by C D Cain
“What kind of music do you listen to?” Jazlyn asked over her shoulder as she walked across the dance floor to the deejay booth in the back corner.
“Anything but country really.”
“Alright. Then you get to hear the mix I listen to while I get the place ready for the night,” she said as she stepped up into the booth. “But don’t you dare tell my deejay I was messing with her board. She’d have my ass.”
“Done.”
Within a couple of minutes, the dance floor exploded in lights. Large circles of gold-and-red designs moved in rhythm with the music now playing through the elaborate speaker system. Exposed metal beams attached to the ceiling hung a good twenty feet above me. Across the beams was a mix of speakers, lights, and two large-screen televisions.
“I love this song.”
“Me too. I have to pamper my ear drums a little before a night of bass pounding techno.” Jazlyn walked under a monitor of Tracy Chapman singing “Fast Car” as she came back toward me. She swung her arms out to the side. “So, this is this dance floor. Look at it now because in a couple of hours you won’t see anything but women packed in here like sardines in a can.”
A flash of Memaw’s face smiling at me as she let a sardine dangle over her open mouth popped into my head. I’d get those time and time again. Flashes of her. I had yet to let them give me anything but sadness. This time, I looked up into the disco ball hanging over me and let its light give me the illusion of spinning slowly in a circle.
“I’ve never seen a place like this before.”
“What? You’ve never been in a bar before? Oh, you are a Bambi.”
“No, I’ve been in a bar before but not a bar like this. Not a club. The bars I’ve been in are just that…bars.”
Jazlyn laughed. “Well, then follow me.” She pointed down a hallway in between a wall with another large-screen television hanging on it. “Back that way are the bathrooms. And then up this way.” She stepped up another set of two stairs to a smaller bar area like the one in the main entrance. There were no tables in this narrowed space but rather waist-high leather booths along the left side of the wall. Small, circular, pub-like tables were in front of them.
“This is a small overflow bar.” She pointed to the bar on the opposite wall. Shelves with glass bulb lights in their centers hung above the liquor bottles. “Back here is what we call our sit and chat area.” She stepped into an expanded doorway and sat on one of the big circular ottomans in the center of the space. It was large enough to sit another three people comfortably. “Have a seat.” She pointed to the booth seating attached to the wall across from her.
I ran my fingers along the velvety drapes hanging along the wall. Imbedded lighting in the vaulted ceiling and columns along the walls kept the room bright enough to see Jazlyn sitting across from me but not so overpowering to feel as if I was under a spotlight. I sat on the leather bench and let my hand brush along the coolness of it.
“What brings you out tonight?”
Tipping the bottle up for another drink, I realized I had consumed its contents rather quickly as I only had one good swallow remaining. “I heard a girl talking about it the other night at the Corner Café.”
“And you thought, ‘Hey, a lesbian bar. Think I’ll check it out.’”
“No, not exactly.”
Jazlyn stood, walked to the overflow bar, stepped on the lower rail, and bent over the counter to pull out two more beers. She flipped both tops into the trash on the other end of the bar—no doubt a regular nightly occurrence. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” She handed me one of the bottles and sat facing me with her back against the wall. She bent her leg to rest it on the seat between us. “What do you think of the place now that you’re seeing your first club?”
“It’s very nice. Not at all what I expected.”
“Oh, what? You thought I’d run some hole in the wall dump?” She laughed and tapped the neck of her bottle against mine.
I laughed which made her smile stretch even further. “No, I didn’t mean that. Although, I’ve pretty much only seen those. Some smoke-filled space with a few pool tables, lots of beer, and chairs you’re almost too nervous to sit in because they look like they may break at any minute. This is very nice.”
“Thank you. I had trouble designing the color scheme. I really wanted purple but with this being Alabama and LSU such a rival, I thought I’d better be safe.”
“You designed this place?”
“Yep, from the ground up. Or should I say from the start of renovating this old building.”
“So, you’re the—”
“Owner.”
“Wow, very cool.” I looked at my watch. Surely the place was bound to start hopping any minute now and I wasn’t overly sure I was ready for the description she had given earlier. “It’s been very nice meeting you.”
She showed her dimples to me again. “But you have to be going?”
“Yeah, I think I do. How much do I owe you?” I reached into my pocket for money.
“It’s my treat.” She placed her hand on my forearm and squeezed. “I enjoyed the company.”
Jazlyn walked me back toward the front of the club but stopped at the main bar. “Hope to see you again, Bambi.”
My residency was never the wiser to the internal struggles imprisoning my mind. I’d come to face them as more than mere thoughts of Sam lingered there. Buried in the center of me, I knew the development and awareness of them was something to become more permanent in my life. How permanent was the question I asked myself repeatedly. I let my dreams envision Jazlyn’s club filled with a Saturday night myriad of women enjoying one another’s company in conversation and dance.
“Hiya, Doc Storm.”
I hadn’t seen Angie sitting behind the nurse’s desk as I walked passed it on my nightly traipse through the emergency room. “How goes it tonight?” She peered up over it at me. Tonight, her ever-changing hairstyle was short with blonde spikes and a line of jet black at the base behind her neck.
