by JJ Lamb
“No,” Gina said with a shrug. “I only want to see how she's doing.”
And find out whether or not you’re welcome.
“Good.” He continued on down the hallway toward the restrooms.
Gina entered Tracy's room and found her sitting on the far edge of the bed, her back to the door, head tilted downward.
“Just checking in to see if I can get you anything,” Gina said. “Also—”
“If you want to do something for me, get me my marrow!” She deliberately kept her back turned to Gina.
“I wish I could, Tracy, but when you get your marrow is not my decision to make.”
“Then there's nothing you can do for me. Go see some other patient, one you can do something for.”
“Tracy, I understand how you feel—”
“No, you have no idea how I feel,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “No idea at all.”
“Well, anyway, I wanted to ask whether you're expecting anyone. There's a man out there who claims to be Gary Bernstein.”
Tracy twisted fully around on the bed. “Gary's here? He's okay?”
“He had to stop off at the men's room,” she said, relieved that she wouldn't have to call security. “He should be here any moment.”
Tracy plumped her pillows, scooted up onto the bed, and leaned back. “What do you have to do to get me ready?” she asked, sticking the middle knuckle of an index finger between her teeth.
“Ready for what, Tracy?”
“My engraftment, of course. Gary's here ... Dr. Kessler should be able to proceed now.”
Gina scowled. “I'm not following you, Tracy. Mr. Bernstein had nothing to do with postponing your engraftment; it was a procedural problem.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about!” She adjusted the drab ecru scarf she'd been wearing on and off. “You'll see what I mean when—”
She was interrupted by Gary coming into the room. Gina could see that he'd done a creditable job of cleaning himself up, but it was still obvious he'd been involved in some kind of physical scuffle.
“My God!” Tracy gasped. “What happened ... he didn't—”
Gary stopped her with a cautiously raised palm. “Everything's all right,” he said.
“The money—”
“Sh-h... it's all over.”
“Then why can't I have my engraftment?”
“What?” He turned and questioned Gina with his eyes, his lips tightening with anger.
“It's an administrative thing,” Gina repeated. “The engraftment hasn't been canceled, just postponed.”
“We're entitled to a better explanation than that,” he said. “Where's Dr. Kessler?”
“Do you want me to find him for you?”
“Yes, and the sooner the better!” He turned back to Tracy and took one of her hands in both of his.
Gina eased herself out of the room.
“Now what in hell was that all about?” she asked herself as she started back toward the nurses' station.
Chapter 19
It was almost 2:40 when Alan Vasquez’ secretary finally told Gina and the Nursing Supervisor that the hospital administrator was ready to see them. Gina was both surprised and irritated that they’d had to wait so long. Yet, Rhoda Wu, who was sitting next to her, showed no sign of being impatient with the situation.
Still, Gina was inwardly amused that he had not come through the reception area to enter his office, but had used the private side entrance. Was he afraid they might attack him before he could reach his seat of power? She thought it wise not to share her thoughts with Rhoda.
As the two of them entered the pseudo Bauhaus-decorated office, Vasquez was in the process of removing his suit jacket. But when he saw them, he nodded toward the pair of Wassily chairs in front of his desk, and settled the jacket back onto his shoulders. There was the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and upper lip. Gina guessed he had just come from the parking garage.
“I’m sorry you had to wait,” he said perfunctorily. “There was a Board luncheon that ran longer than usual.”
Gina started to respond, but deferred to the Nursing Supervisor, who had already taken a chair and was settled in, hands folded in her lap. They both watched as Vasquez looked from them to the mounds of reports, correspondence, and publications that covered the top of his desk. There was an almost imperceptible negative movement of his head. He made a half-hearted attempt to create some semblance of order out of the chaos, gave up, and redirected his attention to Gina.
“I'm going to repeat what I told you this morning, Ms. Mazzio—Ridgewood is not paying you premium wages to act as a courier between Oncology and other departments in the hospital. Is that clear?”
