The Two Olive Martini

By Lance Weil

Back in the day, a woman would signal potential suitors by how many olives she placed in her martini. One olive meant single or available. Two olives meant married and unavailable. Three olives meant married and available.

Barely escaping a death sentence from cancer and estranged from his second family, Sean finds himself broke and without resources—until a magical fortuity. Twenty-six years after their divorce, he and a now twice divorced Gail bump into each other in the airport, the last passengers to board the same flight. Gail is the beautiful wind Sean kicks himself for driving away when he was young, stupid, and selfish. Sean is the passionate lover Gail misses, needing his trust, strength, and spontaneity now more than ever.

When a family emergency requires them to work together, Sean relapses into his old selfish self. This forces Gail to decide how many olives to place in her martini.

Sean still has a lot to learn. Gail is willing to teach him but is unwilling to repeat the past. Will Sean redeem himself and make worthy his contributions to their newfound love? Does Gail have the patience to rebuild their union?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350942910

Lance Weil

Her pen name is Linda G. She graduated from San Jose State University with a BS in nursing in 1984. She specializes in high-risk nursing and has mentored dozens of medical students working their way into their science. She is a mother of two and has welcomed hundreds of babies into this world over her forty-year career as a registered nurse. She is also a Pastor, a pilot, and a writer. She now writes and edits for LynDance, LLC., and resides with her husband in Oakley, California.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This copyrighted text by Linda G. and Lance T. Weil, members of Lyndance LLC, reserves all rights to this text. In accordance with the Current Copyright Act, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this text without written permission of Linda G and Lance T. Weil shall constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the creator’s intellectual property. This text or any material substantially similar may not be reproduced, recreated, or used in any form, written, orally communicated, or depicted by picture or motion picture. This text has all rights reserved © 2024 by Linda G and Lance T. Weil.

If any publisher, person, or entity would like to use this text or material from this text or a substantially similar recreation of this text, prior written permission must be obtained by Linda G Weil or Lance T. Weil. For licensing of this text, contact Lance T. Weil at [e-mail]. © 2024 by Linda G and Lance T. Weil.

The Two Olive Martini

©2024 Linda G and Lance T. Weil. This is a product of LynDance, LLC.

ISBN: 978-0-99131-304-4

ISBN eBook: 979-8-35094-291-0

To: Linda, who saved me just in time so I could save her just in time and so we could save each other. Some things are meant to be.

Contents

1 THE BEAT OF THE DRUM

2 DIAGNOSIS RED

3 LAUGHING ALLOWED

4 GOODBYE STORMY WEATHER

5 The Three-Olive Martini

6 DO THYSELF

7 SURFING LAS VEGAS

8 TEMPUS FUGIT

9 PHYSIEMOFINASEXUALFAMILIAL

10 MAGNETIC FORTUITY

11 WHEN WE WERE MEXICAN

12 COCAINE CARRIE

13 UNFORTUITOUS WINDS

14 THE INSTANT BITCH

15 LAISE

16 FOR SPACIOUS SKIES

17 FINDING HOFFA

18 PRIVATE BENJAMIN WILWERDING

19 TAKE A BITE

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEAT OF THE DRUM

A woman may not need a man,

but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want one.

Gail awoke at 4:00 in the morning for her daily commute to the hospital in Berkeley. Eyes half closed, she navigated to the small kitchen nook where the automatic coffee maker had begun its methodical drip.

It was still dark in her tiny two-bedroom home nestled in the foothills of Gilroy, California, but Gail knew the floor plan so well she had no need to turn on the lights.

She spent two weeks out of every month here as a traveling nurse, though her permanent home was in Oklahoma. So was her second husband, Dick. Because of that alone, she would rather spend three weeks every month in California. But things were the way they were. She had a feeling now that her eldest daughter had finished college and begun her career and the other was married with two children, things would change soon.

Sensing her way to the cabinet, she found her favorite mug and poured herself a cup of dark, black coffee. The bitterness helped to lift her heavy eyelids.

M-mm, she purred after she took her first sip.

Four or five small steps from the counter took her through the sliding door outside onto the patio. She studied the sky to see if the stars were visible. This would tell her whether she could fly her small Cessna to work or if she had to drive the long, tedious, dangerous, and uncomfortable South Bay commute north on the 101.

