by M. S. Parker
“You don’t want to go there, Pete.” Moving closer to him, I lowered my voice. “You really don’t.”
Something that might have been caution flickered in his eyes, but it disappeared almost as quick.
“Let it go,” I said. “I’m not saddling myself with a woman I can’t stand just because you benefit from it. What’s the deal anyway…some director sell you on the idea of us being in a movie together and how it would add to it if we were really together?”
Peter shrugged. “You know how it works. Fans eat up a Hollywood romance. She’s auditioning for the female lead in your next project. But the producer isn’t happy hearing that you two aren’t together now.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have sold us as a package deal.”
“Mr. Jackson?”
Glancing toward the door, I saw one of the assistants standing there, looking nervous.
“I’m coming, Joey.” Tossing Pete one last look, I said, “Like I’ve already said, I need to get to the set.”
“She’s goin’ to leave you again,” he called out as I walked away. “That whore has already proven she just wants to fuck around on you. What happens the next time? What happens if she comes crawling back knocked up with some other man’s kid? You still going to take her back?”
Ignore him, I told myself. Ignore him.
“Shit, if I’d known she was that good, I would’ve had a taste of her myself when she came crawling through my door looking for you. Next time, I’ll just ask what her price—”
I rushed him, grabbed him and threw him bodily to the floor.
His hoarse shout died in a garbled mess as I twisted, then pinned him, wrapping my forearm around his throat. “I told you,” I said, squeezing each word out. “You’re not talking about her like that.
Crawling back…some other man’s kid…
The baby.
Then, Maya’s voice echoed in my mind, drowning out the roar of blood as it crashed and pulsed.
“Because I’m pregnant!”
“You’re…what…who’s is it?
“It’s yours, Glenn.”
I’d thrown her out.
She’d just told me I was the father of the child she carried, and I’d thrown her out.
“You…fucker…let me…”
Peter’s voice came out in a rasp and abruptly, I let him go, shoving upright.
He lay there, panting. “I’m going to…you…son of a…” After a few seconds, he lurched upright. “I’m going to knock the shit out of you for that, Jackson.”
“Try,” I said, jutting my chin out.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Jackson.” A uniformed security guard stepped in between us, deftly blocking Peter as he was rounding up to come at me.
Adrenaline still roared and raged inside me, the anger demanding a release. Peter, though, in the blink of an eye, underwent a total transformation. He blinked. He smoothed a hand down his tie and flashed a mega-watt smile at the security guard. “Hey there. Everything is fine, son. Just a mild disagreement between me and my client.”
“One that involved wrestling on the floor like a couple of schoolboys?”
That irritated voice came from the doorway and I sighed, lifting my eyes to the exposed metal beams of the ceiling. The director waddled in. I could hear him panting from across the room, and when I shifted my attention to him, he was looking at both of us in disgust. “I knew you’d be trouble, Jackson. I knew it. And you…” He pointed a finger at Peter. “Get the hell out of my studio.”
“Hal…” Peter spread out his hands, turning that charming smile on the director.
Crawford was immune to charm. He was immune to everything that didn’t involve good tobacco, caffeine, food, and women. And while he was prone to lavishing the women he was interested in with extravagant gifts—or so I’d heard—he had a strict line between work and personal life. So Peter was shit out of luck.
“Don’t waste my time, Pete.” He pulled a cigar from his pocket and shoved it between his teeth. “I don't give a damn what kind of problem you’re having with your client. What I care about is that it’s interfering with my schedule. Now get your ass out of my studio.”
A tight silence fell across the room as the guards escorted Peter from the premises.
One by one, the others who’d somehow manifested in the hall or trickled in to watch the show also disappeared. I’d never even noticed any of them come in, I’d been that focused on Peter.
Now it was just Crawford and me, and he was eying the same way he might look at a strange bug. “I know when somebody is having woman troubles.”
“I’m not having woman…troubles.” Hooking my thumbs in the belt loops of my jeans, I gave a one-sided shrug. “Peter is trying to make me have woman troubles, but I’m not dating somebody just because it’s good publicity.”
I was surprised when Crawford laughed.
“Smart kid. Is this shit going to interfere with my movie?” he demanded.
“No, sir.”
“Good.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Get your ass out there.”
Fifteen
Maya
“Wow…” I managed to plaster a smile on my face. Who said I didn’t have a career in acting? “You look great,” I finished, the words warbling on my tongue.
“You’re such a liar.” Florence’s voice came out in a rasp, but she could talk.
To me, that meant more than diamonds, gold, and pearls.
Rushing to her side, I sank to my knees by the bed and took her hands. “You’re going to be okay.”
Tears burned my eyes and for a few moments, I couldn’t even speak.
“Stop it,” she finally rasped.
“I can’t.”
“You have to,” she said rationally. “Because if you keep it up, you’ll start crying. And if you start crying, I’ll start crying. How good will that be for me?”
Blinking back the tears, I managed to control my breathing to some extent. and straightened up. “Maybe I should get a chair.”
“Maybe.” Florence was pale, but she smiled at me and the grin held a hint of her old humor. “Unless you like that cold, tile floor?”
