Accidentally Yours

by Bettye Griffin

  “Life’s a chance, Glenda. All I know is that after my last attempt at dating I’ve got to do something.”

  “I guess I can understand why you’d feel that way. I think of your experience with that microbiology dude every time I disinfect my drain.”

  Vivian laughed. “I do mine regularly now, too. Those pointers he gave me did come in handy, but it would have been nice not to have learned about them on our first date.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s why it was also our last.”

  “Just think, Viv. You could’ve had a doctor, if you’d let Desireé give him your number.”

  It was true that Vivian’s former neighbor Desireé Mack, who lived in Colorado but had spent an extended period in New York the year before, had wanted to introduce her to a single physician who was her boyfriend’s close friend. The two men owned the building Vivian lived in, and she had looked forward to the meeting, but it had never panned out. Whenever Vivian was available, the doctor wasn’t, and vice versa. “I don’t like the idea of giving my phone number to total strangers. Besides, Thomas was a doctor, and he was a jerk, so there’s no guarantee.”

  “Thomas doesn’t count, Viv. He wasn’t a people doctor.”

  “No, but he’s a Ph.D. Don’t make it sound like he was a vet.”

  *****

  The New Year’s open house was being held at a loft in the Chelsea section of Manhattan, West Twentieth Street. Glenda had met Ivy Smith at a pay-per-view screening of a heavyweight boxing match she had attended at someone’s apartment with a date. When they were introduced Glenda noted that her last name was Ivey. They determined that they used different spellings, and they ended up chatting while the fellows watched the fight, and Ivy invited Glenda to the open house, which she was giving with four friends. The object was for each woman to invite five men and three women, with hopes that their friends would meet interesting people in a setting where the men outnumbered the women.

  It took forever to find a place to park, the standard for Manhattan, which Vivian regarded as a nice place to live if you could afford taxi fare every time you went out after dark. After getting their hopes up at what always turned out to be a fire hydrant or commercial driveway, they found a spot on Seventeenth. The minute Glenda turned off the engine they pulled down their respective sun visors to take a last look in the mirrors on the backs.

  “Oh, my. Do you see what I see?” Glenda asked as they approached the building. Three men were approaching from the other side, along with a woman, who was obviously the date of the man her arm was linked with.

  “Yes. Let’s hurry so we can meet up.”

  The parties got to the front of the building simultaneously. “Hello,” Vivian said to the others. “Are you ringing loft four?”

  Someone said yes, and the door was held open for them when the buzzer sounded. “Thank you,” Glenda said graciously.

  The six of them loaded the elevator. It was only one flight, but by the time the doors opened on the second floor they had all exchanged names. Vivian noticed that the man named Bobby seemed to stick close to Glenda, and that from the beauty contestant smile on Glenda’s face, she didn’t mind.

  The scene inside the loft was even more promising. There were men everywhere, most of whose attentions were focused on the big-screen TV in the huge, bright living room—the windows were easily six feet tall—which was broadcasting a college football game.

  “Happy New Year!” Glenda said as she hugged a strikingly attractive woman who was wearing a V- neck boucle sweater and wide-legged slacks. “Ivy, this is my good friend, Vivian St. James. Vivian, Ivy Smith.”

  “Hello, Ivy. Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year to you, Vivian.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.” Vivian’s eyes scanned the mostly male crowd and tried not to salivate, but she felt like a half-starved person at a smorgasbord. The men came in different varieties: Thirtyish, fortyish, short, tall, bearded, clean-shaven, and a few shaved heads.

  “Happy New Year. I’m glad you could make it,” Ivy replied with a hint of a British accent. “We’re putting coats in the first room on the right. The bar is in the corner. It’s self-service, and if you like your eggnog with a kick you’ll have to spike it yourself; we left it nonalcoholic for those who prefer it plain. The buffet table is across from the bar, by the kitchen.” She pointed with a discreet index finger. “The powder room is in the hall, the first door on the left. There are ashtrays all around if you want to smoke. That’s it, I guess. Go ahead and introduce yourselves. I don’t know half the people here, anyway.”

