A Special Obsession

by A. M. Hargrove

  Checking the time, I see it’s after seven. He’ll be in the office already so I decide to get it over with.

  “Quinn, why are you calling me?”

  “Hi, Dad. I, er, won’t be in today. And probably not tomorrow either.”

  “Why is that?” he asks curtly.

  “I’m in the hospital. I came down with some kind of fever thing, and I’m on IV antibiotics. They said I’d be here for a few days.”

  Dead silence.

  “Dad? You there?”

  “I’m here. Fever thing? Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Yes, well, I began running a really high fever, and I’m not quite sure how high because I became delirious.”

  “Delirious? Son, what hospital are you in?”

  Shit! I look around and try to find the name of the hospital I’m in. I never bothered to ask Special. “I’m not sure.”

  “Quinn, are you bullshitting me?”

  “No, sir, I’m not. If you hang on a minute, I’ll buzz the nurse’s station and ask.”

  “Yes, do that.” His reply is cold.

  When the nurse comes on, I ask her. There is a moment of silence on her end before she tells me. I hear chuckling in the background.

  This is not going to be my day.

  Or week.

  I thank her and get back on the phone with my dad. After I tell him which hospital, he’s silent. I’m not sure if he believes me, but the last thing I need is for him to pay a visit up here.

  “You have a fever?” Doubt laces his question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What room are you in?”

  Of all the … “I don’t know, Dad.”

  “Look, Quinn, I’m just trying to process this… this story of yours. I see you on Friday and you’re fine, and now you call to tell me you’re in the hospital with some kind of fever. What the hell am I supposed to think?” he asks, his voice radiating anger.

  He’s right to some degree. This sounds a little scammy. “I know, Dad. But I don’t know what else to say? I’m sick. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

  “I’m supposed to accept that and not come see for myself?”

  “No, you can come. You’ll have to check at the front desk for my room number.”

  “I’ll be there at lunch,” he snaps.

  “See you then,” I say and we end the call. Fucking hell. I’m going to have to come up with something to tell him.

  The door swings open, and a woman wearing a long lab coat walks in.

  “Hello, Mr. Wyndham. I’m Dr. Santiago. I don’t know if you recall me from earlier this morning.”

  “Not really.”

  “You’re looking much better.”

  She clicks on her iPad and taps it a few times. “It looks like your fever has dropped.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. We have you on several antibiotics. That wound of yours should have a nice turnaround. Good thing we retrieved that piece of metal that was left behind. You need to be more careful on construction sites.”

  Construction sites? Is that what I told them?

  “Doctor, can you explain what you did again? I don’t recall.”

  “Yes, we found a piece of metal from the rod that punctured you. You didn’t know there was anything in your buttock, but that’s what caused the infection when your wound closed. Too bad they don’t make safety pants.” She chuckles. When she notices I’m not laughing, she says, “Sorry. That was in poor taste.”

  “No, it was funny. But I just got some pain medication so I’m a little slow. My father will be showing up here and will probably be asking all kinds of questions. I would rather he didn’t know the details about this.”

  “Mr. Wyndham, according to HIPPA laws, we can’t share any of your health information with anyone unless you give us written permission.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Let the nurses know if you need anything. I have pain medication available for you if you need it. You should try to rest while you’re here.”

  “Thank you. Oh, I do have a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “This, uh, catheter? How long do I need it?” I pat the sheet covering my poor dick.

  “Oh, yes. We can remove it later today. Sorry we had to do that to you, but with infections like these we wanted to make sure your kidneys were functioning okay, that your urine output was good and …” she bends down to check the bag the tube is attached to, “it seems to be fine. If all your labs come back good today with respect to your kidney function, I’ll put the order in to have it removed later this afternoon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not a fan, huh?”

  “To be honest, it scared the shit out of me when I saw it.”

  She barks out a laugh. “Worried about your male parts?”

  “A bit.”

  “They’ll be just fine.”

  That’s easy for her to say. She doesn’t have a penis. After she’s gone, I try to sleep, but the place is too noisy and bright. Then the nurse returns to take my temperature and hooks up another bag of fluid to my IV and more antibiotics.

  “This place is like a circus,” I say.

  “That’s what everyone says. It’s too crazy to catch any sleep.” She smiles.

  “You thought I was a little nutty earlier, didn’t you?” I ask.

  She puts her hands on her hips and chuckles. She’s an older woman, maybe in her early fifties with graying hair, and when she smiles it brightens her eyes. “Well, Mr. Wyndham, I must admit, I’ve never had a patient who was worried about his privates falling off.”

  “Okay, maybe I took it a little too far, but when I got a good look at that giant tube, it scared the crap out of me. You have to admit, it is a little daunting.”

  “I can imagine it would be, seeing it for the first time.” She laughs again. “But it’s also convenient, isn’t it? Just think. You don’t have to get up to use the restroom.”

  “Well, I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you while I’m here?” She brought ice water so I’m good and let her know.

