Blue Like Elvis

by Diane Moody

  As I stepped into his darkened room, the window blinds closed tight, the first thing I saw were his feet. They were sticking straight up in the air. Unfortunately, his hospital gown wasn’t covering the . . . subject. His hands pawed the air as if he were climbing something. I quickly turned my back, unsure what to do. “Mr. Gerard?”

  “Milwaukee Tower, four-five-six-seven-Foxtrot is holding short runway seven, ready for takeoff.”

  Oh boy.

  “Mr. Gerard, can you hear me?” I asked, my back still turned.

  “Cleared for takeoff, runway seven-right.”

  “Good. That’s good. Okay, then. I’m just going to leave my card here and if you need anything, you just give me a call, okay?”

  “Copy that. Wind twenty-seven at ten.”

  All righty then. I slipped out the door and caught up with Samantha, one of the nurses. “Has anyone looked in on Mr. Gerard in 903 in a while? He’s coasting at about three-thousand feet by now. I think that’s a 747 he’s flying in there.”

  She laughed. “Morphine drip. Makes ‘em all loopy. But thanks, Shelby. I’ll take a look.”

  I was still trying to banish the visual from my mind as I stopped in to check on Mr. Underwood a little while later. “How are you today, Mr. Underwood?”

  “Shelby! I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to tell you—I got to see Margaret last night!”

  “Really?”

  He was seated in one of the chairs by the windows and motioned me over. “Yes! Dr. Montgomery finally relented and allowed me to see her. He had one of the orderlies roll me down there to ICU.”

  I couldn’t imagine his reaction at seeing his wife in that condition. “How was she?”

  “Oh, she’s fine. Just fine. Just like you said. Mind you, she wasn’t awake. They told me the pain medication she’s on keeps her asleep most of the time. But she’s going to be fine.”

  Wow. Speedy recovery? “What all did they tell you?” I took a seat in the other chair.

  “Oh, not much really. They were very nice, of course. But without Dr. Montgomery there, I suppose they wanted to leave it to him to tell me how she’s doing. But she looked good. Beautiful as ever, my Margaret.”

  How sweet was that? His poor wife, all banged up and bruised and frail, and he still thought she looked beautiful.

  “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad to hear it.”

  “Isn’t it? I hope to get back down to see her this afternoon sometime. My son should be arriving sometime tonight. I’ll feel better when he gets here.”

  “That’s great. And I’m so pleased you got to see your wife.”

  “But say, did you tell me you could help me make some phone calls?” he asked.

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  He had a bunch of papers in his lap—a lap thankfully covered by a blanket. “I need you to talk to my insurance people. I’ve tried twice and can’t make heads or tails of what they’re saying. I want to make sure they’ve been notified that my SU-BA-RU was totaled.”

  SU-BA-RU? I’d never heard it pronounced quite like that.

  “Sure, I’d be happy to help.”

  Or so I thought. An hour later I was still on the phone with his insurance company. It was ridiculous. Of course, it didn’t help that Mr. Underwood kept talking to me the entire time the agent was talking in my other ear. After getting the agent’s name, I finally hung up and assured my patient they were looking into it.

  “That’s what they all say,” he grumbled. “That’s the last time I ever buy a foreign car, I’ll tell you that much for sure!”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, confused.

  “Those SU-BA-RU people are no help. A bunch of foreigners, they are. Haven’t got a clue how we do things here in the good ol’ U.S.A.”

  “But those were insurance agents we were talking to. They don’t work for Subaru. It’s an American company, your insurance people.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

  By now my head begun to throb. I stood up. “Well, I’ll check in later and see how you’re doing, Mr. Underwood. You should probably get some rest.”

  I wasn’t finished with my rounds but I needed some Tylenol, so I headed to the office. On the elevator, I ran into Leila.

  “Hey, Shelby. Where are you headed?”

  “The office. How about you?”

  She leaned closer. “To Mindy’s office on Five. Wanna come?”

