by JD Hawkins
Just then, the door to the meeting room opens and a few of the attendees start heading in, while a few still mill around in the corridor. A tinny announcement might be calling for doctors to head to the meeting, but the old PA system is so terrible it sounds more like a scrambled alien message than anything decipherable. Beatrice stands close to me as we drink our coffees and watch more people arrive.
“Have you met many of the staff?” she asks.
“A few.”
“Be careful when you do meet them,” she says cryptically.
I shoot her a confused, but slightly amused, look. “Why do you say that?”
She tilts her head as if unwilling to say more, but adds, “Let’s just say there are a lot of interesting people who work here at Santa Teresa.”
She leans toward me as a youngish, good-looking guy with hair like he’s in a band and the build of a middle-weight boxer saunters through the corridor, swinging his hips to avoid an oncoming gurney.
“That’s Sean French, GP,” she says. “Brilliant doctor. Maybe the best we’ve got. Which is good, because if he was just a little less brilliant, no hospital in the country would put up with how hotheaded, tardy, and…troublesome he is.”
I take a second look at him and notice the three-day stubble of a busy weekend, the swagger of a guy who gets laid often, and the dismissive attitude of a man who treats work like a hobby. Several of the women look at him as he passes, almost as hungrily as they look at me.
“Troublesome, huh?”
“It’s sort of an open secret that he loves women,” Beatrice says. “If you ever need to find him, just follow the line of hypochondriac models. Ordinarily the hospital frowns on that sort of thing, but they’re not complaining…”
I glance around and see a broad-jawed doctor with a meticulous side part who looks like he might turn into a superhero if he took off his doctor’s coat.
“Who’s the Clark Gable-looking guy?” I ask.
“That’s Doctor Nathan Johnson,” Beatrice says simply and formally, though I can hear the forced neutrality in her voice. They’ve got history. “Another GP.”
I decide not to probe further. The hot blonde nurse sways her hips past me, her only slightly less provocative friend beside her.
“Hi, Doctor Pierce,” she says, her voice husky and suggestive.
“Hello there,” I say as they move past with a little wave. They walk away slower than they approached, and if her hips were swaying before, they’re practically salsa-stepping now.
Beatrice notices how my eyes are drawn to them. I turn back to her, meeting her gaze with an unapologetic smile.
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”
Beatrice looks at me like I just said the dumbest thing she’s heard all day.
“I’ve heard that one before,” she says.
“What are you all doing standing around still?” calls a short, red-faced guy in an ill-fitting suit as he hurries into the corridor. “Let’s get this meeting going already!”
“We were waiting for you, Bob!” Jackie answers back. “If you wanted us to start without you, we probably would have realized how useless you are.”
The short guy frowns at Jackie but the others laugh, knowing it’s just the meaningless banter of established employees. The guy—Bob—zeroes in on me as the others enter the room and heads over. He offers his clammy hand and an even clammier smile. I can’t tell if he’s breathless because he ran here or just impatient to get going. He talks quickly, like he’s reading from a long list that has a time limit.
“You’re Doctor Pierce? I’m Bob Miles, senior doctor and acting administrator—though hopefully not for much longer. Good to have you aboard. At least that’s one problem I can check off. How are you settling in? Did anyone show you the ropes? If there’s anything you need, just come to me—or better yet go to Jackie, and if she can’t help you then you come to me. Anyway, come on in and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Even if I wanted to say something, Bob has spun himself around and is marching into the room before he’s even finished speaking. I stand aside and gesture for Beatrice to enter before me and then follow her inside.
There’s a semicircle of tables and plastic chairs there, facing a whiteboard with some scraps of writing somebody couldn’t be bothered to wipe off completely. A couple of old steel cabinets in the corners, and a table with bottles of water, fruit, and greasy packaged pastries from the cafeteria, and a stack of paper cups. Large windows at the back of the room look out onto the parking lot. A single potted plant in the corner of the room tries and fails to lend the bland room some color.
It’s a far cry from the leather chairs, mahogany bookcases, and professionally catered treats of the staff meetings back at Dunhill—but then again, Dunhill never had the sense of life that I’m witnessing right now.
About twenty of my colleagues are in the room already, and there’s a minute of chaos as people pull chairs, adjust tables, chat and crack one last joke. There aren’t enough seats for all of us so some end up standing in the corners, leaning against the walls. Doctor Sean French is already slouched in a seat sideways to the table, scrolling on his phone with one hand and eating a candy bar. Jackie and Bob continue bickering like an old couple. Doctor Nathan Johnson says something to a short-haired woman that makes her cackle like she’s at a comedy show. The blonde nurse and her friend cast smiles like tractor beams at me until I notice they’ve left an empty seat between them.
I haven’t seen something like this since high school—and to be honest, it’s a lot more interesting than Dunhill—cushy seats and artisanal charcuterie boards be damned.
I decide not to oblige the nurses and the seat they reserved for me, more due to my own concerns than Beatrice’s warnings, and instead hang around by the door as Bob finally gets everyone under control.
“All right, all right! Let’s get this done now,” he calls. “Shut that door, would you, Doctor Pierce?”
