by JJ Lamb
Bent over, hands on thighs, they were speechless as they fought to gain control of their rasping breath and aching muscles.
“Talk about a great entrance,” Paul finally said.
“Always happy to help out my puny older brother. Man, you must be getting old.”
“Take you on any time.” Paul Lucke’s laugh was loud; a sound that filled the air with uninhibited joy. He grabbed Harry in a bear hug, pounded on his back.
“How’s the old married man doing?” he said. “Must have left a dozen messages at your place. Ready to hunt you down.”
“Don’t ask. Haven’t wanted to talk to anyone. Especially you.”
“Fuck you, too, you little twerp.”
“I knew you’d ask a lot of in-your-face questions I wasn’t ready to answer.” Harry reached into a pile of blankets and began covering the fridge.
“Do you ever plan on telling me what’s going on?”
“We’ll see.”
“Whatever,” Paul said. “And besides, you do look kind of beat, little man. And I don’t mean from using those Twinkies you call muscles.”
Harry raised both arms and leaned into the walls of the truck to stretch. He was done in.
“The Oakland docks don’t give you enough work that you have to lug this stuff around?” Harry said. “Hell, if you’re short on cash, just tell me. I’m always good for a fiver.”
“Generous bastard.” Paul pulled a blue bandana from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “It’s for mom and dad. They bought it from someone on Craig’s List.”
“So what’s it doing here?”
“Gave my address. Guy dumped it off.”
“You shoulda kept calling. I would have called back sooner or later,” Harry said.
“Yeah, sure. And maybe you’d be in Reno, or New York. Hell, you’re harder to catch than an ass-nipping baboon. Are you ever in town? Some job.” He grabbed Harry’s arm. “Come on, let’s get a beer. Got a couple of cold ones inside.”
Harry followed his brother into the two-bedroom condo. It was a mess, as usual. When they walked into kitchen, the smell of dirty dishes and garbage made Harry want to turn tail.
“Neat as always, Paulo.”
“Shit, since Annie left, I just don’t give a rat’s ass.” He reached into the fridge for the beers.
The open door gave Harry a view of spattered cartons of take-out – Chinese, Italian, deli, and some without identity. The odor wasn’t too great either.
Harry twisted off the bottle cap, tossed it into an overflowing trash bag, and took a long swallow. His gut immediately balled into a knot. Alcohol on an empty stomach never sat well.
“What a pair,” Paul said. “So you’re obviously on the outs with Gina, huh? Tough one. Seems neither of us can hang onto a woman.”
That wasn’t something Harry was ready to own up to. He stared at his brother and finished off his beer with one long pull at the bottle.
“What did you do to screw things up this time, Harry?” He set his beer on the counter, slapping away some old onion peels to make room. “Shit! I like Gina and her goofy Bronx talk.”
Harry started straightening up the area, ran some soapy water in the sink, and began washing the piled up dishes. Paul didn’t offer to help, but after several pieces had drained on the rack, he reluctantly began to dry.
“I disappointed her, Paulo,” Harry mumbled.
“Oh? Like you fucked-up-and-forgot-to-pick-her-up kind of disappoints?
“No. More like the not-trusting-her-judgment kind. Problem is, she’s into one of her suspicious phases … thinks there’s a boogeyman going around doing bad things to nurses at Ridgewood.”
Paul put an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Little brother, you’re fucked.”
* * *
“Thanks for dropping by and making me put this miserable place in order,” Paul said. “Of course, it’s only going to be a mess again in a couple of days, if that long.”
“The hell it is,” Harry said. “If I’m bedding down here for a while, I need neat.” He pushed Paul’s feet off the end of the coffee table.
“What do you mean bedding down here? No one invited you.”
“I don’t need an invitation. You’re my brother, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you better think seriously about making up with that Italian beauty.”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“And you’re planning to move in here when?”
“Soon as I can get my clothes out of the trunk of my car.”
“Wonderful. Just wonderful.”
They lapsed into silence. The weak afternoon sun had disappeared and it looked like the promised rain might happen soon. Harry watched the second hand revolve on the clock Paul had bought at a garage sale for two bucks. It inched around the dial. His brother’s head was nodding; he was starting to drift off, too.
“Did I ever tell you how I met Gina?”
Paul rubbed at his neck and straightened. “You mean when she encroached on your I’m-in-charge-here-territory in the ICU?” He laughed. “Yeah, you told me a million times.”
“She was so cute, talking like a typical New Yorker — her hands going a mile a minute.”
“And ready to knock your block off, right?” Paul said.
“Right. She’s never been one to back away from a fight. Remember that union rally where the nurses took on Der Swartzenegger.”
“That California Nurses Association is nothing but a bunch of rabble-rousing troublemakers. Damn unions.”
“Knock off the phony right wing crap, bro,” Harry said. “Where would you and your dockworker buddies be without the all-powerful International Longshore and warehouse Union?”
“Yeah, but we really deserve the bucks we get.”
“Oh, yeah? And nurses don’t? Besides, if I remember correctly, the ILWU wanted the nurses to affiliate with them at one time.”
