by Susan Sey
“He’s a surgeon?” Nixie asked.
“At George Washington University Hospital,” Wanda said. She nudged Nixie with an elbow. “They don’t just give them jobs away, neither. Our boy’s mad skilled.”
Nixie pictured Erik’s hands in her mind--large, square, strong. She’d imagined him as an ER doc, or maybe an orthopedic man. Something that required his farm-hand build and Viking attitude. But apparently, he was fully capable of delicacy and grace. No, not just capable. He must be incredibly skilled. Called. Gifted.
She asked, “What’s he doing here if he works up at GW?”
Wanda rolled her eyes, and it made her look like nothing so much as a startled pony. “He’s saving the world, honey. One poor black kid at a time. Sound familiar?”
“It used to.” Nixie tried a smile.
“His mama makes laws, and Dr. Erik catches the kids who fall through the cracks. But don’t tell him I said so. He’s dead-set on not growing up to be his mama.”
Nixie lifted her brows. “Why’s that? I’d be pretty damn happy if I grew up to be the Senator.”
“With your mama, no wonder.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Nixie forced a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it. The truth hurts sometimes. But what does Erik have against politics?” She thought about those summer sky eyes and the fast, flashing smile that struck like lightning. Then she thought about the way he moved, in a straight line and utterly without hesitation. Not fast, necessarily, but inexorable. Like a steam roller. “Seems to me like politics would be a nice fit with his personality.”
“I know.” Wanda chuckled. “You should ask him about it. I’d like to hear that answer myself. Here he comes now. You gonna ask?”
Nixie followed her gaze and found Erik striding toward her, a white-coated woman at his side. She was no more than shoulder high on him, but matched his pace with an ease that suggested perhaps he was keeping up with her rather than the other way around.
Nixie frowned. She knew that walk. Determined, purposeful, way faster than those short little legs ought to be able to go. She knew that face, too. Soft and round on the surface, solid steel resolve underneath.
“Hi,” the woman said, sticking out a hand. “I’m--”
Nixie laughed, bypassed the hand and threw her arms around the woman. “Mary Jane Riley! Oh my God, is that really you? You’re a doctor?”
Mary Jane patted gingerly at Nixie’s shoulders. “I can’t believe you remember me.”
“Of course I remember you!” Nixie pulled back and grinned into the shorter woman’s face. “I wouldn’t have survived chemistry without you. Sister Charbonneau hated me.”
“Sister Charbonneau hated everybody.”
“Everybody but you.” Nixie hugged her again, then let her go. “God, I’m sorry. We haven’t seen each other for fifteen years and I’m squeezing you like a tube of toothpaste. It’s just so good to see you.” Nixie knew she was beaming at the woman like an idiot, but she couldn’t get hold of her cool. Friends--real friends--had been so few and far between in her life. Stumbling across one now, when she needed one so badly, was a gift.
No, Nixie realized in a moment of clarity. It was more than a gift. It was a sign. Nixie hadn’t previously thought of God as the quid pro quo type, but there was an unmistakable whiff of karma to this meeting. This was destiny.
She was going to save Mary Jane’s clinic, a cosmic reward for the chubby little blonde who’d braved hoards of pencil-thin, designer-dressed harpies to befriend a girl too rich, too well-traveled, and too notorious to be anything but a target.
And maybe, Nixie thought, maybe, if she was very good and very lucky, she might cement an old friendship at the same time. Put down a few tentative roots in her new home town. She glanced at Erik, at the skeptical set of that super-hero jaw. Her stomach lightened with a bolt of involuntary feminine appreciation, which she promptly squashed. No, she told herself sternly. No more falling for the clients. This one’s for Mary Jane.
“You two know each other?” Erik looked back and forth between the women, one golden brow arched. “You could’ve mentioned something, Mary Jane.”
“How was I supposed to know she’d remember me? We were freshman together for like two minutes at the Holy Sisters of Unmerciful Discipline and haven’t spoken since.”
