"You deserve this," he said.
He nuzzled her hair. Cars streamed noiselessly up and down Park Avenue, specks of light, glinting in the morning sun. She could see the horizon unobstructed. Buildings that at street level possessed no luster flourished at this height. How like flowers they were, plain stems rising up and up with the inexplicable promise of something greater. Above ten stories the city was all bloom: patios and penthouse gardens, carved stone animals and small bits of copper and tile-arched roofs, gargoyles lurking above windows, converted top-floor pools and sky, building tops falling away like rolling terrain. A whole countryside perched above the fray—above the alleyways and streets, the sidewalks and the labyrinth of steel-girdered subway tunnels—a gentle high-up suburb. She could see Queens, the factories and bridges, planes taking off and landing. At this height the days would be longer. After the streets were cast in shadow the sun would still show itself. It would pause those few extra minutes, for her, as if to bid her good night in private.
"Darling, who does this sort of thing? Who but you?" she said.
"You're crying."
"I'm happy."
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head and turned around to him, folding his arms about her like a net. The sun beat against her face—red through her closed eyelids.
He touched her cheek.
"It's cold from the window," he said.
They stood awhile.
"We've been together a long time," he said. "Wonderful years."
They stared out the window some more, before they locked the apartment door and rode the elevator down. The doorman hailed a cab.
"Welcome to the building, Miss Reilly," he said.
Two weeks later, Kim marched into Saint Vincent's Hospital. When she reached the office of volunteer services, she handed a brown envelope to the nurse at the desk.
"My test results," she said.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Hetty told me to come back when I finished them."
The woman took the envelope and disappeared. Hetty emerged from her office, rocking side to side as she walked, the nurse following.
"I'm in a meeting."
"I came back," said Kim, pointing to the brown envelope. "The results."
"Took you—what, four years? There weren't that many tests, sister." She nodded to the nurse. "This is Lila. She can get you signed up."
Hetty turned and lumbered off. Lila opened the envelope and checked the results to make sure they were in order. She handed Kim a clipboard and asked her to fill out an information sheet.
"But I did this already."
Lila rolled her eyes.
Kim filled out the form again and Lila looked it over. She handed Kim a stapled pamphlet of rules and guidelines. "Any questions?" she said.
Kim shook her head.
"When are you available?" said Lila.
"Nights!" Hetty barked, coming back into the room.
"Okay," said Kim.
"Fridays are tough for us," said Hetty. "People like to go out, leave town. How about Friday nights from seven to eleven?"
Robert usually spent Friday nights with Nicole.
"That's fine," said Kim.
Lila wrote on the sheet. Hetty left.
"See you Friday," said Lila. "Hetty'll show you the ropes. She'll trail you the first night."
Kim turned to leave.
"Oh," said Lila. "Bring a picture with you for your ID."
Kim decided that Robert needed Michael more than she did, needed her to have the diversion, to shoulder the burden of her feelings. He had returned Michael to her under the very pretext that had brought them together in the first place. She wondered if Michael knew about the apartment before her birthday, if that had prompted him to accept the invitation. In the end, did it matter?
They talked every day about design, met regularly to go over fabrics or look at photographs, catalogs of furniture coming up at auction. Silk damasks, taffetas, and failles all began to look alike.
She asked him if he was seeing anyone.
"No one in particular."
She'd never known him not to be in a relationship.
"You don't want to tell me?" she said.
He held a swatch of fabric to his face like a veil.
"What do you think of this?" he said.
There were so many fabrics.
Friday at six-thirty she arrived at Saint Vincent's. She sat on her hands and waited. Hetty crossed the hall and noticed her. She nodded but didn't stop. At seven, Hetty reemerged.
"Let's go, let's go," she said, barking like a drill sergeant. "You got your picture?"
Kim handed her an envelope. She gave the envelope to a nurse.
"Follow me," she said.
She took her into a back room. There were lockers. Each locker had a padlock and key.
"You put your stuff away; then you get washed."
She pointed to a sink. There was a pump dispenser filled with antiseptic soap. Kim put her purse in a locker and pocketed the key. Hetty watched her wash her hands.
"All the way up the arms—good. Now your apron."
She showed Kim where the aprons were stored.
"Wash first, then put the apron on. You forget, and it could cost a life. . . . You listening?"
Kim tied on the pink-striped apron and nodded. She followed Hetty from the locker room down a long hall to an elevator.
"You will always come to my office first. Ninety percent of the time you will be working the same pod, but that can change, and you need to check in and make sure."
The elevator door opened and they stepped in.
"You're gonna find a sink in every room," said Hetty. "By every sink you'll find gloves and masks, if you need one. You must wear gloves at all times. Got it? Every time you enter a room, you wash your hands, you put on fresh gloves. You finish with a baby, throw out the gloves, wash your hands, and put on a new pair. Don't ever touch a baby with gloves you've used to handle another baby. No germs, understand?"
The elevator door opened to the sound of babies crying. They stepped out into a brightly lit ward. The walls were decorated with murals of flowers and fish and animals. Hetty led Kim to the nurses' station. A gray-haired woman with thick glasses looked up from a row of monitors.
