, then had to stifle the resulting belch. They lingered as long as they could, but it got late and the wait staff started to give them looks. Finally, they parted, with promises to go on a hike and have a picnic Sunday if it wasn’t too cold.
Joanne brought the picnic, Chase’s contribution being a bottle of wine. She unloaded so much food that Chase joked, “Who else did you invite?”
“Just you,” Joanne said, smiling. They nibbled, talked, watched clouds, napped, ate some more, finally rising to leave only when the sun started going down. Chase found that it was harder to get to his feet than he expected, and the walk back seemed a little more strenuous.
