"It's not Roxie," 5E head nurse Victoria Forley insisted.
The tiny brunette slammed the file in her hand onto her old
metal desk. "She's one of my best nurses, and a dear friend.
I trust her implicitly. This is absolutely ridiculous."
"Calm down, honey," her fiancé, Dr. Kyle Karlinsky said as
he wrapped his large arm around her narrow shoulders. "We'll
figure it out."
Ryan "Fig" Figelstein leaned against the door frame of
Victoria's fifth floor office, watching the cozy scene. An
observer. An outsider in his best friend's new life.
Kyle shot over the look that more often than not got Fig
into some kind of trouble and added, "And Fig will help us."
"Ooohhh, no." Fig held up both hands. "Come see where I
work, you said, just for a few minutes." Kyle knew how much
Fig hated hospitals. The smells. The sounds. The isolation
and deprivation. He staved off a shudder.
"You okay?" Kyle asked, studying him, able to read Fig
better than anyone.
"Yeah." Fig pushed off the door frame and took a step into
the tiny office. "So what's your plan?" he asked to get the
focus off of him.
"You're here another week, right?" Kyle asked.
"That's the plan."
"It's perfect." Kyle rubbed his hands together.
Perfect would be them leaving the hospital. Now. Perfect
would be an end to his mother's constant telephone calls and
ploys for his attention. Perfect would be some sense of
normalcy in a life that was feeling increasingly out of his
control.
"You hire on here. As the unit clerk."
"Are you..?"
Before he could get out the word crazy Kyle added, "Just
hear me out." His voice took on that placating tone he used
every time he set out to convince Fig to do something he
didn't want to do. Kyle removed his arm from Victoria and
set his full attention on Fig. "You answer the phone,
respond to the call bells, direct visitors."
"It takes more than that..." Victoria started.
"And he watches Roxie and the narcotics cabinet," Kyle added
to silence her. "Each time she or someone else accesses it
he'll call you."
"You're brilliant," Victoria said to Kyle with a big grin.
Then she turned to Fig. "You have to take the job," she
pleaded. "Each day I have a different temp circulating
through. I need a person I can trust to keep an eye on
Roxie. Something's going on. She's been forgetful and
distracted. She doesn't have her normal spunk."
Signs of drug abuse. Fig glanced at Kyle.
Victoria caught him. "She's not on drugs. Please," she said,
looking up at Fig in that way women do when they have no
intention of accepting no for an answer.
"I work with computers." And he was damn good at it. In
demand even. "I have a job."
"But you can work anywhere," Kyle pointed out oh so helpfully.
"I'm not a big fan of sick people," he admitted. Some
deep-seated fears were not easy to get past. "And I know
nothing about being a unit clerk in a hospital." Frankly,
the thought of spending twelve captive hours in one left him
cold and clammy.
"You're not expected to have any physical contact with the
patients. And I'll train you myself," Victoria said. "I'll
help out as much as I can and I'll tell my nurses to pitch
in, too. The narcotic cabinet is in a locked room right
behind the desk where you'll be sitting. All you need to do
is report any suspicious behavior and I'll check the Demerol
count."
"I've got an idea," Fig said. "If you're so certain Roxie
had nothing to do with the missing drugs, why don't you tell
her what's up and ask her if she knows anything." Fig
preferred the straightforward approach, hated when people
danced around an issue.
"Normally I would, and as her friend I want to." Victoria
looked torn. "But my job requires I remain objective and
investigate the matter fully. Which is what I'm trying to
do. Please say you'll help me."
"We can spend more time together." Kyle smiled. "And you'll
be earning $9.00 an hour to boot."
Like Fig needed the money.
"Seriously," Kyle said. "This means a lot to Victoria so it
means a lot to me. You're here. You're impartial. You have
no vested interested in Roxie's guilt or innocence."
Now that wasn't entirely true. In the few hours he'd spent
with her at last week's employee of the month dinner to
honor Kyle Fig found Roxie to be a total hoot. He liked her.
Really liked her. And would rather not participate in any
activity that may turn out to be detrimental to her
wellbeing. Not to mention after pulling a no show for their
date Friday night, Fig was not looking forward to Roxie
setting eyes on his alive self. The woman had a sharp wit
and, per her own admission, an even sharper temper.
But then Kyle added, "I trust you, my closest friend, to
help prove Roxie's innocence."
And Fig was sunk. Over the past eight years – since
rooming with Kyle at the physical rehab after his ‘accident'
– Kyle had been like a brother, building Fig's
confidence, teaching him about women, and helping him
through the most difficult time in his life. How could he
say no to the man who'd improved his quality of life to the
point if felt worth living?
