Jenkins and the Naughty Nurse: A Beyond Series Off-shoot

by Ashley Logan

  "Oh. How's your mom doing?"

  Relaxing a little, he looks to the ceiling as the corners of his mouth turn down and he shrugs. "Okay, I guess. Yours?"

  "I've been trying not to call. I think she's probably having the time of her life now that I've detached my umbilical cord."

  Snorting, Bruno nods. "Not missing your nighttime breastfeed?"

  "Nah." I raise my coffee and relax back in my chair. "It's kind of nice being on my own. I almost feel like a grown up."

  "When are you going to start dressing like one?"

  Looking down at my shorts and shirt covered in paint, I wave him off.

  "Not all of us are immaculate painters like you. And my leg brace doesn't fit in my jeans. Who cares anyway? It's still summer."

  "Only technically. The weather is definitely turning."

  Shrugging, I set my empty cup in the sink. "I will cling to summer for as long as I can. Snow is a bitch to get around in."

  "Yet you continue to live in Buffalo," Bruno says with a laugh.

  "I'm attached."

  "I'm glad," he says, standing and stretching before putting his cup next to mine. "Let me know if you feel yourself drifting and we'll pull you in." Punching me in the arm, he smiles and takes a step towards the door.

  "Thanks man. Say hi to Scar and the others for me."

  "Will do. You should come around for dinner one night. Make it a Sunday so nobody has to rush off to work."

  "Yeah, maybe. I promised Mom I'd come see her at least once a week, and she usually does a lot of baking on Sundays. I'll let you know."

  "Cool. You coming in to work tomorrow?"

  Inhaling the mixture of paint and coffee, I shake my head. "I think a few days to settle in here is what I need. I'll work on the Rec Center stuff and come back next week. That okay?"

  "Whatever you need, man. Just don't start sliding downhill."

  "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine Mom. See ya later."

  Waving over his shoulder, he heads out the door.

  Turning back to the living room, I smile as the colors pop around me. My phone chimes from the table and I check my watch. Rushing to the table, I swear as my leg collects a smear of paint from the coffee table on the way past.

  Grabbing up the phone, I swipe the screen, anxious to see what Stace might have to say.

  Stace: I wish I knew how to paint myself out of corners. I bet you do it all the time. I'm ready to move out, but Mom's been so crazy nice lately that I almost don't want to. Have you noticed any changes in her when you see her on Fridays? Do you have any idea what's gotten into her?

  Me: Maybe it was Barry down at the church.

  Stace: Ew. Forget I asked.

  Me: I did think she was a bit more rocky on that leg of hers. Maybe he put her hip out?

  Stace: OMG stop!

  Me: Why? Jealous that your mom's getting more action than you are?

  Stace: How would you know how much action I'm getting?

  Me: I don't. You're vagina has been unavailable for consultation. Just hoping.

  Stace: Well just shut up instead. You doing okay?

  Me: As can be. Friday tomorrow. Still happy for me to paint with Ry?

  Stace: If you haven't tired of it yet, sure.

  Me: Cool. You want me to ask your mom about Barry? I can do it in a way that doesn't sound like I'm checking up on them on your behalf. I could ask what positions he's proficient in, under the guise of expanding my own repertoire.

  Stace: Good night Bradley.

  Me: Night Stace.

  Smiling as I put my phone in my pocket, I imagine Stace shaking her head at me as her lips curl upward. I might not be right there with her, but if I can make her smile, it's enough.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  STACE

  I can't stop thinking about him. Ry's at school, Mom's at work and I'm home alone wishing I could be with Bradley fucking Jenkins. I want to curl up in his lap while he makes me purr. The man has wheeled his way into my heart and refuses to get the hell out. Checking the time on my phone, I groan. Still six hours before I go to work.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I send him a message. Ten minutes later I'm pacing around the house for probably the fiftieth time. It's a grating circuit too. Mom's house is dated as fuck and every time I pass the fringed apricot lampshade, I imagine kicking the wooden base over and jumping on the wire framework until it's unrecognizable. Heading around to pass it again, I turn and go the other way in case I give in to temptation.

