Crush

by Laura Susan Johnson

  "No, honey, I'm fine."

  Beneath a day's growth of beard, his skin is like porcelain. Maturity has filled out his jaw and chin, making his cheekbones appear even more exotic under the dark shadows of his long lashes. His pink lips turn down in a gentle, sensual pout as he moves quietly around Mom's bed. The combination of male and female traits in his face is intoxicating. Even his nose is pretty. As he examines Mom's feet, he smiles, "Good pedal pulses," and I silently combust in my chair. I keep my eyes fixed on the gold linoleum squares under my feet, and I hear him say, "Okay, you let me know."

  "Thank you, sweetie. So glad you were on last night."

  I feel him pause beside me.

  I can't look up. I can't...

  "You look like your mom," he says in the soft, breathless way I remember.

  The air around me begins to swelter. I try to smile, but it's a grimace of pain. "Yeah," I choke.

  He leaves, creating a breeze that mercifully cools the back of my neck.

  He spoke to me!

  I must look a sight, because Mom asks, "Honey? Do you know him?"

  I'm smothering. "Went to high school with him."

  "He's wonderful, isn't he?"

  Every time I hear a footstep outside Mom's room, I startle to full attention, my entire body rising off the chair. But Jamie does not come back.

  I'm flustered. I'm tired. I need to go home, I need to wind down.

  Mom interrupts my thoughts. "Tammy, can you tell Jamie I'm starting to have some pain now?"

  It's six-thirty. My feet feel like they weigh a ton as I make my way to the nurses' desk. He sits in front of the open spot on the clear glass shield, writing in a big green chart. I clear my throat. He looks up, and his weary eyes barely graze mine before they're back on the papers before him. "Hi," he stammers.

  "I'm gonna go home for a while. My mom says she might need a pain pill now."

  His eyes flicker up at me. "Okay, I'll make sure she gets one."

  "You've been working since last night, huh?"

  He smiles, "Yeah. I'm sooo tired."

  "I can imagine. You don't have to work again tonight, do you?"

  He grins wanly. "Have to be back at three."

  I exclaim, "I'll bet you sleep like a log when you get home! Before your head hits the pillows!" I imagine him, dead exhausted, not even undressing, collapsing onto his bed in his sweaty uniform.

  He bequeaths me the gifts of his eyes, another smile. "Luckily, I only have to do eight hours tonight.

  I can't hold eye contact. I focus on a torn spot in the fabric binding the green chart he's holding. "Well, get some rest."

  "Will do."

  "Okay... goodnight... I mean, goodbye..."

  His voice is silken. "Bye, Tammy."

  I feel his eyes on me as I incinerate all the way down the hall and into the elevator, and I finally, silently respond to what my mom said about him.

  Yeah, he's wonderful, more than wonderful. And he's still here. He's here, and he's all I've ever wanted.

  fourteen:

  jamie

  (early-mid december)

  It's a typical Thursday night. I've just come off another monster double shift, day into swing, but instead of going home, I'm at The End. I'm already in Tipsyland and making a fast detour to Drunk Off My Ass. Guilt gently prods at me. I've been feeding the "kids" and making sure they have water and their litter pan is clean, but otherwise I've been neglecting them. I miss them, I wish I was at home with them. I wish Lloyd was there so we could all get under that huge quilt and watch an old black and white Cary Grant movie.

  As I puff on my cigarette, Stacy begins her usual chastisement. "Why don't I order us some buffalo wings and ranch? You look like any minute you're going to dry up and blow away."

  I roll my eyes irascibly and spew a thick cloud of smoke. "Told you, I'm not hungry."

  "You never eat!"

  "Why eat when I can drink? And smoke?"

  Stacy frowns at me like a worried mother. I had a mother who didn't worry about me one bit. I don't need Stacy to be my mother now.

  "I know it's because of Lloyd," she says gently.

  It's only been eight months. I didn't know there was a law that says I have to get over a death in "X" amount of months. I don't say any of this to Stacy. I just hold it in, like I hold everything else in.

  "You've lost so much weight, you're as thin as a spindle." Her usual lecture. She stubs out her smoke and digs out a five to get us another couple of midori sours. "How much weight have you lost exactly?"

