Executive Sick Days

by Maria E. Schneider

  By lunchtime, I managed to find out that every one of the x-ray technicians had their own key to the storage room, including the part time guy. If there was a spare hanging on a ring somewhere, it was well-concealed, and Holly didn't mention it.

  Dispirited, I told Holly that I had to help back upstairs in the afternoon and went down to visit Radar. On the way, I checked the storage room door. Locked.

  "Hey, Radar!" I called out as I opened the door so that he wouldn't accuse me of sneaking up on him.

  He still jumped out of this chair and looked a bit panicked. When he saw it was me, he settled down.

  "What is up with you?" It had to be his proximity to the morgue. I know I wouldn't like working in a cavernous basement next to that room.

  "Nothing." He sat back down after making sure the wheeled chair hadn't ended up in the next county. "What's new?"

  I gave him a quick update on my visit with Dr. Dan. "Those sheets were the entire billing?"

  He nodded.

  "Dr. Dan seemed to think the records were sparse. He also mentioned that the doctors charge separately, like you discovered. Are we going to be able to see which doctors actually billed those three patients?"

  His shoulders slumped. "The hospital doesn't keep a database of the doctor billing. It looks like most of them use a personal billing system."

  "So if they aren't connected to the internet, we're out of luck. You can't tunnel in if there is no tunnel."

  He perked up. "I didn't say that. I can do it from their personal machine. Heh, heh, heh."

  "Yeah, uh-huh." Right after he and Mark broke into the doctor's house or office. I wanted nothing to do with that plan, not unless we could pin it down to one doctor. "I gotta get back upstairs. I've been down in x-ray all morning, and I'm sure that will make someone irate."

  Sure enough, Attila must have figured out that I missed the morning work, because she checked on me all afternoon. Of course, Dr. Fox was on the floor at least twice, so she might have been stalking him, but it was hard to tell the difference.

  Schedule or no, by two-thirty, I was through. I made sure none of the patient lights were on and headed home. On my way out, I took the stairs, cutting through the hallway near the ER.

  As I turned the corner out of the stairwell, I saw Mark. A smile started across my face, and I felt lucky for about half a second.

  Mark had his hand on the wall so that he could lean over attentively. He was smiling down at Crissa. With her fluffed blond hair and dainty face, she looked more like a pixie than a professional.

  Mark must have sensed movement as I changed my mind about going down the hall because he looked up and froze.

  My face was blank; I ordered it to be so. There was no reason for me to be jealous. It wasn't as though we had managed a single date. Of course, the fact that I knew what that spectacular twinkle in his eye could do to a woman's insides turned me absolutely green. Seeing him standing there in his jeans and shirt, his muscles rippling as he brought his arm down to Crissa's shoulder….I didn't know whether to be angry or hurt or crawl away and hide.

  When in doubt, go with hide. It seemed I had been mistaken about hospital romance. Crissa looked like she would have been more than happy to find an available closet. I had better not fumble into the janitor's closet again. What with Dr. Fox, Attila and now Mark, there would be a line waiting.

  I was out the door and halfway to my car when Mark caught up. He walked beside me until we reached the Mercedes.

  "Hi." I was determined to be casual and unconcerned if it killed me.

  He sighed. "You see why I can't date women I work with?"

  That was incomprehensible. "Uh, no."

  "You wouldn't have seen me here working if you hadn't taken the job."

  I shook my head. "If I was dating you, I still might have wandered in to visit Brenda. Even if you didn't work at the hospital, if you go around flirting with every cute woman you meet, it would be a problem sooner or later, job or no job. Trust me."

  "It's part of the way I get information," he said patiently.

  I shrugged. "Whatever. You could probably find another way most of the time."

  "I could. But there are times I have to be someone I'm not."

  That was certainly true. I had witnessed his fine acting skills several times in the brief time I had known him. "So what does that have to do with dating?" I didn't want to sound desperate, but I still didn't see why he thought we couldn't work together and date.

