Blue Like Elvis

by Diane Moody

  And then there were the roach races. I still can’t believe we did those. Late at night, after the restaurant had closed and we began our closing duties, Donnie came up with the idea of racing roaches in the deep fryer. I know, I know . . . we should have been arrested for such cruelty to those disgusting bugs, but at the time we were just young and stupid. Then again, it was a way to get rid of them. And we only raced them when it was time to change out the grease. Still, I have to admit, I’ve always been a little leery of eating at fast food restaurants ever since.

  Donnie loved making people laugh, and he was so good at it. A natural. He should have been a stand-up comic. It suddenly dawned on me, I hadn’t asked what kind of work he was doing these days. What kind of meeting had he been attending in town? Some friend I am. I’d have to remember to ask.

  Oh Lord, he’s such a teddy bear. Keep him safe. Help him heal. And show me how to help him find his way back to You.

  I then turned my thoughts and prayers to my pastor.

  I was just finishing my rounds when I looked up and saw Tucker approaching me.

  “Hey,” he said, nodding his head toward the back hall. I followed him around the corner.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked.

  “Just came from Dr. Love’s room. They’ve moved him to Seven. Still running tests but he seems to be doing better. Sounds like he just had a series of mini-strokes. He doesn’t seem to be incapacitated and isn’t showing signs of paralysis. Which is good.”

  “Thank goodness.” I could literally feel the relief wash over me.

  “He’s joking around with the nurses, and that’s a good sign.”

  I blew out a puff of air, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. “How’s Elsie doing?”

  “Good. Much better now that he’s responsive. Of course, they had to post a No Visitors sign on his door or he’d have a steady stream of well wishers from the church.”

  “Though, hospital employee that you are, that doesn’t apply to you, does it?” I teased.

  He pinched my elbow. “Or you, for that matter.” He leaned back against the wall, hiking a knee with his foot braced against the wall. “You look nice today, Moonpie.”

  I glared at him, unable to be completely mad. And then I remembered. Moonpies and roses. “Oh, Tucker—I forgot to thank you for the roses!”

  He smiled. “Well, I didn’t want to bring it up. Tacky to fish for a response, y’know?”

  “They’re so beautiful. But I was . . . well, I would never have expected something like that.” I could feel my face heating and wondered if there was a medical cure for excessive blushing.

  “Which is what makes it all the more special.” He took hold of my hand. “I’m glad you liked them. So what’s your answer?”

  “My answer?”

  “Didn’t you read the card?”

  “Oh. The Peabody. Saturday night.” I looked into his eyes, surprised how tender his expression was. “I don’t know, Tucker. That’s awfully fancy, don’t you think?”

  “Oh,” he said, obviously not expecting that response. “Well, we can go back to Luigi’s, if you like. I hear they’ve just cleaned the director’s chairs again.”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary.”

  He squeezed my hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. We can go early and watch the duck parade and have a nice quiet dinner. Say you’ll go.”

  I looked at our hands, his thumb rubbing my palm, and wondered when all this would stop feeling strange. I glanced back up at him. “Sure, Tuck. I’d love to.”

  “Good. It’s a date.”

  “So how did your surgery go this morning?”

  “It was a gas!” His eyebrows did a two-step as he gave my hand a final squeeze and turned to go.

  “You need some new material, Thompson.”

  “Duly noted, Colter. Gotta run.”

  Chapter 20

  By lunch time, I felt like I’d put in a full day. Donnie was in surgery. And I didn’t want to intrude on Dr. Love just yet. I thought I might stop by later after I got off work. So I joined some of the girls in the cafeteria, glad for a break. I’d just taken my seat when Sarah Beth walked by carrying her tray.

  “Hello, girls.” She didn’t stop to join us.

  Close on her heels was a distinguished looking gentleman in a dark suit. “Ladies,” he said, giving us a nod of the head as he passed our table. He and Sarah Beth took a table for two near the windows.

  “Can I assume that is Raymond?” I asked, stirring sweetener into my iced tea.