“I was doing what I thought was in the best interests of my patient,” she said. “We'd already had one problem with a patient's marrow—”
“—Enough about the marrow!” He turned to Rhoda Wu. “What are Ms. Mazzio's qualifications?”
“She's a Registered Nurse, with a bachelor of science in nursing. She trained at—”
“No, no,” he interrupted again. “All of that's a given, otherwise she wouldn't be here. I want to know the extent of her experience at Ridgewood.”
“She started in Med/Surg when she joined us three years ago and later transferred to Oncology,” the Nursing Administrator said.
“Has she received orientation for any other department or service?”
“No, although I'm certain she has the capability to fill any nursing position in the hospital.”
He lifted his hand, palm facing them. “I'm not questioning her competency as a nurse, Mrs. Wu, I'm concerned about her judgment, about this proclivity of hers to be a patient-advocate gadfly.” He shifted his gaze back to Gina. “The point is, you had no business sticking your nose into the Laboratory's systems or procedures.”
“If you look at it that way, I suppose you're right. However, I—”
“Good! I'm glad we're in agreement.” He leaned back in his chair and looked from one to the other. “Now, correct me if I'm wrong: There is an established job description for Ms. Mazzio's position in Oncology.”
“Yes,” said Rhoda.
“And there are specific protocols for the nursing staff in general, and for the Oncology Department in particular.”
Gina and Rhoda both nodded.
“Exactly!” He swept a hand over the clutter of his desk. “I have more than enough here to keep me busy without having to get involved in a speculative crisis ... a situation created by some Staff Nurse whose assigned duties apparently aren't sufficient to keep her occupied.”
“If you're suggesting we're over-staffed in Oncology,” the Nursing Administrator interjected,” I can show you—”
He held up a staying hand again. “I'm glad my point wasn't lost on you.”With the same hand, he leveled a finger at Gina. “As for you, not only have your actions been disruptive, your speculations—had they become public—could have caused this hospital's reputation considerable harm. Do you understand that?”
“As I said before, I thought I was acting in the best interests of my patient,” Gina said,” which, as I see it, is in the best interests of the hospital.”
He stared at her for a long beat. “I will decide, thank you, what is in the best interests of Ridgewood. Further, when you have concerns about any of our Oncology patients, or about any department within the hospital, you will take them to the ordering physician. Period!”
“Am I allowed to ask a question?” Gina said.
“Go ahead.”
“Has anyone ever found Carl Chapman's marrow?”
Vasquez stood and looked down on them. “When you leave here,” he said to the Nursing Administrator,” will you please explain to Ms. Mazzio that she is this close to losing her job.” He held out a thumb and forefinger with less than an eighth of an inch separating them.
* * *
By shift's end, Gina, had forgotten she had offered Faye Lindstrom a ride home un
til she saw the lab tech waiting for her at the far side of the plaza fountain.
Me and my big mouth!
She wanted to rush home, stand under a pounding shower, and forget the embarrassing meeting with Vasquez and the Nursing Administrator. Instead, she was going to have to play big sister to the sad-faced lab tech.
As she approached the Brianna Fountain, the sounds from the rush and spill of the water did little to soothe or lift her spirits as it usually did.
“Hi,” she said, walking up to Faye, who sat on the edge of the fountain, trailing her hand in the bubbling water.
Faye smiled shyly at her. “I thought I'd take you up on your offer. You know, the ride home? I mean, it was fun riding in your car the other day.”
“The little red devil is a mess, just like it's owner,” Gina said, laughing for the first time that day. “But you're right: it is a kick to ride in.”
“Maybe I'm imposing,” Faye said. “You look tired ... perhaps you'd rather be alone.”
Gina studied Faye: her arms were folded defensively across a utilitarian blue blouse, in keeping with her plain white skirt and Rockport walking shoes. Her initial openness and obvious pleasure at seeing Gina was fading—she was apparently expecting rejection.
