by Diane Moody
“Who’s Dr. Nick?”
“George Nichopoulos. Elvis’s doctor. Would you believe every time I’ve been around Elvis, he’s asked for my number? Of course, I always refuse to give it to him.”
Why am I not surprised. Pamela certainly had the looks to attract a king.
“Why didn’t you give it to him?” I asked, curious.
“Because I’m engaged, silly!” she scoffed, looking at me like I’d sprouted horns on my head. “Besides, everybody knows Elvis likes lots and lots of girls. That’s just not me. Oh, no no no.”
“So what’s he like?”
“Once you get passed the flirting, he’s the nicest guy. He really is. Not at all like the wild stallion everyone makes him out to be. He’s very generous, very kind. The last time I saw him, he didn’t look well. But then, that’s why he comes here when he’s sick or needs to . . . get better. Of course, you can’t just go walking up there on his floor. He’s got quite an entourage surrounding him every time he comes in. And then there’s Marian.”
“Marian?”
“Marian Cocke. Elvis’s nurse. Let’s just say she’s extremely ‘protective’, but then who can blame her? That’s quite a responsibility. She’s got her hands full when he’s here. Plus she just adores him. Like a mother hen, you know? I really respect her for the way she looks out for his best interests while he’s here. And he absolutely loves her in return.”
The elevator door opened. We threaded our way through a throng of doctors, orderlies, and visitors, finally making our way to the nurses’ station on Madison Nine. I noticed a group of nurses, a medical records clerk, several orderlies, and others working around the station.
And then the former beauty queen (yes, I’d already found out she was Miss University of Mississippi just a few short years ago), looking every bit the radiant glamour queen that she was, introduced the plain peasant girl from Birmingham who’d come to take her place.
“Hey kids! Who wants to meet the new kid in town?”
Chapter 3
I’m pretty sure my head was spinning and would topple off any moment. Pamela was wonderful, showing me around the floor, introducing me to everyone I’d be working with. But it was a lot to take in all at once. Especially after meeting all the girls in the hostess office. Mostly I shadowed Pamela, observing as she visited all the patients on her floor. She showed me the computer printed cards for each new patient admitted in the last 24 hours. The cards gave all kinds of information, more than we probably needed to know—name, age, address, phone number, person to contact, insurance carrier, social security number—that sort of thing.
Loaded with all these cards, Pamela would visit the new patients first, then later start making rounds to all the others. Most of the people were very pleased to hear of our service. A few weren’t terribly cordial, but that was to be expected. This was the cardiology floor, after all. Many times they’d be asleep or out of the room having tests run. Pamela would just leave the hostess brochure and her card on the tray table.
“Remember,” she told me, “the best visit is in and out. At least on the initial visit. You don’t want to take too much of their time. They’re usually overwhelmed to be here in the first place, so it’s best just to let them know who you are and how to reach you.”
And that’s what we did. Well, most of the time, anyway. Occasionally we’d encounter a chatty patient or family member who wanted to share their entire life story and that of everyone they’ve ever known.
“In those cases, unless you’re already done with your rounds and you just want to visit, you’ve got to learn some tricks. Listen and learn.”
She tapped lightly on the door of a patient who’d been on the floor for almost a week. “Good morning, Mr. McKinley. How are you today?”
The elderly man launched into a tirade about his good-for-nothing son, the blankety-blank nurses, and President Carter’s latest gaffe. How the man carried on such long diatribes was a medical wonder, as sick as he was. After a few minutes, Pamela stepped closer to his bed, patted his hand, and said, “I know exactly what you mean. But right now I’ve got to run some errands for some of the other patients on the floor. How about I check in on you later?”
And before he could answer she was halfway out the door. “You take care, Mr. McKinley, and get some rest now.” As the door silently whooshed behind us, she added, “And that, my dear, is how it’s done.”
How would I ever remember all her tips and suggestions? I’d brought along a steno pad and made as many notes as I could, but I didn’t want to appear rude to the patients. I wasn’t kidding when I said my head was spinning.