  I’d never been to the mysterious “office” on Five, so I decided to tag along. Each floor of the hospital had its own prayer room, a small room tucked around the corner from the elevators. Pamela had shown me the one on Nine and told me the prayer rooms were basically all alike. Dim lighting, sofas, chairs, a small desk with a Bible, hospital stationery and pens, and several boxes of tissues. At the opposite end of the room, a fake stained glass window, backlit to look like the real thing.

  Leila used her key to open the door. “Since Mindy keeps supplies in here for the baby pictures she sells, her prayer room has a lock.”

  I stepped in, surprised to find four other hostesses. “Hey y’all,” they said. Debra was reading, Tess was doing needlepoint, and Rebecca was curled up, sound asleep.

  “Well . . . hey,” I said, following Leila to an empty loveseat near the desk.

  “Welcome to my happy little home,” Mindy teased, seated at the desk. “Come see my babies.”

  There on the desk and on a rolling cart beside it were a couple dozen packets. Mindy opened one to show me one of the newborn photographs. “Look at this little sweetheart,” she said, holding the 8x10 portrait of a tiny sleeping infant, its light brown face all wrinkled beneath a pale yellow stocking cap.

  “So cute,” I said. “Boy or girl?”

  She checked the information on the packet’s label. “Girl. LaTeesha Lorraine Jameson. Born yesterday morning at 3:45 a.m. Isn’t she adorable?”

  She explained her work, making rounds to visit the new mothers on her floor, offering them our usual services as well as the option to buy the baby pictures taken by a hospital photographer on their child’s first day. Many of the photos weren’t that great, the babies’ faces all scrunched up in a good cry or temporarily misshapen from the recent tour down the birth canal.

  “The moms don’t care. They all love the pictures regardless. And I always make a fuss over them, no matter how pitiful the little munchkins look.”

  “This must be the happiest floor in the hospital,” I said.

  “It is. Have they told you about the Christmas stockings?”

  I shook my head.

  “During the entire month of December, every newborn goes home in a Christmas stocking. The women’s auxiliary makes them out of soft flannel. They’re adorable. The parents always want pictures of their little Christmas babies in those.”

  “What a great idea,” I said. “Can’t wait to see them.”

  The girls rambled on a bit, telling me some of the other fun parts of the job. I learned that the hostesses dress in costume on Halloween, making the rounds on the pediatrics floor. Then, come Christmas, I learned that we help deck the halls, including painting a giant Christmas mural on the window of the Madison Avenue lobby.

  “You like to paint?”

  “I do. I’d love to help.”

  “Then you’ll be most popular. I can promise you that,” Mindy said.

  I sat back and noticed Leila was already engrossed in a Sidney Shelton paperback.

  “So explain this to me. You all just hang out here when you’ve got nothing to do?”

  Tess pulled a thread of yarn from a skein. “Yes and no. Sometimes we come in here when we’ve still got stuff to do, but need a break. Mrs. B doesn’t like us hanging around the office til later in the day. So we come here. It’s nice and quiet. Out of the way.”

  “Do you ever get caught?”

  Debra looked up from her book, some kind of Bible study. “Ohhhh yeah. Major, major embarrassment. Sometimes a doctor will bring fami
ly members in here to discuss their loved one’s case. Or sometimes visitors or family members stop by for prayer.”

  “Thus the name, ‘prayer room,’” I teased. “What do you do?”

  Mindy snorted. “They scamper outta here like a bunch of rats. I’m the only one who’s got a reason to be here, so it’s not a problem for me.”

  Everyone went back to what they were doing. I bummed a couple of aspirin off Rebecca then leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. Except for Mindy’s quiet humming of Carly Simon’s “Nobody Does It Better,” the room was quiet. I was glad we could still hear the paging system. Must be a speaker just outside the door.

  For no particular reason, I thought about Tucker and wondered how the ring shopping had gone last night. I still couldn’t understand why the thought of it bugged me. Yes, I had to admit, it was nice to get reacquainted with him again after all these years. Especially since he’d grown up and was no longer intent on pestering me to death. But I had no interest in getting involved with anyone, least of all Chubby Tucker, so why did it bother me? Why should I care?