  "Look, I don't like it when women I date are involved with Steve. It never works out." He stared over my head, not making eye contact. Behind his head, the windows of the hospital winked in the sunlight. Was Crissa watching out one of the windows? What had she thought when Mark came after me?

  Wary in my own right, I asked, "Involved with Steve?"

  He looked accusingly at my SUV. "It isn't as if he hasn't given you enough hints."

  Dumbfounded, I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

  "Steve would be more than happy to start something. Or continue it or whatever. So if you think you have to date me to get his attention, you're wrong." He turned and stalked off.

  His comment infuriated me. My brain on fire, I launched myself after him, intent on holding my ground until he stopped and explained himself. He stopped abruptly just as I reached him.

  I ran smack into his back and careened on impact. With an amazing lack of grace, I fell onto the tarmac.

  He had forgotten about my tendency to act first, think later. "Shit, Sedona." He reached down and picked me up, setting me on my feet. He was going to brush me off, but I smacked his hands away.

  "Just what," I demanded, "are you talking about? Are you actually implying that I would go on a date with you to get to Steve? Are you nuts? If I wanted to go out with Steve, why wouldn't I just ask him?"

  "Women always want Steve. You can't walk away from what he has to offer."

  "I can't?"

  "You took the job, didn't you?"

  My temper was already sparked. "I work for Steve, Mark! And I don't work for him because I'm lying in wait hoping he will ask me on a date. Just how desperate do you think I am, anyway?"

  "Women always want Steve." He was amazingly stubborn on this point.

  "Whoopee." As arguments went, it wasn't very persuasive, but I was tired of standing around in a public parking lot arguing a topic that had a history I didn't understand.

  We watched each other warily for a few more seconds before Mark finally said, "You're saying I'm the one who has a problem."

  I flapped my arms. "How can I have a problem? I don't even know what you're talking about."

  "You're not dating Steve."

  Two deep breaths. "We've had this discussion before. I'm not dating Steve."

  "Maybe we should try this again." He waited for my reaction, but I was still peeved so I just stood there. "Are you free Saturday?"

  I shook my head. "That won't work. I'm making Christmas dinner or lunch or whatever over at Sean's." Generously I offered, "You're welcome to come if you want."

  Since he had been to dinner at Sean's for Thanksgiving and met my illustrious family, his hesitation was understandable. "Do you volunteer every weekday?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "I decided to take Wednesdays off." I had fully intended it to be a day for working on the case, but mentioning the investigation right this moment didn't seem like a very good idea.

  He smiled. "Perfect. Wednesday then?"

  After an appropriate pause so that I didn't sound too eager, I said, "Sure. What time?"

  "Steve says you like that Anthony's place."

  Hmm. Was he fishing for information again? "I guess. I didn't really eat there."

  His eyes narrowed. "That's not what Steve said. He mentioned taking you there. Said it always goes over well."

  Maybe it did with Steve's usual dates, but ours hadn't been a date, not really. "He did take me there, but he didn't stay long enough to eat. After the two guys with g
uns chased him out of there, I decided it would be rude to finish both his and my entree in front of the waiters and staff."

  Mark started to frown and then laughed. "Okay, whatever. I'll pick you up at nine."

  "At night?" That was way too late for me to be eating. By ten I'd be in real danger of falling asleep in my soup.

  His next words stopped that worry. "No, Wednesday morning. I know a great place to go driving."

  As I watched him walk away, I figured even if it was ten at night, I would be able to think of some reason to stay awake.

  Chapter 12

  The insanely busy work routine at the hospital made it a real pain to keep running out for lunch. Since food, medication and baths ran by the clock, so did the chores. Unlike the computer industry, people really did notice when I wasn't back in time to help with a particular job.

  It was time to outsmart the lunch thief so that I could bring my lunch with no fear of it going missing. Tuesday morning, very carefully, I labeled my brown lunch bag with a printed sticker: "Lab Specimen. Do not contaminate." Sure, all of the samples were supposed to be in the lab fridge, not the nurses' station, but would the lunch thief really want to check inside the labeled bag? And my leftover stew was unidentifiable enough to be unappetizing and questionable.

