Instead she noted that her thighs were pinking up a little. "Scoot over, Poppi. I want to do a few laps."
Poppi obliged, and Casey sank into the tepid water, iced tea in hand. "Ah," she cooed. "This is living."
"Hey," Poppi said. "You want to change the subject, I have one. I need a new GYN. Mine died or something. You guys have the scoop on that kind of stuff, don't you?"
"I'm better at trauma surgeons," Casey admitted, settling her head back against the inflated side and sipping her tea. "But Evelyn's your girl for gynies."
Poppi peered over her big, round sunglasses to where Evelyn was rearranging herself to start a new chapter on her book. "Does that Hunsacker guy practice at Izzy's?" she asked. "I've been hearing a lot about him lately."
"You don't want him," Casey said instinctively.
Evelyn stopped midmove. Poppi swung her attention to Casey, her blond hair bobbing a little with the sudden turn.
"Is there something you want to share with the class?"
Casey felt the intensity of Evelyn's silent interest. She couldn't understand why she'd spoken so quickly and with such finality. After all, she'd only worked with the man once. And she did seem to be the only one in her acquaintance who didn't like him.
"I don't know," she demurred, her attention on where she was rolling her glass against her leg. "I, uh, just don't think you two would get along."
At that Poppi straightened a little. "Which means he's either a Reagan Republican or he's gay."
"He's not gay," Evelyn piped up, and then blushed.
Now Casey was looking over. "You've heard the rumors, too?"
Disconcerted, Evelyn shrugged and looked down. "Have you met him?"
Casey nodded. "Yeah."
Now Poppi's attention was swiveling back and forth, her eyes avid with curiosity. "Oh, this sounds like it's going to be good. I take it you've already counted him out as a potential date, Case?"
"I don't date doctors," she retorted. "You know that."
"You don't date anybody," Poppi shot back. "But you married a doctor once, why not again?"
"He wasn't a doctor," Evelyn spoke up with some disdain, having known the lovely ex-Mr. Casey McDonough. "He was a psychiatrist."
Something else that didn't bear bringing up on a nice day. "Have you worked with Hunsacker?" Casey asked instead.
Evelyn nodded, her gaze sharp. "Do you think he's for real?"
Casey thought of her single close encounter with the good doctor. She thought of the rumors, the still-growing reputation, the praise from all strata of medical society. "He makes me nervous," she admitted. "Ya know?"
Finally Evelyn allowed a smile, albeit a small one. "Well, thank God. I thought I was the only one. He's so pretty sometimes I forget how much he frustrates me. And he's just a wee bit obsessive-compulsive. We're running out of Phisohex from all his scrubs."
"It's more than that," Casey agreed, seeing those eyes again, remembering the doubts and unease. "He gives me the creeps. Like he's laughing at me the whole time he's calling me honey and telling me what a swell person I am."
It was all Evelyn needed. Swinging into sitting position, she leaned forward. "I've heard he's been doing the fifty-dollar special."
Casey gaped. She'd been harboring unkind suspicions about Hunsacker, but nothing that big.. "The what?" Poppi demanded impatiently, head still swinging.
"The fifty-dollar special," Casey repeated. "The pelvic with that... extra touch."
Now even Poppi was gaping. "You're kidding. You mean he's coppin' a feel beneath the sheets?"
For a nurse, Evelyn relied heavily on euphemism. She scowled at Poppi's terminology. "We call it the three-finger pelvic. It's just a rumor, mind you. But I do know he's been seeing at least three of the nurses out at Izzy's on a regular basis."
"The guy must be a marathon runner," Poppi crowed with salacious delight. "Well, you know, come to think of it, I wouldn't be averse to doing a little... undercover investigation for the benefit of society."
Casey actually laughed. "And when Jason found out and threw your cute little ass out, you could come live with Mom and me and the saints."
"Poppi's coming here?" a voice piped up from behind Casey. Casey cringed, wondering just how much her mother had heard, instinctively knowing that she'd tune out anything unpleasant. After all, that's what St. Francis would have done. Or any of the myriad St. Catherines or all those martyrs. "That's lovely, Poppi dear. You can join us for mass in the mornings."
