The simple truth was we were overwhelmed and understaffed. We lost three medics to back injuries; another had his arm broken by a violent psychiatric patient. Two of our ambulances were totaled in crashes. Morale was at an all-time low. Rumors were high. Besides the newspaper pushing the idea that the fire department should take over, there was talk that a sale of the company was imminent—that a national corporation was going to buy us out. They would fire all the senior personnel so they could pay everyone the same lower wage. They would outlaw the twelve- and sixteen-hour shifts many of us worked. Everyone would work five eight-hour shifts. There would be no overtime. We’d all have to wear ties. If we didn’t like it, tough. We were meat in the seat. Plenty of people waiting to take our jobs.
We didn’t like the program; they’d bring in people from other divisions. None of it made sense—we had a union contract that they would have to honor at least until it expired—but it was what people were talking about. People said the bad press was coming from somewhere in the fire department. They had a plan to put a paramedic fly car in each of the station’s firehouses. They would go to the calls and decide whether to ride in with the ambulance or not. They would be in charge. People hated that thought. I said, “Look on the bright side: to staff all those Broncos, they’ll have to hire paramedics. Maybe you can get a job with a city pension.” But no one was buying that. The medics would be converted firemen. There was talk the fire department was going to start running their own paramedic program in conjunction with one of the hospitals. It didn’t matter that we believed it took a special person to do that job—that you had to have a gift for the work. We felt powerless.
Bruce Atreus was called to testify before a special city commission on EMS charged with making recommendations for change. The commission included members of the police and fire departments, as well as representatives from the hospitals, city health department and regional EMS council. There were no representatives from the ambulance, no street medics. Ben told me Perry Santiago made a fiery speech attacking Capitol Ambulance to open the meeting, but before Bruce could respond, Santiago excused himself, and walked out hurriedly, talking into his cell phone.
Santiago’s actions gave more fruit to the rumor that politicians were working on behalf of Champion Ambulance. The state law assigning PSAs—public service areas—to ambulance companies said the PSA could only be taken away if the town’s chief elected officer could prove negligence on the part of the current provider and could offer a better plan. We heard talk they were drafting a change to the law, a pilot program that would allow one city—Hartford—to put the contract out to bid. One way or another we all felt the fix was in. Things were changing, and soon would never be the same. If Champion took over, the only way we could keep working in the city was to wear their green pants with the yellow stripes. Their gas station jackets had two patches on the front; the patch on the right breast told you your name, the one on the left told who you worked for.
I had never had much patience for the routine grumbling on the job. These kids had no idea of how well they had it. A little “yes, sir, no sir” in the morning, and they were on their own all day, responding to the calls, getting paid for adventure, for hanging out, for stories they could tell over beers. But I could see how the bad publicity and uncertainty took its toll. They were all little heroes, and the public scorn hurt their pride. They needed something to take home, some respect for their years of effort. They needed honor and it hurt to turn on the news and see the six o’clock I-team with their fancy graphics: “Citizens at Risk,” “Ambulance Investigation Exclusive,” “Only on this channel,” “You heard it here first” bullshit. Bystanders heckled us on calls. Ambulances got hit with eggs, sometimes even rocks. We normally stationed cars in the north end at Albany and Main, Albany and Blue Hills, Main and Tower, but the company pulled them back to Saint Francis and Mount Sinai after sunset. It would cost a couple minutes in response time, but at least the company was concerned for our safety.
We just weren’t very popular. Everyday we parked our cars up on the curb across from the downtown Dunkin’ Donuts and ran in to get our coffee—they’d done it for years. One morning, a meter maid ticketed a couple cars. One of our EMTs, Terry Miller, actually got hauled to jail for arguing with the meter maid, who called for police backup. When Terry accidentally bumped the cop, he got thrown on the sidewalk and cuffed. They put him in a cell and took his belt away like he might actually kill himself over a parking ticket.
The worst, though, was when the city gave away free tickets to the circus to the kids of all public safety personnel. Kim Dylan thought that included us, and brought her three kids only to be told at the door, you needed a police or fire ID. She ended up having to hit up the cash machine to pay $20 a pop for her three kids, who didn’t understand why their mommy couldn’t get them in free. We responded to the same 911 calls, stood shoulder to shoulder, worked as a team, but somehow EMS didn’t rate. They were city employees, we were private employees—a difference no one thought about when the red lights were whirling.
I was working with a young man just out of medic school, a nice enough kid, but he was out of his league. His first week he had three codes, including a teenage girl who’d hanged herself, and he delivered a premature baby who died. I gave him credit just for coming out in the morning. Turnover was high. Every night crews were held late. Some days to fill shifts even Bruce Atreus had to man an ambulance.
One afternoon when Pat and I were restocking our ambulance after a trauma, when Bruce Atreus handed us a memo. “We’ve got a thousand-dollar bounty on anyone who can bring in a new employee. If they make it a year, you get a thousand, they get a thousand. Know anyone?”