  “Raymond McCracken, crackerjack undertaker,” Mindy quipped. “Try saying that three times in a row really fast.”

  I snickered, recalling some of the office chatter about Sarah Beth’s husband of two years. He was actually very handsome, looking every bit the part of his family’s prominent Memphis funeral company. The McCrackens had several locations throughout the greater Memphis area, though Raymond worked at the original home over on Poplar Avenue. As I watched him across the room with Sarah Beth I thought they were surely a match made in heaven. Sarah Beth was Type A all the way, and from what I’d heard, she’d met her match in Raymond. I could envision the two of them “taking over the world of undertaking” with great moxie.

  “Get this,” Sandra said, speaking quietly. “Today Sarah Beth was on another rant about her stellar housekeeping. She told me she routinely irons everything in the house. Their sheets. Their dishcloths—”

  “Get out of here,” Debra scoffed.

  “Their hankies—both his and hers, of course.”

  “Oh, please,” Leila groaned.

  “And―” Sandra paused with flair, “she even irons dear Raymond’s boxers.”

  We all hooted, then hushed ourselves, not wanting the McCrackens to overhear us.

  “Sandra, you’re making that up,” I said, still laughing.

  She crossed her heart and held up her hand. “As God is my witness, I’m telling you exactly what she told me.”

  “Who irons underwear?” Leila asked. “I mean, what’s the point?”

  “I asked her the same question,” Sandra said, “and she said you just feel different knowing you’re pressed from head to toe. ‘Besides, what our mothers always said was true. You never know when you might be in a car accident and you certainly wouldn’t want the paramedics to find you in wrinkled uns.”

  “Which is always my top priority when the paramedic is scraping me and my starched uns off the pavement,” Rebecca added.

  “Well, I don’t know about you guys,” I said, “but when I die, I’ll rest so much easier knowing my undertaker has starched and ironed undies on.”

  We roared again. I tried really hard to get rid of the image of the tall undertaker wearing starched boxers under his expensive suit. Never in a million years would it ever cross my mind to iron my panties. Who comes up with this stuff? Then again, Sarah Beth and I were definitely not cut from the same fabric. I’m not even sure we were from the same planet.

  “So Shelby, spill the beans,” Debra said. “Let’s hear all about the mysterious Dr. Thompson. How long has this been going on and why all the secrecy?”

  I stabbed a fork in my salad and quickly took a bite. I wish I’d remembered to eat in my car or take a walk to the park. I didn’t like dishing out private information like this. Especially since I had no clue what this whole thing with Tucker was all about. I swallowed hard and took a sip of tea.

  “We went out to dinner, the chair I was sitting in broke, Tucker got kind of upset with the waiter, we left and that was that. Apparently he felt bad about how it turned out, so he sent me flowers. No big deal. End of story.”

  “Roses. Not just flowers. He sent you roses,” Sandra added.

  “No big deal?” Mindy garbled over a mouthful of French fries. “Look, I don’t know how they do things in Alabama, but around here, when a guy sends flowers—”

  “Roses.”

  “Thank you, Sandra. When a guy sends roses after the first date? It i
s a big deal. Especially since Tucker Thompson hasn’t been back on the market all that long.”

  “I rest my case,” Sandra said.

  “Okay, fine. Whatever. I just wish you all would understand. We’ve known each other a long time. It’s all very strange. So if I asked you to back off with all the questions, what are the chances?” I looked each of them in the eye, one after another. They looked at each other in silent consultation.

  “Nahhhh,” Mindy droned.

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Nice try, though.”

  Sandra leaned over and gave me a side hug. “See? We’re all just like your sisters. Una gran familia feliz. One big happy family!”

  “Nosy, but happy,” Debra added.

  I nodded in resignation. “Thanks. Really.”

  “Miss Colter. Miss Shelby Colter.”

  At that moment, I wanted to find that woman behind the paging microphone and kiss her right on the lips. “Bye guys, I’m outta here.”