Pamela looked at her watch, a dainty Rolex, its face surrounded by tiny diamonds. No doubt a gift from Dr. Warrick. “Hey, are you about ready for some lunch?”
“Yes!”
“I know. It’s a lot to take in,” she said, herding me down the hall. “But it’s really no big deal. You’ll get the hang of it. After a day or two, you’ll come up with your own words, your own presentation, and they’ll be eating out of your hands. I promise.” We’d arrived at the elevators and she pushed the down button. “Would you like to have lunch with Franklin and me? We’d be happy for you to join us.”
“Oh, well . . .” I couldn’t see it. I just couldn’t. A third wheel on the Love Boat. “Actually, I was hoping to get to know some of the other girls in the office. Would that be okay?”
“Oh, sure, Shelby. That’s probably a better idea anyway. You’re gonna love the girls. I do. I’m going to miss them so much!”
The door opened and we joined the busy main hall of the first floor. “So when is the big day? Your wedding,” I asked.
“Three weeks from Saturday. I can hardly stand it, I’m so excited! Franklin has accepted a position at a hospital in Hawaii, so we decided to just have the ceremony there.”
Thus, the tans. No doubt a house-hunting trip or two.
“Hawaii! Wow, that must be beautiful. I’ve never been to Hawaii.”
She grabbed my arm. I realized it was something she often did to whoever she was talking to. “Oh, Shelby, you just have to go! You and the girls need to come over and visit sometime. It’s so gorgeous, you can’t even imagine.”
She was right. I couldn’t. Not even close.
“Anyway, my last day will be—”
“Moonpie?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. I knew the voice. At least I thought I did. There were only two people on the planet that called me by that name: my brother, who was currently overseas; and his ornery childhood friend, Tucker Thompson. A thousand memories flashed through my mind, taking me back to my childhood before we left Memphis. My brother Jimmy and his annoying friend Tucker, forever aggravating the life out of me just for the fun of it. Sneaking up on me and scaring me so bad I’d wet my pants. Prank-calling me, pretending to be my crush from school. Putting worms in my Spaghetti-O’s and vinegar in my Kool-Aid.
“Moonpie, is that really you?”
By now, Pamela had turned around and was enjoying a good laugh. I closed my eyes, wishing I could just fall through the floor and avoid this little reunion altogether. I blew out my breath as I turned around to see the little creep—
Only he wasn’t.
He was tall and all grown up and . . . oh my goodness, so incredibly handsome.
Tucker Thompson? Handsome?
“Tucker?” I said, having trouble finding my voice.
“I can’t believe it! It is you! How in the world are you, Moonpie!” He grabbed me into a bear hug, squeezing what little breath I had left. At this rate, I was pretty sure I’d be passed out on the floor soon.
“Hi, Dr. Thompson.” Pamela gave a little wave, smiling from ear to ear.
“Hey, Pamela. Nice to see you.”
“Okay, somebody tell me,” Pamela began. “How on earth did you ever come up with the name ‘Moonpie’?”
Tucker stood back, holding me at arm’s length. “You wanna tell her or do I?” he asked, as if we
were about to share the world’s best kept secret.
I covered my eyes with my hand. “No, by all means. You go right ahead.”
“Well, let’s just say Shelby here had a real passion for Moonpies when she was growing up. Mrs. Colter used to buy them by the case for her little Shelby. She was the cutest little thing you ever saw. Those dark raven curls dancing all over her head, her eyes all narrowed just daring us not to bug her. But you would never, and I mean never find little Miss RC here without a Moon Pie mustache. Right there on those pouty little lips.” He drew an imaginary mustache just inches from my face. If he’d touched me, I might have smacked him.
“Tuck, do we have to—”
“Wait, wait—’RC’?” Pamela asked, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Are those initials or some kind of nickname?”
“Those are my initials,” I explained. “My real name is Rayce Catherine—that’s Rayce, spelled R-a-y-c-e. Dad preferred ‘RC’ to avoid some unfortunate misunderstandings, which you might expect back in the early ‘60s . . .”