“How about old employees?” Pat asked. “How about Troy?”
“If Troy wants to come back, we’ll welcome him. He just needs a note from his doctor that he’s got his diabetes under control.”
“He won’t accept that,” I said to Pat as we left.
“It’s worth a try. I know he misses it.”
Chapter 31
We agreed to meet at the Ship’s Pub. Troy came in shortly after us with a tall, good-looking blonde on his arm. He must have said hello to everyone in the bar before he reached our table. It was just like when his father had come in.
“What, are you running for mayor?” Pat said.
“I’m keeping my options open, besides, it takes a smile to sell paint, isn’t that right, honey?”
“You know he’s a bullshit artist,” the girl said.
Troy winked at us, then introduced her as Veronica, who managed a local bookstore.
She had a wholesome smile and breasts even Pat, the gentleman he was, had trouble not looking at.
“We met at the Y playing volleyball,” Troy said. “Veronica was captain of her team at Mount Holyoke College.”
“Troy’s an amazing player for just taking up the game.”
They both gave each other little love shoves, then Troy told her we needed to talk business for a few minutes, and she left to talk with two women she knew sitting at a table across the restaurant.
“We all want you to come back,” Pat said. “All you have to do is get a doctor’s note.”
“Fuck them,” Troy said. “I already talked to my lawyer about suing them. He says I have a case. It’s discrimination. But even if I did get back to work, I might not take it. I mean, why should I?”
“Maybe they’ll even give you a raise.”
“I don’t need them. And I don’t need money. Why should I kill myself for them? What kind of difference can I make? People are going to keep dying. It’s an endless stream of misery. You never completely cure the sick. You never stop all the dying. You can’t stop the violence. It’s pointless. You know, being off has been great. I’ve learned a lot of things. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in since the Navy. I’ve got my diabetes under control. I’m making good money—twice what I ever made there, even with overtime. Why shouldn’t I just stay h
ere, get married, raise a family? Tell me a girl like Veronica wouldn’t put out some big strong healthy kids for me. I could live out my life in peace. I don’t need that shit anymore. It’s not going to happen.”
“At least think about it. It’s not right you not being out there. I mean, with you gone, trauma and sickness are having one field day after another. They don’t have to worry about you kicking their butts back into hiding.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Well, at least let me wear your hat or something, just to show the flag, maybe fool them a little to give us a break. Then when you come back, you could pull it back on, and restore order to the universe.”
“You wearing a Yankees hat? I can’t turn that down. While you are trudging through the pee and vomit, me, I’ll have my head in sweet Veronica’s lap, listening to her golden words as she reads me happy bedtime stories, before putting me to sleep in her own special style.”
“You’ll be back,” Pat said. “It’s what you do.”
“Correction,” Troy said. “It’s what I did—at least until they took it away from me.”
Chapter 32
I was without a partner for the day so they hooked me up with Linda. We’d only go out if it got busy. Ben and Bruce were both out of town at a conference, so it was quiet about the office. I did laundry, restocked the shelves, and washed ambulances. I liked to keep occupied. Around noon, we took the ambulance out to get lunch.
“Do you see Troy at all?” Linda asked.
“Every so often.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Okay, he likes to call himself the hardware czar of the tri-town area. He’s even got a commercial on the local cable TV that’s pretty funny. He’s sitting in a chair in front of the store wearing a big velvet robe with a crown on his head, smoking a corncob pipe and grilling a hot dog. ‘You want to win the battle against peeling paint, leaky faucets, and stubborn crabgrass, don’t do it alone. Come see the hardware czar. I’ll get you what you need to turn your life into a picnic. Y’all come down now, you hear.’”
She laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“No, he filmed about six or seven different spots. It’s all low-budget. I think Pat filmed them with his camcorder. In one of them he’s wielding a sword, and he cuts this overgrown brush into a pristine lawn in ten seconds. Another he’s drinking a beer in a tree fort with a sign in the background that says ‘no girls allowed.’ ‘Build your boy a tree fort. Then kick back and have a cold one. Life’s little pleasures.’”
“You have to be putting me on.”
“No, I’m serious. He’s only been running them a couple weeks; he’s already a cult hero. Business is booming, he says.”
“He can be so funny.”
“He’s a trip, all right.”
“But how is he doing?”
“Okay, you know, I think he misses us up here, but he’s getting time to enjoy other things.”
“He has a girl?”
“You know Troy.”
“He has several, in other words.”
“Maybe, I’ve just seen the one he hangs out with most.”
“Veronica?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“I met her a month ago. Bruce and I ran into them at a restaurant down on the shore. She’s pretty.”
“Yea, in the Swedish bikini team sort of way.”
She laughed. “She certainly had Bruce’s eyes rolling.”
“I think Bruce should be happy with what he’s got.”
She patted my shoulder. “You’re so sweet, Lee. I’m not the jealous kind. Men are men. They think with their dicks too much. At least Troy is honest about it.”