“Every time my mom filmed a movie, I got dropped off at a new boarding school for a couple months,” Nixie told Erik. “I don’t know if you remember what teenage girls are like, but let me tell you, it was like being thrown to the lions. Only worse, ‘cause lions just want to eat you. Girls want you to bleed.”
Nixie smiled warmly at Mary Jane. “You were one of the few people to show me any genuine kindness during those years. I’m in your debt for that.”
Mary Jane shook her head, an uncomfortable flush climbing her cheeks. “Oh for God’s sake. You are not.”
“I am.” Nixie clasped her hands and looked around the clinic while a lovely, familiar sense of purpose washed over her. “Being my friend in high school was like painting a huge bull’s eye on your backside--”
Mary Jane snorted. “Plenty of real estate back there.”
“--and just to prove to you that being brave and good always pays, I’m going to raise your clinic a boatload of money.”
Mary Jane stared. “What?”
“What’s your funding like?” Nixie asked.
“Private,” Erik said.
“Private?” Nixie lifted a skeptical brow. “What does that mean?”
Erik shook his head. “It means we have a few loans and grants, but Mary Jane mostly operates out of her trust fund. Or did, until she blew through it.”
“You spent your trust fund?” Nixie asked, shocked.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Mary Jane said, shoving her hands into her lab coat pockets. “What was I going to do with it? Buy another Benz?”
“Well, no,” Erik said. “But you could have kept a little back for the occasional luxury item. Like rent and groceries.”
Nixie shook her head and said, “Never spend your principle, Mary Jane. That’s rule number one of the charity game. People don’t give money to people who can’t manage it.”
Mary Jane’s brows came down ominously. “I didn’t mismanage my money. I spent it exactly as I saw fit.”
“I believe you. But this isn’t about what you did, it’s about what it looks like. See, poor people are poor because they can’t manage money and don’t make good decisions,” Nixie said. “Conversely, rich people are rich because they can and they do.”
She held up a hand to stave off the heated protest she could see on Mary Jane’s face. “Of course it isn’t true. You and I both know that. But it looks pretty darn true to Joe Average, trying not to waste his charity dollars. He wants to give his money to people who know how to use it, and use it well.”
“Ergo, he gives it to the people who already have money,” Erik said to Mary Jane. “I told you that.”
Mary Jane frowned mutinously and Nixie spread her hands. “It sucks, I know. But I don’t make the rules.”
“And I don’t have to play by them,” Mary Jane said. “Listen, I appreciate the offer but I don’t play the appearances game. I don’t have the looks for it.” She smiled grimly and Nixie exchanged a worried glance with the Viking doctor. “I don’t have the stomach for it, either. I never have.”
“Mary Jane,” Erik said, touching her elbow. “This is an incredible opportunity--”
“To what?” she asked. “Pimp an old friendship for the cash? The work should speak for itself, Erik. If it takes a celebrity endorsement to keep the doors open, maybe they shouldn’t be open.”
“You don’t mean that,” Erik said.
Mary Jane made a strangled noise and shoved at the pale wisps of hair escaping from her smooth ponytail. “I don’t know what I mean,” she said. “I know what we do here is important, I just can�
�t understand why nobody else thinks so.”
“I think so,” Nixie said. “If you’re willing to let me, I’d love to--”
“I’m sorry, Nixie, but it’s not going to work, okay? You know what your two months with the Sisters were like? My whole life used to be like that.”
Nixie blew out a breath. “Ouch.”
“Right.” Mary Jane smiled tightly. “Getting rid of the trust fund was kind of a relief, to tell you the truth. So, no offense, but as glad as I am to see you, I don’t want what you do in my life. Present company excepted, of course, I don’t like rich people. I didn’t like rich people when I was rich and I don’t like them now. I won’t pander to them any more, not even for this place. It costs too much.”
“I see.”
Mary Jane shoved her hands back into her pockets. “God, now I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“No, of course not.” Nixie thought about Mama Mel and her babies who didn’t breathe right. She thought about a waiting room full of pukers. She thought about orphans and homes and kids the laws didn’t provide for. About her cold, generic apartment and the dazzling promise of a life rich with connections and purpose she’d glimpsed just a few moments before. God forgive her, she wasn’t going to give up so easily. Not even for Mary Jane.