Thousands of cars and a sea of red taillights, PU, she thought. It would be so much nicer to fly.

She continued staring into the morning sky, which held no cloud in sight. The stars were brilliant in their expanse and multitude. They would supply her with the visual acuity needed to take flight.

The reek of garlic and onions wafted its way from rural Gilroy, the world’s garlic capital. As its scent tickled her nose, she deeply inhaled and sighed with distinct pleasure. Gail loved this sign of summer. Outside of the time she’d been shackled to Oklahoma and a few years spent in Eureka, she had lived in the South Bay all her life. The pungent smell of the fresh garlic and onion was a pleasant fragrance to her.

Returning from her patio to the kitchen, she sat at her claw foot table and turned on her banker’s lamp. She was a meticulous housekeeper. She kept her things nice while she delighted in their simplicity. She enjoyed her little belongings in life. She subscribed long ago to one of the keys of true happiness: It is not having what you want; it is wanting what you have.

Her antique lamp supplied the light she needed to map out her visual flight plan from Reid-Hillview Airport to Oakland. It only took moments to complete. She texted her friend Pat to meet her there, and then into the shower she stepped.

Gail lathered the soap between the palms of her hands. The scent of cashmere silk mingled with the mist. She smeared the suds around her breasts as the pressurized water rushed down the nape of her neck and across her shoulders. The water converged in her cleavage, both in front and behind, creating a current surging between her legs.

She no longer needed a man, but that didn’t change that she still wanted one. Just not the one she was currently stuck with. As she washed her most intimate parts, she reviewed last night’s erotic dream involving her ex-husband.

Sean came to me while I was asleep in bed. He traced my parched lips with his tongue, gently opening my mouth. Our tongues intertwined as he pressed his lips to mine. He always could melt my knees with his kisses. He joined me in bed and embraced me. His tenderness brought tears to my eyes—in the dream, I hadn’t enjoyed his company in a while, but it wasn’t the eighteen years it’s really been. He ran his tongue down my chin and then to the center of my neck. He stroked the curves of my hips with his strong hands as he worked his way down. His constant touch made me tremble, and I opened my legs to him. I don’t know why. I should hate this man, but I only feel the good times in dreams.

I remember thinking, Is this a dream? Do I really feel the caress of his hands moving up and down my body? It doesn’t feel like a dream when he touches me. He is so generous with his love. His kindness toward me unlocks my thoughts and then my legs. Is he just a dream? He comes only at night. I wish I’d never met him. But I still love him.

Why is Sean’s love still so special to me? He is only a man. And in the dream, I knew I was married to Dick. Why would I compromise myself with Sean? In my dreams, his soothing whisper causes me to alter my sexual morals. Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? I hate him for leaving me. I hate him for making me feel this way.

When we were together, his laugh was my laugh. His hunger was my hunger. We made love like no other couple has ever dreamed. Our bodies connected so easily, like two pieces to a puzzle. We fit perfectly. His words were my words, and his thoughts were mine, too. True love is unique. I hope it comes more than once in a lifetime.

Gail ended her shower with her fingers massaging her clit. When she climaxed, she felt euphoric, and then she completely relaxed. Why is Sean so different? Did dream him really exist, or am I too stupid when I’m asleep to remember he was a philandering jerk?

She frowned, reminding herself of reality as she dried off. Our bitter divorce divided us, our children, our friends, and our families. The life we had carefully planned and carved for ourselves withered. He’s a womanizer, and he’s married to another woman who’s the same as him. End of story.

She dressed, hastily did her hair and makeup, and packed her flight bag. Dick was arriving after she got off work today for a surprise visit. Some surprise, Gail lamented. Composing herself, she swiftly drove to the small San Jose airport.

Thank goodness, she thought, finding a parking spot next to the aviation building. Flipping the visor down on the driver’s side of the car, she looked into the mirror to primp. Gail checked her makeup for flaws, fluffed her hair, and carefully applied her lipstick. She took a deep breath and finally settled down.