“I think she’s just a filler for him.”
“Really?”
“It’s just a sense I have. I think in the end, you are more his type.”
“We did have fun, but he’s still a boy. He’ll probably always be one. I’m just glad he’s doing well.”
She seemed legitimately interested, and truly unjealous. That’s what I liked about her. She was always on such an even keel.
I insisted on paying for her salad. She tried to hand me money, but I wouldn’t take it. “Humor an old man,” I said.
“You’re not old.”
“As the hills,” I said.
“That’s not what I heard from Kim. You thought it was a secret. Who says girls don’t talk? Give us some credit. You shouldn’t pass on her. She’s a special lady.”
“She is.”
“Men are stubborn and blind. You’re smarter than that.”
It was a brilliant summer day. The sky clear blue, a light breeze. There were red and yellow tulips growing in the beds outside the office. We sat out on the picnic benches and ate our lunch.
“It’s too nice a day to stay inside reading run forms. Let’s go play in the city,” she said when we were done.
She put us on with dispatch as a floating car, and we drove around visiting other crews and seeing the city. It was funny, sometimes if you didn’t stop and look around, you’d miss the life that was there. Old men played chess and laughed down by Bushnell Park, where mothers watched their children on the merry-go-round and office workers threw Frisbees on their lunch breaks. On Albany Avenue girls showing their bare shoulders, firm abs, and long legs drew whistles and smiles as they promenaded past the men in front of the Laundromat. Work continued on renovations to the community health center, moving it into a modern building to better serve the community. In Kenney Park, preschoolers fed the ducks and chased each other in circles under the watchful eyes of their keepers.
We had just gotten back in the ambulance after Linda bought us guava-filled pastries—her treat this time, at Los Cubanitos on Park—when she spotted Helen Atreus outside the school, watching a group of small children run about the playground.
She was wearing white shorts and a red halter top. Several of the children clung to her like she was Snow White. I saw a softness in her eyes and a smile I hadn’t seen before.
“I love these kids,” Helen said. She and Linda sat down on a bench while she kept an eye on the kids. “Julio, venga aqui!” she called to one of the boys who went too far off. He smiled and came back to her. She adjusted the collar on his shirt, and rattled off something else to him in Spanish that made him laugh. He smiled and joined a group of his friends playing on the swings.
“Your Spanish is getting better,” Linda said.
“I can almost speak it now,” she said. “Perry wants to take me to Puerto Rico.”
“That sounds great.”
“The problem is Senator Lamb wants me at a rally with him down in New Haven.”
“You still working with him?”
“Yeah, I’m even on his field staff now.”
“Wow. What’s he like?”
“He’s full of himself.” She giggled. “Perry, I think, likes to have me on his arm. I make him feel like a man, I think. Lamb, I think he just needs a Puerto Rican on his staff. He smiles and looks you in the eye, but it’s like his mind is elsewhere. He’s very ambitious. At least he has gotten some grant money for the literacy program and Head Start. Men—you can never find the right combination.”
“You have someone else in the mix?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Tell it to me, girl.”
“We haven’t done anything yet, and I’m not going to make the move, but I don’t know if I could resist him.”
“Who is it?”
“You won’t approve.”
“Who said I had to?”
“For one, he’s married.”
“That’s not good. What’s ‘for two’?”
“He just got out of jail.”
“Jail? Wow, Helen, talk about a bad combination. You better start from the beginning.”
“He’s Perry’s cousin. I met him at a family picnic that had in Pope Park. There’s a connection there. He was attentive to his wife, but I saw the way he looked at me. A woman can te
ll what’s in a man’s eyes. I’ve seen him a few times since. We haven’t done anything, but I find myself imagining myself with him. A girl can fantasize, can’t she?”
“What’s his name?”
“Hector Ruiz,” she said. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Yeah. Who hasn’t? He’s a bad man.”
“But he is way good-looking. And he has his tender side. He’s very poetic. He buys me sweets and drops them off at my office. These delicious pastries with guava jelly in the middle. Unbelievably good.”
“I can’t believe you are telling me this.”
“I know, I thought, what am I doing? But he is not who you think.”
“Be careful.”
“Oh, I will be. It’s too bad I couldn’t put them all together. Lamb for his intelligence, Perry because he’s crazy for me, and Hector for all that a woman wants in a man.”
“Look at you, you’re blushing just talking about him.”
“Not to change the subject too much, but how’s Bruce?”
“You know, he’s Bruce. Work has got him all tied in knots, but on the weekend, he gets out on the boat, and he’s okay. The kids love his beach house.”
“That must be fun for them down there.”
I was surprised at how well the two of them got along. I gave the kids piggyback rides while they talked. I loved to hear their laughter.
“You have to come volunteer for us, Lee,” Helen said when she gathered the kids together to take them back inside.
“Maybe some day.”
“Lee works too many hours,” Linda says. “It would be good for him, though.”
Mortal Men Page 13