Becoming Juliet - Paula Marinaro Page 0,16

put a lot of time and research into picking out her new surname. “Do you see that as a problem?”

“Wang is an established Asian name, and you look nothing like someone of Asian descent, I just think it might result in some speculation that you may not be comfortable with.”

Since the last thing Juliet wanted was speculation, she decided to go with her second choice. “Okay, let’s make it Jones then.”

Dr. Finkle nodded and made a notation.

“And your first name… Juliet?”

“Do you have a problem with that too, Doctor Finkle?” Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’m just curious. Is there a rationale for the name Juliet, as well?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Juliet Capulet happens to be one of the most misunderstood characters in history.” Lucy told him. “Shakespearean scholars never give her enough credit as a woman in her own right. At the onset of the Shakespearean Tragedy, she appears to be quite naïve, timid, and subservient to the wishes of others. However, as the story progresses, Juliet’s strength of purpose, courage, resolve, wit and independence become evident.”

Fascinated, Dr. Finkle leaned back in his chair and studied his patient. “And what about Romeo, where does he fit into the equation?”

“In the end it was Romeo’s cowardice and lack of character that did Juliet in.” Lucy responded. “I have always wondered what would have become of Juliet if she had simply stepped over Romeo’s cold, dead body and kept on walking.”

P.J. McCabe sat back in the Adirondack chair and lit up a smoke. He had been waiting almost forty five minutes for someone to show up. It was either going to be the landlord, Layla Dumont, or the prospective tenant. Both of them were late as hell.

P.J figured he could bet good money on the fact that the new tenant was probably a female.

Every one of them had that same annoying quality. No regard for time. Less regard for the poor bastards who were waiting on them.

Damn women.

And his friend’s wife was one of the worst offenders that P.J. had ever come across.

Layla Dumont was as flighty as hell, always running late, always forgetting stuff and forever losing shit. If it weren’t for her husband, Reggie, who had the patience of a goddamn saint, P.J. figured Layla would be living under a bridge somewhere.

Serious space cadet.

But she had a big heart and a warm, welcoming way about her. She and Reggie had been among the first people that P.J. had met when he moved to Port Harbor. Reggie had been P.J.’s realtor. When Reggie had shown up for their appointment sporting a Harley, that had pretty much sealed the deal for P.J. The two rough and ready men had liked each other instantly. It hadn’t taken long before a strong friendship had formed. They rode together at least a couple of times a month when the seasons allowed, played cards on Thursday nights, and helped one another out when needed. Reggie Dumont was solid, took care of his woman, and was a no bullshit kind of guy. And because Layla could drive a sane man like that crazy, P.J. helped Reggie out when he could.

It had now been about three years since P.J. had settled into Port Harbor, and he was still adjusting to his new life. It hadn’t been easy. No, easy would be a real goddamn stretch. It had been nearly impossible to put up with the demands of an ordinary life. A few months in, and P.J. had begun to seriously doubt his decision to straighten up his life. But he had still not gotten over the circumstances of Beast’s death. The last words that Beast had uttered to him in that tortured voice, the way his arm had flexed in the chair, the crackling, hissing sound of an electrical feed gone wrong…the smell of burning flesh. Deep in his heart, P.J. knew that he owed it to Beast to give himself a fair shot at an average everyday life. If it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out. P.J. had been determined to give it at least through that first winter before he bailed.

But by then, George Pappas decided to put his Variety Market and Gun Shop up for sale and move to Boca Raton. There he would spend the rest of his days in a senior gated community, driving his golf cart and playing bingo. The variety store had held zero interest for P.J., but Mr. Pappas would not separate the two businesses