  “We will,” Glenda said. “This is a beautiful place, Ivy. Is it yours?”

  “Don’t I wish. It’s owned by a family friend. He’s on extended assignment in Europe. I’m just watering the plants, walking the dog, dusting…stuff like that.”

  “Ah, house-sitting. Nice work if you can get it.”

  Glenda and Ivy went into a conversation about the advantages of taking care of someone else’s home, but Vivian wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes had connected with those of a man sitting in one of the leather director’s chairs in the living room. He had a rather large head in proportion to his body and a receding hairline, but regardless of that there was a blatant sexiness about him. She slipped out of her coat and handed it to Glenda. “Would you be a sweetheart and put this away for me? I’m really thirsty. I’m going to fix myself a drink.”

  At the bar she poured herself a glass of white wine. They were using real glasses, too, not those annoying Styrofoam cups that were more suited for children’s parties. Her intuition told her she would not be alone for long, and when she heard a deep voice say “Happy New Year,” she knew who would be standing there before she looked up.

  “The same to you,” she said. She wasn’t disappointed. His mustache and beard were laced with gray, but curiously, there was none in his hair.

  “I’m Gary Allen.”

  “Vivian St. James.”

  “Are you a friend of Bethany’s?”

  His lips, surrounded on all sides by facial hair, fascinated her. She always thought there was something incredibly sexy about a bearded man’s mouth. “No, I don’t know her. I’m a friend of Ivy’s, or rather the friend of a friend of Ivy’s.”

  “Ah, yes. It all gets rather tricky, with so many hostesses. Five of them, I believe. But it’s always nice to meet new people. Tell me, are you a football fan?”

  “No, not particularly, but I guess I can shout out when you do.”

  He responded by holding out his arm, which she took. As he escorted her to the seating area of the living room she looked around for Glenda, finally spotting her fixing a plate at the buffet table with Bobby and looking quite content.

  It was apparently an exciting game being played in this year’s Rose Bowl. There was a lot of shouting, sometimes so loud Vivian thought they might be able to hear it all the way in California. Most of the women wore the same I-don’t-get-it look that was on her own face, except for one show-off who was making comments like, “Great run” and “What a hit,” clearly understanding everything the fellows were saying. Vivian disliked her immediately.

  The boisterous setting gave her and Gary little time to really talk beyond exchanging the standard where-do-you-lives and the utmost important what-do-you-dos, but it was fun. Besides, there was no reason to think this wouldn’t be continued as a one-on-one on Friday or Saturday night, which wasn’t a bad way to kick off the new year, especially considering that just last night there wasn’t a single prospect in sight. In the meantime she enjoyed the sight of his lips moving whenever he talked.

  When Vivian went to the buffet table after about half an hour she noticed Glenda was still talking to Bobby in a quiet corner. The buffet was laid out on a rectangular table; appetizers, entrees, breads, and desserts surrounding a large punch bowl filled with eggnog. She helped herself to some lasagna, ignoring the strain her thickened middle was putting on the waistband of her slacks, passed on the chicken wings in favor o
f the pinwheel sandwiches—it would be embarrassing to smile at Gary with a piece of chicken between her teeth—and added some raw vegetables, silently congratulating herself on eating sensibly. If she kept this up the next time she wore these pants they wouldn’t leave indentation marks on the skin of her waist.

  She glanced at the television area when the crowd got particularly loud and noticed circles of smoke near the twelve-foot ceiling. If there was anything she found more annoying than telemarketers who called at dinnertime, it was a room filled with people lighting up. She was allergic to tobacco, but she felt none of the usual effects of her nose running or her nasal passages getting clogged. Those high ceilings must make the difference.

  The game was almost over when Glenda appeared, taking a seat on a nearby floor pillow. “Hi!”

  “Hi. What happened to Bobby?”