Paul pulled at his curly hair, dark like Harry’s, and gave his brother a big, lopsided grin.
“So, tell me again, little brother, what the hell was that Sacramento rally all about again?”
“Thought you remembered,” Harry said.
Paul gave him an evil eye. “Talk to me about sex, I’ll give you the most minute details. Talk about political rallies and I can snore with the best of them.”
“The Terminator was calling them a special interest group.”
“Yeah, I remember. Them and the cops and the firemen. Big mistake. They all hounded that fine movie-making man until his public image sank like the setting sun. Poor guy had to back pedal big time to re-gain all the ground he lost on that one.”
“My little hell-raiser was smack in the center of that fight.”
“So were you, buddy. Huggin’ and kissin’ all the pretty nurses.”
“Just the one after I met Gina. And don’t forget, your smarter, little brother is one of those ‘pretty nurses’.”
“Would I ever?” Paul tossed a section of the newspaper at him. “So what are you going to do about the Bronx bombshell?”
Harry took the newspaper, folded it neatly, and stacked it on some magazines on the coffee table.
“I wish I knew.”
* * *
The brothers delivered the refrigerator to their parents’ home later that evening, catching the first edge of a new storm system.
Paul said, “Told you we shouldn’t have taken the time to clean up my place. Now we’re going to get soaked.”
“A little rain will do you some good. Wash away some of that cynicism. Make you a better man.”
Paul howled, “I’m already the better man.”
The elder Luckes came out of their run-down, faded blue and white Queen Anne to give their sons a menu of unnecessary directions on the best way to get what was now called the “white terror” up the steps and into the house.
Ike Lucke, dressed in faded jeans and a stomach-rounded t-shirt, came down the steps and was ready to push with his one good shoulder
. His t-shirt immediately clung to his upper body, wet with rain. After only a couple of steps he was starting to grumble.
“Pops, will you please go back inside before you get blown away?” Harry said, as they put the makeshift ramp in place so they could unload the refrigerator. The elder Lucke scowled and ignored him. Their mother was getting ready to trudge back inside, but not before she had a thing or two to say to her sons:
“We expected you earlier.” Her face was set in a prune-like frown. “And Ike Lucke, you better get yourself inside before you catch your death of cold.”
“Can’t let nursie-boy injure those delicate fingers,” Ike said, patting Harry’s head.
Harry and Paul said as one voice, “Cut it out, Pop.”
The elder Lucke ignored both of them, yelled to his wife, “I’m just fine, Dorothy. These boys need some help.”
Their mother, dressed in a pair of drab green, holey pants, stained with the same yellow that was freshly painted on the kitchen walls, led the procession inside and pointed to where she wanted her sons to put the new/used fridge.
“So you can help Paul and Harry with that heavy refrigerator, but the shoulder was too painful to help paint the kitchen?” She said it with a smile at the corners of her mouth.
The men were drenched but none of them complained as they sat at the kitchen table. Each had a cup of steaming English tea in front of them, and there was a pile of chocolate chip cookies on a bone china plate decorated with tiny, painted pink roses – it sat in the center of the oak table.
“Sit down and have a cup of tea with us, Ma,” Paul said.
She poured tea into her cup and took a seat, smiled widely at Harry. “So I’ve got this awful pain in my neck for the last two months. What do you think it is?”
Harry reached over and touched her neck. “Is it here?”
“Nope. It’s sitting in that chair right next to you. The man’s become impossible since he went on disability.”
“Can I help it if I got bashed with a container?” Ike glared at Dorothy. “Your picking on me isn’t funny. Don’t you think I wanna go back to work?”
“Leave him alone, Ma,” Paul said.
They all quietly sipped their tea for a few moments.
“So, how’s our little nursie doing?” Ike said, letting one wrist drop.
“You’re pathetic, Pop,” Harry said. “I’m a fully licensed registered nurse. And a damn good one. You should be proud of me instead of giving me all this girlie-girlie shit. Do I have to carry things on my back before you think I’m a man?”
Ike just smiled.
“Where’s the little Catholic girl?” Mrs. Lucke said. “The one you were supposed to marry?”
“Yeah, I wanna hear what he has to say about that, too,” Paul said.
Harry refused to answer. He scratched a fingernail on the wooden table, mainly to irritate his mother.
She reached out and pinned his finger.
The chair screeched as Harry stood. “She’s not Catholic anymore – and who gives a damn if she is or isn’t?” He leaned over the table and glared at his mother and father. “And you wonder why I don’t come around more often?” He turned and headed for the door, Paul right behind him.
Their mother yelled at their backs:
“The way you boys get rid of your women, we’re never going to have any grandchildren!”
Chapter 22
Lexie Alexandros was sitting in the Advice Center when Gina arrived for work Monday morning. Tina looked smug and Chelsea was buried in paperwork at Shelly’s desk.
Still no sign of the missing nurse. Now even her personal belongings were gone, taken away from the room.
Like she never existed.
“Right on time,” the manager said.
“Aren’t I always?”
Alexandros stood and motioned for Gina to follow her. When they were out of earshot, she said, “Alan Vasquez wants to see you at ten in Administration.”
“What could he possibly want?”
