by JJ Lamb
“I wouldn't say that.” She angrily plunked her elbow down on the arm of the sofa. Only then did she notice a headscarf draped across the curve of the sofa arm. She lifted one corner of the wispy, soft material and stared at the abstract design. It was familiar, but she couldn't quite recall where she'd seen that free-form combination of colors before.
“What were you going to say, Nurse Mazzio?” Nellis asked, watching her closely.
Faye interrupted the encounter by bringing in a tray of coffee and cookies. She gingerly set it down on a redwood burl table, looking first at Frank, then at Gina, who was still fingering the silk scarf.”
“Isn't that a gorgeous design ... Frankie gave it to me.”
Chapter 20
The apartment door clicked into place as it closed behind Gina Mazzio, but to Faye, it was a thunderbolt going off in her head. She wanted to scream for the nurse to come back, wanted to beg her to stay. Instead, she rested her forehead against the painted wood while her mind raced wildly.
I shouldn’t have gone to the beach ... should have come straight home.
She could hear him breathing. Soon, she would have to turn to face him, but for the moment her legs refused to budge.
And when she did turn, which Frankie would be waiting—the handsome, sexy man she'd fallen in love with, the one who filled the torturous emptiness that had plagued her since she was a child? Or would it be the other one, the mean, ugly man, who pushed her, beat her, belittled her?
She jumped as his arms wrapped vise-like around her waist from behind.
“What's the matter, baby?” he cooed, kissing her neck.
Tears filled her eyes as she turned within his arms. “Oh, Frankie. I'm so sorry I was late, but I was having such a good time. I ... we forgot the time.”
He unbuttoned her blouse, her bra; ran his hands up and down over her breasts. “What kind of good time?”
There was a subtle shift in his tone of voice, but Faye felt her heart wrench. “We went to the beach, over in Marin. There was hardly anyone there, Frankie. Mostly just the seagulls and us.”
“And maybe just a man or two, huh,” he insisted, reaching down to her buttocks, squeezing, relaxing, then squeezing until she winced.
“I ... I don't know. I didn't pay any atten—”
He jammed her up against the door, pinning her with his pelvis. “Don’t lie to me!”
“Frankie ... I wouldn't ... I couldn't! I love you.”
“Yeah, sure and any other guy you can get your hooks into. Feed that love crap to some other sucker. All you bimbos do is take, take, take. That's what you do.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Grandpa knew. He taught me all about women. Couldn't fool him.”
Faye was barely breathing, sandwiched between his body and the door. “I didn't do anything wrong, Frankie. Please! I really do love you, just you.”
He pushed off her, the iciness in his eyes suddenly gone. Falling onto the sofa, he draped an arm over his face.
She first wanted to run, to protect herself. But she couldn't, she couldn't leave him. Instead, she slowly crossed the room and sat next to him, tentatively stroking his upraised arm.
“Are you all right?”
The arm slid away, falling to his side; he smiled crookedly at her. “What a stupid question. I made fifty grand today, darlin'. Fifty grand!”
“I know, Frankie ... but you just seem so sad.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek.
“There's one-hundred-and-fifty grand socked away now, and you think I'm sad?” He brushed her away. “There must be something wrong with you.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Frankie, I'm scared. They almost found out today; I almost got caught.” She raised his hand to her lips and kissed each knuckle separately. “I don't think we should do this anymore.”
His fingers uncurled and clamped around her jaw. “Listen to me, you stupid bimbo.” He shook her head back and forth. “You do what I tell you, when I tell you. Understand?”
She forced a nod, tried to blank out the pain that knifed through her.
“Don't ever tell me what you think we should do,” he said, shaking her head again, digging his nails into her skin.
She screamed, hunching into the pain. “I won't, Frankie. I won't!”
“Good, baby, that's what Frankie likes to hear.” He eased the pressure on her jaw, but didn't let go. He reached into his hip pocket with his other hand and pulled out Gina's calling card. “And don't ever bring that bitch Mazzio around here again.”
“But ... but ... Gina's my friend.”
“Not anymore.”
* * *
Gina rested her elbows on the roof ledge and looked down at the street traffic. “I'm certain that was Tracy's scarf I saw at Faye's.”
“How can you be so sure?” Harry asked. “Tracy Bernstein can't be the only person in the world with a scarf like that.”
“Harry, I realize that; I'm not a dolt. But I know what I saw—the coincidence is too great.”
“A little sensitive tonight, maybe?” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.
She shrugged him off. “Look, I know other people could buy that same scarf, but certainly not naked-butt Nellis.”
“So you don't like the guy. That doesn't mean he doesn't have good taste.”
“That's not the point. Tracy told me how she happened to buy that scarf when she was in Italy. It's by a famous Italian designer, Michaelia, or something like that. His stuff has never been imported to the U.S. I remember, because we had a long discussion about my Italian ancestors. It's the same scarf! I want to know how he got it.”
Harry shook his head.