  “He left. The couple he rode down with only had a babysitter for a few hours.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Somewhere in Queens. Springfield Gardens, I think.”

  “Kind of far from Baychester, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “It’s only geography. Plus seven dollars in tolls.”

  When the game ended they decided it was time to leave themselves. Gary offered to walk them to their car. Vivian was grateful, since it was now dark and she didn’t know how many people would be on the streets in this part of the city. “We’ll just need a minute to get our coats.”

  “This is a gorgeous place, isn’t it?” Glenda commented as they searched for their coats on the king-size brass bed in the spacious master bedroom. Space was at a premium in New York, so much so that it was not unusual for families of five or six to squeeze into three-room apartments; and it was refreshing to see that some people had living rooms large enough to play ball in. Whoever Ivy Smith was house sitting for had beaucoup bucks.

  “It sure is,” Vivian agreed. “They say money isn’t everything, but oh, how it helps.”

  “Here we go.” Glenda pulled out her winter-white coat as well as Vivian’s brown-and- white herringbone. “They were close to the bottom. They probably got tossed to the side by the people who left before us.”

  Vivian glanced around to make sure they were alone. “So how’d you make out?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  Coats on, they returned to the living room, where Gary waited, still wearing a tan crew-neck sweater. “Aren’t you wearing a coat?” Vivian asked him.

  “I put it on the rack by the door so I wouldn’t have to dig through a pile of coats on a bed.”

  Glenda was saying good-bye to Ivy, and Gary and Vivian did the same. Gary, the arms of his pullover sweater pushed up to his elbows, removed his leather jacket from the rack and swung his left arm into it, but when he swung his right arm he made a strange sound, like he’d been stung by an insect or something. He lowered his arm, and it was covered with blood.

  They all gasped at the sight of his bloody arm. “I’ll get a towel,” Ivy said.

  “What happened?” Vivian asked, dumbfounded.

  “The damndest thing. I went to get my arm into my jacket. I guess I was too close to the coat rack and one of those hooks got me. Damn, it stings.”

  “It looks awfully deep from the way it’s bleeding,” Glenda said. “It’s long, too. You’ll probably need stitches to close it up.”

  Ivy returned with a clean dishtowel, which she immediately wrapped around Gary’s forearm. “I’m sorry,” she said when he winced. “I know it’s painful.”

  “I’m bleeding all over your floor.”

  “It’s all right I’ll take care of it in a minute.” Ivy peeled back the towel, part of which was soaked red. There was still too much blood to actually see the wound. “You’ll have to go to a hospital. Did you come with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Glenda and I can take you,” Vivian offered.

  “That’s awfully nice of you. We can go to Hudson, in Washington Heights.”

  “But that’s all the way uptown!”

  “I know, but it’s close to where I live. It’s not too far from you, either. I need to be able to drive myself home afterward. Besides, it’s not like I’m in danger of bleeding to death. It’s not quite that bad.”

  He had told Vivian he lived on upper Riverside Drive, making Hudson Hospital an ideal choice. Near the mammoth Columbia-Presbyterian complex, it was a much smaller hospital and probably had a less busy ER. After he was repaired it would be an easy ride home for him…and just a slightly longer one for her and Glenda.

  She fixed Gary’s jacket around his shoulder. “How far away did you park?”

  “I got lucky. I’m right on the next block.”

  “All right. Why don’t we go to your car first, then we’ll drive Glenda to hers, then head for the hospital.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.” Gary turned to Ivy. “I’m sorry about your towel, and your floor.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The towel is replaceable, and I’m going to mop up the floor right now. You just get yourself fixed up.”

  On the brief walk to the next block Vivian found herself curious about what he drove. From their conversation she learned he was an art director for an advertising agency headquartered in midtown. Did he have one of those cute foreign numbers that only seated two? That would be great even if she and Glenda had to squeeze into one seat. They could manage for a couple of blocks. Or maybe he had a rugged SUV.

