[Gina Mazzio RN 01.0 - 03.0] Bone Set

by JJ Lamb

  “What was that all about?” Chelsea asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” Tina said.

  * * *

  Five on the dot, Gina edged out from behind her desk and left the Clinic, another day without settling her disagreement with Tina. As she walked to her car, she made what was now a routine check to see if anyone was following her; everyone seemed to be an after-work mode that didn’t include her: Get out and get gone. She slipped into the Fiat and sat behind the wheel, cell phone in hand.

  There were no messages from Harry, or from anyone else.

  She ran her fingers through her hair several times, grateful it needed so little attention. Then she opened her purse, and without checking in the mirror, put on fresh lipstick. She sat for another few moments, then with determination, pulled away from the curb.

  * * *

  Eddie St. George sat in his Jaguar and watched Gina enter The Hideaway. He’d deliberately forced himself on her in the cafeteria, curious as to whether she would recognize his voice from the phone calls. He was drawn to her and wanted to put his trust in her, tell her he was the one who had called. But the cafeteria hadn’t been the right place. He again noticed how attractive she was – the kind of woman he always thought would be the right fit for him.

  No! He could not get involved with this woman, or any other – it only made what he had to do for Father that much more difficult. He would have a drink with her, make up an excuse for having to leave early, and then be on his way.

  His cell vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. The message screamed:

  MORE. TONIGHT.

  Leave me alone!

  He glanced at his watch. Too late to visit any of the other medical offices and clinics up and down The Peninsula, where he could slip in without being noticed. And he was too tired to troll the streets and bars to find the right woman for Father.

  Before he could change his mind, he got out of the car and, with long, determined strides, entered the cocktail lounge.

  Right away he spotted Gina. The Advice nurse had settled at one of the small tables in the back; a waitress was taking her order. As he approached, he heard her order a Margarita.

  “Make that two,” Eddie said.

  The waitress wrote up the ticket, flashed a perfunctory smile, and moved toward the bar.

  The tables were like oversized dinner plates, jammed together in a crowded dishwasher. Eddie could not only hear the patrons next to them, he could smell the nearest woman’s perfume.

  Gina eased out of her raincoat and draped it across her shoulders. A Kelly-green polo shirt contrasted with her dark eyes, making them piercing, yet somehow soft.

  “I didn’t think you’d show,” he said.

  “Same here.” She laughed. “But against my better judgment, here I am.”

  “I’m glad.” He reached for her hand; she pulled it out of reach.

  “It’s just a drink,” she said. “Don’t put any more into it than that.”

  “Sorry. The Ridgewood rumor mill has it that you broke up with your boy friend. I guess not.”

  “Maybe the rumor mongers will figure it out for me. As it is, I sure don’t know.”

  “Well, it’s still good to just sit back and relax after an unusually difficult day.”

  “Something special going on for you?”

  “New chemo product. I got tapped to set up a special presentation involving Alan Vasquez, Michael Cliffords, a financially challenged patient, and a couple of our bigwigs. Took hours, but we finally agreed on a time that would fit everyone’s schedule.”

  “Glad it was you and not me,” she said. “I used to work for Cliffords; good guy, but busy, very intense.”

  “I agree. But I couldn’t figure out Vasquez. What’s he normally like?”

  Gina gave a curt laugh. “You’re asking the wrong person when it comes to the Ridgewood administrator.”

  He was going to ask for details, but the waitress arrived with their order and scooped up the twenty-dollar bill he’d placed on the table.

  Gina lifted her drink and they touched glasses. “To friends.”

  “Are we friends?” The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His chest tightened, he covered his shortness of breath by coughing as though he’d swallowed wrong.

  “Do you need a good whack on the back, or would that really make you wonder if we’re friends?”

  He waved away her offered treatment. “I’m okay, but I’m still wondering why you agreed to have a drink with me?”

  She took a long sip of her Margarita, looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know, guess you looked like a man who needed some company.” She glanced away, lowered her head. “Truth is, I needed some company. Couldn’t stand the thought of going back to an empty apartment.”

  He felt the cell vibrate again, stopped listening to her. He knew what was on the message screen:

  MORE! TONIGHT!

  She smiled, stood. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” He managed to nod, watched her zigzag through the tiny tables to the restroom – tall, athletic, dark haired. Not at all what Father would expect.

  Colors flashed in his head, blossomed from everywhere in the room. He pulled out his inhaler, rapidly pushed the pump. A few moments passed before he could breathe freely again.

  MORE! TONIGHT!

  TONIGHT!

  He hesitated, then reached into the side pocket of his jacket, trapped a roofie with thumb and forefinger, and then dropped the hypnotic sedative into Gina’s Margarita.

  When she returned, she slipped back into her seat, folded her hands in front of her on the table, and looked at him with sad, red-rimmed eyes.

  It was me. I’m the one who called you.

  But he couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t trust anyone to know who he was, what he’d done.

  Gina lifted the glass to her lips, sighed, then set it down.

  “Maybe we’ll do this some other time.” She stood and walked out.

