“Is there something he did to lead you to believe he doesn’t consider your relationship professional?”
“No, he’s absolutely polite and respectable. Like you said, he is a nice guy.” My voice is overly confident as I blurt this out. Though sometimes I just want him, anyone, to grab me and throw me on a bed and ravage me. My life has got to change, soon.
Eleanora laughs as she throws her head back. She’s figured me out. I tried to play coy, but Eleanora is one of the few people who sees through the veneer of niceties. Oh, great, I can just see it now. Eleanora will tell Isabel, Isabel will tell the rest of the nurses, then it’s only a matter of time until someone informs Jack. The gossip will be blown out of proportion, like that childhood game of “Telephone,” and in the end, I’ll sound like I am deeply in love with him. Jack will assume I’m just some dumb girl, madly in love with a cute guy, and my entire professional career will be reduced to a schoolgirl crush mentality. The heat in my stomach rises to an incandescent flame. Maybe the fighter patient, Maddox, is a safer opportunity after all.
I’ve done this before, too many times, with people. Not just when it comes to romance, but all my relationships. I try to manipulate the people in my life by assuming a persona. Wrangling wills just doesn’t suit me. I have done everything right in my life. I went to college, studied, got the best grades, and became exactly what I set out to be. And it was the words of my mother, always ringing in the back of my head, drilling into me, “You are smart, Lily. Use your brains to get what you want. Don’t be like me and settle for a man who can give you nothing,” that drove me.
My mother reminded me too many times to count how her life as a cleaning woman, married to a short-tempered construction worker, only got her a low station in life. I spent years watching her spirit wither, before my dad finally left us and she was left worn out and broken. I vowed never to let a man or a relationship steer me from my goals. And now, like an itch on the bottom of my foot, there was this devastatingly handsome guy laying in a hospital bed under my care, fostering the potential to destroy my career.
But in all the time spent pursuing my goals, I never allowed myself time to daydream. I can’t remember the last time I actually spaced out, thinking of some goofy hypothetical. I think people need to dream; we need that creative downtime, if only for a moment, before we get back to the task at hand. I have lost so much sleep these past eight years worrying about how things ought to be, I think I’m about to crack if something doesn’t change soon.
However, lately I have been thinking about it and I am actually letting my mind get tangled up in daydreams. I have a theory that if people restrict themselves too much, whether it be with a tough work schedule, studying for school, or even just their own restrictive thought patterns, eventually something has to give and that’s when people do crazy things. Like when Catholic school girls sneak out to the grotto on the school grounds to smoke cigarettes right in front of the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. If a person lives with too much restriction, it’s only a matter of time, and tick, tick, kaboom.
And I don’t want to explode and be found swinging from the chandeliers after a night of binge drinking. Already, my constricted life style makes me critical and I think, what if Jack is anal about everything? It’s a little annoyance that my cynicism has mutated into a character flaw. Eleanora is explaining something to me as I come down off my realization. I stop her mid-sentence and the flame in my stomach erupts in a torrent of words.
“I’m sorry, Eleanora, I am being ridiculous. I think Jack is a great guy.” Eleanora smiles at me, and laughs to herself as she finally latches her name tag in place. She turns her head back to face me and says, “Look, Lily, if you like the guy, get to know him better. Pick his brain and get to know him.”
I fluster. “El, it’s kind of complicated. We work together.”
“You won't always be assigned to this floor. You know that. Your rotation will take you to other units in the hospital soon enough. May as well do some groundwork for later.” She snickers and walks with a confident stride now, no longer lagging like before with the weight of my tawdry comments on her shoulders. She strides down the hall with me next to her. I try to believe that her gallant poise is directly attributable to my telling her the truth, but in reality, Eleanora’s composure is unequivocally her own.