  “Oh, there is one thing. Around lunch, my father will be showing up. Be prepared. He will probably make an ass out of himself. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. He’ll think he owns the place.”

  “One of those, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll charm him to death.” She winks again. “Or I’ll boss him around. I can be quite bossy, you know?”

  “I bet you can.” I’d actually like to see her run him off.

  The room is finally quiet and I must’ve dozed off when I hear a commotion outside, a sure indication my old man is trying to shove his way around. He’s yelling about wanting to know what exactly is wrong with me. My nurse answers she’s not allowed to give out that information. Dad bellows that he’s my father. She calmly, yet firmly states it’s the law and she cannot give out that information. He is not pleased. His footsteps sound closer and closer until the door nearly crashes open.

  “Quinn, what the devil is wrong with you?” he yells. The nurse is on his heels, telling him to keep his voice down.

  “Sir, we have sick patients here trying to rest. If you can’t keep your voice down, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  He spins around and asks, “Do you know who I am?”

  “You are Mr. Wyndham. And if you don’t quiet down, I’m calling security.”

  “Dad, come in and close the door.”

  He steps into the room and the nurse closes the door.

  “You can’t push your way around—”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he barks.

  “Dad, can you please lower your voice? I told you, I have a fever. Look,” I indicate with my hand all the stuff I’m attached to, “doesn’t this tell you something?”

  “It tells me nothing.”

  Blowing out a lungful of air, I say, “I went to the new site downtown yesterday morning t
o check on the top floor’s progress. I thought I’d get a jump on things. As I was checking some plans, I went to sit, but I didn’t notice the rebar sticking out. It grazed my ass cheek when it tore through my jeans, but I thought that was it. Apparently, it punctured me pretty good. The wound closed up, only I didn’t know it, which is why they think I got a fever. That and a tiny piece of it broke off in me. They had to retrieve it. I’m fine now.”

  “Christ. You can’t be stumbling around up there.” His mouth tightens in annoyance.

  “I wasn’t. It was an accident and I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, and now you’re out for a few days, which I can’t afford. Because you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings.”

  “Okay, Dad, you’re right.”

  He glares at me like I’m a child. He certainly makes me feel like one. “What’s that thing hanging off your bed there?”

  “It’s a bag for my catheter.”

  “They stuck a tube up your dick too?”

  “Yes, now you can go back to work and tell everyone.”

  He sneers. “A fever, a hole in your ass, and they fucked with your dick. You’re brilliant, Quinn.” No mention of I hope you feel better soon. “Get back to work as soon as you can. And I mean it.” Then he’s gone. At least I don’t have to speak to him for a few days. Bliss.

  13

  Special

  Delores is a gem who’s going to work out great, exactly as Jeb said. She steps right in as though she’s been working here forever. It’s a relief to see she knows her way around the kitchen. In many respects, she reminds me of Mimi, the way she jumps in and takes over—in a positive way. There won’t be any tedious training involved, and now I can get a little break every now and again. She’s assured me the long hours will be welcomed because she needs the money, and working late won’t be a problem. It almost seems too good to be true.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check it I grin.

  Weston: Thanks again for saving my life.

  Me: I didn’t save your life. I only took you to the hospital. The doctors saved your life.

  Weston: So in a sense you did save my life.

  Me. But if I hadn’t caused the problem in the first place, there wouldn’t have been a need to take you.

  Weston: You got me there.

  Me: Feeling any better?

  Weston: My ass still hurts. Ha-ha.

  Me: Not funny.

  Weston: You’re telling me. It’s my ass.

  Me: How’s your fever?

  Weston: Much better. I could use a visitor.

  I check the time and wonder if I could sneak out. It’s Monday and we’re not super busy.

  Me: Let me see if I can get away.

  Weston: Really?

  Me: Yes.

  Jeb is at the bar, and I notice the place isn’t too packed.

  “Hey, do you think you, Delores, and the rest of the staff can handle things if I make a quick trip to check on Weston?”

  “I can take care of the front, but she needs to manage the kitchen. You’d better check with her on that.”

  He keeps staring at me with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. Spill it.”

  “Thought you didn’t give a damn about him.”

  Glancing up at the ceiling, I beg for patience and self-control. “Of course, I care. I practically killed the guy.”

  He leans on the bar and gives me one of his yeah, right looks. “Spesh, that’s one tough dude. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a little scratch to kill him.”

  “You know what I mean,” I huff. “I gotta go.” I dash back to the kitchen. “Hey, Delores, can you handle things in here for a while?”

  “Sure, honey. I’m good.” She dumps a basket of freshly fried chicken tenders onto the paper towels I insist on using to soak up the grease. “Go on. I’ll be just fine here. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  I hang my apron on a hook, scrub my hands, and head to the back entrance where my jacket is. Soon I’m driving my Vespa to the hospital. A short ride later and I’m taking the elevator up to his floor.

  I tiptoe into the room until I notice he's watching TV.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “I didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep. I forgot to text you back.” I walk over to the chair and slip off my jacket when I notice his eyes widen to the point where I think he’s having a heart attack. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I rush to his side, but he grabs my hand and pulls my arm in, inspecting my ink.