  Chapter 16

  Gina drove a practiced route around her apartment complex, searching for the parking place. Tonight, even sacred hydrant slots were violated by illegal parkers. Then the windshield wipers stalled; she could barely see a thing.

  “Damn Italian electronics!”

  She toggled the switch several times but the blades refused to move.

  “Keep this up and I’ll turn you into a pile of scrap metal, you neurotic monster.” The wipers immediately went into high speed.

  “That’s better.”

  She finally found a spot and shoehorned the Fiat into a space that really needed to be at least a foot longer.

  “Idiot!” she chastised herself. “Drinking with some guy you barely know? What’s that all about? What a loser you’ve become.”

  She tromped through the rain, wiping the water out of her eyes, picturing Eddie St. George. He looked like a regular guy, typical of most of the pharmaceutical reps who paraded up and down the hospital halls drumming up business. He was well mannered, expensively dressed, attractive. And ready to do almost anything to make a good impression.

  She hadn’t seen many of his kind since leaving Oncology to work in the clinic, but she knew they were still out there, lugging their heavy satchels up and down the long corridors, wearing pasted-on smiles even when their clothes were soaked with perspiration. And she knew what was in those cases — samples of the popular, the newest drugs their companies had to offer so the Docs and NPs could not only satisfy patients that were ever alert to the advertising that saturated the media, but continue to prescribe their company’s on going line of products. And, of course they carried, all the goodies for the RNs and other staff to insure the reps were always welcome wherever they turned up.

  Gina, on more than one occasion, had gone with Cliff Michaels, along with other doctors and nurses, to weekend Giant-Dodgers games after several big CHEMWest drug orders had been placed. Best seats in the stadium, of course, and free.

  Several of the Oncology MDs she’d worked with
took their vacations in Hawaii, Hong Kong, Tokyo, or Paris, at CHEMwest’s expense. Sort of a ‘thank you’ for having used the drug company’s efficacious chemo therapy rather than some other company’s efficacious chemo drug.

  But it was the sales reps that were at the front. They carried all the bits and pieces that kept a huge inter-dependent machine well lubricated and functioning smoothly. It was business, big business. And the doctors were the targets.

  She’d noticed, however, that up close and personal, Eddie St. George wasn’t as typical as he tried to make people believe. Sitting at that little table in The Hideaway, he was attentive and distracted at the same time. Her problem was that being with him only made her think about Harry.

  She’d needed to get out of her own skin for a while and he’d made himself available. But for reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint, it was as if he was forcing himself to make casual conversation and there was something more he wanted to say. Or was it that she’d been out of the dating scene too long?

  Well, enough of Eddie St. George. She needed to get on with her life.

  Go, Megan Ann, go. Good luck with that dude.

  The street was empty, dark, and the air heavy with the smell of moss, supersaturated plants, humus, and mold. Just what her allergist ordered.

  The thought made her sneeze.

  She used her key to enter the lobby, quickly closed the door behind her, and waited for the elevator. Lack of sleep made her legs heavier and heavier, and when she stepped out of the elevator, she almost collapsed and had to grab for the wall to keep from falling. Total exhaustion swept over her; she was lightheaded and weak. Two nights without her standard eight hours of sleep and then a frustrating date. It was dragging her down.

  She jammed the key into the door, stepped inside, and stopped in her tracks. Harry sat on the sofa staring at her. He dominated the half-lit room.

  “Bottom line, I can’t live without you, beautiful.” His face was all eyes, like a vast ocean, blue-green and watery.

  “Is that a fact?” She turned away from him, slipped out of her raincoat, and draped it across the back of a bar stool in the kitchen; it left a puddle of dripping water.

  He crossed the room and slipped an arm around her waist. “I shouldn’t have walked out.”

  “Damn straight.”

  ”Try to understand. I was crushed. I’ve waited a year to marry you, Gina Mazzio. You know how much I love you.”

  “A helluva way to show it.” Relief and anger fought for her attention, but the right words wouldn’t come.

  “Where have you been, anyway? I’ve been worried about you.”

  She planted both fists on her hips. “Did you think I would sit around here and mope, pine over you? Is that what you thought?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that I was concerned.”

  She reached into the fridge, pulled out a container of yogurt, flipped it open, and stuffed her mouth with it.

  “If you must know, I was out having a drink.”

  Harry barely nodded.

  “One of the drug reps.” She licked the spoon before setting it down. “Kind of cute, a little on the young side, but who cares. I’m not going to marry him – or anyone else.”

  “That hurts.”

  “Really? Funny, I thought it was just the opposite — you not believing in me and walking out when I‘m trying to deal with some maniac.”

  “Please, Gina.”

  “And what’s this shit about being worried about me? And did you really say you were concerned?” She raised a hand, cutting off a retort. “You weren’t worried Friday when I talked to that nutcase.” She thunked her head with a palm. “Oh, I forgot. You weren’t concerned because it was only a crank call.”

  “Gina, I’m sorry. All I could think about was that we were finally going to get married.”

  She snatched up the spoon again and pushed another glob of yogurt into her mouth. “Not good enough, Harry Lucke.”

  “All I can do is apologize.”

  “You can do more than that. You can leave … leave me alone.”

  “Gina.”