Chapter 4
At times, there is a lull at work and people find themselves scrambling to check their phones, racing to eat, or actually talking to each other. In this small window of opportunity, I often get hit with exhaustion. But the nurses gather at their station, laughing and wooing, and their frivolity awakens me. Isabel sees me immediately and waves me over, saying, “Lily you gotta see this.”
“What is it?” The huddle breaks to let me in. Vanessa, who is wearing a food stain on her scrubs, looks up from her cellphone and greets me. The other nurses pay no attention to me as they group around Vanessa’s phone. All at once, they shriek, saying, “Oh, my God.”
“What the hell?”
“That’s not natural.”
I see Vanessa slide her finger across her phone and it’s obvious she’s showing everybody pictures. My mind turns with ideas as to what the picture contains. And I have to prepare a statement before she shows me so I appear sincere. I have to anticipate the picture and delegate a proper response so as not to offend her. I just tell myself I am going to be forthright and stop this kind of shit, but I want Vanessa, Isabel, and the rest of the nurses to like me so I’ll break my knew ideology now for the sake of professionalism. Another nurse grabs the phone out of Vanessa’s hand and locks her arm against Vanessa to keep her from getting at it. This is my opportunity to go through the possible mind-numbingly banal photos and allocate a proper response for each one.
If she shows me pictures of kids, I’ll go, “Aww, so adorable,” in that drawn-out tone that says, “I am genuinely interested.” If she shows me vacation pictures, I’ll say, ‘Where is that?’ or, “I would love to go there.” And finally, if I see any pictures of Vanessa’s cat, or dog, or any pet wrapped in god-awful clothes, I’ll just walk away.
Vanessa grabs the phone, elbowing the other nurses away, as she positions herself next to me. Isabel laughs and moves her hands to her mouth to muffle the sound, but instead, it just amplifies her laughter. Vanessa giggles along with her, angles the phone away from the others and shows me the screen.
“Jesus!” My hands go to my mouth as I look at the brightly-lit screen. There, shining bright as day, is a long, vascular penis. She slides her thumb on the phone’s screen; again a penis, and this one seems to be poking through boxer shorts. Vanessa grins and slides again. This one seems sad; it hangs over in an arc that’s suggestive of a self-deprecating individual. I search for the right words. “Wow, what an...eclectic collection.” I am reeling within myself. You can’t possibly prepare for something like this.
“I get a lot of these on Meetme.com, so I figured I would collect them. You know, like a “best of” kinda thing.” She peers up at me with raised eyebrows.
“What’s Meetme?” I ask to steer the conversation away from those eye-jarring photos.
“It’s an online dating thing, ya know?” she says, nudging me in the ribs.
“God, you have so many,” I say without thinking. My brain has no filter. “I mean…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been doing this for a while now. That’s why I have so many suitors.” She calls them suitors? I want to let her know those are dicks, with fools attached to them, not gentlemen looking for partners. Hardly the kind of guy you meet for coffee and discuss poignant social topics.
Vanessa laughs, covering her mouth as she saw Isabel do. Their laughter joins together to form a cackle so loud it roused Ms. Margaret from her room. Upon seeing her, the nurses disbanded and left me with the phone in my hand.
“What has gotten into everyone?” Ms. Margaret asks politely.
Before I answer, Isabel says, “Nothing Ms. Margaret. Lily
was just showing us her recent vacation photos.” I turn to Isabel, who is wearing a façade of integrity. My face blushes red and my eyes widen, but that doesn’t stop her and Isabel continues. “We’re so sorry if we woke you. It’s just the photos are so intriguing.”
Isabel’s eyes are dancing and she’s biting her lip. I could just swat her right about now. Ms. Margaret is walking toward me and it’s obvious she wants to see the photos. I have no idea how to use Vanessa’s phone to back out of the photos.