  It was a solid plan. I'd be able to park my lunch in plain sight and not worry about it.

  I smiled all through breakfast trays and then managed to sneak down to do some case work. Admittedly, the case work had a personal twist to it as well. Working in a hospital had made me realize that volunteering didn't include health insurance. I hadn't been particularly worried since I was relatively healthy and flat out hadn't thought about it. I'd eventually get another real job, right? Besides, if I got hurt working for Huntington, it would probably be terminal. Life insurance would probably be a better investment.

  The hospital insurance billing office was happy to tell me which health insurance policies were easiest to file and which offered the broadest coverage. Hopefully, the list would provide clues as to which companies would be easiest to bilk. For myself, the information looked promising until I did the math. Carrying health insurance would cost me half a house payment. If I used every dime Huntington paid me, I might be able to afford it. I recalculated. No, I'd still have to sell the Civic.

  Sheesh. I'd better stay healthy or just die. Dying was a lot cheaper.

  On the way back to the elevator, I spotted Radar standing in the hallway with Attila.

  What was he doing on one of the regular floors? I waved, but he didn't look my way. Attila didn't either. She hovered over Radar in an almost a protective stance.

  I wandered closer.

  Radar held a magazine, staring down at it as if it held some sort of death threat or fatal disease. I almost turned around, but then I heard what Attila was saying. My mouth dropped open. I stopped dead in my tracks, one foot in the air.

  "I simply can't decide between the black teddy and the red for New Year's eve. Which do you prefer?" Her "sexy" voice was the crumbling of concrete. She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and put her free hand on her hip in an artful pose.

  Yikes. Was she really standing there hoping Radar would picture her in the red or black teddy???

  Of their own accord, my feet began shuffling. They might have been short circuiting as my brain tried to decide whether to interrupt the conversation or let Radar handle it. The problem was that Radar looked like he was suffering from more than a single fried circuit. He wasn't moving at all. I wasn't even sure he was breathing.

  Well, hell. I stepped forward. "Radar, there's a problem with one of the computers. Dr...Evans...can't log in and get..." My mind went blank. "Uh, I think it's an emergency."

  Radar didn't move. He stared down at the catalog, either hypnotized or dead. Attila jumped back a few inches. Maybe after he made his selection, she had been planning on carting him off over her shoulder. She had the muscles for it.

  "Radar!" I grabbed the catalog and tucked it under my arm. Attila didn't like that one bit.

  She snagged it, leaving a long claw mark from her fingernail on my arm. There went my plan to blackmail her.

  In less than a heartbeat, Radar awoke. His eyes bulged, and his chest deflated. I had been right about him not breathing. When he sucked in a breath, it was like the hissing of a balloon. He started walking, almost knocking me over.

  I followed him.

  The minute Attila was left in the dust, I pushed him sideways into an empty procedure room. "Radar, are you all right?"

  He finally looked at me. He still looked pasty, but then again, he was an engineer. His eating habits ranged from not eating for days to gorging himself in a few sittings. Maybe he was having a heart attack from bad health habits. Or maybe he was having a heart attack because of Attila. "Should I order Chinese?" Food was the only solution I could think of.

  "She…" he gulped and sucked in more air, wheezing again.

  "How long has this been going on?" It would seem this one occasion was more funny than dangerous, but I had been sexually harassed on the job enough to know that the evil perpetrators worked quickly and constantly, taking every opportunity to push their agenda of belittlement and embarrassment.

  Of course, it was weird to think that Radar was in a harassment situation even though I had witnessed it. I didn't know men were ever treated that way.

  Radar's eyes scanned the area wildly, a trapped animal praying for an open window.

  "My guess," I sighed, stepping back now that he was responding, "is she's been bugging you since you've been here." I shook my head, still trying to grasp the concept. "It's close enough to lunchtime. Wanna go for Chinese?"