“Ah,” Pamela said, figuring out the connection. “‘RC Cola and a Moonpie. Got it. Every Southern kid’s favorite snack.”
“Her brother Jimmy was my best friend,” Tucker continued, unfortunately.
Then again, it did give me an opportunity to look him over. He still had the same chocolate brown hair, still a shaggy mess. I’d forgotten the unusual color of his eyes—almost a smoky caramel—now warmed with a permanent smile. But my oh my, he was so tall! Had to be 6’3” or more? It felt so strange looking up to him. In more ways than one.
“ . . . and Jimmy and I, we were inseparable. I practically lived at their house half the time. And it was our sacred purpose in life to aggravate his kid sister here as much as we could. And let me tell you, we were bad.”
“The stories I could tell,” I moaned, still trying as best I could to avoid eye contact with him.
“Oh, the stories we could tell!” He laughed again with the same contagious laughter I remembered all too well. I hated “Chubby Tucker,” which I’d called him for years until it dawned on me it didn’t bother him a bit. But I could never stay mad because he always made me laugh.
“So, Moonpie, what are you doing here? I thought you still lived in Birmingham?” He stepped back, taking a good long look at me from head to toe. “And I must say, the years have been kind to you. I can’t get over it! Jimmy’s scrawny little sister, all grown up and beautiful.”
“Hey, if you two will excuse me,” Pamela said, squeezing my arm, “I’m sure you have lots of catching up to do. See you after lunch, Shelby?”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Pamela.”
“Bye, Pamela,” Tucker added.
“Bye, Dr. Thompson.”
“Pretty girl,” he whispered as she walked away.
“Ya think?” I answered, turning back to look at him. I still couldn’t believe it. It simply would not compute in my mind that the obnoxious kid I put up with all those years was standing right here in front of me . . . looking like this? His hair was still curly, and a handful of freckles still splashed across his nose. The years had been more than kind to Tucker Thompson, if the gentle laugh lines crinkling around his eyes were any indication.
I suddenly realized he was wearing a white lab coat. With his name embroidered on the pocket. “Tuck, are you a doctor?”
“Well, thanks for that bold vote of confidence. But yes, I’m a doctor. This is my first year of residency.”
“But how did you end up here? Didn’t I hear you went to Vanderbilt?”
“Yeah, I did my undergraduate work there, then lucked into my internship there at the Vanderbilt Hospital. But what about you? What are you doing here? Last I heard you were at Samford.”
I had to take another deep breath. “Oh, well, I graduated last spring. Actually, today is my first day on the job.”
“Really? Here at Baptist?” Same goofy smile. But somehow, it looked downright mesmerizing now.
“Yeah, I’m going to be working in the hostess department. We visit patients and—”
“Oh, I know all about the hostesses. Everybody does. Great program. The patients all love them. Doctors do too,” he smirked, doing a bad Groucho imitation with an imaginary cigar.
He just stood there smiling at me. I felt all woozy inside. Which only made me mad, of course. Woozy? Over Chubby Tucker Thompson?
“Listen, Moon—”
“Tucker, you’ve got to stop calling me that. I’m working here, okay?”
“Fine, sure. No problem. So Shelby, do you have plans for lunch? Wanna join me in the cafeteria?”
Oh dear. By this point, I was on brain and emotion overload. I could almost hear the fog horn blasting through my mind. Aoogah! Aoogah! Wasn’t that the warning signal heard on submarines? Submarines? Where did that come from? Oh, for the love of Pete. I had to get a hold of myself. Grow up, Shelby. It isn’t Robert Redford. It’s Tucker Thompson.
I scratched my eyebrow. “Lunch? Um, well . . . yeah, I guess.”
His smile faded. “Gee, don’t sound so excited. I don’t want to put you out or anything.”
“No!” I reached out and touched his arm. I pulled it back, as if it had done the deed on its own. “No, Tucker, it’s not that. I . . . I’d like that. I would. But can you give me just a minute to check by the office first?”
His face relaxed. “Sure. I’ll just wait right here. Take your time.”