Vanessa meanwhile, is behind a desk, pretending to file paperwork. Ms. Margaret is inches from me and I know I am screwed unless I can figure a way out of this. Her wild, blue eyes shine on me like the headlights of a semi-truck. She is putting up her hair as she approaches me, saying, “Doctor, what’s going on?” Her voice is begging for order. I want so desperately to placate her, tell her in a soothing voice that everything is fine and keep the mutual respect between us intact. Not to mention the fact that if a patient catches me with a phone full of phalluses and reports it, I will get fired. Or even sued, then fired, citing some sort of indecent behavior which could be sarcastically touted as the standard of practice with which the hospital conducts itself. And the demise of the entire hospital would be my fault.
I slide the phone in my pocket, simultaneously waving a hand in the direction of the nurses. “I was only indulging the curiosity of the nursing staff. I apologize if we woke you. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Ms. Margaret pivots her body slightly towards the nurses; her eyes scan their movements, then she pivots back to me. My hand clenches the phone in my pocket, the sharp metal edge digging into my soft skin. The blood shooting through my ventricles is being thrashed by overly-rhythmic beats. My mind flashes images of myself being escorted out of the building by security.
Ms. Margaret puts out her palm to me and says, “May I see?”
“You wouldn’t want to see these. They're just pictures of me eating overpriced food... in Hawaii….on vacation. You know, vacation, Hawaii.”
Ms. Margaret is giving me the “come on” gesture with her outstretched hand, and says, “Let’s have a look together.” Her diamond-bright eyes sparkle at me now. I dig in my pocket, sighing deeply as my fingers touch the phone.
I hand her the phone and the resignation to my professional career. In the future, when I am being interviewed, this moment will be the sole cause of every potential company’s dismissal of me. They will say, ‘Well, how can we trust her to get any work done? She spends all her time gawking at penises.’ And my parents. Oh, God. What will I tell them? “Oh, jeez, sorry, Mom and Dad, it wasn’t my fault. It was the nurse’s fault, the one with the male copulatory fixation”. I’ll never live this one down.
I watch Ms. Margaret, not knowing what to do or say. I franticly swivel my head to meet the eyes of the nurses, but they have their heads down, pretending to make phone calls. Cowards. Just as I’m turning my head back to Ms. Margaret, she looks up from the phone. The muscles in my face go numb, then freeze in position, bracing for the onslaught of harassment. Ms. Margaret stares at me. I count the seconds that have gone by to keep my sanity. She squares up on me. Is she so offended by the photos that she is going to punch me?
“Ms. Margaret, I am so sorry. I—”
“Sorry for what? These?” She slides her thumb on the screen filtering through more images. “Why be sorry?” Her tone finds a way to knock the weight off my shoulders and nestles comfortably around me. I would be completely settled if I could make sense of this petite, abrasive woman who is now admiring another photo, the “mmm” sound resonating from her throat.
“Ms. Margaret, you’re not angry?” I ask.
“About what?” It dawns on me she isn’t even paying attention to us anymore.
Her eyes are glued to the phone and she is giggling at a photo, swiping the phone’s screen. She stops, her hand covering her mouth. “Oh, my goodness. Doctor, you have some well-endowed friends.” She tosses the phone up at me, and I catch it with two clammy hands as she strolls past the nurses and back into her room, humming a sweet tune the whole way.
I look down at the phone, then back up to her doorway, then back to the phone. I turn my head to meet Vanessa and the other nurses’ grins and slide the phone into my pocket again, with the same finesse a thief uses to conceal stolen goods.
Vanessa looks up, waving me over to her and the gang of nurses behind their station.
“What the hell was that about?” The nurses burst out laughing. Isabel is holding her stomach as she stumbles towards me, gasping for air between each bellow. Vanessa puts out her hand. “You did good, Lily. She almost believed you.”
“Are you insane? What if she had taken offense?”
“Ms. Margaret?” Isabel asks, then looks around at the other nurses who continue to laugh.
“Lily, Ms. Margaret doesn’t care.” Vanessa says this as I place the phone in her hand. She turns it off, slumping it in her pocket.