“Not really.” A few moments later, I had a chair pulled up to the side of the bed and once again, I took her hand. “How are you feeling?”
Florence grimaced. “Depends on when you ask. Depends on who is asking. Depends on why you’re asking.” She sighed and lifted one hand to rub at her face. The IV cord tangled around her arm, impeding her movement. Reaching to disentangle her, I eased the tubing out of the way. “Thanks.”
She gave me a wan smile.
“I think they do this rubbish just to make it harder for patients to move. It’s like a rope,” she added.
“I don’t think that’s it.” I rose and helped untangle the tubes. She had them running everywhere, and her gown was a mess. Her sheets weren’t much better.
“Then why do they do it?” Looking disgruntled, Florence straightened up and looked around, the tubes that flowed this way and that, tugging at her disheveled hospital gown. “I’ve called the nurse three times for help, you know that? Three times!”
“Has anybody been in to change the bed? Help you get cleaned up for the day?”
“No.” She looked away. She tugged at the sheets again, a blush settling on her face. “I think the nurse is ignoring me. She was standing outside the hall with somebody else, talking about the riots and…well…” Swallowing, she looked away for a moment, then back at me. “She said ugly things. When she came in here, I said some ugly things to her. I haven’t seen her since.”
My mouth dropped open. “When was that?”
“This morning.” She laughed softly.
“This…” I stopped myself and looked away before my temper snapped. It was almost three now. She’d been sitting in here all this time without anybody coming in to check on her. Running my tongue across the inside of my teeth, I studied the room. Her lunch tray was still in here, mostly untouche
d. There was a bedpan that hadn’t been touched either. “When was the last time somebody came in here?”
“When I was brought lunch.” She closed her eyes. “I hurt too much to eat, but the nurse hasn’t given me anything for pain.”
“And you’ve called to ask.”
“Heavens, yes.” She rolled her eyes.
“Okay. I’ll be back.”
“Maya, don’t go out there and do anything…” She held up a hand.
“I just need to see about getting you some clean sheets, and something to help with the pain, okay?” Without waiting, I turned on my heel and headed out the door.
There was a haze of cigarette smoke in the hall. I’d had to adjust to things like that, like the first time in places like diners, but dealing with it in a hospital was something else entirely. But that wasn’t the battle I was going to fight right now. Marching up to the large central desk that served as the focal point on the floor, I found several women sitting around talking. One was on the phone. One was writing in a chart. It was such a bizarre scene for me to take in—no computers. Charts and big, thick books took up the space that would eventually be used for electronics.
Times would change, I told myself. People would, too.
But I wasn’t waiting for people to change for my friend to get better care here.
“Excuse me,” I said when nobody looked at me.
The woman on the phone didn’t glance up, but the others did.
“I’d like to speak to the nurse who’s taking care of Florence Wood.”
The woman writing in the chart lifted her eyes. “Yes?”
“She’s rang for you three times.”
“I’m very busy.” She didn’t even look at me long enough to reply, simply dropping her attention back to her chart. “I’ll be in there as soon as I can.”
“I see. And were you this busy before she called you out for having an unprofessional discussion right outside her room?”
Slowly, her gaze came back to mine. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just wondering if you’re leaving her in there—the sheets a mess, her IV bag almost empty, while she’s hurting something awful and unable to even get up to the bathroom—because you’re pissed she doesn’t like you talking ugly about black people.” Placing my hands flat on the counter, I ignored the racing rhythm of my heart, ignored the nerves bouncing inside. I was tired of how everybody looked away or just sat quietly when bad things happened. I couldn’t keep doing it.
“I don’t know what she told you—”
“Have you been in to check on her at all since this morning?” I cut her off. “If you have, I’m sure there’s charting to show for it.”
“What’s the problem here?”
At the sound of the new voice, I turned.
An older woman stood there, her graying hair tucked up under the pristine white nurse’s cap she wore.
“I’m trying to understand why a patient on this floor has been ignored for over three hours.” Struggling to keep my voice polite, I gestured toward Florence’s room. “I’m here visiting my friend, and she’s uncomfortable. It doesn’t look like her bed has been made since yesterday. The bedpan hasn’t been emptied, and it’s sitting on the chair just a few feet from her lunch. She wasn’t even able to eat because she’s in so much pain.”
“Ma’am…I’m sorry, what was your name?” Her smile was friendly but distant.
“Maya.” I didn’t offer a last name, nor did I plan to.
“Very well, Maya. I’m Nurse Cherry. I’m sure there’s some sort of misunderstanding. My nurses check on patients every hour. Don’t we, ladies?” She turned her gaze on the women sitting down and a polite, practiced answer came back, assuring her that was just so.
“Then perhaps you can go look in Ms. Wood’s room and explain why it looks like she’s been ignored all day. And maybe you can ask her nurse why she feels it’s acceptable to have personal discussions with other nurses while standing outside patient rooms.” I turned a hard look at the nurse in question.
To my surprise, something flickered in Nurse Cherry’s eyes. It was surreal, thinking of anybody in such terms—Nurse Cherry—I’d had nurses introduce themselves as Miss, Ms. or Mrs. although the first name was more common really. But Nurse?