  She could barely conceal her shock when he stopped in front of a weathered beige Volvo that looked like it was at least ten years old, although with a Volvo it was hard to tell; before they modified that boxy shape a few years back the car had changed little in thirty years. “I’ll drive,” she offered.

  “I forgot to tell you, it’s a stick. But I should be able to hold the wheel with my left hand.”

  “I can drive a stick, Gary.” She experienced a twinge of what felt like resentment at his assumption that she couldn’t, but she chased it away. “It’s been a long time since I have, so it might be a little jerky ride at first, but once I get to the highway I’ll be fine.”

  They got in, Glenda in the back, and Vivian drove to where Glenda had parked.

  “Hudson Hospital, right? Where exactly is that? I’m not sure,” Glenda said.

  Vivian paid close attention as Gary instructed her; if he dozed off during the ride from sheer pain she didn’t want to wake him to ask for directions.

  *****

  The ER at the hospital wasn’t crowded. There were only a few people in the waiting room, none of whom appeared to be in discomfort. Perhaps they were waiting for patients and not for treatment. It wasn’t what Vivian expected to see on New Year’s Day. She supposed all the rabble-rousers had gone to Presbyterian.

  The triage nurse checked Gary in and inspected his arm. The blood flow had stopped, and a gash about three inches long could clearly be seen, as well as the inner top layer of his skin. “Ooh, that’s nasty,” the nurse said, wrinkling his nose in a gesture more typical of a squeamish civilian than a health-care professional. Vivian could remember the days when she could distinguish doctors from nurses strictly by gender. No more. This man had horn-rimmed glasses and graying hair. He even wore sea-green scrubs. He might look like a surgeon straight out of the OR, but he was an RN relegated to triage duty, collecting unexciting information about patients’ symptoms, medical histories, and allergies.

  The very thought of most nursing duties made Vivian queasy, but she believed in dressing to be taken seriously, whatever your profession. There was certainly nothing wrong with being mistaken for a doctor. She’d take someone dressed this way over the ones who wore scrubs printed with drawings of singing stethoscopes or dancing thermostats any day.

  An ER nurse showed up for Gary within minutes. “Can she come with me?” he asked her, gesturing to Vivian.

  “Sure.”

  She accompanied Gary to a curtained-off cubicle, where she felt trapped by the antiseptic sm
ell so typical of hospitals. It offended her nostrils and made her wish she could go outside and breathe in a great gulp of filthy city air. She fully intended to provide moral support for Gary, who appeared as uneasy as she did about being in an emergency room, but when the nurse began cleaning the wound she became squeamish and felt like she had to get out of there. She hastily excused herself and wandered off. Glenda should be here by now and was probably looking for them.

  She walked around the department, trying to find the way out. The scene in this ER wasn’t anything like the frantic atmosphere portrayed on the television show with the same name. Some of the curtains were partially open, and she could see an occasional patient wearing an oxygen mask or sitting on a stretcher with an Ace wrap around an ankle or wrist. One man was snoring loudly. She decided he’d had too much celebration and was simply sleeping it off.

  “Hello.”

  She turned and looked into the face of what had to be the best-looking man she’d ever seen. His skin was the color of dark honey, his near-black hair close-cropped, and in a strange but not unpleasant contrast, his eyes were electric blue. “You startled me,” she said, realizing her mouth had dropped open.

  “I’m sorry. But you look lost.”

  “I’m actually trying to find the way out.”

  “Have you been released?”

  “Oh, I’m not a patient. I’m here with a friend who was hurt.”

  “Is it serious?”

  No, I just met him. Vivian knew full well that wasn’t what he meant, but she would love to let this handsome man know she was available. “Just a rather unpleasant cut on the arm.”

  “I see. Well, if you make a right at the next hallway it’ll lead you to the waiting room.”

  “Thanks.” She wanted to say something else, but couldn’t think of anything. This man was just too fine to be real. He left her speechless.