"I'm not Catholic, Mrs. McDonough," Poppi reminded her, the ritual as old as Poppi's first visit.
"Of course you are, dear," Mrs. McDonough crooned with a pat to Poppi's head as she passed with her bucket on her way back into the house.
Poppi watched Mrs. McDonough climb the stairs to the porch and then turned to Casey. "How old am I?" she demanded with a broad grin.
Casey took a long sip of tea. "Twelve."
Poppi nodded fatalistically. "I thought so."
* * *
The fifty-dollar pelvic. Casey wondered whether it was really true. Evelyn hadn't been able to come up with any more than vague rumor, and rumors tended to swirl around Dr. Dale Hunsacker like smoke around a magician. The whole talent to dealing with a hospital grapevine was learning how to separate chaff from wheat. The problem was, after working with Hunsacker just once, Casey couldn't say she didn't believe this one.
She was being unfair, and she knew it. Casey had always maintained a certain reserve around male obstetricians. After spending those years at Izzy's where the OBs were as thick as roadies on a Stones tour, she'd developed some pretty firm opinions about them.
Obstetricians, she had long since learned, either loved women, or they hated them. There was no in-between.
And the thing that was really scary was that some of the doctors with the most loyal patients were the worst of the women haters.
She'd never quite figured out why. Those guys usually had a good knack with the patter. They were great at holding hands and telling the women to leave everything to them, but when push came to delivery, they were usually nowhere to be found. They were rough and manipulative and heavily into control.
There was no better friend, no kinder, more sincerely empathetic man than the obstetrician who loved woman. There was no bigger asshole than his opposite. Casey just couldn't figure yet into which category Hunsacker fit.
She would have been intrigued to get a chance to observe him. Unfortunately, the next time he showed up at the emergency room, so did an entire bus of senior citizens who hadn't quite gotten to their bingo game and a sizable percentage of the county's preschoolers.
It was Casey's night to triage, and she'd been dealt a full house. Not only that, but Abe Belstein was on his second twelve-hour shift in a row, and on a tear about the other doctor he got to work with.
"Somebody better light a fire under her ass!" he screamed at Casey, hands on hips and chin thrust forward. At five-two, Casey was the only nurse shorter than Abe, so he brought his problems to her. Like she could solve them.
Abe was short, squat, and had a face like rising bread dough. Fuzzy red hair ringed his mostly bald head, and he had the temper of a six-year-old. But Abe was good, Abe carried his load and respected the nurses, so everybody overlooked the tantrums.
"Abe, you're the doctor," Casey reminded him, trying to placate him and update the triage log at the same time. "They pay you the big bucks to deal with the other doctors. They don't even pay me enough to listen to you yell."
"Do something about her!"
Dropping her pen, Casey finally sighed. "There's a county cop in the work lane. How 'bout if I just have him shoot her and be done with it?"
Abe decided not to hear the sarcasm. "Just do it soon," he demanded and whirled to leave, shoving his yarmulke back into place.
He didn't make it more than two feet. One of the twisted limbs he'd treated that evening was attached to the inelegant young lady who suddenly presented herself before him. Clad in sh
rink-wrapped tank top, jeans, and heels, she was a vision of dyed black hair and feathered earrings. She was also about six inches taller than Abe.
"Oh, hey, Doc. There you are," she accused, pulling to a halt scant inches from his nose. "Good. That nurse in there wouldn't give me nothin' for pain. And I hurt more now, ya know? In other places."
Abe began looking around for escape. And for good reason. In point of fact, there was more than just the red hair that made Abe distinctive. Living proof of the law of compensation, Abe's short height and homely looks were offset by a truly awesome genital endowment. It provoked hushes of reverence in the locker room, rampant speculation among staff, and some really unique reactions from women everywhere. Especially, though, women in the emergency room.
"I don't think..."
He never had a chance.
"Just look, will ya?" the patient asked. Before Abe could move, or at least back up, she yanked up her shirt to prove that not only was she without a bra, but that Harley Davidson owned her considerable heart. Abe, unfortunately, was eye to eye with Harley's eagle.
