by J. R. WRIGHT
and along came SPIDER
A Novel by
J.R.Wright
with Mia Manns
and along came Spider
© J.R.WRIGHT / DKW Books 2013
All Rights Reserved
To Sherlock with Love
CHAPTER ONE
St. Louis, Missouri
June 1955
“Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” Sir Walter Scott
Martina Spalding, had she been a flowering plant under similar circumstances, may have been referred to as a late bloomer. So gangly was she throughout her high school years that somewhere along the line, the name Spider was attached to her as a nickname. And it wasn’t until her early twenties that she blossomed, near overnight, into a fine example of a woman. And that’s when her problems began.
At five nine, stacked in all the right places, Marti got plenty of looks, and even some wolf whistles in certain parts of town, as she walked down a street in the shapely outfits she often wore. And since she had no experience in how to handle the newfound attention, it perplexed her. Instead of embracing the situation, as most women would have, she found herself running from it. Her first action was to toss away all the old outfits she’d grown into so nicely and replace them with looser fitting, less flattering designs. This produced less than ideal results — the cat calls continued to the point that she abruptly quit her job as a night nurse at a small local hospital, climbed into her old car, and left town.
With Chicago in her rearview mirror, Marti steered onto Highway 66 and headed west. Since she was running from, and not necessarily to, somewhere, her plan was to travel until no town in particular met her fancy. There, she planned to hire on at the local hospital and stay for a time, at least until making up her mind, one way or another, about the people there.
The year is 1955, the car she drives is a two tone gray, nineteen forty-nine Chevy sedan, bought new by her father and handed off to her just last year.
And speaking of her father, John, he, as well as her mother Greta, objected strongly to her sudden plan to strike out on her own. But to no avail. Martina had made up her mind, and there was no changing that now. Besides, how many offspring were still living at home with their parent’s at her age — twenty-five last birthday. It was a disgrace in her eyes, and she said so.
However, when it became clear there would be no changing her mind, her father did change the oil in her car, wash it, and fill it with gas. This was all done the day before the planned departure. Then, after a day on the road, while digging into the glove compartment for a road map, she discovered a strange envelope and in it were seven crisp, new, one hundred dollar bills. Even though there was a note with the thoughtful gift, it contained only one word: “Call!” And this brought tears to Marti’s eyes.
Reaching St. Louis Missouri three days later, she decided to spend the remainder of the day walking about the town, wondering if this may be a place she could call home for a while. Initially, she liked what she saw. The picturesque Mississippi River was nearby. The people seemed amiable and there were several hospitals close to the hotel, where she had booked a room for the night. But since decision making had always come slow for her, Marti decided to sleep on it.
After setting down for a burger at the hotel restaurant, she went to her room to retire for the night.
In preparation for a bath, she removed her armor — her grandmother’s wedding ring — and placed it on the dresser. The ring, worn on her left hand ring finger, had served her well as protection from unwanted attention over the years at nursing school and work at the hospital.
It wasn’t that Martina didn’t like men. She fantasized about them often. It was simply that she was frightened of taking the first step at such a late date. Most of her girlfriends had gotten that out of the way in their teen years. But Martina hadn’t even had the chance. After so many years of little experience with the opposite sex, she had become self-conscious and even gun shy. She read romance books, but skipped over the more adventurous parts. Being a virgin, they embarrassed her. But then, it was those very scenes she’d turned away from Marti often found herself fantasizing about afterwards. But at least this way it played out on her terms. Being a nurse, she knew everything there was to know about the workings of the male genitalia; none of that offended her. But in her version, there was no fear of offending behavior on the part of the man.
Once completely undressed, she admired herself for a time in the mirror. Running a hand under her long auburn hair, she lifted it to the top of her head to gain a better look at her straight back and square shoulders. Now Marti wondered if she’d resisted the temptation of making herself available to men because of the dreaded embarrassment expected facing her parents afterward. Often she had delayed masturbation in her parents’ house until it was no longer bearable, for fear the contented look on her face may give her away. Being an only child played a part in that, she supposed. All her mother’s and father’s attention had always been focused solely on her. So much so that she often felt like some sort of endangered species under a microscope. But that was behind her now. Even though it was a bit scary being on her own for the very first time, it was liberating as well. At least the guilt and uneasiness over it all was beginning to recede.
She ran hands over her firm buttocks, admiring that part of her as well. She couldn’t recall ever doing that in a sensuous fashion before. In fact, just being naked, without the fear of being barged in on, felt so relaxing to Marti now, she may just stay that way after her shower — perhaps throughout the night. And if a bottle of wine was available, she’d sip a glass while enjoying it. Why not? She went to the phone to dial room service. What could it cost, a few bucks? A proper celebration of her newfound freedom was certainly worth that.
With the shower out of the way, Marti put on her terrycloth robe, retrieved the wine she’d asked be left outside her door, and sat down with a glass and the yellow pages. Carefully going over the listings of hospitals in the area, a finger stopped on one that looked appealing. The Spencer House was a small boutique hospital that specialized in the surgical needs of the wealthy. She knew this from the full page ad, on the adjacent page, boasting of luxury accommodations and superior care.