  “I don’t want to marry you,” she said. “You or anyone. Relationships are too complicated for my simple mind, too messy for my need of orderliness.”

  He reached out and pulled her to him. “Don’t make up your mind right now. Please!”

  She held back an angry response, squeezed her eyes shut to stem the tears. “Leave me alone, Harry.” She pushed him away.

  “Please, Gina.”

  “Just go.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can talk then.”

  She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming at him.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  * * *

  Gina had just entered her bedroom when she heard her computer chime the arrival of an e-mail. She hurried to her desk and clicked to see who was sending her a message.

  It was from her brother, Vinny, stationed in Afghanistan. She hadn’t heard from him for a week and her hands shook as she read his letter:

  Hey, Big Sis,

  It’s me, the big shot (did I misspell that?) from the hellhole.

  As you can see, I haven’t flamed out yet. Some bitchin’ moments, but looks like I’m still gonna kick your butt at handball again.

  Been worried about you. Not like you to carry a grudge. Almost two years and you still haven’t buried the hatchet with Mom and Dad? I know they should have stood up for you, not try to push you back to Dominick, for any reason. But we both know they’re religious, hung up on that old-fashioned, stand-by-your-man crap and we also know that shithead ex- of yours belongs six feet under, but I’m still staying away from telling them about your plans to tie the knot with Harry – I’m not pissing grease on a bonfire.

  Crazy part, your ex-father-in-law still thinks you’ll make up with Dominick. And get this. So does Dominick! The jerk plugs me with e-mail, begging me for your address, begging me to sway you. Man! Get a life! Does this guy even have a clue about what he did? All that asshole sees is his “possession” walking out the door. Maybe we ought to fit you for a burkha? No, no. Don’t hit me! But the fool still refers to you as his pretty wife. I know you’re not a dog, but pretty? Ha! From this distance, I can call you anything. I mean ANYTHING.

  Kidding aside, I only communicate with him to know what’s on his mind. The fact he’s out of prison now means I gotta know what he’s up to. You’re the biggest reason I wish I was back in the good old USA. Wonder if I’d like living in Frisco?

  You can’t hide from Mom and Dad forever. Gonna have to cut the folks some kind of slack. At least drop a line. It’s almost Christmas.

  Enough about you. Let’s talk about me. Been thinking (just like you asked me to) about what I want to do after I get home. IF I GET HOME. Now don’t go all snively on me. Just talkin’.

  Guess I’m confused. You’d think having bombs tossed at me, bodies flying all around, something radical like this nightmare would set me on some kind of righteous path. But, you know, sis? I don’t seem to give a damn about a future. Only getting back in one piece. That and beating your silly ass at handball.

  Don’t make me hurt you. Write to Mom and Dad. At least they’re now in the 21st century in some things. They’re sending e-mails. Can you believe it?

  And for chrissakes, don’t beat on Harry too much. Give the guy a break.

  Love,

  Vinny the terrible.

  Gina plucked a tissue from a nearby box and dabbed at the tears spattered on the keyboard.

  “Men! Who needs the bums? All they do is mess up your life.”

  She wandered into the small kitchen and pulled out a can of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs. She grimly remembered how she’d had Harry over on one of their first dates. She’d prepared homemade pasta but brought out this very can to break the ice.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Harry had blurted, laughing so hard she thought he’d burst.

  “Whaddayamean,” sh
e said in her best, straight-faced Bronxese.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess the promised home cooked meal made me think real I-T-A-L-I-A-N, not vintage hospital cafeteria. But what do I know?”

  They’d both roared when she pulled the hidden plates of food from the oven.

  Now, Gina opened the can and dumped the contents into a saucepan. When it was barely warm, she picked up a fork and started eating directly from the pan.

  She stared at a picture of Harry on the refrigerator door. It was under a magnet, along with a picture of her brother in uniform.

  She forced a forkful of the canned pasta mixture into her mouth and chewed slowly.

  Chapter 17

  Jacob St. George clawed at his head, yanked out clumps of hair, watched as the strands slipped through his fingers to the wooden floor.

  Where the hell is he? Hiller will be here first thing in the morning.

  He unlocked the big walk-in cooler, strained hard to pull open the heavy door. His flesh was searing from flashes of white-hot lightening that struck randomly at his neck, eyes, and gut.

  He rubbed hard between his legs. His groin throbbed in rhythm with his pounding heart.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  He stood at the entrance to the cooler and looked at the wrapped bundles. He’d always held back some of the moveable inventory from Hiller, but now it was very low. His eyes took in a heap packages in the back, smaller packages, almost round. That pile had really grown over the past month.

  No! He can’t have those. They’re mine, only for me.

  He ripped off his grubby shirt, dug his nails into the already flayed skin that itched endlessly. He had to make it stop. No matter how many women he took, it was never enough. Never enough to make it stop!

  He stumbled to the kitchen-lunchroom area. This was where his brat would come after school and do his homework.

  Where are you? When I say I want more, that’s what I mean, more!

  MORE.

  The monitor clock on the wall began to chime the hour. Time was running out. The hands of doom were sitting on his shoulder, like a monkey picking at his neck.