  "Will you marry me?"

  That was too much. "What?" I entered the modern ages and asked one guy to lunch and this was the response I got? Wait until I told my mom. If she only had guessed. Then again, since marriage was high on her achievement list, she might think the strategy deserved consideration.

  "Do you think she'd leave me alone if I was married?" His eyes still bulged with the not-enough-air-in-here look.

  He hadn't even heard my question about food. Unbelievable. He was in critical condition. Turning him around, I marched him out the door and down the corridor. Maybe with some food, his brain cells would fire properly again.

  On the way out, I lectured, "Marriage is hardly the way to solve this, Radar. That's not the way to deal with it at all. Trust me. Harassment happens to women all the time. You've got to get a grip, buddy." I shook his arm to emphasize my point. He followed along, not saying a word.

  If I could have explained it to the police, I would have taken the ambulance. The poor guy was in shock. He needed emergency rations. I settled for breaking the speed limit and running two yellow lights.

  The sight of the restaurant brought a little color to Radar's face. We hustled inside and our dear friend, Mrs. Chang, sat us down. I asked for "the usual." She would have brought it anyway, but she must have sensed the mood, because she didn't tease us about ordering Peking Duck, her usual banter.

  "Radar…" How to start? "Listen, it isn't like she grabbed your ass or anything. You--" His face flamed red. He eyeballed the door, and my mouth dropped. Okay, this was serious stuff. In a tiny, disbelieving voice I asked, "She grabbed your ass? Women do that sort of thing?" I sat back. Well. This was a whole new dilemma.

  Radar swallowed so hard it had to have hurt. "Has it happened to you?" His voice was barely above a croaking whisper.

  Silently, I nodded. "Well, sure. Couple of times. Happens to every woman who works for a living. Even my best friend Suzy, and she wasn't in the work force very long. Used to happen in college too. I guess you expect it there." I was babbling. Had this been Brenda or any of my female friends, I would have had all the answers. You deck the guy. You smash his face in. Failing that, you blackmail him and turn into the biggest, fattest bitchiest creature that he never imagined existed.

  "I guess you can't punch her
. Wow. That's too bad. It's usually the most effective." So was stealing a man's toupee, but she didn't have one, unless she wore a wig. "Does she wear a wig?"

  His eyes bugged out again. "What? Why?" Our food came. He automatically started shoveling. Around his second or third bite, he asked, "How the hell would I know?"

  I recognized the defensive anger and knew it wasn't directed it at me. "If you knocked a wig off in public it might embarrass her so badly, she'd leave you alone."

  Now he eyed me like I was the dangerous one. "What?"

  "I did that once. This guy goosed me, and I knocked his toupee off. He never got within striking distance again. You can't very well punch her lights out because you'd look bad since you're a guy. I was trying to think of another avenue."

  His mouth started to hang open, but he clamped it shut before food spilled out. He choked and had to drink some of his tea. After he finished chewing, he took a deep breath. "You stole some guy's toupee because he groped you?"

  "I didn't steal it! What the hell would I want with a slimy toupee?" I served myself a very generous helping of fried rice. "The point is that you have to do something drastic. These types of people make it their personal objective to try and make you feel like nothing more than a sexual object with no brain." I waved my chopsticks to make my point. "It usually starts out innocently enough. They compliment you. They stand close and tell you your perfume is heavenly, even if you aren't wearing any. Whether you respond or not, politely or not, it escalates. They trap you in an office. They make lewd suggestions. Then when you, out of the kindness of your heart, tell them to knock-it-off or you will shoot them, they accuse you of leading them on." I sniffed disdainfully. "As if."

  Radar watched my waving, poking chopsticks warily. "I guess you have a lot of experience with this type of thing."

  That wasn't the point I had been trying to make. "After that, the grabbing and rubbing start."

  His face got red again.

  "Well, that's the way it happens when guys harass women," I amended, assuming that Attila had more imagination than to contemplate rubbing up against a guy in public.