Checking the address, Marti found it to be only two blocks away. Very much disliking the chaos connected with larger hospitals, like the one in which she had completed some of her RN training, the Spencer House seemed the perfect fit for her. But being such a classy place, would they want someone with only two years of actual experience? Why not, she told herself. She’d done everything right… and had graduated top of her class from one of the best nursing schools in Illinois. And she did have a glowing recommendation from her previous employer.
Arising at six the following morning, Martina, once she’d brushed her teeth, took another quick shower, primarily for the bar soap smell it left on her body, which was always good when applying for a nursing job, since hygiene was such an issue in the medical field. She then put her hair up in a tight bun, as she would have if still working her old job, except the white winged pill box hat would not be pinned on this time. She had decided to wear a very businesslike royal blue suit with white blouse and no head covering instead.
Then later, after a light breakfast of toast and juice at a diner down the street from the hotel, she went on to the Spencer House, hoping for an interview. Entering the elegant lobby twenty minutes later, Martina nervously approached an intimidatingly attractive, buxom receptionist seated behind a ra
ther large Chippendale desk, dead center of the spacious room.
Eyeing her all the way, the receptionist held her tongue until Martina was stationed directly before her. “Who is it you wish to see, miss?” she said rather coldly, with just a brief hint of a ruby red smile.
“Well, I don’t know, exactly. Actually I’m looking for a job. I’m a registered nurse.”
To that the gorgeous, thirtyish brunette pulled a form from a drawer and shoved it toward her, “All applications are reviewed on Wednesdays. If there’s an opening, an interview may be granted on Thursday, providing your application is approved. You’ll also need to put your phone number on the application.”
It was Monday, Marti mentally noted, taking the form and pencil offered. “I’m from Chicago. The only phone number I have to offer locally is that of the hotel where I’m staying temporarily. Will that be okay?”
“Oh, my, you’re staying in a hotel. Tell me… ah?”
“Martina.”
“What a beautiful name. Are you Italian? You don’t look Latin.”
Marti laughed. “No, my father is English, my mother Irish.”
“I’m Gloria.” She stood and put out a hand. “Tell me, Martina, did you come to St. Louis with the express purpose in mind of being hired on at the Spencer House?”
Marti took the hand. “Gloria,” she acknowledged. “Actually, no. I was just passing through and took a liking to the town, I guess. I figured if a job was available here I’d stay for a while. Otherwise, I’ll just move along until that happens.”
“So, you’re definitely interested in relocating?”
“I am,” Marti said, not exactly sure what Gloria was getting at. “Somewhere.”
“Sounds exciting!” Gloria smiled cheerfully. “But Thursday seems a long time to wait, considering you’re staying in a hotel.” She swiveled her chair to look at a closed door across the lobby, behind her. “Maybe if Mister Harris is not too busy, he can do the interview today.”
“That would be wonderful,” Marti said.
“Good. Go fill out the application then… and I’ll see what I can do. You can sit down over there.” She gestured to a table off to the side, beneath an enormous oil painting of a frontier scene containing covered wagons, oxen and such.
“Thank you,” Marti said, feeling suddenly hopeful this was going to work out.
CHAPTER TWO
“Martina Louise Spalding,” Scott Harris, a sixtyish, graying man, with a thin mustache running along the edge of his upper lip, said, looking over his glasses at her. “I see here you have operating room experience.”
“I do.” Marti watched as he read over her application.
“And you graduated first in your class of seven hundred from St. Francis School of Nursing in Chicago, 1952.”
“I did.”
“Impressive! How is your bedside manner, Miss Spalding?”
“Isn’t that usually left up to the doctor, Mister Harris? I mean…”
“I know what you mean, Miss Spalding. But this is Spencer House.” Harris looked over his glasses at her again. “We do things differently here. Here, the nurses play a little larger role in the care of our patients. For instance, that hospital you worked at probably charges two hundred bucks for an appendectomy, and the patient is out the door in three days. Here we charge a thousand and they stick around for a week. And during that week, we pamper them to death…. Pardon the expression. We have chefs preparing the finest foods, fresh flowers in the room every day, bed sheets changed twice daily… and the list goes on and on. But the main thing we provide is pampering, and most of that is supplied by our nursing staff. Are you gathering what I’m saying, Miss Spalding?”
“I think so. But a thousand dollars for an appendectomy sounds a little…”
“Expensive… It is. And that’s just for the hospital. The doctors bill separately. But there are people in this world that wouldn’t have it any other way. They have money and they’re willing to spend it for the extra care. And they fly in from all over the continent to get it. We have a woman up there now that flew in from Montreal for removal of facial warts. She’s been here for two weeks and refuses to leave until all surgery has healed completely. That may take another two weeks.” He laughed. “At a grand a week, I couldn’t care less. Meanwhile, she dines royally on gourmet foods, and receives two rubdowns every day from one of our professional massage therapists.”
“I see,” Marti responded, not knowing what else to say.