"Denise," said Hetty, "this is Kim Reilly. She's our new Friday night."
Another nurse appeared, carrying a tray of IV packs. Hetty introduced her. Hetty explained how Denise was the head nurse on duty this time, but that would change from week to week. "Find out who's the acting head nurse and report to him or her," she said. "You listen to them. They're gonna tell you where you're needed. Most of the time, you won't be the only volunteer on duty. Volunteers are dressed like you. Nurses are in white. You got a question, ask a nurse, not another volunteer. That's for your own good. Let's get started. We're late."
Hetty turned to Denise.
"Denise, tell me where to go."
"Room Four, Bed Two. Cynthia."
"Is there anything I need to know about this child?"
"Upper respiratory. Wear a mask."
Hetty nodded for Kim to follow. They passed an open door. Kim saw a woman in a pink-striped apron sitting in a rocking chair, a bundled-up baby pressed to her chest. The soft glow of a television lit the room.
Hetty lowered her voice. "You always ask if there's anything you need to know about the child, anything unusual, any background. There are two beds to every room. You will find the medical records at the foot of each bed. Check the name to make sure it's the right one."
They entered Room Four. There was a sink in the corner. They scrubbed their hands and arms and put on hospital gloves and masks and went to the bed. Hetty showed Kim where it said cynthia on the chart. There was a rocking chair in the corner. A television hung from the ceiling.
Cynthia was crying. Her legs were kicking under the covers; her tiny hands were patting the air. One of her arms was bandaged to a splint, which secured an IV line.
"Pick her up," Hetty whispered.
"How?"
Hetty looked at her. Kim's face was perspiring under the mask.
Hetty scooped up the baby, keeping the blanket wrapped about her. She showed Kim how to cradle the head, how to keep her upright, and how to keep the IV line from catching and tangling.
Cynthia coughed.
"That's okay," said Hetty, showing Kim a box of tissues. "She's gonna keep coughing. That's why she's here."
She wiped Cynthia's chin. Cynthia continued to cry.
"Sometimes you rock a little," said Hetty. "It's soothing. That's right. You're getting it."
Cynthia's head felt too heavy in her hand. Her face was red, her chin raw from drool.
Hetty studied Kim. "You've never held a baby before?" she said.
Kim shook her head. She was afraid to talk with the baby in her arms.
"So you've never changed a baby before? I better show you. Watch the IV."
The medicine bag hung from a tall pole on wheels. "Never move the baby without keeping a hand on that," said Hetty.
Everything Kim needed was in a cabinet by the sink. They used special diapers that were sanitized.
"Normally, you'd use powder," Hetty said. "With respiratory, you can't. It'd get in their lungs."
There was a special lotion, and she showed Kim how to wipe the child and fasten the diaper.
"Don't be afraid to have a nurse watch the first few times," she said. "Don't be afraid to ring for any reason. Any reason, mind you. There's a buzzer on each bed."
She stayed a few minutes, then told Kim she had to leave for a bit.
"If she falls asleep, check with Denise and she'll assign you a new one. I'll be back."
Kim stood by the bed, not wanting to move. Cynthia was still whimpering. "Shh," Kim said softly, then again later, "Shh." She moved her thumb gently against the side of Cynthia's head, caressing it over and over. She had no idea how much time went by. She sensed the shadows of passing nurses. Her neck stiffened. She didn't turn. How long did it take her to realize that Cynthia had stopped making noise? She gazed down in astonishment. Her lips were no longer moving. Was she breathing? She didn't seem to be breathing. Kim reached for the buzzer to signal the nurse. She could not feel her arm. In seconds, Denise appeared, Hetty right behind her.
"She's not breathing," said Kim.
Denise rushed to the sink and scrubbed her hands. She snapped on gloves and covered her face with a mask and rushed to Kim.
"Set her down," she said. "Move."
She leaned over the child and put her ear to Cynthia's mouth. She straightened and turned and motioned Kim and Hetty from the room. In the hall, she pulled down her mask to reveal a broad smile.
"Sister," she said, "she's just sleeping."
Another nurse hurried up. "Denise, Room One."
They took off together.
Hetty looked at Kim. "Don't feel stupid. Remember, don't ever be afraid to ring that buzzer. Because the one time you don't—"
She turned and started down the hall.
"Well?" said Kim. "What do I do now?"
"It's eleven-thirty. Go home. See you next Friday."
It was well after midnight by the time she reached her apartment. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. She lay in bed for what seemed like hours. Finally, she got up and went to the kitchen. She took a pen and a pad of paper from a drawer. She wrote the date, and then beside it she wrote Cynthia. This would be her list.
After that, she could sleep.
The months blurred. She read books on French furniture, studied pictures of the undersides of chairs, the nails and joints and studs, what to look for to tell if a piece was authentic or fake. She'd never had a dining room before. Now she owned a table with leaves that could make it longer.
"You can have dinners for eight, even twelve," said Michael, collecting his books and his briefcase.
Robert nodded. "That's right. You'll finally be able to entertain."