Weird.
But Nurse Cherry wasn’t one to take any flack. I could see that right away. “Why don’t we go speak with Miss Wood and I’ll talk to her, see if she can share with me what’s going on?”
“Nurse Cherry.” The nurse who hadn’t so much as glanced at me was on her feet now, hands clasped behind her back. “The patient was upset earlier. I think it was the pain and not having her husband here with her as much. She lashed out at me, which is understandable, but I thought she’d do best if she was left alone until she was calmer.”
“Melody, sit down,” Nurse Cherry said gently. Then she gestured to me and we turned to go down the hall.
The second she stepped inside, I knew she wasn’t happy. It was her eyebrows. They drew tight over her eyes for just a moment, then relaxed. Even as she moved to greet Florence with a smile, I could see her displeasure. “I understand you’re having some issues with pain, Miss Wood.”
Florence had been staring out the window, but at the sound of the voice, she looked toward us. Her eyes moved from me to the older nurse. “Oh, yes. Some.” She struggled to push up in the bed, only to stop, gasping.
“Here, let’s get the head of the bed up if you’d like to sit.”
I stood by while the nurse worked and Florence talked.
Five minutes later, Nurse Cherry left with a promise to return. She also took care of the bedpan, swooping up the food tray with her as she left.
“See?” Moving back to her side, I took her hand. “We’ll get you set up. Won’t be long.” If it was, I was going to start taking names. I had no idea what I’d do with them, but I’d figure something out.
“You’re such a lion, Maya.” Florence gave me a tight smile and shifted in bed, but stopped, gasping as she moved the wrong way.
“You’re hurting.”
“Yes.” She gave me a miserable look, eyes gleaming bright with tears. She looked downward, eying her leg in disgust. A series of metal pins and other things I didn’t want to think about went through, all the way from thigh to ankle. I’d learned the other day she’d had the bone broken in several places, and healing was going to be difficult. I guessed this was what passed for modern orthopedic surgery in the sixties. It looked awful. “I feel so helpless being trapped in this bed. I can’t even go to the bathroom on my own.”
“You can’t walk,” I reminded her gently. Squeezing her hand, I said, “It won’t last forever.”
Her response was cut short by an abrupt knock on the door.
Frowning, I looked over and watched as four nurses rushed in, practically marching in unison.
Nurse Cherry brought up the end, pushing in a chair that reclined backward. “Miss Wood. We’re going to get you out of bed and cleaned up. How does that sound?”
“Lovely.” Florence managed a weak smile.
I was about to say something about the pain, but Nurse Cherry headed me off. “I’ve got a shot of morphine for you. We’ll do that first. Does that sound good?”
“I’ll go out into the hall now, okay, Florence?”
I didn’t wait for an answer. And maybe it was petty, but as I drew nearer to the end and caught sight of Melody, I couldn’t help it. I smirked at her.
She didn’t look at me.
Her face was flaming red, and she stared stonily ahead.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”
The low, familiar voice caught me off-guard and I jerked upright, away from the vending machine that held everything from cigarettes to gum. Spinning to face Glenn, I automatically went to brush my hair back, only to stop myself.
I wasn’t going to primp in front of him.
Especially since part of me was still expecting him to d
o another about face in front of me.
He stood in the doorway to the lounge, shoulder braced against the wall.
“Hi.”
He smiled slowly. “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, I figured I’d come by and see Florence. And…” He pushed off the wall and came toward me. “I was hoping I’d see you. I figured you’d be here.”
“Oh. Well, I am.” Feeling foolish now, I shrugged. “I’m here, that is.” Movement in the door behind him had me craning my head to see, and I caught sight of a couple of the nurses. Nurse Cherry was a drill sergeant. I’d stayed out the room for nearly an hour now. Florence was getting a bath and everything. She’d be exhausted when this was done. But they might finally be done. “Florence has some nurses in her room, getting her cleaned up and helping change the bed. I’m…I need to get back in there.”
I went to go around him, but he caught my arm.
Looking down at the hand that gripped me just above the elbow, I told my heart to chill the hell out, told my hands to stop sweating. Then I met his eyes. “Yes?”
“It feels like you’re rushing away from me,” he said softly.
“I’m…” Don’t lie. Deflating, I looked away. “Maybe a part of me is. I don’t trust myself around you anymore, Glenn.”
He was quiet a long while. Finally, he asked, “Don’t trust yourself? Or me? I haven’t been very good to you recently.”
Feeling bruised, I looked at him. “Maybe it’s both.”
“Do you want me to stay away?”
I had the feeling if I said yes, he’d go this time.
But that wasn’t what I wanted.
“I don’t want you to go away,” I said slowly. “But I can’t keep taking hits from you either. Glenn, I have to either have something real…or just let you go.”
He nodded. Then gesturing to the door, he asked, “Shall we go see Florence?”
He took my hand as we walked. The door to her room was still closed and I leaned up against the wall. I tried to find a polite way to distance myself from him, even just a little, but nothing seemed to fit.