“Good. Now let me get into hours and pay schedules, Miss Spalding. I’m sure at that hospital you came from, you were putting in sixty hours or more a week, for say two dollars an hour. Is that about right?”
“Close… I was getting one eighty-five. The raise to two dollars would have come next year, had I stayed.”
“Well, here, you may be surprised to know, the hours are held to forty, never more. We want our gals to be well rested, bright, and cheerful, at all times. And the pay is a flat one sixty a week.”
“Dollars…?” Martina was shocked.
Harris laughed. “Yes… dollars!”
“That’s four dollars an hour. Why so much?” Marti was quick to ask. “I’m sure you could get good nurses for less. I bet you have files full of applicants anxiously awaiting an opening here?”
“We do.”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
“Can I be frank with you, Martina?”
“Sure. Why not?”
With that, Harris leaned over the desk. “Did you happen to notice our beautiful framed works of art, in the lobby, Miss Spalding?”
“Yes, I did. They caught my eye as soon as I entered. Very impressive!”
“Good. They’re all done by famous artists,” Harris said, and he smiled coyly. “Now what would you think if we replaced those masterpieces with something from Montgomery Ward’s furniture department?”
“Well, that would destroy the whole atmosphere…”
“Exactly,” Harris said, and continued smiling. “Have I made my point?”
“You mean you would hire me for the way I look, over and above someone better qualified?”
“Miss Spalding, you are plenty qualified. Don’t get me wrong, but so many of those better qualified nurses you mentioned have put in years of service elsewhere. And I must say, fifteen or twenty years of sixty hour weeks has a way of taking a toll on a person, physically.”
“So it is beauty you’re mainly interested in?”
“And the vibrancy that comes along with youth,” he said bluntly. “You’re lucky, Miss Spalding. You have all three: youth, beauty, and brains. What you have, our clients have come to expect from us. It’s all part of the healing process, psychologically speaking. It’s the old rose versus dandelion question. Which is the most pleasant to be around? And I’m sure many of our clients come to us for that reason alone.
With that, Marti glared at him until he felt her ire and flopped back in his chair. “What else do your nurses provide, Mister Harris?” she asked
“What are you implying?” Harris became noticeably agitated.
“Does sex enter into the equation here, at any point?” Marti found herself asking before she had even realized she had the courage to do so. She had heard such a thing happened at some private hospitals, where the nursing staff handed out sexual favors to some of the wealthier patients. Not for a fee, of course. That would classify the practice differently… but done for the sake of good will and patient satisfaction.
“Absolutely not!” Harris was instantly angered and came to his feet. “My God, if something like that went on here we’d lose our state license. Whatever made you suggest a thing like that?”
Martina didn’t really know. She drew back, frightened by his reaction at first. “I had to be sure. I’m sorry.”
“Well… I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to clarify that.” Harris eased back down in his chair. “And you’re not the first to ask, if that makes you feel any better. I assure you th
e only part of your body we expect you to prostitute here is your smile, Miss Spalding. And that we insist you give generously while with patients. Is that asking too much?”
“No.” Marti smiled broadly, showing her perfect teeth.
“Does that mean you’ll take the job?”
“Sounds like a dream. However, I’ll need to sleep on it… if that’s possible?”
“Sure. Take all the time you need. I’ll save the spot until I hear from you, then. How’s that…?”
“You’ll have my decision by noon tomorrow one way or the other, Mister Harris.” Marti stood and took the hand offered.
“I’ll be waiting,” Harris said as she passed through the door he’d opened for her.
In the lobby again, Marti noticed regretfully Gloria was occupied with a well-dressed, gray at the temples man sitting before her at the desk. To the side of her a young blond nurse, dressed in a shapely, but appropriate, white uniform and winged hat, stood smiling pleasantly down on him. Since Gloria’s attention was focused solely on the man as well, Marti passed on by and out through the heavy iron front door. Outside, a limousine was parked at the curb. Spenser House was painted in small gold letters on the door and a uniformed black chauffeur stood beside it.
Filling her lungs with the sweet smell in the air, Martina turned left at the next corner. She had seen a pleasant river park a few blocks down yesterday, and she headed for it. Perhaps she had already made up her mind to take the job, although that whole beauty over experience thing still bothered her. It wasn’t that she felt inferior in any way. It was just the idea. Opportunity seemed always to pass to the beautiful in most other professions, as it was. She just hated to see that practiced in the one she chose as her life’s work. There was no question that she herself had been a wall flower for the better part of her life and knew all about the hurt of being passed over. And even though she was blossoming now, that wouldn’t last forever. Nursing was a skilled occupation, and each individual, as a part of it, should be employed based solely on those skills, not on something skin deep. And for that reason, she was undecided about this job and perhaps would remain so for some hours to come. And as far as that rose versus dandelion theory, that was deceiving as well. While the rose was the prettier and most pleasant smelling of the two, there were often overlooked barbs to be dealt with. And as further proof, she recalled the dandelion wine her father often made. It was so good — sweet and delectable…with just a hint of tartness. Perfect!