  The look I give her says I don't want to discuss it, but she doesn't take the hint.

  "Fine. I weigh one-thirty-eight."

  "You're lying to me," she frowns. "I weigh one-twenty-five and I know I weigh more than you do! Besides you said one-thirty-eight when I asked you almost a year ago! I didn't believe you then!"

  I let the cucumber flavour of my midori sour sit on my tongue for a moment and then swallow. "I can't be mad at you because I know you love me."

  "I'm glad of that," agrees Stacy.

  "But you're not my mother."

  "Maybe not, but I'm worried about you. You work too hard, you don't sleep, you don't eat, you're all alone and won't let anyone in..."

  "I'm fine, Stacy."

  "No, you're not. Don't tell me you're fine."

  It's one of those rare times when I'm ready to tell her to fuck off and mind her own business, that by now, she knows who I am, and why I am, and if she doesn't like me this way, she needs to find a new best friend.

  She intrudes on those thoughts. "I know you have your reasons. I know, Jamie. But you're my best friend and I worry about you. It can't be helped."

  "Think we're too drunk to sing?"

  She brightens. "You wanna?"

  "Yeah. I know just what song I want to sing tonight."

  We sing "How Soon Is Now" by the Smiths. She doesn't know it, but it's my response to Stacy pestering me about my life. I'm alone. Sure, Tammy's back in town. So what? He won't be here long. He'll only be here long enough to disrupt my peaceful existence, to throw my order into chaos. Then he'll be gone, back to his perfect life.

  I try to hate him. I want to hate him. For coming home. For being so perfect, so sweet. For making me fall in love with him all over again.

  "I remember you," I said to him the other morning. What I wanted to say was, "Why did you have to come home now, you asshole?!"

  But I don't hate him. How can I hate him, how can I even be mad at him, when he's so beautiful? So wonderful?

  I'll never hate him. I'll go on worshipping him long after he's back in L.A.

  "I loved your song."

  He's standing in front of us.

  Immediately, I'm sober as a judge. "Thank you." I'm unable to speak above a whisper. While I grab another Wave menthol and light up with shaking hands, Stacy leaps up to hug him. "Hey! When did you get back in town?"

  He looks at me expectantly.

  As I focus on the orange-red tip of my cigarette, I explain, "His mom's in the hospital. She fell and broke her pelvis. Dr. Mumy," I sneer the name, "Thought she'd broken her hip. When he couldn't see anything wrong with the hip he had her up walking all over the halls. He's such an ass."

  Stacy laughs, "Sit down, Tammy."

  He smiles hugely. "You guys are still singing!"

  "Almost every week, unless one or both of us has to work."

  "You both work at St. Paul's?"

  "I'm a respiratory therapist," Stacy says.

  "But you guys stayed in town?"

  "Nothing wrong with Sommerville," Stacy shrugs.

  Tammy blushes. "No, I mean... I've been back home to visit Mom several times and I never saw you guys. I looked, at church, around town, here..."

  "Oh, yeah?" grins Stacy, and elbows me.

  Tammy's face turns even redder. "Shut up."

  "Unless we're working, we're here," Stacy says.

  He smiles at me full force. I feel something clutch tightly inside o
f me. I take another long drag and turn my face away, so I can blow the smoke somewhere other than towards him.

  "What are you doing now, Tam?" asks Stacy.

  I read her mind. We're going to pretend we know nothing about his radio show.

  "I work at my college radio station. I host a show, College Rock Lives!"

  "Sounds cool," she replies, her voice laced with innocence.

  He shrugs. "It's nothing. We play rare stuff that the other stations don't play, like the Smiths! I love them. And R.E.M., the Pixies, all kinds of great stuff."

  "We could use a station like that around here," Stacy says, her eyes wide and unknowing. "I hardly listen to radio anymore. It sucks from one end of the dial to the other."

  "No, not the Jammin' Oldies station!" I protest.

  "Oh yeah. All me and Jamie have ever listened to is New Wave and Jammin' Oldies," Stacy laughs. "We can't get into all this new stuff. I don't even know who Lady Gaga and Katy Perry are! Who are they?"