  Oh, what I would do if I could only give in to damn temptation. No wonder my mother always thought I was destined for hell.

  Squeezing my phone as if demanding it cough up information from Brad, I look around.

  No-one is home. I can call and talk to him!

  Hitting his number, I start pacing again as it rings, wondering what the fuck I'll say. So many things. Nothing at all. I just want to hear his voice.

  No, you don't.

  Why is it when you want someone else, all you get is yourself? I'm not what I need right now.

  I want him to make me laugh. I want to see him in the flesh. I want to grab that flesh and cling to it until I'm crying out his name in a fit of passion, only to want it all again five minutes later. I want him to hold me and never let go. Ever.

  He's going to let go.

  He hasn't yet.

  Still arguing with myself as the call goes to voicemail, I hang up.

  Told you he'd let go.

  Gritting my teeth, I call again. The same thing happens.

  Slumping into a chair at the table, I stare out the kitchen window. It's mid-morning and I'm wound up tight enough to spin for the rest of the day.

  Running a hand over my face, I push up from the table. He'll be at work. His phone could be anywhere, but he'll be painting. Grabbing my bag and my keys, I make a mad dash for Alfred.

  The whole ride downtown, I think about what I'm actually going to say to him, and by the time I arrive at Stone Plaza, I still have no idea.

  Boarding the elevator with two well-dressed business-types, I look down at my flip-flops, denim cut-offs and band t-shirt. A little flustered, I choose the wrong number and get out a floor below Brad's current job. The elevator moves on without me before I can jump back in.

  Cutting a few choice words, I jab at the button then take a moment to appreciate the truly beautiful job Bruno and Brad have done on the nearby wall before turning back to the elevator.

  "Well done, isn't it?" a tailor-suited man comments as he strolls towards the elevator. He hits the button and the doors open automatically. Fucking typical.

  Rushing in behind him, I agree about the mural and am about to hit the next floor up, when he gets to it before me. Smiling, he eyes me curiously.

  "Coming to see someone in particular?"

  Pulling my messy bun tight, I nod. "That obvious I'm not here on business, huh? You guys are a sharp bunch," I spout before covering my mouth. "Sorry. That was rude. I'm having a weird day."

  Appearing somewhat amused, the guy gestures for me to exit first as the elevator comes to a smooth and silent stop.

  Already rushing out the door, I pull to stop. I can only see Bruno painting the wall. His back to me and one ear-bud dangling, he moves almost as if he's dancing the paint on.

  "Hey twinkle toes! Where's Jenkins?"

  Whirling around at my call, Bruno almost paints a line across my face and I have to lean back to escape it.

  "Shit! Sorry Stace!" Pulling the other earphone from his ear, Bruno puts down his brush. "You surprised me. Um... He's working from home."

  Looking at the wall, I turn back to squint at Bruno. "What? How the fuck does that work?" Rubbing my forehead, I squeeze my eyes shut. "Sorry. I don't know where my manners have gone. What do you mean he's home? Is he sick?"

  "Aaah, no?" he says, unconvincingly. "I don't think so, anyway. It's hard to tell sometimes. He's being weird, but not sick weird. Just..." He casts a wiggling hand at the paint on the wall. "He's not quite him
self. Distracted and stuff. We have another project he's working on at home while he figures out some... stuff."

  Bruno's eyes skitter away and he pulls up. Glancing behind me, I see the snazzy guy from the elevator and groan. Like I need a fucking audience for my meltdown.

  I swipe Bruno in the arm to get his attention.

  "Am I stuff?"

  "Huh?"

  "Me. Am I what he's 'figuring out' right now," I ask, using air quotes.

  Studying me a moment, Bruno nods.

  Sighing, I shake my head and turn back to the elevator. "I'm going to see him."

  "Then be nice. He doesn't need you jumping in and out of his life whenever you feel like it Stace," he warns, wiping his hand with a rag. "If you're going to keep reeling him in just to push him away, just cut him loose and give him a chance at something else."

  I turn back around slowly. "You think I'm doing it on purpose?"

  "No. I just think he deserves better that to be toyed with."

  "I'm not toying with him!"