  The call was from Samantha, one of the nurses on my floor. She said Mr. Underwood needed to see me right away. Bless his little heart. He rescued me from the inquiries of my fellow hostesses.

  As I arrived on my floor, I noticed Mr. Underwood coming toward me.

  “There you are!” he said, dressed in street clothes. “We’re about to leave, and I was hoping to see you before they take me downstairs.”

  “You’re leaving today?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid they won’t let me stay here any longer since I seem to have fully recovered.”

  “But what about Mrs. Underwood?” I knew she was still in serious condition. She’d been released from ICU but every time I’d visited her on Eight, she’d been asleep. The pain medications still kept her heavily sedated.

  “Margaret is being moved to a convalescent center. I believe it’s located not far from here. They’ve made arrangements for me to stay with her since I refused to go anywhere else. Our son Billy is coming to help us get settled. He’s awfully busy with his job, but he was able to take off a couple days to come.”

  I’d met Billy several times. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though I kept wishing he would take charge and be more assertive about his parents’ dire situation. If they’d been my parents, I would have insisted they be transferred to where I live so I could be more help. Then again, I’m not walking in Billy’s shoes, so I’ve tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I know he works hard to pay his bills and care for his family, so who was I to judge?

  “I’m just so surprised you all are leaving so soon,” I said. “But I know you’ll have excellent care. We’ll sure miss you, Mr. Underwood. I’ll keep you and Margaret in my prayers. “

  His eyes quickly misted and he slowly held open his arms for an embrace. I gave him a hearty hug, smiling as I inhaled his Aqua Velva.

  “You’ve been just wonderful, Shelby. I never would have made it without you.” He took a quick swipe at his eyes.

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but it was my pleasure to help. I wish you and Margaret the best and a speedy recovery.”

  An orderly showed up with a cart for his belongings and a wheelchair which was required for his departure.

  “Well, there’s my ride. I better go.”

  “Take care, Mr. Underwood.”

  “You too, Miss Colter.”

  I would always think of him fondly as Mr. SU-BA-RU Underwood, the sweet little man who helped me get my feet wet when I first started at Baptist.

  As I made my way back to the nurses’ station, I heard someone call out my name down the other hall. Mr. Wilcox was taking a walk down the hall with his wife. I felt bad, avoiding him like I had, so I asserted myself more than usual.

  “Hi, Mr. Wilcox, Mrs. Wilcox. Nice to see you up and about this afternoon,” I said, hoping to sound more chipper than I felt.

  “Hello, Miss Colter,” he said, slowly closing the gap between us. “You remember my wife, DeeDee?”

  “Sure I do. How nice to see you again. How’s our patient here doing?”

  “The doctor said he can go home tomorrow if he has a nice bowel movement today,” she said with all the pride of a mother whose baby just took its first step.

  “Well then . . .” I couldn’t think of an appropriate response. I looked at Wilbur, expecting to see him blushing or avoiding eye contact with me. But no. He was beaming. I reminded myself to steer clear of his room for the rest of the day, fearing he’d want to give me a detailed description of his . . . production.

  “Wilbur’s always been regular as rain, so it shouldn’t be long now,” DeeDee added, still glowing.

  And that would be my cue to leave the floor. “Good to know!” I said, turning to leave. “If I don’t see you before you leave, you take care and get well, okay? Bye now!” And off I dashed to the closest elevator.

  The images flashing through my mind weren’t too pleasant, so I opted for a break in Mindy’s prayer room. As I leaned against the wall, waiting for the elevator, I noticed a gurney pushed by an orderly and wondered if it could be Donnie. I checked my watch and realized it was probably too soon. But as the patient was wheeled around the corner, I recognized that slap-happy smile coming my way. A knot lodged itself in my throat.

  “Hey there, Donnie. How do you feel?” I asked, keeping pace as the orderly continued toward his destination in 919.

  He licked his dry lips slowly. “Like I’ve been through a meat grinder. And you?” His voice was raspy, no doubt from intubation during surgery.