“You tell me,” Alexandros said.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“So you have no idea why he’d want to see you?”
“Not a clue,” Gina said
The manager was jumpy, tugged at the usual loose strand of hair as she talked. “You haven’t been going around scaring people with more talk about those calls, have you?”
“Lexie, we both know you have no faith in me or believe anything I say about this whole business. But at least treat me like a professional. I do know how to talk or not talk to people.”
The manager’s face flushed. “Haven’t I always been fair with you, Gina?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “But scaring staff–”
“And just whom have I frightened?”
“Tina, for one.”
”You’ve got to be kidding. Tina complained about me scaring her?”
“She didn’t use that particular word, but she asked for a transfer. You seem to be the reason.”
Gina’s hands waved around in the air as she talked. “I can’t believe it. She wants out because of me? Did it occur to you that maybe Shelly’s disappearance is what has her all upset?”
“The thought crossed my mind. But that’s not what she said.”
“That woman thrives on bushwhacking people. Didn’t even have the stones to talk to me before running like some little kid to mommy.” Gina hugged herself in frustration. “Would you tell that poor frightened thing that even the police don’t believe me? Maybe that’ll be enough to calm her fractured nerves.”
Alexandros’ piercing eyes made Gina uncomfortable as though she had broken some golden rule of behavior that she wasn’t privy to.
“Anyway, the administrator will see you around ten. Do you want me to go with you?”
“Thanks, mom, but I’m a big girl. I can handle this all by myself. It’s not like I haven’t confronted the great Alan Vasquez before.” Her stomach was doing flip-flops, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone else know that.
Hell, they need me more than I need them. If I have to get another job, no problem.
The manager placed a hand softly on her shoulder. “If you want to talk, I’m here for you.”
“Thanks, Ms. Alexandros, but I need to stand on my own two feet. And it’s important for you to know that I’m not taking any crap from him, or anyone else in Ridgewood.”
The manager flipped the tortured strand of hair out of her eyes and moved in the direction of her office. “Call me. I’ll be here.”
When Gina returned to her desk, she said nothing to Tina, who averted her eyes.
Maybe I’ll be the one to go first, you sneaky little bitch. Try anticipating that!
* * *
When one of the inside lines rang at two minutes after ten, Gina was certain it was the call. She’d searched her mind since Lexie had told her about the pending meeting, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a single reason why the administrator would want to see her.
“Ms. Mazzio, this is Brianna in Administration. Mr. Vasquez is ready to see you.”
Gina left the clinic building and used her favorite short cuts to crisscross through several of the Ridgewood departments. Her inner antennae tuned in to the pace of the hospital unit nurses as they rushed around performing their duties. The vibrations were exciting, much different from the Clinic.
She couldn’t help thinking about Oncology and how she missed working with her friend Helen. She also missed the nurse-patient relationships she’d enjoyed on that unit, and a sense that every procedure, every single moment was vital.
While the elevator made its slow rise to the Administration floor, Gina tried to compose her thoughts:
Why don’t I just leave? I wouldn’t need to deal with that bastard Vasquez. Just stop the elevator. Press the down button and walk out the door. Never look back.
“Not on your life,” she muttered. Unfinished business was part of her past, not her future.
Brianna’s desk was
the first thing she saw when she stepped out onto the eighth floor. On one polished corner was a large bouquet of pink roses in an elegant cut-crystal vase. The flowers looked so fresh and beautiful it made Gina believe that summer really would return to the Bay Area. Brianna nodded as she read Gina’s security tag.
“Let me take you into Mr. Vasquez’s office,” she said, moving toward an intricately carved oak door. She knocked, and without waiting for a response, ushered Gina inside.
When the door closed, Alan Vasquez stood and offered Gina a seat. He did not sit until she was in her chair.
“How are you today, Ms. Mazzio?”
She kept her gaze steady, taking in both him and the exacting cut of his very expensive suit. “I’m holding my own, thank you.”
Vasquez steepled his fingers under his chin as he leaned back into his chair.
Gina was totally stymied. The man across from her bore no resemblance to the miserable person who had hounded her in the past. This man was ill at ease, almost humble.
“I have a problem, Ms. Mazzio. I’m hoping you can be of assistance.”
What?
She’d been prepared for anything but that. She straightened in her chair. “If I can.”
Vasquez turned away for a moment and stood to view the incredible cityscape from the expanse of his windows. Even though Gina was distracted, she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful San Francisco was across the bay, even in the pouring rain.
As he turned to face her, his body language broadcast its own story: head slightly bent forward, shoulders drooping, fingers slowly flexing, eyes avoiding her. He remained silent until he slipped back into his chair.
“I’m a bachelor, Ms. Mazzio.” He finally looked at her, seemed to be searching for the right words. “I’m not necessarily sorry about that … I’m married to my job and that’s good enough for me.”
“Does your being a bachelor have something to do with my job, or me personally?”
“No, no. Not at all. But this meeting, the situation at hand, is very difficult for me.” He looked quickly at the ceiling, then directly at her. “Our relationship … yours and mine … has been rather contentious in the past.”
“To say the least.”