  "We're really getting old now!" I add.

  "Actually, there's an affiliate station in Davis where you can hear my show." Tammy's trying to be modest, but I can tell he loves his job. "We're also in San Francisco, Berkeley, San Diego, and Santa Cruz."

  "Ah," Stacy smiles. "So you're kinda famous up and down the state, eh?"

  "Nooooo," he rolls his eyes.

  "How long you been doing it?"

  "About twelve years."

  "Shit! Why don't we ever hear about these things!" Stacy curses a little too gaily. "Are you on every night?"

  "Four nights a week," Tammy replies. "They're probably playing a show from a few months ago since I've been home."

  Home is here for him.

  "I would have thought Ray had told you about my show," Tammy says dejectedly. I want to tell him we're pulling his leg, but I can't seem to talk right now.

  All the alcohol I've been consuming on an empty stomach must have evaporated the moment he came to our table. It's getting an F for effort. I'm shaking so hard my teeth are clicking loudly in my ears. I can barely look at him. My insides won't stop their ruthless lurching.

  "I can't stay," Tammy says. "I'm heading back to the hospital for a while. I just wanted to say thank you, Jamie."

  I gulp, finally meeting his eyes, but only for a millisecond. "For what?"

  "For convincing that stupid damn doctor to see that her pelvis was fractured." He reaches across the table and shakes Stacy's hand. "Gotta go." Then he turns to me. "Thank you, Jamie."

  Whenever I hear my name cross his lips, it's all I can do to maintain my sanity. Now, I put my cigarette in the ashtray and give him my tobacco-stinking hand. His fingers wrap warmly around mine. My heart skips, stumbles, like a man falling down an embankment. My eyes fix on his big, warm fingers...

  Tammy says something to Stacy, and I blink. He's still holding my hand. I have no idea how many seconds have passed since he started shaking it. I feel him piercing into me with his eyes. I see Stacy smiling wickedly at me from the side. I feel like I'm about to die. He's not letting go of my hand. He's gently squeezing it...

  "Okay, goodnight." I'm pleading with him to let me go. He's killing me.

  He's not letting go. The sooner I get it over with, the sooner he'll let go, then I can function normally again. I shove my eyes up to meet his. It's torture, but I hold the contact.

  He slowly smiles. Time congeals.

  Joy floods me, overwhelming, overflowing, spilling out of me, cascading out of me. Our eyes lock. Nobody else is in this room right now. Nobody else lives in this entire world.

  Finally, he releases me. The loss of contact wakes me. I look at the ashtray. All that's left of my cigarette is a long grey ash. Embarrassed, I let it fall among the six or seven other butts and grab a new one.

  "Bye, you guys," Tammy says, backing away slowly, his eyes on me.

  "Bye," Stacy and I say in unison. He finally turns and strides toward the glowing green exit, looking back over his shoulder, still smiling at me, driving me insane even from that distance.

  "Jamie!"

  Please, God, don't start.

  "Oh. My. God!"

  Still trying to ignore her.

  fifteen:

  tammy

  (mid-december)

  They sing the classic Smiths song flawlessly. The sadness in Jamie's voice makes the air around me warm, moist.

  I can't stop thinking about him.. The re-acquaintance I've made with his face keeps it sharply drawn the next couple of days and nights. That graceful, androgynous face, that luminous smile that sets my heart pounding in time with my throbbing cock.

  I've never felt so euphoric. Not a one of those one-nighters could ever compare to this. I'm happy. I'm genuinely happy. I'm not planning stylish seductions. I'm not inventing counterfeit names and numbers. I'm not about to give this feeling up. When his face begins to fade, it's time to see him. I need to see him, and I can't wait for the feeling to explode inside of me again.

  As long as she's in the hospital Mom's the perfect pretext. I tear up the stairwell to the third floor because the elevator takes too long to arrive.

  There's no sign of him at the station, and I'm like a kid who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas.

  Besides, whenever he's not on, Mom gets substandard care.

  I stop a guy who has "RN" on his badge like Jamie. "Is Jamie working today?"

  "Jamie Pearce or Jamie Fillmore?"