“If she doesn’t care, why did you all run away?”
“I thought it would be funny if she thought you were a perv,” she says, and sticks out her tongue at me.
“That wasn’t funny. I could have gotten fired for that,” I say, my vocal chords tightening to produce a hushed, but stern, voice. Lurching forward like a disappointed mother, I wait for Vanessa to see the anger in my face.
Vanessa looks at me, cocking her head to one side, saying, “I told you she doesn’t care. Who do you think told me about Meetme? Ms. Margaret is the biggest pervert in this place.”
Vanessa goes to a stack of manila folders, takes one out of the heap and hands it to me. I open the folder, and at the top of the file is the name Phoebe Margaret in bold, black lettering. I feel the weight of the file increase in my hands. My eyes forget how to work for a moment and all my vision chooses to pick up on are key words. The words flash at me separately, but then in succession and paint a complete picture. My eyes dance around the file, settling on the bold words, INFLAMMATION OF THE LIVER. My eyes shoot further up the file, PENICILLIN. SEPSIS blares out at me. HEPATITIS C. I stop here, looking up at Vanessa, her face less jovial than before.
“What does all this mean?” Vanessa takes the folder away from me and slides it neatly back into the stack.
Vanessa whispers, “She’s a sex addict. She gets really depressed and fucks a lot of people, you know, like a coping mechanism or whatever.”
“Jesus,” I say again, without filtering my thoughts. “I can’t believe this. How long has she been doing this...I mean been here?”
“Long enough,” Vanessa says, tilting her head to the side and looking towards Ms. Margaret’s room. “She won’t be able to stay here much longer, either. I overheard Mandel saying her health insurance won’t cover her anymore. She’ll have to pay on her own.”
Isabel approaches with a scowl. “We should get back to work.” Isabel must have heard our conversation, because she wore the same face as Vanessa. It was a look of horror mixed with confusion. It bore itself into our souls and rooted in our chests.
I leave the nurse’s station, walking past Ms. Margaret’s room, when I decide to ask Isabel one last question before I lose the courage. Leaning toward her, I ask, “Why does everyone call her Ms. Margaret? I only call her that because I hear the staff address her that way. Why not use her first name?”
Isabel smiles and whispers, “She won’t respond to her first name. I stood in this hallway for ten minutes calling her by her first name, only to be ignored.” Isabel leans in closer to say, “Honestly, she kind of scares me. I’ve caught her roaming the hallways, like, ten times now. And when I ask her what she’s doing, she just smiles and laughs.” Isabel relaxes, her eyes swiveling side to side as she thinks of her next words. “But I respect her. She’s a little weird...but respected by almost everyone here, including Dr. Mandel. I think he is afraid of Ms. Margaret more than anything else.”
“Why does everyone respect her? She sounds more like a crazy person?”
I say this as quietly as possible.
“I don’t know, she just won’t pay attention to you if you disrespect her.” Isabel shrugs as she stares in the direction of Ms. Margaret’s room. I nod to say we are through talking and walk past Ms. Margaret’s door.
Ms. Margaret sits on the side of her bed, reading a book. She raises her head and notices me pass by. In that brief moment, her eyes shine on me, tracing my movements as she keeps her head still and allowing her eyes to follow me without moving her head. There is a certain kind of charm in Ms. Margaret’s eyes, like being held in strong current. It’s as if her attention is a commodity and if she pays you any, you feel special. Her focus is not necessarily frightening but, at the very least, it is intriguing. It is like standing over the ledge of a great cliff. One feels a bit of joy, exhilaration, and terror. This is the essence of Ms. Margret’s stare, and I begin to feel some variant of respect, a greasy feeling somewhere between fear and admiration.
I figure no one else even knows who Ms. Margaret is. She seems awash in the sea of staff and patients; that is, until she sets those ice cold, blues on you. Then you just let the current take you. Just another normal day in this place.
Lily's Temptation Vol. 1 Page 3