“Damn it, Lucke, I'm not in the mood for this. I've had one hell of a day, what with Kessler, Vasquez, and the Bernsteins. Then having to watch that jerk boyfriend of Faye's strut around like he's God's gift was just too damn much.” She turned to face him. “I'm in no mood for any more crap ... especially from a man who claims to love me.”
“Gina, I know you've had a horrible day, but I think talking about it is going to make you feel a lot better.” He ran his fingers gently through her hair, continuing until her eyes closed.
“Why do you always have to be right?”
“I can't help it if I'm perfect,” he whispered in her ear. “So tell me what happened with Vasquez.”
She opened her eyes and shrugged. “What's to tell? They caught me where I didn't belong.”
“Come on, doll, what did Vasquez say to you?”
“Don't call me doll! Any respectable feminist would barf at that,” she said, looking down on the street again. She liked being on the roof, always had. It was one of the few places where she could think.
“You always liked it before.”
“Just because I didn't tell you I disliked it doesn't mean I liked it.”
“Okay, Barbie, what did happen with Vasquez?”
She laughed in spite of herself and looked at the sky. Dusk was her favorite time of day—everything was silhouetted against the dying light. Off in the far distance, her wishing star was twinkling back at her.
“Mostly, I admitted I didn't belong in the Lab and that I'd only gone there to check on Tracy's marrow.”
“Shoot! Couldn't you have thought of something better than that?”
“Harry Lucke! Now you really are pissing me off. The thing is, I first tried to lie about picking up some blood. And guess what? They wanted to know whose blood it was—for which I didn't have an answer. And you know why?”
He just stared at her.
“Because it was one of those rare moments when not one poor soul up there needed a transfusion, that's why.” She shook her head. “There was nothing left but to tell them the truth—a sad commentary of its own, don't you think?”
“And they got that upset over your checking on a patient's marrow?”
“Not exactly. It was when I told them I was worried because of what happened to Chapman's marrow.”
“You d
idn't!”
“Yes I did. And they told me that if I stuck my nose into other hospital affairs one more time, I was out the door.”
Harry put an arm around her waist. “Hey, it'll work out.”
She leaned heavily against him, and for the second time that day wondered if maybe she shouldn't tuck her tail between her legs and go back to New York. She looked at Harry speculatively, wondering if she could just walk away.
“What say we drown our sorrows in a pepperoni pizza?” he suggested. “My treat.”
“Harry, I know you're trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate it, but this really is important to me—it's got me all tied up in knots. Would you mind if we didn't go out to eat? It's getting late and I'd rather hang out here for awhile.”
Harry clapped his hands together. “So, we'll have them deliver the pizza to us up here under the stars.”
“In that case, you may call me doll.”
* * *
It was about ten when they finally finished eating. They were sprawled across a blanket after having eaten around sporadic conversation that dealt with bits and pieces of everything and nothing.
“Faye's a strange bird,” Gina said.
“Hmmm. I was kind of surprised you were out with her. Didn't think you cared all that much for her.”
“You know, it's not that I don't like her. There's just something ... something—”
“What?”
“There's something wrong there.”
“In what way?”
Gina shook her head, shrugged her shoulders. “Can’t really put my finger on it.” She reached over to twirl a swatch of his dark curls in her fingers and laughed. “It's funny, but once you get to know her, she's sort of an anxious-to-please kind of person. Today was the first time I'd seen her laugh. And I really did have a great time with her at the beach.” She tousled his hair. “If you think I was a bear this evening, think how I would have been without all that sea air.”
“Were you cranky? I never noticed.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and stretched, then yawned. “It's that boyfriend of hers, I think. He gives me the creeps.”
“Who, the exhibitionist with the classy taste in scarves?”
Her response was a shiver that caused her to wrap her arms around herself. The fog had finally come in; puffs of it floated around them.
“What do you suppose that preliminary Pathology report said that caused Kessler to cancel Tracy Bernstein's engraftment today?”
“Gina, I think you'd better take Vasquez's advice to heart and forget about this whole business.”
She propped herself on one elbow. “That doesn't sound like the tough street kid I know.”
He shook his head. “The keyword there is kid. I gave up that life a long time ago, just the way you did. All I want now is a jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou.”
“Harry, I can't forget Chapman. Not yet. Not until I know what happened to him.”
“What happened is, he died.”
“You think that's what the Path report says, 'He died'?”
“Funny lady! Of course not. There'll be a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo, but not much more.”
“Then why didn't Tracy get her marrow today?”
“I don't know ... and I don't care. Nor should you at this point. Let Kessler worry about it.”
She sat up and tried to see his expression in the semi-darkness—all she saw were twin gray pools of shadow where his blue eyes should have been.
“Is that why you work in ICU, Harry? No patient attachments, no long-term involvement’s?”
He reached for her hand. “No, it's not. I work there because there's hope, the same hope that exists for your patients. But there's no hope for Carl Chapman. He's dead.” He squeezed her hand. “Let him go, Gina. Losing your job isn't going to bring him back.”
She bowed her head. “You're right about one thing: I can't afford to lose my job.” She stood up and stretched. “Still, I want to know what's in that Path report.” She started walking toward the stairwell.