“Nah,” Gina said,” let's get in the monster and get you home.”
As they walked towards the car, Faye said, “I'm sorry you had to get involved in that mix-up with the marrow this morning.”
Gina flipped her hand. “It wasn't your fault ... why should you be sorry?” She unlocked the car door for Faye and walked around to the driver's side. “Besides, I don't want to talk about it. I'd rather forget the whole thing.” She undid the convertible top and folded it back before climbing into the car next to Faye.
In an unexpected burst of enthusiasm, she said, “What say we get the hell out of here, head out to the beach and let the salty air blow away all the day's bad vibrations?”
Faye's eyes lit up, then just as quickly lost their luster. “I ... I don't know. Will we get back late?”
“We absolutely cannot get back late—my boyfriend's coming over for dinner.” She looked into Faye's worried eyes, and then tapped her finger on the face of her watch. “Oh, come on, it's not even four o'clock yet. Plenty of time. Let's just go! To hell with everything!”
There wasn't much conversation for a while; Gina was lost in her own thoughts and Faye seemed happy just to be riding along. But as soon as they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, Gina let out a whoop with such animal delight, a couple of people nearby reacted by tapping their horns and waving. The gusts of air that whipped through the open vehicle barely mussed Gina's short curly hair, but Faye's shoulder-length strands swirled around in every direction. At first, she tried to hold down the flying mop, but then gave up, closed her eyes, and lifted her face to the strong rush of air.
“Makes you want to tear off your clothes and expose your naked body to the wind, doesn't it?” Gina asked.
Faye turned a beet red. “Maybe if I had your body.”
“Come on, Faye, that's not the point—just get with the moment.”
“When you look like me, you don't just get with the moment.”
“Hey, there's nothing wrong with the way you look.”
Gina turned the radio up and sang both the English and Portuguese lyrics to the The Girl from Ipanema. After that, the station played a whole segment of Brazilian music. Faye hummed and joined Gina in making up words to the songs they didn't know. It was pleasantly warm and the sun beat down on them as the Fiat raced through the tricky curves of Highway 1 toward Stinson Beach.
Once there, they jumped from the car and quickly rid themselves of their shoes and socks, tossing them haphazardly back into the car.
Gina rolled up her slacks to mid-calf. “Come on,” she shouted,” last one to the water is a frog.” She took off, sprinting toward the ocean. After a few yards, not hearing anything from her companion, she slowed and looked back over her shoulder—Faye was trudging through the sand, the hem of her skirt held tightly in one hand. Gina was disappointed, but accepted that Faye marched to a different drummer. She raced ahead and waded in the cold, toe-cramping water before returning to the dry sand to wait for Faye.
When they were together again, they plopped down in the sand and silently watched the waves erase Gina's footprints. With contented sighs, they lay back, arms akimbo, taking in the cloud-dotted sky and surrounding shoreline.
Faye lifted up on one elbow: “Wouldn't that make a beautiful painting?” She pointed to a hillside that had tumbled into the sea at some unknown time, probably without a human audience. Waves crashed against the huge boulders, filling the air with ocean spray; seagulls dipped and soared over the scree, daring the sea to capture them.
Gina rolled her head around, looked, and nodded. “Beautiful,” she said, rising up also. “You know, I've always loved the sensuality of color. It seems unfair that I can fix my own car, do almost anything with my hands, but I can't paint and I can't sculpt.” Her fingers raked the sand as she spoke, leaving telltale ridges behind. “I could never paint a scene like that.”
“Have you tried?”
“Oh, yes, but you can't believe the abominations I create with a paint brush. I'm sure all my Italian ancestors are very disappointed.”
“I used to paint,” Faye said shyly.
Gina cocked her head to one side. “What kind of painting ... oil, watercolor?”
“Mostly watercolor.”
“What happened? Why did you quit?”
“Oh, I wasn't very good,” she said, pushing up a mound of sand, then flattening it, pushing it up, flattening it again. “But I did love it ... it was fun.”