Flying was a big expense to Gail but well worth the cost because she loved it. She’d invested in her own airplane a decade ago rather than continually renting. Gail filed her flight plan with the tower and then began the preflight inspection of her small Cessna 172. She examined the plane with the care of a surgeon preparing to operate. Gail studied the wings visually and then ran her hand along their smooth contours, making sure there were no indentations. She checked the engine for leaks, obstructions, and other debris. She inspected the propeller, the flaps, and then the tail wing for ease of movement.

Gail climbed aboard her plane; the seat adjusted so her short legs could reach the floor peddles used to steer the plane while on the ground. She had to place a pillow under her small derriere to enable her to see over the dashboard. Seat belted in, she methodically reviewed the standardized checklist to ensure all was in order.

Then she cracked open the window port and yelled, Clear!

Satisfied, Gail turned on the ignition and fired up the small but mighty engine. She carefully listened to its synchronized hum, reassured the engine was strong.

She turned the radio to connect to the tower and spoke with authority, Reid-Hillview, this is Cessna two-niner six-niner ready to taxi over.

The tower responded, Roger, Cessna two-niner six-niner. Good morning, Gail. I hope that’s you, over.

Gail giggled. Roger, Frank, over.

Great to see you in the pilot’s seat again. Frank sounded delighted. Okay, Cessna two-niner six-niner, you are cleared to taxi to one-eight north and hold over.

Roger, tower; Cessna two-niner six-niner is ready to taxi to one-eight north and hold. By the way, Frank, it looks like a great day to fly. she amused herself by flirting with the much younger air traffic controller. She emphasized the word great, attempting to elicit an envious reaction.

It sure is, two-niner, six-niner. Got room for me? Frank joked.

There’s always room for you, Frank, but I’m in a bit of a hurry today. Next time, or anytime for that matter, especially with a pro like you.

It was innocent chatter, but Gail couldn’t help herself when it came to teasing Frank. Plus it was another way to shake off that dream about Sean and how her rebellious heart felt about Dick today. She taxied to the end of the runway and informed the tower she was ready for takeoff. Frank affirmed Gail’s position, assigned her an altitude, and cleared her for the sky.

Frank always ended his radio transmission with a fond farewell, Roger, two-niner six-niner. Enjoy your flight, Gail. Over and out.

Gail aligned the plane to the center of the runway, set the brake and pushed the pedal to the metal. The roar of the engine excited Gail’s senses as she anticipated the thrill of liftoff. Revving it to its max, Gail released the break and roared down one-eight north. Nobody but her now; the runway was all hers. She was in control.

The engine snarled as Gail held the plane right down the center of the newly paved runway. Accelerating the now formidable Cessna to eighty-three miles per hour, Gail gently pulled the wheel back with her fingertips, smiling in satisfaction. There’s nothing like starting the day with an orgasm and then putting an airplane between your legs!

Easy, she reminded herself, easy does it.

As the plane lifted, she reported, Cessna two-niner six-niner climbing to two thousand feet. Later, Frank; over and out.

Gail peeked through the clouds during her rapid ascent and short flight to Oakland. The dawn sun embraced the clouds with a vast array of colors, pastel orange, red, and yellow, with a soft golden lining. Contrasted with the deep blue hue of the immense sky, it indeed looked heaven-like. It was glorious. Gail smiled. Ah, life doesn’t get any better than flying the South Bay skies north on a crisp spring morning.

Pat was waiting for Gail at Oakland airport. She was a rotund African-American female full of zest. Her great humor was unending. Pat’s size and weight belied her inner strength but could not overshadow her facial beauty. Her well-coifed eyebrows complimented her large round eyes and high cheekbones. She was naturally attractive, but no man could refuse her warm face and charming smile when she artistically applied her makeup. She was striking.

Pat waited patiently for Gail’s arrival, sitting in her worn-out Buick, which cost her a lot more money than it was worth. She lived near Ninety-Eighth Street in Oakland, so the short drive to the airport wasn’t a problem. It was on her way to work. Besides, she would do anything to help Gail. They had worked together for the last seven years. They spent time together, talked about personal things, and attended the same church when Gail was in town. They were good friends and knew each other well.

Gail was finally in Pat’s sight as she taxied toward her. Pat waved wildly to catch her attention as Gail maneuvered the plane to its anchor. Pat clapped and whistled as the whirr of the engine wound down.