  “I’m good, but thanks for asking. You don’t look half bad after surviving a meat grinder.”

  “Looks can be deceiving, princess.”

  I waited as they got him settled in his room again. When they left, I slipped in for a quick visit. I knew he needed to rest.

  “Hey, big guy. That was quick. I didn’t expect you back until later in the day.

  “Seems they cut me open and couldn’t find a heart. Looked everywhere. Wasn’t there. But then you always used to call me heartless, you know . . .”

  “Very funny. I’m just thinking quick surgery and recovery room visit means good news.”

  “Who knows. They didn’t tell me anything.”

  “Nor will they until later.”

  “Ah. My little fountain of medical knowledge.”

  “Can I get you anything? Some pork rinds? Maybe some deep fried roaches?”

  He started to laugh then grimaced from the pain.

  “Oh, Donnie! I’m so sorry. No more jokes. I swear.”

  He took a couple of long, shallow breaths. “What, no fork stabs in the eyeballs? You’re really good at this whole Nurse Nancy gig.” He closed his eyes as a lazy half-smile crept slowly across his face.

  “More like Nurse Ratched, eh?”

  “Fitting, as I feel rather cuckoo right now . . .”

  I could tell he was drifting off to sleep.

  “Well, you just get some rest, Mr. Rogers, and I’ll go tell Bert and Ernie you came through surgery just fine.” I leaned over and kissed his brow which he’d knotted, clearly not remembering our pre-surgery chat. “I’ll stop by later, okay?”

  “Mmmm.”

  Pleased to see my good friend resting comfortably after his ordeal, I finally made my way down to the prayer room on Five. Our little hideout was crowded today, but I squeezed onto the sofa between Chelsea and Rebecca. I told them how well Donnie had come through surgery, then decided to tell them all about my favorite train man who would be released as soon as Mother Nature did her magic with his bowels. The girls exploded in laughter, adding some rather gross puns on the subject.

  Suddenly the door opened and there stood Mrs. Baker. A young couple in tears stood behind her. Our boss stared at us, her jaw dropping as she looked around the room. We quickly snapped out of our shock and ran like a bunch of rats fleeing the Titanic.

  Literally.

  I couldn’t think where to go so I raced to Rachel’s office. Thankfully she was gone. I closed the door and colla
psed on her loveseat, dropping my head in my hands. I couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Mad for such a stupid lapse of judgment. Mad at myself and my friends. We were dead meat, and we knew it.

  About 20 minutes later, I heard myself paged along with every other hostess who’d been lounging in that prayer room. Even Mindy.

  This would not be pretty.

  She was huffing. Actually huffing. Pacing back and forth across the floor of our tiny office and huffing like a dragon ready to pounce its prey. I’d give anything not to be her prey.

  “I’ve a mind to fire every single one of you right this minute. You deserve it. You know you do!” Her chest heaved with all that deep breathing, but I only know because I peeked when I saw her turn to go the other direction. Otherwise my eyes were glued to the floor.

  “It’s not enough that my day started with my friend and pastor brought in by ambulance, fighting for his life.” Her voice cracked. And even though I knew it was an exaggeration (after all, Tucker had told me Dr. Love was upstairs laughing with his nurses), I felt bad for her. I knew how close she was to Dr. Love and Elsie.

  “It’s not enough that I took care of an entire waiting room of church members, all of them immersed in prayer on behalf of their beloved shepherd.” She blew her nose into her handkerchief. “It’s not enough that I’d barely come back to the office after making sure he was stable, when I heard about friends of mine who were here, awaiting the birth of the daughter they were adopting, only to find out the baby was stillborn . . . and then I lead that poor grieving young couple into one of our sacred prayer rooms only to find the whole lot of you in there, sacked out like a bunch of LAZY COWS!”

  Her voice echoed in our office. I felt the first of my tears break free. If only the floor would open and swallow me whole. All of us.

  “How DARE you?” she bellowed, her voice breaking again. “How dare you . . .” This time she lost her voice altogether.