“I was just trying to think of some way to ask you for a favor,” she said.
“You want a favor from me?” Mary Jane’s eyes were wide and blue and disbelieving.
“Yeah. I recently broke up with Leighton-Brace Charitable Giving. You might’ve read about it in the papers?”
“I think everybody in the free world read about it in the papers, Nixie.”
She nodded. “Yeah. So I’ve got some time on my hands. Turns out I suck at being lazy. I need something to do. I don’t suppose you have anything here that would keep me busy while I’m reinventing myself?”
Mary Jane stared at her, mouth open. “You want a job?”
“I don’t want you to pay me,” she said quickly. “I just need something to do. To stay busy.” To work on you until you see reason about this fundraising thing.
Erik nodded slowly, as if he could see the wheels turning inside her head and liked her direction. He turned to Mary Jane and said, “We are looking for an evening receptionist.”
Mary Jane looked doubtfully at Nixie. “I don’t think--”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, cutting her off and sliding Nixie a dismissive look. “I’m sure Nixie Leighton-Brace is way too important to pull desk duty at a free clinic. Isn’t she?”
CHAPTER FIVE
As Erik expected, Nixie’s cheeks pinked and those green eyes went sharp. “If I take the job, will you stop speaking about me in the third person?”
“Sure thing.” He smiled at her, and she glared back. Perfect. She was pissed at him, but not enough to reject the job. He was going to save the clinic without sacrificing himself on the altar of his mother’s ambition.
“Super,” Mary Jane said. “You’re hired. Wait here, okay?” She turned to Erik. “Can I see you a moment?” Erik followed her to her tiny office, pulling the door shut behind them.
“What was that all about, there at the end?” she asked, her shiny head bent over the desk. She was double and triple tasking, as usual. Scanning patient files, signing off on forms, talking to him. “Nixie tried to do us a favor--a big one--and I threw it back in her face. She has every right to be pissed, but she offered to man the desk instead. Why on earth are you antagonizing her?”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“Bottom line it for me. What’s the deal?”
“Nixie Leighton-Brace is my mom’s latest pick for my First Lady.”
Mary Jane glanced up, gave him a mischievous grin. “She’s right, you know.”
“My mom?”
“No, Nixie. You do sound snotty when you say her name like that.”
“Good. I don’t want her to get any ideas. Can you imagine her and my mom on the same team?”
“I’d rather not.” Mary Jane shuddered, then went back to her forms. He smiled at her impeccably straight part. The Senator was Mary Jane’s worst nightmare. Monied and powerful, with a taste for publicity. And unless he missed his guess, Nixie caused her some anxiety, too.
“She was right about you, too,” he said.
“Who, Nixie?”
“Yeah. You get hives just thinking about celebrities. Being Nixie Leighton-Brace’s best friend must’ve been an act of supreme courage. Especially in high school.”
“You saw her out there. You think she gave me a choice?”
Erik rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. You don’t do anything you don’t want to.”
“So I’m a sucker for the underdog.” She scribbled her name across one last sheet. “Why do you think I gave her the receptionist job?”
“Because you want her to raise you that boatload of money she offered and save this clinic.”
Her pen froze for an instant before continuing. “I do not,” she said without looking up.
Erik leaned forward, hands on the desk. “Come on, Mary Jane. That woman is nobody’s receptionist and you know it. You let her squeeze one pretty foot in the door and she’s going to do whatever the hell she pleases. Thank Christ it seems to please her to throw us a fundraiser.” He plucked the pen from her fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “A badly needed fundraiser.”
Mary Jane snatched her pen back. “Oh, all right. So I might’ve overstated my objections a few minutes back. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t true. If there’s any way to get the money without all the hoopla, she’ll find it now.” She smiled. “She owes me, remember?”
Erik snorted. “Good luck with that. I don’t care what she owes you. Nixie Leighton-Brace is hoopla.”