What a lady, Pat hollered. Whoo hoo, baby doll!

She continued to cheer while Gail secured her plane. She darted toward Pat’s open arms, and the latter’s oversized bosom completely enveloped her petite body. The hug was genuine. The warmth Pat had for her always boosted her mood.

Sa-ay baby, Pat cooed.

Gail gleamed, returning the compliment as she mimicked her exaggerated greeting, S-a-ay baby!

They chatted about everything, resuming their last conversation as they drove to work. Pat and Gail’s friendship was complete.

Just drop me off in front, and I’ll clock us both in while you park the car, Gail instructed. It’ll save time.

Sounds good to me, honey. Pat pulled the car to a rapid halt in the main driveway of the Berkeley Clinic.

Gail got out of the car, glad to be at her destination and relieved because it had already been a busy morning. Pat sped away to park. As Gail approached the hospital, she looked up at the massive building and felt comfort in its familiarity. It was home away from home. It bolstered her to think that way about her work.

Gail felt exceptionally fortunate to be alive. The sun rose higher on a beautiful spring day. It is the kind of day all of humanity lived for. The aroma of fresh roses surrounded her as she stepped onto the cobblestone walkway. The intense sunlight reflected the fresh dew on the rose blooms. The sunbeams precisely penetrated the dew drops, creating rainbows within each prism. Reflections on the walkway from the glass doors made it feel like she was gliding on a sea of light as she made her way to the doorway. She smiled with delight, enjoying the harmony that nature provided her and storing it as emotional energy to get through the day. The large double glass doors automatically opened for her as they sensed her presence. She entered the lobby and stepped onto the plush, red carpet that covered the hospital entranceway, silencing her footfalls. This daily scenario made her feel like a goddess.

Gail tried to be the kind of nurse everyone wanted. She used her skills to make those around her feel at ease. She prided herself on being a people professional.

She kindly extended her hands and grasped a new patient’s right hand with all ten of her gentle fingers. It was comforting to them. She carefully lulled her patients into a world of compliance when she lured them into her striking green eyes. She used her eyebrows in gestures of care and understanding but mostly for humor. Wiggling them lightened the moment. Her smile set the tone as she warmly welcomed her patients. Her goal was to help them through this journey as a friend, whether it resulted in remission or death.

Gail loved working in oncology. She learned so much from her cancer patients and their families. She could incorporate intangible things and valuable teachings into her life and pass them on to others. Gail mixed empathy with sympathy, compassion with understanding. She wasn’t taught these things in nursing school; she learned them from allowing herself to feel the pain of living while she cared for the dying.

She briefly scanned the unit and noted a new admission in room 1021. He flew in yesterday evening and arrived late after she had gone home. Mr. Evan Johnson, a fifty-two-year-old patient of Dr. Chang’s. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a deadly prognosis even when discovered in the early stages. Dr. Chang could only promise to extend his life for a year, perhaps less. Mr. Johnson’s only hope was to use his time wisely to tie up loose ends. His was an untimely fate.

Mr. Johnson stared into his mirror as he sat in front of his oval sink, his expression bitter. Pat caught Gail’s attention and signaled her to join in for some fun to amuse the dying Mr. Johnson.

She stepped closer to him. Mr. Johnson, Gail Sheppard. I will be your nurse today.

No response, not even a gesture to acknowledge her presence. Mr. Johnson had no intention of engaging in conversation. That was Gail’s cue to encourage light interaction with Pat as they worked in his room. Pat began to sing one of Gail’s favorite songs as she made Mr. Johnson’s bed.

I work hard for the money, Pat bellowed out the first line of the chorus to Donna Summers’ "She Works Hard for the Money.

I work hard for it, honey, Gail chimed in with the next line as she playfully danced around the room to Pat’s performance. Pat made that song one of her favorites.

Pat periodically paused and let out a deep, boisterous laugh, igniting a chain reaction from within Gail as she hummed the melody and gracefully swayed to the song. Both women sang and danced, hoping Mr. Johnson would perk up. But he didn’t even look their way.

So, you’d better treat me right, they both sang in harmony as they wagged their fingers at the brooding Mr. Johnson.