  "Pearce."

  "He and Stacy went to lunch," the nurse says. "They should be back at four, or look in the smoking section outside the cafeteria."

  I don't even stop to check on Mom before I stampede in the direction the nurse indicates. I can't bridle myself. Something bigger than me is spurring me.

  He and Stacy sit smoking at a cement table, in the shade of a droopy willow, twenty yards away, as I enter the courtyard. They're both dressed in blue uniforms. He's wearing a long-sleeved white shirt under his smock. His long tawny hair is out of its on-duty tail and flows wildly around his shoulders.

  I stand, surrounded by tables, my eyes glued to his face, his lips, as he draws off his ever present cigarette. I suddenly feel exposed, and I'm prepared to do an about-face, but Stacy sees me. Too late. She waves me over vigorously as I hold my breath and try to be casual as I stroll up to their table.

  Feeling more idiotic with each passing second, I greet them with a guttural, sea lion yelp, "Hey!"

  Jamie's intently scrutinising the glowing tip of his cigarette as usual. I wish he didn't smoke. He looks annoyed, like I've spoiled a really fun private lunch. I feel my heart start to founder as I stutter awkwardly, "I know you guys are working. I just stopped by to see my Mom..." I'm rapidly losing my nerve. This is just not like me.

  "Well, don't just stand there, sit down!" chirps Stacy. She glances at Jamie and gives me a sly wink. She's an ally.

  "How are you guys?"

  Jamie still seems irritated. "Fine."

  "We were just talking about Jamie's latest adventure up on three south," says Stacy. "When he came on duty this morning, he found one of his patients had been in a diabetic coma all night. The night nurse was too busy sleeping to check the guy's sugar."

  "Stacy," Jamie chides her in a sing-song voice, "Patient privacy."

  "Oh, Tam doesn't know him! Anyway, Jamie checks the guy's sugar and it's five hundred and forty-eight!"

  "Is that bad?" I ask.

  "Hell, yeah!"

  "I knew something was wrong the minute I went into his room," says Jamie. "'Cause he was breathing funny, and his room smelled fruity."

  "Fruity?" I parrot.

  "His body was trying to get rid of excess sugar because Dumbshit didn't give him his insulin. We sent him up to ICU. They have him on an insulin drip now."

  It's all Greek to me, so I say nothing. I'd rather listen to him talk anyway. He can talk about his job anytime. He can talk about anything, anytime. I love how he talks a little twangy like Mr. Tafford.

  "Is she in trou
ble?" Stacy asks.

  Jamie scowls. "They wrote her ass up, but they won't fire her, even though she always sleeps on the job. They've asked her to switch to days, but she won't—too much work, you know." Suddenly, he brightens and grins decadently. "It hasn't been all bad today. I'm also taking care of a guy who popped two Viagra last night. He's still pitching a tent!"

  Stacy and I bust up laughing. "Are you shitting me?" I ask.

  "Nope. He's trying to be discreet about his... condition, but every time I pass by his room, I look in the little window and there it is!"

  "Shut up!" I howl.

  "Yeah. I think his girlfriend wanted a three day orgasm or something!"

  The three of us snicker, and I begin snorting like that bimbette Chrissie Snow on Three's Company, and that makes us laugh even harder.

  "Is your lunch almost over?" I ask, when the hullabaloo abates a little, even though I already know. Jamie nods.

  "I want to see you guys sing again. Can I have your number, Jamie?" God! I'm supposed to be used to asking for numbers. I asked for dozens during my virile college years. I'm supposed to be used to taking charge and making the moves. My voice still sounds like a barking seal as I quickly deploy another innocuous addendum. "Then I can call you and find out what night you guys are going to sing."

  "My number?" he asks. His voice is like warm honey.

  "Yeah," I manage to croak, my hands rattling as I dig into my pockets for a scrap of paper. He borrows a pen from Stacy. His hands are as unsteady as mine as he scribbles down the numbers. As he hands it to me, I deliberately wrap my fingers around his. A current races up my legs and into my belly. A smile completely ungoverned by me spreads across my face. He stares up at me, and now I know. There's no doubt in my mind. It was true then, and it's true now.