Casey choked. Abe yelped. Several mothers hovering near the front desk grabbed their children and ran.
"Casey!"
Casey just smiled and walked on by. "Well, I can see you're busy, Dr. Belstein. I'll go talk to Dr. Miller for you."
Her mood much improved, Casey headed off in the other direction to scout for empty rooms. Her waiting room was filling with walking wounded with nowhere to go. And Dr. Miller was, true to Abe's complaint, spending much more time with her medical manuals than her patients.
"Hey, Dr. Miller, Abe just told me that you guys are getting a bonus for every extra patient you see tonight," she lied shamelessly on the way past.
She didn't need to stop for a reaction. The resounding slam of a textbook said it all. Now Casey just had to get the nurses in gear. And they all knew better than to fall for the old bonus gag.
Well, she might not have the fastest working team in town tonight, but at least they were a kick to work with. Even though Barb was still spreading joy and light around the work lane, she had to do it around Millie, who couldn't answer a phone without doing it on point. Then there was Steve, who was practicing for his psychology degree on his patients, and Marva, nursing's answer to Jack Webb. She was great in trauma, throwing herself in front of a victim like a soldier facing a cavalry charge. Of course, anything else bored her. Tonight, unfortunately, she was bored.
Casey usually would have at least been able to count on Janice for some real output. For some reason, it seemed that tonight was going to be the exception. Disappearing from the work lane with puzzling frequency, Janice had not quite been able to keep up with the patient load on her end. She'd seemed brittle and distant all evening, which just wasn't like her. Knowing full well that dinner would be eaten on the run, Casey made a silent vow to be available for her at end of shift.
"Janice, is room fifteen going to be open anytime soon?" she asked, peeking in the half-open blinds to see a pretty young woman trying to get comfortable on the edge of the cart. Emerson, abdominal pain. She'd been here the requisite three hours waiting for tests, waiting for the doctor, waiting for spring.
"Dr. Hunsacker's coming in to see her," Janice answered without looking up from where she was charting.
Casey lifted an eyebrow. "Really. When?"
When Janice looked up to answer, Casey knew she hadn't been wrong. There was a new set of creases between Janice's elegant eyebrows, a funny white edge to her mouth. She even had a spot of Betadine on her uniform. Casey couldn't imagine what could be bothering her enough to excuse that.
"Any minute, I think. Twelve's gonna be leaving, though. Will that help?"
Casey found her attention returning to the smooth good looks of the woman on the other side of the window. She had the kind of beauty that could definitely be bought, all grooming and tailoring, sleek hair, and a tasteful amount of gold. A prime Hunsacker candidate.
"Casey McDonough, line one. Casey McDonough, line one."
Settling onto the edge of the table where Janice was working, Casey picked up the phone.
"Casey McDonough."
Silence.
"Hello?"
"Oh, honey, is that you?"
Casey struggled to hold on to her humor. It was like an invasion, that quavering, uncertain voice intruding into work. Like a sudden slip, a faltering step in a fast run. Casey didn't want to have to deal with her mother here. She had enough crazies to handle without having to worry about her very own. She didn't want to have to say the words her mother needed, didn't want to acknowledge her mother's dependence on her. Or her dependence on a mother who preferred incense over flesh and blood.
"Yes, Mom. It's me. What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Oh, nothing, dear." Helen laughed, a high, tinkly sound, like a small girl. "I was just saying my evening prayers, and remembered that I needed to get to mass at St. Mary's in the morning. They have the traveling Infant of Prague, you know. And, well..."
Hunsacker. Casey caught sight of him at the far end of the hall. He was bent over Millie, moving his hands to mimic her latest pirouette. Smiling. Flattering.
"What time do you need to go, Mom?"
"Would you mind, sweetheart? I know it's unfair to ask you when you work such difficult hours and all. And I don't want to be a bother."
Casey concentrated on Hunsacker to prevent saying something unkind to her mother. "Just tell me what time, Mom."
"Nine. Nine o'clock mass. We could pray for Benny, don't you think?"