No response. None. Mr. Johnson looked as though he had died inside.

Pat, why don’t you take a break? I’ll finish up here, Gail said.

Pat left the room, picking up all the remnants along the way to ensure the room’s tidiness. Gail pulled the drapes apart to let the sunlight penetrate Mr. Johnson’s room. The rays streamed across the bed and brushed the mirror where Mr. Johnson assiduously studied his face.

It’s a beautiful morning, Gail exclaimed. Crisp, clear, blue, Bay Area morning. It just doesn’t get much better than this, Mr. Johnson.

Nothing.

Gail politely asked if there was anything else she could do.

He stared into her eyes and waited for her to hush. The phrase that escaped his lips grabbed her attention.

When did I stop laughing? A tear trickled down his cheek and down his chin, where it welled into a small bubble of water. It flowed slowly down the contour of his emaciated neck.

His words pierced Gail’s heart. As she moved through her morning patient roster, She contemplated the meaning of his statement. Her soul embraced his priceless self-evaluation, cementing it as a timeless lesson. She hadn’t always loved life. She remembered a time in her life when she didn’t care whether she lived or died. She had suffered much in the past and was anguished over the loss of her first love. The emotional pain that went with her broken heart was almost unbearable. Like Mr. Johnson, she, too, had stopped laughing.

Gail understood the poignancy of Mr. Johnson’s words. They hurt.

After her morning break, Pat swung by the clinic to pick up a daily calendar. As she entered the office, she strolled by a nice-looking gentleman, one of Dr. Chang’s patients, calmly sitting alone in the waiting room. He was dressed nicely in a light blue shirt and black tie that complimented his gray pinstriped suit. A beautiful gold and silver Rolex watch adorned his left wrist.

Pat didn’t notice a wedding ring as she casually perused him.

The man noticed her glance as she ambled toward the receptionists’ area and quickly got her attention with his coy remark, Hey, baby, are you here for me?

No, sorry, sir, but I’ll find out how much longer you’ll have to wait, Pat curtly replied, not liking the come-on.

Pat leaned into the opened window and hissed to the clerk as she bobbed her head in Sean’s direction, Who the hell does this guy think he is?

The clerk said he’d arrived half an hour early and insisted that meant he should be seen early because he was a successful attorney who is always on a tight schedule.

Pat snorted, then returned to Sean and reiterated everything the receptionist had already told him. Sir, you are the first client Dr. Chang will see today. Dr. Chang put care into visiting his patients on morning rounds, often making him late to the clinic, so she added, Please understand he’ll be here shortly. Please, sir, be patient.

The man glanced at his watch and then gave Pat a mild glare.

Pat forced a return smile and hastily scooted back to the inpatient unit. She popped her head back into Mr. Johnson’s room and saw that Gail was in there again.

Psst, hey, Gail, Pat hissed to grab her attention. There’s a tough case down in Dr. Chang’s office that I think you might be interested in. He’s a lawyer, looks about your age, and he’s God damned good-looking. She winked

Pat never swore. This got Gail’s attention.

Protecting her reply from Mr. Johnson’s ears, Gail replied, I’m married. I’m not interested. Besides, what else do you know about this guy?

In spite of having been one of Gail’s bridesmaids, Pat did not like her choice for a second husband, so always tried to redirect Gail’s interest. Dick was a decent-looking man, but he didn’t measure up to Gail’s beauty, Pat said. He was a pastor and acted the part, but deep in Pat’s gut, something about him bothered her. If pressed, she couldn’t put her finger on it. But every chance she got, she tried to get Gail laid. Sex is a religion too, Pat often said, and Dick doesn’t put out.

Gail took her morning break; Pat could manage the remaining responsibilities. She crossed paths with Dr. Chang, the clinic’s oncologist. He was working the east wing today, and Gail was working west, so Gail invited him to join her for a cup of coffee, knowing they wouldn’t be sharing any patients today.

Checking his pager, he shrugged. Sure. I have a few minutes before my first patient.

As they entered the staff lounge and got their coffee, Dr. Chang chatted about something his wife had said the day before that amused him. He asked, You’re married, right?

Gail smirked. Yes.

They both sat at the table.

Your first?