"I know I'm going to regret this," Fig conceded.
"So you'll do it?" Victoria asked cautiously optimistic.
"Yeah."
"I'll call Human Resources." She picked up the phone. "You
can start tomorrow."
Terrific. For the next week Fig was stuck in the Podunk town
of Madrin falls in upstate New York – where he
couldn't even get a decent cup of coffee – filling in
for the unit clerk on a busy medical surgical floor at
Madrin Memorial Hospital. What did he know about being a
clerk? Nothing. But he'd seen enough of them in action to
have a pretty good idea of what he'd need to do. And
honestly, he was a college educated professional. How hard
could it be?
The next morning at the God-awful hour of way the hell too
early, Fig set his two cups of cafeteria ‘coffee' on the
table in the 5E nursing lounge and caught a glimpse of his
reflection in the huge window. Obviously the hospital didn't
have many six-foot four-inch unit clerks on staff because
the drab tan uniform jacket they expected him to wear fit
like a bolero jacket with three-quarter sleeves.
He peeled it off and tossed it onto a chair. He jogged in
place to work off some of his jitters. "You are not a
patient," he started his pep talk. "At the end of the day
you get to go home." He jumped three times and stretched out
each shoulder. "You can do this."
"Well lookey here. All alone and talking to yourself. Psych
ward's on the fourth floor."
He recognized the voice instantly. Roxie Morano. He turned
to face her, so as not to leave his back open to attack.
Purely precautionary.
"Jeeze, woman." He held his arm up to shield his eyes.
"You're an assault to early morning vision." While she wore
the lavender scrubs that identified her as 5E nursing staff,
she'd chosen a long-sleeve white turtleneck covered in
small, multi-colored stars to go underneath her top. About a
dozen colorful cartoon character pins adorned her left
breast pocket – which covered an appealing, rounded
breast. Red rectangular-framed glasses hung from a purple
chain around her neck that tangled with the lime green chord
from which her chunky yellow pen hung. A bright red scrub
jacket with bold pink, yellow, and blue hearts lay draped
over her arm. Further down she had on red clogs that clashed
with a few inches of exposed orange, green, and yellow
striped socks. Up on her head her kinky cream soda curls
were pulled back in a thick, bright orange hair band.
Beyond the distraction of color, Fig took a moment to absorb
the beauty of her smooth, tan skin, her warm brown eyes
– that looked heavy with exhaustion rather than light
with laughter like they'd been on the
night they'd met – and the lusciousness of her
perfect-for-him body.
"If it isn't Ryan – my friends call me Fig –
Figelstein." She walked toward him. "I thought the deal was
if you survived the week we'd head out to dinner to
celebrate, Ryan."
Okay. He got the emphasis she placed on Ryan. Point
received. He'd have to work to earn back her favor. An
effort well worth the anticipated payoff. Her. Naked. In his
bed. Which, based on the heated attraction zipping and
zapping between them last week, was where they'd been
headed. If only someone else was available to babysit
Victoria's son after the dinner. If only he hadn't missed
their date.
"When you didn't come," she continued. "I said a prayer,
just like I'd promised. I even contemplated attending church
on Sunday, and what a ruckus that would have caused." She
stalked toward him. "And here you are." She looked him up
and down. "Fit as a fiddle."
Her cellphone rang. She looked at the number, let out a
frustrated breath, and turned away. "What?" she snapped into
the device. "I told you no. My answer won't change." She
listened. "Fine. Do what you have to do." She slipped the
phone back into her breast pocket and turned to him. "So,
Ryan. I can't begin to imagine what's transpired to make a
self-proclaimed computer genius, such as yourself, stoop to
the role of hospital clerical worker."
"Anything to get close to you," he said. "So I could
apologize for missing our date. Please, we're friends. Call
me Fig." Only his mother called him Ryan, because she flat
out refused to call him anything else. Ryan represented his
old self. The sickly child home schooled because of his
medical conditions, brainwashed to fear the world around
him, the tentative, lonely teenager who lacked confidence
and had no real friends. Fig – the nickname chosen by
Kyle – fit his new and improved self. A man of
character who chose to embrace life rather than hide from
it, to experience life rather than watch others have all the
fun.
With raised eyebrows and a taunting head tilt Roxie asked,
"You think we're friends, Ryan? I beg to differ." She walked
past him to a row of lockers and set to working the
combination dial of the one on the end.
