A Cold Call

A Cold Call

By Jerry Hyman

I had no doubt there would be a snowstorm up north. I always feel it in my left knee when the weather is about to take a drastic change for the worse, even from such a great distance. In the summer, the thunderstorms, lightning and rain, and in winter, heavy snowfall. I love the snow. Always have, from the time my older brother Albert and I would build snow forts on the vacant lot across the street and shovel neighbors’ walks for spending money. I hadn’t seen a snowstorm for years, living in retiree heaven Florida for the past thirty-five years. But a few months ago, I had a yearning to see real winter again. No doubt my nostalgia was aroused in part by my physician’s diagnosis: Stage II melanoma that extended through my epidermis into the dermis, with a fifty-fifty chance of spreading. I was determined to make the best of it and looked into every kind of unorthodox treatment I could. Money was no object; I’d made a mint getting in and out of the casino business in Atlantic City with impeccable timing. If I had been as prescient in my marriages I wouldn’t have been without a life partner to help me through this tough period and have to settle for occasional nubile gold diggers, whom, I have to say, I could always satisfy thanks to my inflatable penile prosthesis. A thirty-thousand dollar bargain if ever there was one. But now, time might be running out; the clock was ticking as my father would say.

But sex was not all there was to life, as dear old has once confided in me, and I had been feeling pretty low, unable to find a mature, still attractive older woman to share the rest of my life with. Maybe back in the old home town? Yes, that might be a solution. Leave the warm Florida winter for a chilly one in old A.C. That might be fun - even with the death threat of melanoma hovering over me. I remembered the name of an old girlfriend there, and after looking her up on Facebook, found that she was still there, a well-preserved widow, and still looking good, if you could put any credence in her Facebook profile picture. We made a date to meet on the weekend.

I bought my ticket and flew off to New Jersey, a snowbird in reverse. Before leaving the comfort of the west coast Florida clime, I had supplied myself with a Uniqlo duck down coat, gloves, a handsome hoodie, and long johns. I was ready for the snows.

I wasn’t disappointed. My flight landed just ahead of a genuine blowout blizzard and it took almost three hours to crawl in to the city in a limousine from the AC International airport to my hotel, only 20 miles away. No matter, I had my flask of Johnny Walker and was pleasantly preserved by the time we pulled up to the Tropicana hotel and casino, recommended by TripAdvisor. No sooner had I settled in to my two-room suite when I had a sudden shortness of breath and a coughing fit. Google to the rescue, I saw that my symptoms were like those of a melanoma that had spread! No, couldn’t be, must be a chest cold brought on by the rapid change of weather. Soon the coughing subsided and I got my breath back. Nothing, I said to myself, just a minor cough.

In the steaming hot shower I revived my spirits and got dressed, ready to go down and see what the place had to offer. Not without first checking inflatable Joe, as I liked to call my improved genital plumbing. I squeezed the pump, located in my scrotum like a third ball, and got the satisfactory phoosh of the start of an inflation. Yes, ready for action! I would call Cheryl, but not yet. First I would check out the pulchritude on the casino floor. After all, I could do it with anyone, armed with my magic stick, so Cheryl could wait.

In the elevator I wasn’t much impressed. Cackling youngsters, with their high-pitched, nasal whines more annoying than alluring, and when I saw what was available on the ground floor, I made up my mind that Cheryl wouldn’t be so bad after all. But when I pulled out my phone to call her, the coughing started again, and it got so bad that a floor attendant came over to me to see if I was all right. Again it subsided, but I decided to hold off and catch my breath before contacting Cheryl. Maybe some fresh air. Perhaps the bracing cold winter air would loosen up my chest and make my breathing easier.

Back up to my suite for my coat, scarf, gloves and vital long johns, then down once again to street level. Finding my way out of the maze of the casino – purposely designed to make it hard to exit – was no easy task. Finally, after many a question and direction I found the exit door that led to outdoors. Before I pushed on the pneumatic door, I looked around to see what was going on out there. Snow had covered the pavement completely. Forceful flurries were descending but I looked upon it all as a challenge. I’d head outside, take a brief, brisk walk in the cold, then come back and call Cheryl, ready for a good time. Taking a deep breath and managing not to cough, I pushed open the door and strode outside. Whoosh! The wind was fierce. But I was determined to carry out my mission. Summoning up my courage, buttoning up my coat, putting on my fur-lined gloves, I sallied forth.

I don’t remember how long I was out there. It didn’t seem like very long, but I began to tire, and decided it would be best to head back to the hotel and warmth. I turned around, intending to trace my steps back to the hotel entrance. I hadn’t realized how heavy the snow was and couldn’t see my footprints! The biting wind made it hard to see anything at all. I started to panic. The coughing re-commenced and I doubled over, trying to catch my breath in the freezing night. Trying harder and harder. I don’t think I felt the fall…

In her snug apartment a few blocks away, Cheryl Atkins awaited the phone call from Larry Fish, an old high school classmate who had recently contacted her and wanted to meet. “Guess the snow was too much for him. Never mind, nothing probably would have come of it anyway,” And with that, she turned on Netflix and searched for a nice hot romance.