  "Glad to hear it. That man loves you and your kid something fierce and you'll break his damn heart if you tell him he's not man enough to have a chance with you."

  "He's all man! What the fuck are you talking about? You know him. You know what he is."

  Confusion fills Bruno's face and I shake my head, making for the elevator again. "Don't worry. I'll be better off talking to him. Thanks for the chat, fancy feet. I'll be sure to let Brad know he's got some good men behind him."

  The guy in the suit presses the elevator button as I approach and the doors open immediately for me to walk in. Smiling sweetly, he gives a little finger-wiggle of a wave as the doors close again.

  Cursing, I dip my head as I feel my cheeks glowing. I'm pretty sure that guy was probably Brad's boss.

  I try his phone again with no luck. Yelling at it as I toss it into the passenger seat, I ask why Brad hasn't mentioned anything to me about how he's feeling. He plays it cool in our text messages, making me laugh and feel good about myself, but he never talks about him. I have no idea what state of mind he's in, but withdrawing from his friends and work, and not answering his phone, aren't things that fill me with confidence. Freaking myself out the whole way to Belmont, I hope that Brad's not home alone wallowing in some suicidal state. I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull up just as Brad's mom is pulling out.

  "Stacey?" she says, as her window is lowering.

  Picking up my big girl panties, I push aside all my 'mommy' issues and pretend she's a patient's family member.

  "Mrs. Jenkins, hi. I just came to see Brad. He's not answering his phone," I say, proud that I don't feel like cowering behind a closed door. Maybe my mom's uncharacteristic niceness of late has been helpful in this regard.

  "Just Bev, dear. Please. And I'm sure, he's probably just busy at work."

  "Bruno said he was working at home," I say, confused.

  Frowning, his mom checks her phone. "And he's not there?"

  Confused, I look at the house behind her. I'm missing something. He's not here.

  "Where exactly is he living at the moment?" I ask, cringing on the inside. He's moved out and I don't even know. He hasn't told me and I didn't even think to ask.

  "He's got a big place downtown," she says, looking at me with the same 'how do you not know' kind of expression that is probably plastered on my face.

  "Here," she says, reaching past her golf clubs for the little score-pad and pencil. Scribbling out the address, she tears off the paper and hands it too me.

  "Looks like you two might have some talking to do. Good luck." She gives me a kind smile before waving and continuing on her way.

  Stunned, I look at the address in my hand and call out to her but it's too late. Jumping in my car, I try Brad again. Still no response.

  Putting Alfred in gear, I head back downtown, looking at the note paper sitting on my passenger seat. Repeating the address over and over in my head, I keep every other dark thought at bay so I can drive. Arriving in record time, I park Alfred and run to the door with the big number six painted above it, just about banging it down with my fist as I knock.

  No answer.

  Pressing my ear to the door, I can hear music inside, but it's low, almost distant.

  Banging again, I try his phone at the same time. When I hear his stupid answering service again, I kick the door, succeeding only in hurting my foot.

  Eying the door carefully, I pull a card from my wallet on the off chance that his shitty door has an even shittier lock that I can manipulate.

  Moments later, I burst into a bright white space filled with color splattered furniture in the most random psychedelic trip I've ever seen and the music is so much louder inside that it's disorienting. The door swings shut behind me and I wonder what kind of psychological horror film I've walked into.

  Searching the space, I move on down a wide hallway, going from room to room until I burst through into another larger, color-filled space to find Brad wearing nothing but shorts, streaked with paint and sprawled across the floor, brush in hand as he follows the line of some large woman's bulbous ass as she looks to be doing aqua-aerobics.

  Looking up at my arrival, his eyes grow huge. Scrambling to sit up, he reaches for a remote as I slam into him.

  "Answer. Your. Fucking. Phone!" I yell, hitting him and grabbing his stupid curly hair so I'm able to mash my lips into his.

  Gentle hands quiet me and he rolls us over so I'm pinned to the floor. He takes control of the kisses and I lose the edge to my anger; my fear. I start to remember why I wanted to see him in the first place. Deepening the kiss, I draw him in, but he starts to pull back.