Remember when I said it felt like my head was about to spin off? It did. Right then and there, toppling off down the hall.
Good heavens.
Chapter 4
Ten minutes later we’d gone through the cafeteria line and found a table near the windows. The smell of the food. The memory jolt. The information overload. It was definitely taking its toll. I’d picked a salad and hoped I could park it where it belonged—in my stomach, not on Tucker’s nice white lab coat.
It was strange at first, trying to reconnect when our original encounters were so . . . bizarre. But glory, I could hardly take my eyes off him. It was so weird. Completely surreal. Him sitting there, looking so handsome. Me, sitting here trying to fork my lettuce and get it in my mouth. We caught up on each other’s lives, filling in the gap of so many years. We talked about our families and memories of growing up in Memphis.
“So, how’s Jimmy doing?”
“He’s still overseas. We’re hoping he’ll be home soon. Mom’s been a basket case ever since he deployed for Vietnam four years ago. But when the war ended, he still had a couple of years to serve out his term. So the Army sent him to the Philippines. At least, that’s the last I heard. He’s not great about keeping in touch.”
“I can’t imagine,” he said, biting into his BLT. “I really hate that we lost track of each other. School has devoured me the last few years, but that’s no excuse. You’ll have to let me know when he gets back stateside. I’d love to see him again.”
“Me, too. So, tell me how you ended up here at Baptist. I never figured you for someone to stay so close to home after all these years.”
Tucker wiped his mouth then took a sip of iced tea. “It’s all about who you know. Med school was tough. But I survived. Only by the grace of God, I can assure you. When my internship at Vandy was winding down, I started checking out my options. Dad was a fraternity brother of Dr. Grieve when they were both at Vandy.”
“Grieve,” I interrupted. “Unfortunate name for a hospital administrator, don’t you think? I mean, what are the odds?” I pondered.
He laughed. “But then we all do. Eventually.”
“Do what?”
“Grieve.”
“Well, there you go. I’m sorry, you were saying?” I asked.
Honestly, I’ve got to stop this. Every time he smiles, I find myself wondering . . .
“Oh, right,” he continued. “So Dad was in law school, but he and Dr. Grieve got to be good friends. So when it came time for my residency—”
“Daddy pulled some strings,
and voila! Plumb residency at one of the premiere private hospitals in the world.”
“Voila, indeed.”
“Tucker?” a voice interrupted. “What are you doing?”
We both looked up at the blonde standing beside our table. “Cassie! I thought you had jury duty today.” Tucker stood up, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I would have waited if I knew you were coming.”
“Am I interrupting . . . ?” She looked back and forth between us. I didn’t need to look in a mirror to know I was eight shades of crimson by then.
“No, not at all. Cass, I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is Moonpie. Remember me telling you about my childhood friend, Jimmy Colter? Well, this is his kid sister, Shelby. Only we knew her affectionately back then as Moonpie.”
“Ah, Moonpie. The girl you and Jimmy used to torment. Hi, Shelby. Nice to meet you. I’m Cassie.”
“Hi, Cassie.” I held my hand out in an awkward attempt at normal.
“Sweetheart, you want to grab some lunch?” Tucker looked at his watch. “I’ve still got fifteen more minutes.”
“No, I’ll just eat the other half of your sandwich if that’s okay. I only have half an hour before we have to report back.” She took a seat and helped herself to the rest of Tucker’s BLT. “Shelby, whatever you do, avoid jury duty. It’s such a pain. All the waiting. It’s just ridiculous.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said, standing. “But I’ve got to run. I have orientation starting in a few minutes.” Thank God. “But it was nice meeting you, Cassie. And Tucker, what can I say—it’s been . . . interesting.”
Tucker stood again, good Southern gentleman that he was. “Hey, I’ll see you around, okay? And congratulations on your new job.”
I said my goodbyes, grateful for the chance to get out of there. In less than half an hour, I’d gone from a blast from the past shock of a lifetime, to a quite sudden and unexpected goo-goo-eyed, adolescent crush . . . to a deflated ego as I watched the perfect couple across from me sharing a lunch.