“It goes good, Angie. Finishing up the night. Thought I would ward off evil spirits and take a walk through the ER before heading home. Got anything brewing for me yet?” It had been a busy day. In fact, I hadn’t even found the time or the energy to change out of my scrubs. Dried betadine solution splatters decorated the royal blue material. I had spent the majority of my day in the free clinic treating wounds of all varieties. Truly, I dreamed of the only thing brewing to be my coffee pot at home and a nice long shower.
“Can’t say that I have anything for you, Doc. But what I will say is we don’t get to see enough of you down here since you changed to plastics.”
“Says who?” I snickered. I can’t say I missed the near nightly two a.m. calls to the ER.
She snapped her head up. “Most everyone here who has to put up with Dr. Dick. The jerkwad that took your place. That’s who.” She looked back down at the chart but then raised her head again. “But I think I’ve missed you the most.” She slowly winked at me which exposed the thickly covered blue eyeshadow she wore.
“Oh? Who is it that took my place?” I said hurriedly in an attempt to speed along the conversation. “I don’t think I recognize a Dr. Dick in our program. Unless perhaps he is a urology transfer.”
I flinched at the shrillness of her loud laugh. “Damn, I miss your humor. Almost as bad as I miss that beautiful smile of yours.”
There it is again. The wink and the compliment. Is she flirting with me? No matter what its intention, it was making me extremely nervous. “Oh…ummm…thank you. So…what’s his real name?”
“Dr. Reed,” she said absentmindedly. She then stood from her chair and motioned me toward the medical supply room down the hallway. When we were alone, she turned to me and asked, “Can I ask you something, Doc?”
“Sure. Although I must tell you my brain is fried.
If it’s something requiring medical deduction, I may need to catch you after a good night of sleep.”
“Oh, I think you can handle it.” She pushed open the door to the small room. We had only a small amount of space to stand as we were surrounded by shelves filled with every kind of casting material, braces, and crutches imaginable. “You know, Doc, I’ve wanted to talk to you for some time now, but damn we’re always slammed when you’re here.”
“You can always call me when you need something. You know that.”
“What I need…or well…rather want is for you to go to dinner with me. I can’t seem to get enough of you in the ER.”
“Oh. Ummm…well…” I took a deep breath. “Angie, I’m flattered but I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”
“Why? Because you don’t date coworkers?”
Date? “Uh…well for starters, I’m engaged.” Did I just do that? Did I really just play that card? “But more importantly—”
“GONORRHEA!!! You gave me that bitch’s fucking nasty-ass disease! I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”
Angie and I jumped. We began running toward the sounds when we heard yet another scream. This one was deeper than the first and was followed by a loud clanging of a metal bedside table falling to the floor.
As we rounded the nurse’s desk, Angie’s expression changed. I looked around her to see a man staggering backward toward us. When he turned, I could see his eyes were filled with terror. He was desperately grabbing at the side of his neck with his hand. Bright red blood flowed between his fingers and soaked the collar of his shirt. The blood pulsed as it continued to pour through the fingers of his hand. The fear in his eyes turned to black as his pupils dilated before rolling backward under his eyelids.
“Holy shit!” I yelled as we quickly stepped toward him. I grabbed behind him and felt the weight of his body against me as his knees buckled. Angie and I maneuvered him gently to the ground. Crimson blood poured freely through my fingers as I now tried to hold pressure upon the force of blood escaping from his wound.
“Security! Security!” Angie screamed when a woman came into view at the doorway. She held the black grip of a knife as she walked toward us. Drops of blood trickled from its blade to collect on the freshly polished linoleum floor.
“Get away from his sorry ass! I’m going to kill this motherfucker and his nasty ass ho,” she yelled as she raised the blade high in the air.
The force of the two security men slammed into her and knocked her against the side railing of the wall behind us.
“We’ve got her, Doctor,” the bigger of the two guys called over his shoulder as he secured her against the wall with his arm across her neck.
The other guard had a hold of her hand and peeled the knife from her grasp. Once the knife was secure, the guards swung her around and pressed her face against the wall.
“Hold still, lady,” the first guard said. “Ain’t nobody killing nobody on my watch.” He kept his arm pressed firmly against her back.
“Let’s hope that’s true,” I muttered under my breath.
The bleeding was not slowing to pressure as I kneeled in a growing pool of warm red. I could feel it against my skin as the scrubs were not much of a barrier to the large quantity this man was rapidly losing.
“Call the surgery team, STAT!” Angie bellowed to the nurses and doctors who were now running down the hall to our aid. “And get us a gurney.”
“Angie, this bleeding isn’t slowing down. He’s going to bleed out before that call is even made.” Looking over my shoulder, I tried to see what supplies were readily available to me. Cast material, gauze, tape, splints, suturing kits, Foley catheter, scissors. Wait, Foley catheter. “Grab me that Foley. Get the largest diameter you have.”
“Here ya’ go. Surgery will be here in two minutes,” Angie said as she handed me the sterile pack.