  Breathing hard he looks down at me as he strokes my hair back. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows and he pushes himself up before reaching again for the remote. The music stops and he tosses it aside.

  "What are you doing here, Stace?"

  Straightening my shirt, I pull myself into a sitting position too. Running my hands up and down my bare legs, I look around and assess him quickly with a professional eye.

  "I don't know. You seem perfectly fine." Getting to my feet, I dust myself off. "You should really answer your phone."

  Frowning, Brad pulls himself into his wheelchair and rolls towards a desk on the far side of the workshop. Taking up his phone, he looks visibly shocked.

  "You've never called me before," he says, scrolling through his screens. "And you hardly send messages in the day. You've called over a dozen times."

  "Yeah. It would've been nice to know you were alive."

  Giving me a sharp look, his eyes return to his phone.

  "It also would've helped to know that you haven't been going in for work," I say, feeling some of my anger building again. "Or that you'd moved house," I add as he holds his phone up and points to a message I can't read.

  "You talked to my mom."

  Sighing, I rub my face and readjust my glasses. "Yeah, I talked to your mom. I also broke into your apartment."

  The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he taps out a quick message, then he swipes and scrolls again.

  "You do all that because you feared for my safety? Or was it to follow up on this here message about meeting me for lunch?"

  I'm reluctant to admit to either. Folding my arms, I twist slowly on the spot. Noticing my surroundings for the first time, my arms slowly return to hang limp at my sides.

  "It's a lot to take in," he says, quietly appearing at my side. "You need to sit down?" he asks, pulling me gently into his lap. Collapsing onto him gratefully, I look over his shoulder at all of the portraits as he wheels us both back down the hall towards the strong coffee smell.

  "I'd love to have lunch with you, if it's still on offer," he says, supporting me with one huge arm as he leans to inspect inside the fridge with the other. "I'm a fan of breakfast for most meals. We could have bacon and eggs, or pancakes. Or fruit salad. What do you feel like?"

  Still trying to find some words, I s
imply point back down the hallway.

  "Don't worry about it," he says, pulling out bacon, milk and eggs and setting them on the counter. "I think pancakes and bacon. That okay?"

  Watching me a moment, he gives me a sad smile. "They're just feelings, Stace. You don't have to be scared of them."

  As if I weren't hindering his every move, Brad moves around the kitchen, pouring coffee and getting out mixing bowls, a pan, and more ingredients.

  "Stop," I whisper. "Just stop."

  Setting the flour onto the counter, he rests his hands on his wheels and stills.

  We sit there in silence for a long time.

  "I hope you didn't damage my lock when you broke in here."

  "I didn't, but you might still want to consider getting a better one."

  "Will you be able to bypass a better one?" he asks, his expression thoughtful.

  I give a shrug.

  "I might just leave it how it is then," he says, keeping his eyes low and fidgeting with the tread on his tires. "I kind of liked you busting in and kissing me."

  "I also hit you."

  "I may have liked that too," he says, a smile creeping into his voice. "Just a little. Not in an unhealthy way."

  "Stop trying to make me laugh."

  "Okay," he says with a small nod. "What should I do?"

  "Explain this," I reply, gesturing at his brightly decorated furniture.

  "It made me happy," he says, studying my face intently.

  "Stop it."

  "Being happy?"

  "Looking at me as though you're memorizing my every detail. I can see by your collection that you've got me pegged. And Ry. And everyone else. Just stop scrutinizing my features. It's weird."

  Taking a deep breath, I glance back out to the hall. "Not as weird as being confronted with all the important people in your life presented in a series of intricate portraits, but somewhere on the same spectrum."

  "I like being surrounded by the people I love. Not all the time. Some of them are annoying beyond short interactions, but it makes me feel good to know that they're there."

  "I haven't been there for you at all."

  "You're there for me without realizing you're doing it."

  "Liar."

  Sighing, he leans back in his chair. "You'll believe whatever you're going to believe, I guess. You want to skip lunch and just eat ice-cream? I only have cookies and cream, sorry. I ate the vanilla yesterday. I wasn't expecting you to just show up out of the blue."