  “Shit, Special, I didn’t know you had all this.”

  In my rush to get to the hospital, I forgot to pull my shirtsleeves down. Even though I love my ink, it’s not something I regularly expose to people I don’t know very well. I try to yank my hand out of his grip, but he holds on firmly, refusing to release me.

  “Hang on. Give me a chance to appreciate your art.” He scrutinizes it. I mean totally examines my ink. I tug my hand again, but he lifts his gaze, our eyes connecting.

  “I’m not judging, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m admiring and envying.” His eyes don’t leave mine for a long minute. My breath seizes somewhere between my lungs and throat and turns into a brick of concrete. It’s thick, so thick I can’t breathe.

  “It’s spectacular. I saw a bit of it before but never knew you had all this.”

  “Yeah,” the word comes out as a whisper, “I usually wear long sleeves unless I’m working.”

  “Why?”

  “Not everyone is a fan.” I lift a shoulder.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Do you have ink anywhere else?”

  “Yes. Everywhere. It’s sort of my passion.”

  He cocks his head and smiles. “Maybe you’ll show me sometime. As payment.”

  “Payment?”

  “You know.”

  Squinting, I shake my head.

  “For shooting me in the ass.”

  “Ahh, yes. It would only seem fitting, wouldn’t it?” Though it goes against my nature, I flirt back with him and my cheeks hit a thousand degrees.

  “Special is blushing.”

  “No, she is not.”

  I’m still stretched across the bed with Weston holding my arm when the door swings open and a woman runs in. She hugs him, saying, “Oh, God, Quinn, I was so worried. Blakely called to tell me you were in the hospital.”

  Snatching my arm back, I watch the redhead straighten. It’s plain to see she has money. She’s practically drenched in it—from her feet that are wrapped in designer boots, to the high-end jeans she wears, to her wrists, fingers, neck, and ears that glitter in expensive-looking jewelry. How many women are there after him?

  “Evelyn, what are you doing here?” His voice shows no excitement in seeing her.

  She appears stunned he would ask her such a thing.

  “Like I said, I was worried so I came to check on you. Blakely said you were sick—a construction site accident or something.” She flips her hair back elegantly.

  “Yeah, but I’m surprised to see you here,” he responds.

  “Quinn, I had to come and check on you myself to see you were okay. Blakely said she was coming up too.” She fusses over him, tucking the sheets around his chin like he’s a toddler. Then her ice-blue gaze targets me as she says, “I’m surprised she’s not here by now.”

  Who the heck is Quinn? I thought his name is Weston? What’s going on here? Maybe I should leave.

  “Thank you for being so concerned, Evelyn.” Do I detect an undercurrent of insincerity? He certainly seems uncomfortable. Maybe he doesn’t want her to see me.

  She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her icy stare. Her attention flickers between us. She appraises me with a haughty eye, like she wants to dismiss me. Her hand reaches across the bed and she says, “Since Quinn is being so remiss, I’ll take the liberty of introducing myself. I’m Evelyn Blackwood. And y
ou are?”

  “I’m Special O’Malley. A pleasure to meet you.” I extend my hand to shake hers as I watch her face for a reaction. What a reaction there is.

  “Hello, Shelly.” She takes my hand, but only the fingertips, releasing me quickly as though they burn her.

  “It’s Special,” I correct her.

  Her bright red lips remind me of a guppy as she stares openly at me. “Special,” she slowly repeats.

  “That’s right. Special O’Malley.”

  Then she perks up, because no well-mannered Southern lady would ever let anyone see her act rudely. Or so I thought. When her eyes fall on my tattoos, I realize how wrong I am.

  “Well, Special, I can see you certainly must be that.” Her comment is edged with nastiness. This is exactly why I conceal my tattoos. Reactions like hers make me want to curl up and hide. Why do I get like this? Why do I let these kinds of vile people make me feel this way? She’s no better than I am. Expecting some kind of interference from Weston, I’m disappointed when none comes.

  Dismissing me as if I’m no longer relevant, she asks Weston, “So, how long will you be in here?”

  “They haven’t told me yet.” He doesn’t look at her, only me. But as soon as our gazes connect, I drop my eyes to my hands. Tense and uncomfortable don’t come close to how I feel.

  Evelyn’s attention swings back to me. “And, Special, exactly why are you here?” Her snobby tone echoes in the small room.

  “I’m, uh—”

  “She’s a friend of mine, Evelyn. So, when did you speak with Blakely?”

  “Not too long ago. She called because she knew how concerned I’d be. Oh, Quinn, you need to be more careful out there.” Her over-mascaraed eyelashes flutter so fast I get dizzy watching them. “I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened if …”

  “Evelyn, it’s fine. I’m fine. It was an accident. I’ll be out of here in a few days.”

  “But what about the Kennerly soiree? Will you still be going?” she whines. She almost sounds as though she’ll cry if he says no.

  “I never had any intention of going.”