Fig took a step back so he could see inside, but she blocked
the contents with her body. He hated the position Victoria
had put him in. While he liked watching Roxie – her
butt for example, which filled out the back of her scrub
pants in all of its pleasing roundness, with not one panty
line. – watching her for anything other than his own
personal enjoyment felt sneaky and underhanded. Two things
Fig was not.
"You see, Ryan, my friends don't lie to me or leave me
waiting without so much as a telephone call that something
came up or they'd received a better offer."
"I didn't..." No way she'd understand what having a mother
like his was like. He didn't want to talk about that night,
just wanted to put it behind him. "I'm sorry."
"Yes, Ryan. You are. Because you missed out on a good time."
No doubt he had. For sure he would have much rather been
with her than where he'd wound up.
"Such a pity." After pushing her huge purple purse and a
lunch sack into her locker, she pulled out a hot pink
stethoscope, popped a piece of gum into her mouth and closed
the door. The next thing he knew she had her chest pressed
to his and was leaning in close to his ear to whisper, "I'd
put on my crochless panties and peek-a-boo bra especially
for you."
He pulled her bottom half close. Could not stop himself. "I
sure wish I'd been there to see them." And enjoy them. He
drew in her sensual scent. God help him he wanted her. While
Kyle liked his women small, Fig liked em' tall and thin.
Just like Roxie. He went for full body contact – skin
to skin from head to toe.
At first she stood rigid, looking away from him. He slid his
hands up her sides, teased the outer curve of each breast.
She reacted, an infinitesimal softening, a barely noticeable
exhalation, both of which he may have missed if he wasn't so
attuned to her. "You want me," he observed.
"To move your hands," she replied.
He did. To her upper back where he proceeded to hug her close.
Her cell phone rang.
Dag-nab-it. He released her.
She took a step back – still not looking at him
– set her stethoscope on the table, and pulled out her
phone to check the screen.
Fig forced himself to stop thinking about how good she'd
felt pressed against him, how much he wanted to see her
beautifully formed body in nothing but some sexy, barely
there undergarments, and resumed focus on his mission
– to determine if Roxie was the one responsible for
5E's missing Demerol. While his brain made a smooth
transition, his body was not so easily redirected.
Roxie returned the phone to her pocket without answering it,
and, with a deep breath, she turned and headed for the door
like she'd forgotten all about him. "Hey," he called after
her, holding up her stethoscope.
Seeing it she snapped two fingers. "Right. I'll be needing
that."
When she grabbed it he held on and waited for her to look
him in the eye, making note that hers were bloodshot –
damn. "I'm sorry you had to sit home on a Friday night
because of me."
She laughed. "Don't kid yourself, Ryan. There are plenty of
men who enjoy my company." She stared him down. "Really
enjoy it. And just because you weren't up for a good time
doesn't mean I didn't have one." She yanked the stethoscope
from his hand. Over her shoulder she said, "For the record,
I never sit home on Friday or Saturday nights. Ever."
Her phone buzzed.
She retrieved it and looked at the screen. "I hate men." She
glared at him. "I'm done with the lot of you. Every single
one. So tell your kind to stay the hell away from me if they
value their man-parts." Then she slammed out the door.
Fig waited, wanting a little distance between Roxie and his
man-parts. At least for now. He smiled, taking her words as
more of a challenge than a warning.
Roxie burst out of the lounge her heart pounding, rage
coursing through her system. She looked at the text message,
again: It's done. "¡Coño!" And the colossal jerk had sent
her the link. She eyed the darkened hallway of even-numbered
rooms, wondering if she had the strength to hurl the phone
hard enough to break through the reinforced glass window at
the far end. The way she felt? Probably. But what would that
solve?
The video was out there for anyone with a computer to see.
Her friends. Her co-workers. Her family. Of course Roxie
would shrug it off, make like she didn't care. But she did.
What went on in private between two consenting adults was
supposed to be just that. Private. The thought of people
watching, knowing sat like a pregnant hippo on her chest.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
"The Lord doesn't give us more than we can handle," Roxie
whispered her mantra of the last ten years and leaned her
back against the wall, wishing he didn't have so much
confidence in her.
Each time she thought things couldn't get worse something
inevitably happened to prove her wrong. She slipped her hand
into the pocket of her scrub coat and wrapped her fingers
around the three cartridges of injectable Demerol. At least
that she could fix before anyone found out.
Or so she'd thought until she reached the nurses' station at
the center of the H-shaped unit and froze. What was Victoria
doing at work so early? And why was she verifying the
narcotic count with the night shift? The hippo gave birth to
twins that landed heavily on her gut and set off a
tumultuous, acidic churn. There'd be no hiding her stupidity
now. Victoria was going to be livid.