  Good question.

  I woke up half an hour later as the girls were gathering their things.

  “C’mon, sleepyhead. It’s time for lunch,” Debra said, stashing her book in the closet Mindy kept locked. Tess stowed her needlepoint in there as well. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this little subterfuge. It felt a little strange. Dishonest, somehow.

  Then again, it was nice to know there was some place to go after dealing with naked patients and insurance agents.

  Chapter 11

  We gave Pamela a sweet send off for her going-away party. We held it in one of the conference rooms in the administrative suite. We’d ordered a cake with “Aloha Pamela” scripted around little palm trees and a much-too-blue beach. We all brought gifts and she seemed genuinely pleased. Her handsome doctor stopped by toward the end, wrapping his arm around his beauty queen. I could only imagine the babies those two would produce. I somehow doubted there would be pointy heads or scrunched up faces on those newborn pictures. Not a chance.

  We all said our goodbyes, promising to stay in touch. Only Chelsea would be making the trip to Hawaii for the wedding. As a bridesmaid, she’d be flying over with Pamela on Saturday and staying a full week. Naturally, Mrs. Baker would be making the trip along with her husband, Reverend Baker. I figured that had more to do with the famous golf course at Kapalua than the wedding, but I kept that thought to myself.

  After work, Sandra and I stopped by Brentwood’s to swap the loaner for my Seville. Gotta love having a dad in the business. The statement was marked Paid in Full. I made a mental note to remember to thank him.

  When we got home, Sandra cooked one of her favorite Puerto Rican dishes. The house smelled amazing, making my stomach growl as I gathered a load of laundry. I had just started the washing machine when the phone rang.

  “Hey, baby sister!”

  “Jimmy! Where are you?”

  “I’m in Guam!” he yelled over all the static. “But I’m flying out in a couple of hours. I’m coming home, Sis!”

  “Oh Jimmy, that’s great! When will you be here?”

  “What’s that?” he yelled.

  “WHEN WILL YOU BE HERE?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. I’m catching a hop to Millington and wondered if you could come pick me up.”

  “Where’s Millington?”

  “WHAT?” he yelled again. I could hear engines roaring in the background.

  “I SAID, WHERE’S MILLINGTON?”

  “It’s the Naval Air Station just north of Memphis. Easy to find.”

  “How’d you get a Navy hop? You’re Army!”

  “WHAT?”

  “Never mind. I can’t wait!” I squealed. “How long can you stay?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll see. Mom and Dad are anxious for me to get down to Birmingham, but I figured with you so close to Millington, that would be my best bet. Hey, I’ve gotta run. My time’s almost up on the call. I’ll be in touch, okay?”

  “Sounds good, Jimmy. Hurry home!”

  Over dinner, I could hardly contain myself as I told Sandra all about my older brother. It felt strange, talking about him as a war veteran, especially for someone who’s only 28. He hadn’t talked much about his experience over in Vietnam, but I knew he’d lost a lot of friends during the war. I wondered how he would settle back into civilian life. Would he go to school? Would he live back in Birmingham? I wished he would move here.

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” Sandra said, taking a sip of tea. “He’s very handsome. At least as far as I can tell from those pictures you have in your room. How tall is he?”

  I looked at her, trying to imagine the two of them together. No way. “Um, he’s 6’2”. Way too tall for you, girlfriend.”

  She scoffed indignantly. “I beg your pardon? I like my men tall. Besides, it’s the least I can do for my country, welcoming home the troops.” She laughed at herself.

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” I said.

  “That’s more like it.”

  “No, I mean welcoming him home. We should do something really nice for him.”

  “Oh! That would be great! We could plan a huge welcome home party and have all girls come with us to the base when he flies in! Get a bunch of red, white, and blue balloons and—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Take a breath, Sandra! Jimmy wouldn’t like the fuss. Trust me. He wouldn’t. I was just thinking we could have a party for him or something. Invite a few friends. Oh . . . I guess I should invite Tucker, shouldn’t I?”