“Get it open. Give me the catheter and fill the syringe with saline.” I quickly grabbed the catheter tip from her hands and passed it into the one-inch wound that ran along the side of his neck. “Let’s pray this works.” I pushed the fluid from the syringe into the end of the catheter to fill it to its full size. The filled bulb caused pressure inside of the wound and squeezed off whatever vessels had been incised with the passage of the blade. I slowly released my hand off of his neck and silently prayed the pulsating blood would not follow. Nothing. The catheter tip moved in rhythm with his pulse.
“Hot damn, Doc. Would you look at that.”
“This only buys us a little time, Angie. He’s lost a lot of blood. Where the hell is surgery?”
“Right here, Dr. Storm.”
I looked up and saw a mass of green scrubs with gurney in tow sprinting their way down the hall. Their precision was synchronous as they moved the man from the floor to the stretcher.
“I don’t know what vessels were cut. But the way that son-of-a-bitch was pumping, my money is on the carotid,” I called to the team as they hurried the gurney down the hall to the operating room.
“Thanks, Dr. Storm,” the anesthesiologist yelled over his shoulder as the gurney turned the corner and went out of sight.
“I guess I better find you a clean pair of scrubs,” Angie said as she looked down at my pants.
My once blue scrubs were now covered in blood. The pants were soaked while my shirt had swipes of blood across the front where I had attempted to wipe the blood from my hands. “Yeah, I think I better get this washed off my hands too.”
“There’s a wash area in the women’s locker room behind the lounge. I’ll meet you in there as soon as I get the scrubs from central supply.”
When a patient’s health is in danger, their care and life-saving measures are top priority. Generally, their modesty or privacy is of little concern at times of trauma or surgical needs. Over time, healthcare workers have been known to become immune to their own personal shyness once the numbness to nudity has been experienced. I was no exception to this long-lived urban legend of the OR. My main concern was to remove my clothing soiled in a stranger’s blood. There was no time or even an inkling of a need for modesty.
“Engaged, huh?” Angie asked as she entered the bathroom to find me bent over the sink clad only in bra and panties.
One eyebrow was arched higher than the other as she took in the full view of the pink satin material. This is when I became the exception to the rule. I felt my face flush as she stared at me. A numbness to nudity and seeing a woman visually appreciate your body were two entirely different things. Yet this wasn’t a flush of embarrassment or uneasiness, this was a flush of something else—something exciting. My body was reacting to the way her eyes were drinking me in. The hunger she left so blatant upon them was stirring my every reaction to her.
“Uh yeah, about that.”
“No explanation needed.” She held up a hand. “But it’s a damn fine shame, Doc.” She placed the crisp new scrubs next to me on the counter before turning to leave. She tilted her head to the side. “A damn fine shame.”
I splashed a handful of cold water on my face. The water ran down my neck and over the gold chain that carried a cicada and cross. “Hey, Angie, can I ask you something?” I patted my face with a towel and turned to her.
“Sure.”
“Why did you ask me out? Was it because you thought I was gay? Something I did or do that makes you think I’m gay? Is that why?”
“Nah.” She let her eyes unequivocally roam my skin again before shrugging lightly. “I think you’re hot as hell. That’s why I asked. I’m not one to horn in on someone else’s territory, but for you I’d make an exception. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I splashed another handful of water on my face and studied its reflection in the mirror. The redness of my neck was the perfect defense to the constant argument I had of late been having with my body’s unfaltering yearnings.
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br /> “Hi. This is Dr. LeJeune. I’m sorry I missed your call but if you will leave your number, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks.”
I wasn’t sure why I had dialed Sam’s number again, yet here I was listening to the same recording for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. I had stopped leaving voicemails at this point because I accepted a while back that she wasn’t going to call me back. It’s not like she wasn’t seeing my number in her missed call list. Sometimes when I thought of how many times she saw I called, I would get embarrassed or even feel weak. But the other times, all I wanted to do was to hear her voice again. This was one sure fire way I could. The times I felt most pathetic were when the call went to voicemail after only two to three rings. It was then I knew wherever she was or whatever she was doing, we were connected. If only for a brief moment, I was calling while she was holding her phone. Yes, she quickly ignored the call. But, in that moment, we shared the same space and time. Pretty pathetic.
I stared at the piece of paper announcing it was deejay night at Pineapple Post. “Doors Open at 10pm.” I looked down at my watch which sadly told me I was two hours early.
“You know, hovering outside of someone’s residence while trying to peek into the window is actually a crime and could get you arrested. I bet you look good in all kinds of colors, but I’m not sure orange is one of them.”
I laughed as I turned to Jazlyn. She must have walked up from the side of the building without my noticing. Geez, I have got to start paying more attention. “Somehow I was thinking this was a place of business and not someone’s home.”
She closed the distance between us with her long strides. “It’s technically both as I live just up there.” She stretched her long arm up to point over my shoulder. I could see light filtering through drawn curtains in an expansive display of windows. “My guess is you aren’t planning on staying yet again tonight but I’m not opening until later.”