I nod and move for the door, just as a beautiful thing appears in front of me like a mirage for the second time this week. I feel her before I see her, soft body bounding into mine out of nowhere. A shock of Van Gogh red hair, thick lashes over a pair of dark eyes that press into me. Her expression is one of meek, innocent surprise, but those eyes strike something deep inside me like a black art, turning me to stone.
We look at each other for a second and I completely forget there are twenty people watching us until a voice snaps the spell.
“Mia? Why are you late?” Bob says, sounding more surprised than anything.
She blinks quickly and then looks at Bob as she moves past me into the room.
“I’m sorry,” she replies. “I was driving my brother’s car—well, not his car, exactly… Anyway, it’s super fast and I ended up missing a turn and getting a little lost and…”
“Okay, okay,” Bob says, waving it away. “No matter.”
Though I can’t take my eyes from her, I notice that everyone else in the room seems as surprised as Bob was. I guess she’s never late…
Mia has on a pair of classic Levi’s cuffed over a pair of broken in Dr. Martens. A loose olive cardigan over another dark-blue tank top, one sleeve falling off her shoulder just enough to reveal the thin strap of her top and a flash of delectable collarbone. Her hair is down, revealing full curls that shade from dark brown to autumn red. A hint of gold where the light catches it. Seeing her in off-duty clothes like this feels like getting a whole new insight into her. She moves to the opposite wall and stands there, looking almost a little guilty for being late, clutching her purse in both her hands, a polite posture. Christ, she’s beautiful…
She doesn’t look at me—not even a glance—until I’m sure that she’s doing it deliberately. It doesn’t stop me from glancing at her. That’s a similar kind of outfit to the one she wore in the locker room, which tells me she’s probably not that into fashion, but then again, with a body like that it doesn’t really matter. Something glints around her neck
and I notice that she’s wearing a thin chain there. It glistens against the hollow of her throat, and it’s an appropriate effect. There’s something magical about her, the bow of her lips, the curve of her neck, the hint of cleavage that leads to that mouthwatering chest…
“…to welcome Doctor Colin Pierce, whom we are extremely privileged to have at Santa Teresa now…”
It’s only when he mentions my name that I notice Bob has been introducing me for the past minute, and that I’ve been staring at Mia the whole time. I flash a quick smile and nod around the room until he continues on to other business, and I can go back to stealing looks at the perfect woman across the room—even though it’s driving me half crazy.
“Of course the big news that I wanted to start this meeting with,” Bob says, wiping his forehead with a tissue from his pocket, “is that we may have finally found a new administrator.”
“About time,” someone calls from the back.
“What do you mean ‘may have’?” Jackie snarks from her seat. “Do we have to put up with you for much longer or don’t we?”
“As you all know,” Bob says, trying to remain professional in front of the tough crowd, “it’s been a rough search since Charlene left two months ago. A lot of people don’t want the challenge of Santa Teresa, a lot of people aren’t up to the challenge—”
“Blah blah blah—do we have a new admin or not?” Jackie says.
“Let him do his speech, Jackie,” the nurse beside her says. “It’s quicker that way.”
“Believe me,” Bob says, showing a fatigue that looks like it’s been far more than two months brewing, “nobody wants a new administrator more than me. Now we have a candidate who would be a major coup for the hospital.”
“Who is it?”
“I can’t say.” There are groans when Bob reveals this. “We’re in the middle of contract negotiations so it’s not even legal to be telling you this—certainly not advisable. But… But… If all goes well, the new administrator should be here tomorrow.”
Now there are murmurs and gestures of relief around the room.
“Finally…”
“I might not quit after all…”
“By ‘tomorrow’ he probably means by Thanksgiving.”
Jackie pipes up again, “So we’ll finally have someone who can strike that funding deal for the new monitors?”
“I told you about the monitors, Jackie. We’re looking for the best deal—”
Mia raises her hand to say something and Bob stops himself to look at her. It’s strange, for as cute and as innocent as she seems, it’s clear that everyone in the hospital respects her—especially when it comes to work. The whole room turns to her attentively.
“Yes?” Bob asks.
“Two things,” Mia says, and her voice has the firmness of competence to it. Is she bossy in the bedroom? “Firstly, the report I wrote with suggestions for how we could improve birthing aftercare—do you want me to resubmit it if we get the new administrator?”
“I still have it,” Bob says. “It’s on the long list of things I will submit to the new administrator once we—if we—do get them in tomorrow.”
“Okay, good,” Mia says, in a tone I wish she’d use with me—preferably when talking about where she’d like me to kiss her next… “Secondly, you’ve put Doctor Pierce in the closet office, and it was agreed that the new pediatrician would get the office by maternity.”
“Again, that’s something the new—”
“No,” Mia interrupts, “we don’t need to wait for someone else to approve that—you can do it.”
“Mia,” Bob says, looking almost afraid of answering back to her, “that office isn’t ‘technically’ part of the children’s ward and was meant for—”
“None of that matters,” Mia interrupts again. “Technicality or not, having children go in for patient consultations in a room with no windows and barely enough space to swing a cat isn’t good practice.”
Bob looks at Mia and sweats another half gallon before turning to me.