  She looked at me for a moment then mumbled something in Spanish under her breath. I’d grown used to these running commentaries, though I was never quite sure what they meant.

  “Why not pull out all the stops and greet him at the base?” she groaned playfully. “Don’t be such a kill joy.”

  “Sorry. It’s just not something he’d like. But I know he’d enjoy meeting some of my friends. Tucker would probably know some guys to invite. Some of his old friends.”

  She tilted her head staring at me. “Tucker, huh?”

  “Well, yeah. They were really good friends when we lived here way back when. I know Jimmy remembers a lot of the guys from here. He was a teenager by the time we moved away, and I know he’s kept in touch with some of them.”

  “Fine. Plan your little party,” she smirked, picking up our empty plates and taking them to the sink.

  “Enough with the pouting. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  She rinsed our dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. “Speaking of Tucker, what’s with his girlfriend?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not his type. What’s he see in her?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled, clearing the rest of the table.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you knew him?”

  “Well, I know him, but not really. We’ve talked a few times, that’s all. He’s Jimmy’s friend, not mine.”

  “Oh, I guess I thought you all were close too.”

  “Me? And Tucker? No. Not at all. To me he’ll always be the kid who stole my Halloween M&Ms and stuck them up his nose.”

  Sandra threw her head back and laughed hard. She had the cutest laugh. “No, no, no—don’t tell me stuff like that! Now I’ll never look at Dr. Thompson again without imagining those colorful candies in his nose!”

  You and me both.

  The next day at work, I was making my rounds but my mind was preoccupied with Jimmy’s return. I knew I needed to let Tucker know and get him to help round up some of Jimmy’s old friends. But I was hesitant. That whole ring thing still bugged me. And it still bugged me that it bugged me.

  I tapped on the door of my next patient in 907. “Mr. Wilcox?”

  “Come in!” a woman called out.

  “Good morning, I’m Shelby Colter, your hostess.”

  A short, rotund woman stood by the bed, her face expectan
t. “Well, how nice! Wilbur? Do you see the nice young hostess? She’s come to visit.”

  Mr. Wilcox sat up in bed, his face equally expectant. “Come in, come in! I’m Wilbur, and this is my wife, DeeDee.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I gave them my usual spiel, detailing our services and handing them my card and brochure. DeeDee took the card, cradling it in her hands as if the White House had sent it. Wilbur browsed the small brochure.

  That would be the last moment of silence I would know for more than an hour and a half. I’d seen it before, patients like this and their family members. First timers. Usually they came from small rural communities outside of Memphis. They’d never experienced this kind of environment before, having doctors and nurses “wait” on them, staff taking care of them, bringing them their meals—all by a mere touch of the call button attached to their bed. Whatever malady may have brought them here, they actually enjoyed all the fuss and attention. Strange but true.

  Turns out, Wilbur Wilcox was a railroad man. An engineer. And oh, how he loved trains. By the end of our long visit, I was fairly sure he loved talking about trains even more. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the whole industry. DeeDee listened attentively, though I had no doubt she’d heard it all at least a thousand times before.

  “So you see, by the end of the Industrial Revolution, the train was much more than just a mode of transportation. We were a pivotal part of the growth of this country, with thousands of miles of track. Then, after the beginning of the next century—”

  “Miss Colter, Miss Shelby Colter.”

  Thank you, thank you! I’m being paged!

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilcox, they’re paging me. I’ve got to go. But it was such a pleasure meeting you.” I bit my tongue, resisting the usual reminder that he could reach me by calling the number on the card. Somehow I was all too afraid he’d figure it out.

  I said another silent prayer and headed to the nursing station to use the phone. By now I’d grown used to hearing my name paged several times a day. Beepers were common among doctors, but the rest of us didn’t have that luxury. I called the switchboard and was given a number to call. I didn’t recognize it, but that wasn’t unusual.