He had his hand on Millie's arm, stroking it as he smiled. An almost unconscious gesture of intimacy that seemed to make Millie purr. After Evelyn's report, Casey was intrigued anew.
"...feel terrible about it, but you know you haven't been to mass this week, Catherine, and well, even though I don't like to insist, it would be so good for you... Catherine? Honey?"
The worry in her mother's voice snapped her back. One curiosity at a time. "That'll be fine, Mom. I'll see you in the morning."
Hunsacker laughed, a comfortable rumble, and Millie answered, delighted and coy.
"Be careful on your way home, sweetheart," Helen McDonough warned. "Not everyone is kind."
Casey's eyes were on Hunsacker when her mother spoke. It seemed the words were directed at him, at this smiling man who made women dip in attendance. Casey enjoyed a delicate shiver of fascination. Her mother was a little scary sometimes.
"Well, I haven't seen you in a while, have I?" Hunsacker asked with a broad smile as he approached.
Casey carefully hung up the phone. The smile she offered was leftover surprise, more than just a little curiosity. There was something just a little different about him tonight. An intangible, like wind currents, invisible yet present. Casey couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"Thanks for the pizza," she acknowledged, resisting the urge to squint her eyes, as if that could better focus the man before her.
What was different?
Same clothing, upper-class casual, striped Oxford shirt, pleated khaki slacks, those ubiquitous Dock-Sides. Same attitude, close body contact and teeth. Same throb of charisma.
"My pleasure," he assured her, reaching out to her much as he had Millie. It was as if words weren't enough with him. He fed on physical contact.
Casey was a physical person. She touched. She hugged and patted with the best of them. But there was something about his touch that crossed invisible boundaries.
Of course, they could have just been her boundaries. She hadn't trusted a toucher since her late unlamented marriage to the world's most professional patter and hugger. She might just be projecting all of Ed's worst faults on Hunsacker.
Or he could just be doing those three-fingered pelvics.
"Good to see you, too, babe," he greeted Janice with a lingering pat to her arm. "You have my lady here?"
"She's all ready to see you," Janice answered, snagging Casey's attention.
Janice had been d
istant before. Suddenly she was agitated. Almost jumping to her feet, she handed over the clipboard as if it were the holy grail. Casey had thought Millie glowed. Janice was positively flustered. For Janice, anyway. She took at least two swipes at her perfectly styled hair, and was trying to cover up that unsightly orange spot with her hand. It made her look as if she were pledging allegiance.
Hunsacker didn't even seem to notice. He skimmed the chart, nodded once, and then pulled out a gold Cross pen to make his own notations on the form. This entailed checking his watch, copying the time on the chart and the fact that he'd arrived. Then he pulled out that little notebook and made another memo to himself.
"Ready?" he asked Janice with that sudden, bright smile as he pocketed his personal notes. Without waiting for her answer, he took her by the hand and led her into the room. Casey just sat where she was and stared.
"There you are! Damn it, what the hell did you run off for?"
Casey didn't even look away from where Janice was closing the blinds for the pelvic. "Abe, do Jews believe in vampires?"
That brought him to a halt. "Romanian Jews, I guess. I want you to know I just escaped the clutches of that—that..."
"Slut puppy," she offered absently.
"Yeah. Right." His gaze followed hers, as if the closed blinds would offer explanation. "Did you see that damn tattoo?"
"Quite a beauty. I'm sure she was just showing you hers so you'd show her yours. I think he's a vampire, Abe."
"I tell ya, it's a fuckin' curse to be blessed—who's a vampire?"
"Hunsacker," she allowed, jumping off the desk. "It's the only reason I can come up with for Janice acting like a cocker spaniel puppy around him. She doesn't for you, ya know, and you have the Dick of Death. I bet he has thousands and thousands of red-eyed rats out in the parking lot."
Abe waved her off. "He has money and a great set of hands. And he's tryin' to make points. Once he has enough uteruses in his waiting room, he won't waste any more time on the help. Besides, he's taller than Janice, and she's archaic enough to think that makes a difference."
A Man to Die For Page 4