Mary Jane gazed at him shrewdly. “You really don’t like her, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter if I like her or not,” he said, as much to himself as to Mary Jane. “She’s going to raise us that money. Then she’ll make up with her crazy mom and fly off to save the world. If I’m lucky it’ll be before my mom convinces her I’m some kind of JFK Jr./Prince Charming hybrid.”
Mary Jane winced on his behalf. “Yeah, that would be bad. Your mom’s kind of...intense.”
“I know. Believe me, I know. And the fact that we’re in harmony on that point makes me love you even more. When are you going to give in and admit we were meant for each other?”
She shook her head. “You’ve been going on about that for five years,” she said. “Isn’t it time to admit that I’m out of your league? Too much woman for you?”
He laughed. “Never. Determination is the hallmark of my personality.”
“Tell you what.” She scooped up a sheaf of papers and dropped the pen into her lab coat pocket. “If I’m still single at, say, forty, I’ll think it over.” She squinted at him. “Better make it fifty.”
“Sweet talker.”
“You know it, bro. Now go introduce Wanda to her new receptionist.”
Wanda plunked Nixie into the receptionist’s chair. Nixie sank so far into the divot Wanda’s butt had left there that her feet dangled like a little kid’s.
“Ninety-nine percent of the folks who drag their sorry asses here on a Friday or Saturday night will be one of the five Ds,” Wanda said. She counted them off on long red nails. “Drunk, drugged, disturbed, dinged up or diseased. There’s a pending file for each one on the back counter. All you have to do is fill out a registration form for each patient, stick it in the right file. The docs will take it from there.”
Nixie eyed the pile of blank registration forms on the desk. “Sounds doable.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Wanda’s tone made it clear she was reserving judgment. “Keep an eye on the waiting room, too. You don’t want people fighting or puking in there. Flu’s going around. Barf buckets are in the closet, right beside the mop. Get ‘em one, or you’ll be using the other. I am not going to clean up your mess in the morning, you understand?�
��
She gave Nixie a steely look. Nixie nodded. “I understand.”
“All right then. Have fun.” She sashayed toward the door with a two-packs-a-day chuckle that had Nixie frowning suspiciously at her back.
Then she was gone and for the next two hours, Nixie didn’t have time to think about it. She was too busy handing out buckets and figuring out which D each patient most closely resembled.
She’d just handed out her fourth puke bucket when a woman staggered up to the receptionist’s station. Her plaid shirt was buttoned crookedly and flapped around skinny thighs. She gripped the desk with fingers like wires and slumped into a folding chair. Nixie gave her a professionally concerned smile and said, “Welcome to the Anacostia Health Center. What can we help you with tonight?”
“Oh, honey, I got me the flu, bad.”
Nixie nodded. “It’s going around.” She drew a registration form out of the pile. “Let’s get you signed in.”
“I don’t need signing in. I need a doctor. I’m dying.”
“The doctor will see you as soon as I get you into the system. So I’ll just--”
“Oh lord, the room’s moving.” She leaned in, propped an elbow on the counter and frowned at Nixie. “Is the room moving, sugar?”
“No, ma’am.”
She closed her eyes and laid her cheek on the counter. Nixie could see a single pink curler dangling behind her ear. “Lord Baby Jesus, just take me on home,” she moaned. “I done suffered enough.”
From the waiting room came a single, muttered, “Amen.”
Nixie clicked open her pen. “Name?”
The woman opened one eye. “Regina Wilks, baby.”
“Have you been here before, Regina?”
“No. But I ain’t never been dying before neither. Oh, lordy, it’s getting worse. I’m all cold now.” Sweat beaded on the woman’s forehead. She crossed herself and started to hum Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.
“Any insurance?”
Regina groaned and lifted one butt cheek. She squeaked off a delicate fart. Nixie took that as a no.
“When did your symptoms start?” Nixie looked up from the form. The woman was staring at her, but the focus was clearly internal. Uh oh. Nixie scrambled for a pink bucket but it was too late. Regina leaned over and barfed between her knees onto the floor.