“You don't have to be a Michelangelo to do something you love.”
A stormy darkness flitted across Faye's eyes, but was gone before she spoke. “I suppose not, but, you know, Frankie made fun of my paintings ... it stopped seeming so important. I threw away most of them.”
Gina was silent for a beat, then said:”You really love this guy, Frankie?”
Faye flipped onto her back. “I love him.” She was quiet for a moment, then asked: “What does your boyfriend do?” The subject of Frankie obviously was closed.
“Harry works at the hospital,” Gina said. “He's an ICU nurse—Harry Lucke.”
“I've met him up on the unit. He's funny.”
“He has his moments, but he can be a big pain in the ass, too.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
Gina sat up, looked out to sea—it was a dark gray-blue. “I'm not sure I could ever marry anyone again.”
“I wish Frankie would marry me.”
Gina reached over and tossed some sand onto Faye's feet. “Be careful what you wish for,” she said, leaping up and screaming in the wind, “you just might get it.” She ran toward the water, leaving new footsteps scattered in the sand.
* * *
Gina felt a lot better as they started back to the city, glad she'd spent the time with Faye. The lab tech was shy, sweet, and sad. Even her laughter was bittersweet, as if her sorrow were barely contained. She liked her; they'd had a good time just hanging out together. Now, having crossed the bridge and dropped back down into San Francisco, Faye became remote again. No matter how hard Gina tried to pull her back into conversation, her only response was silence.
It was still light, just after 7:30. Gina slipped into a parking place in front of Faye's apartment house.
“Come up for a cup of coffee?” Faye asked, her eyes troubled and pleading.
“No, I don't think so, Faye. Harry's probably already at my place, no doubt thinking I'm dead.”
Faye gathered her things together, looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
“Oh, what the heck,” Gina said, relenting. “But just for a few minutes.” Then she was immediately angry with herself for once again getting so caught up in someone else's problems.
As they waited for the elevator, Gina notice
d for the first time that the lab tech was carrying two purses. When they entered the elevator, she said lightly, “The hospital must be paying you a lot more than they're paying me if you have to carry two of those.”
Faye's mouth went slack; her eyes darted toward the purses. Without looking up, she said,” I left one of them at work last week ... finally remembered to bring it home today.”
Gina, caught off guard by what was an obvious lie, said nothing. A woman simply doesn't forget her purse for a whole week.
As they walked into the apartment, Frank Nellis looked back over his bare shoulder at them from the couch and hit the remote control to click off the television. When he stood up to glare at them, he was stark naked.
“Maybe I'd better leave,” Gina said, not knowing whether to run or just tough out the moment.
Faye wrung her hands. “I ... I promised Gina a cup of coffee, Frankie ... go put on some clothes.”
Nellis' dark eyes bored unflinchingly into Gina's. She willed herself not to break eye contact. She had no intention of allowing this man to intimidate her in the same way he apparently intimidated Faye.
“Don't worry about it, darlin'. I'm sure it's not the first time she's seen a naked man.”
“Frankie, please!”
“Okay, okay,” he said, giving Gina a lewd wink. He turned away and headed for the bedroom.
“Please ... have a seat, Gina,” Faye said, her eyes begging her to stay. “I'll have the coffee ready in no time.”
Gina sat down, flustered and tense, not only from Frank Nellis' blatant nudity, but his rank behavior. She was still debating whether to stay when a painting over the fireplace caught her attention. She studied it for a moment, then called out, “Is this one of your watercolors in here?”
“Not very good, is it?” Faye responded.
Gina agreed, but was silent about it. She didn't like the forest scene—too controlled, too empty, too flat. She preferred explosions of color, as though the artist had suddenly gone berserk. But before she could give a diplomatic reply, Nellis came back into the room, still nude.
“Damn awful, isn't it?” he declared, nodding toward the painting. He slipped into a pair of faded jeans as he stood in front of her, but remained shirtless and barefoot.