“Doctor Pierce? What do you think?”
I shrug and answer plainly. “Everything she says is absolutely right.”
Bob sighs, as if his last hope is gone, then he holds his palms up as a quick surrender.
“Okay, fine. Doctor Pierce is in the maternity office, and if the new administrator doesn’t like it you can make your case to them once—if—they arrive…”
I’m less excited by the fact that I’ve gotten a better office than that Mia glances in my direction finally. It’s only for a second, and her delicate face is hard with its professional, unmoved expression, but I don’t care when I can get another glimpse of those eyes gazing right back at me.
As Bob quickly moves the meeting along, I check out, barely able to concentrate on what’s going on as I start imagining all the extremely hot, extremely compromising positions I’d like to get into with my colleague—even though it’s the very thing I swore I’d never do again.
8
Mia
From my position in the room, I can’t look at him without turning my head, yet somehow I can still feel Colin watching me, as if a gaze from those green eyes were more like a caress. Or maybe it’s just me… Me and my overwrought thoughts. Me and whatever it is that’s infected me since he arrived.
Throughout the dull-but-argumentative discussions about funding, equipment, shift management and—as always—the lack of a proper administrator, I keep my eyes on Bob, on the room. Though the truth is, my attention is far away. I’m thinking back to when I rushed into the room only to smash up against his broad, hard body. Back to last night when he saw me in that dress and I felt practically naked. Back to my conversation with Maeve and her crazy suggestion…
Why am I acting like this? I keep asking myself as I stand there, self-conscious about every small movement and facial expression.
It’s not like there aren’t other objectively attractive doctors at the hospital. Nice guys whom I get along with. In fact, it’s not like I haven’t had my chances—Maeve setting me up, or random hit-ons in public—with objectively hot guys before. So what is it about him that’s making me like this? We’ve only had a few conversations, which barely qualify as conversations. How much can you tell about someone from a quick exchange, from a few polite words, from a look… It makes no sense, and the fact I can’t rationalize my own feelings almost frightens me.
“…but a lot depends on what the others would think about it, of course. Mia? What’s your opinion?”
“Huh?” I grunt suddenly, Bob mentioning my name snapping me from my thoughts and making me sound stupidly behind the pace.
“What are your thoughts on Harriet’s idea?” Bob asks, the idea that I wasn’t paying attention not even occurring to him. Why would it? This might be the first ever meeting where I’m not on the ball.
“Oh… Um… I’m not sure… I need more time to think about it.”
Bob looks at me for a second longer, then shrugs as if surprised and carries on.
Get a grip, Mia.
I’m still imagining what Colin looks like naked when the mood in the room shifts, and everyone starts loudly getting out of their seats and turning to each other. Meeting over. And as usual, it’s like school being dismissed on a Friday afternoon.
“What were you thinking? Randy’s?” Geraldine asks as she pulls on her coat.
“Not Randy’s again,” Sean groans. “I got thrown out of there last time.”
“You didn’t get ‘thrown out.’” Nathan replies with a hard-jawed grin. “You got so drunk that you went through the rear exit when you were looking for the bathroom, peed in the alley, and then couldn’t find your way back in.”
“Oh yeah,” Sean says, squinting up at some vague memory. “I found a guardian angel in the alley that night though…”
Deanna, the blonde nurse who looks at Colin the way I wish I had the courage to, pipes up, “I say we go to the Three Flamingos.”
“Of course yo
u do,” Jackie says wryly. “I saw those heels you put in your locker this morning—I don’t know if you want to wear them or kill someone with them.”
“Ah come on, Jackie,” Bob says, looking like an entirely different, more relaxed person now that the meeting is over. “You still know how to dance, don’t you?”
“I still know a cheeky son of a bitch when I see one,” Jackie says, playfully punching him on the shoulder as they join the others in filtering out of the room.
I move along with the rest of them and suddenly feel something warm against my back. A hand gently pressing against the middle of my spine. It’s him…
How do I know that?
I look over my shoulder and sure enough, Colin is there, right behind me, looking down with a clean smile.
“Are you heading off for drinks too?” he asks.
“Um… I dunno… I mean…”
I know I am—or was—but suddenly it feels dangerous. Drinks with him. I’m struggling enough to keep my composure around him when sober. With even a little bit of alcohol in me, who knows what kind of embarrassment I could invite onto myself.
“Come on,” he says. “I owe you a drink to thank you for getting me that office.”
“Oh that’s nothing,” I say, waving it away, finding a little poise now that the subject is work again. “It’s something we should have done for the last doctor.”
“Still…”
We’re through the door now, and I quickly realize I’m holding my purse so primly in front of me that I’m squeezing my breasts together, practically launching them out of my tank top. I quickly pull my cardigan over my front a little tighter and then clear my throat.
“Okay. Sure. I’ll see you there.”
Here goes nothing.
The Three Flamingos is a bar straight out of an ostentatious eighties crime movie. All neon signage, colorful, big-glassed cocktails, and walls of mirrors. A balcony full of tables looks down onto the main area, where a sunken dance floor sits at one end of a vast circular space. The place seems designed for people to be seen and for people to watch.