As though she'd been embarrassed to show people her old apartment? What made him think she would want to entertain?
As soon as Michael left, Robert pulled a drop cloth from a bergère and slumped in the seat with a tumbler of scotch.
"Why can't it be comfortable?"
"You said Louis Sixteenth."
She told herself that his impatience was with the process and scope of the job, the endless deliberations and consultations.
She was still sleeping in her old apartment, even though the bedroom of the new one was finished. There was the painting and the smell, which Robert loathed. She'd put most of her things in storage. There were boxes in the living room.
"I've lived here forever," she told Michael. "I never thought I'd be in one place so long."
She stared at the bare walls.
"It doesn't feel like home anymore," she said. "It's as though it knows I'm leaving."
"Think about the fabulous new home you're going to have. You've traded up." He checked his watch.
"I don't know."
"Are you saying you're not happy with what we're doing?"
The sharpness of his tone surprised her.
"I just want Robert to be happy."
"He doesn't like it?"
"Can I confess something?"
His lips shut so tightly they seemed to disappear.
"It's not about the apartment," she said.
"I'm already late."
"Remember on my birthday, I—"
"Darling, we're so close to being finished. You know that, right? Everyone I've ever worked with gets the jitters near the end. It's hard. I understand."
"Robert's driver, Joseph. He was fired."
Michael inched toward the door.
"No more second thoughts," he said. "It's going to be perfect."
He undid the latch.
"I called Robert that night and told him Joseph tried to kiss me."
Michael stopped. His eyes filled with derision. "What are you telling me?"
His hand was on the doorknob.
"I had to tell someone."
"You're under a great deal of stress. Stop worrying."
His voice was icy. He stepped out into the hall and she held the door open behind him.
"When the apartment's finished," he said, "you're going to move in and I promise it will feel like home, like you've never lived anywhere else."
He started down the stairs, his shoes clicking on the steps.
"And darling," he called, "don't forget to get over to see those curtains. They're perfect for the library."
The building door opened and slammed. She went to the living room and sat on a box. She shouldn't blame him for being disgusted.
She didn't want a library.
She arrived early for her shift at the hospital. Two volunteers had just finished. They were laughing about a movie they'd both seen.
A nurse passed. "Hi, Ruth. Hi, Gail," she called. "Good work."
They waved. They were more assertive, Kim thought. All the other volunteers were. That's why they were recognized. Only a few nurses knew Kim. Sometimes she liked the fact that she was relatively unknown. No interferences. No distractions. She'd show up and do her job. She washed her hands and put on her apron. She washed her photo ID card and clipped it to her breast pocket. Anyone who didn't know her could read her name off the card.
Kim rode the elevator up alone. Some nights were calm. Others were more stressful. On a bad night, the door would slide open to a cacophony of cries, and she'd know it was going to be a long one.
She'd been so naive those first few times. She'd thought most of the babies were orphans, abandoned by drug addicts, prostitutes, AIDS victims. Not so. She'd come to meet many of the parents. She'd been afraid at first.
"They're going to hate me," she'd said to Hetty. "It's like I'm taking their child from them."
"You're crazy, sister. They've been sitting with that child all day. They're exhausted. Sometimes they're too scared to leave. B
ut then you show up. They see you and they're grateful. You're like a little bit of sunshine."
She was right that they were grateful. They'd thank her and offer to bring things.
The elevator door opened. The sound was deafening. There were more nurses than usual. There'd been two emergencies.
"Who's the head nurse on duty?" Kim said.
"That's me," said a man, hustling up to the station with a chart.
"I'm Kim Reilly," she said, "the Friday night."
He showed the chart to a woman behind the counter.
"Call Dr. Jacobs," he said. Then he turned to Kim. "How 'bout Room Five, Bed One. Her name's Angela."
"I know Angela."
"Okay, Kim. Thanks."
She headed down the hall and into Room Five, closing the door gently behind her. The baby in Bed Two was asleep. Kim washed her hands and put on gloves. She pulled a chair up to the side of Angela's bed. She checked her IV bag. It was nearly full. The other baby's IV bag was almost full as well. She'd keep an eye on both and let the nurses know when they needed to be replaced. On busy nights, these simple things might make the nurses' lives easier.
She settled into the chair beside Angela and reached out and touched her tiny hand.
Angela was a drown victim. Kim didn't know how it had happened. She didn't want to know. Some time ago, she'd stopped asking a lot about the children. The stories were too painful, and if there was anything she really needed to know, the nurses would tell her. In Angela's case, she'd been under water long enough to cut off the oxygen supply to the brain. As a result, she'd become deformed. She was a year and a half old. Her arms were crooked and her legs were bent. Tiny pillows kept her propped so as not to put pressure on her joints. She could not be picked up. Kim could only touch her. If she cried, Kim would stroke the back of her hand.
She stayed an extra hour past her shift. When she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, she whispered, "Good night." Before leaving, she checked on the baby in Bed Two and read his name off the chart.
The halls were so bright compared to the rooms. The head nurse on duty had changed. Denise was working. Kim asked about the new baby in Bed Two.
Because She Is Beautiful Page 19