“Where are you going?
“If I'm ever going to get an answer, it's going to have to be after regular hours.”
“For God's sake, Gina, you're not going to the hospital now, are you?”
“That's exactly where I'm going.”
“You really are crazy. You're not only going to get canned, you're going to end up in jail.”
“Oh, bull!”
“Gina, I don't want you to do this.”
“Harry, I don't recall asking your permission.”
“Then I'm going with you.”
“No! I don't think that's a good idea. Two of us traipsing around down there would be too conspicuous.”
“I still say it's a bad idea. Please don't go!”
Chapter 21
Frank Nellis eased his '82 Firebird into a parking place across the street from the apartment building and looked out to study the five-story structure. He sat there under the street lamp, running his hand back and forth across the new sheepskin seat covers—he liked the way the natural off-white contrasted with his dark pants. It was nice, but he couldn't help visualizing himself in a new set of wheels. A Caddie. Soon!
He glanced up to watch the digital clock blink over to 10:00 p.m.
The fog had dipped down into the Sunset area of the city and he shivered as he opened the car door and got out. He hesitated, and then crossed the street, watching for any foot traffic in the quiet residential neighborhood. All he could see was an old woman, half a block away, trudging along the sidewalk, pulling a wheeled cart stuffed with a large, overflowing shopping bag.
He stepped quickly through the outer glass door into the apartment house and scanned the row of occupant names until he found what he was looking for:
Mazzio, 3C
There you are, you little bitch!
His lips curled into a smile. He tried the locked handle of the building’s inner door just as the elderly woman pushed her cart into the lobby.
“What do you want, mister?”
“Came to see a friend, but he's not home.” He smiled pleasantly, edging past her to leave. As if having second thoughts, he paused and asked: “Need some help with your groceries?”
“Sure, sure! Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
He spread his hands and gave her a hurt look. “Just trying to help.”
“Knock off the horseshit, buster. If your friend's not home, get your ass out of here before I start screaming my head off.”
Nellis backed out of the door, giving her a mock bow as he turned away from her.
Fuck you!
He could feel the old woman watching him, her eyes boring into his back as crossed the street and climbed into the Firebird. Only when he was inside with the door closed did he risk a glance back in her direction. She was there, staring out the door; then she turned and disappeared within the building.
“Old whore!” His palms were sweaty on the leather-covered custom steering wheel; a surge of malice made him feel disjointed. “Cool it, man,” he muttered. “Don't do anything stupid. Not with all that cash waiting for you.”
Fingering the ignition key, he watched the lights in a third-floor apartment flick on. All he could see was a shadowy outline, but he was certain who it was.
“Nosy witch!”
Firing up the car, he drove slowly down the street, then cruised around the block and parked once more, this time farther away from the apartment building entrance.
He drummed a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel. “Gotta think, gotta think, gotta think!”
A vision of Gina staring at the Bernstein woman's scarf flashed through his head.
“That cunt knows who it belongs to.” He balled his hand into a knotted fist. “Can't let her spoil this.” He started to leave the car again, but a man and woman exited the apartment building, stopped for a moment on the stoop. The entrance lights flooded over them.
It’s that goddam Mazzio!
>
She and the guy were hassling each other about something. Nellis sat up straighter in the seat, his teeth clenched. The man suddenly walked away. The nurse stood there, watching him depart, then walked toward Nellis and got into a small foreign convertible parked two cars in front of his.
Her lights blinked on and she pulled out into the street. He waited until she was a half-block away, then followed her. Even though she stayed within the speed limit, he had to run a red light to keep from losing her.
“You're not getting away from me,” he said.
Ten minutes later, she cruised towards Faye's apartment. Was she going back to see Faye? But she continued on and finally slowed as she approached Ridgewood Hospital.
She circled the area, apparently looking for a parking place. He stayed on her bumper as she took turn after turn around the block. Suddenly, she darted into a just-vacated empty space; he quickly pulled in at the curb in front of a fire hydrant.
Stepping out of the Firebird, he paused as two screaming ambulances and a police car roared up onto the hospital emergency ramp. Four people were whisked away on stretchers as he watched. When he checked on Mazzio again, he found that she also had waited, standing off in the shadows of a walkway.
All the police milling around outside worried him. But one-by-one they entered the building. Mazzio stepped out and hurried past Emergency Receiving and on down the block toward the main entrance.
What the hell is she up to?
* * *
Gina recognized several of the people hustling the stretchers through the hospital doors—bloody sheets were thrown over the victims, apparently from some kind of major catastrophe. The staff moved in a flurry of activity—running, shouting orders. Her first instinct was to rush inside and offer her help. But the presence of the police made her realize she couldn't risk being seen. Not if she was going to carry out her plan. Instead, she forced herself to stand helplessly in the shadows of the tree-lined street, hands clutching her sides as she waited for things to quiet down.
Soon the ambulances pulled out of the hospital driveway, their emergency lights extinguished. As the policemen entered the building, she edged cautiously past the bright lights of the receiving entrance.
