by Lori Avocato
Goldie reached down to help yank me up. I noticed he had to stabilize himself with a foot against my bed and made a vow to myself to help as many people here as I could.
“Oh, Pauline!” Henry’s voice came through my door.
I twisted and pushed myself up in case he opened the door, which had no lock on it. Hm. One could only guess that was so staff could do periodic inspections of client’s rooms for contraband.
Chocolate. Chips. Chocolate. Cookies.
My stomach gurgled. How I could go for some contraband.
“Hold on, Henry.” I got up and went to the door, thankful that he respected me enough not to barge in. When I opened it, he glared at me.
I looked down to see my fake bellybutton prominently showing. Since I couldn’t feel through the bodysuit to know how disheveled I looked, there was no way I could tell that I was coming apart. Quickly I yanked down my top, and Henry had the decency to keep his mouth shut.
Thank goodness for overpriced health spas where the staff knew their place.
But, Henry had looked at me oddly—maybe as if he thought my bellybutton didn’t look real!
Taking his mind from any questions, I quickly said, “Oh, hey. Good to see you. What brings you here? Is it time for something? I mean to do something? For us, or me to do something?”
Goldie gave me one of “those” looks that rivaled any Stella Sokol could produce, so I immediately shut up. Nerves always made me to ramble.
Henry nodded at Goldie then looked at me. “Your appointment with Doctor Burger—”
“You’re kidding,” I interrupted. “Burger. As in Whopper?” I started to laugh, but Henry merely stared.
“Burger as in a German name. More commonly known by the clients around here as the Naziburger. The guy doesn’t have the best bedside manner.” He turned to go and over his shoulder said, “But you didn’t hear that from me, and if you say you did, I’ll have to kill you.”
Stunned, I could only stand motionless. Then I turned to Goldie. “He was kidding. Right?”
Goldie flopped onto the lounge chair, which was becoming his second home. “You mean about the Nazi part?”
I walked to him and slugged his arm. “No, silly. The killing part. That’s just a phrase. Correct. Tell me it is just a stupid phrase.”
“Don’t go letting the fact that people have gotten murdered in your past cases affect you so. It’s a stupid phrase, indeed, that he said so you don’t get him in trouble with the Naziburger.” He laughed. “I like that. Like the Soup Nazi.”
I forced a laugh, even though nothing struck me as funny. Hopefully Goldie was right, but what I’d found out about myself since taking this job was that my instincts rarely, if ever, failed me, my intuition was on heightened alert (red), and my observational skills had zoomed to new hights.
But yeah, Gold was correct. Henry was not a threat and this case would not involve death or any activities with a knife.
I hated knives.
The nurse who kept insisting that I take my clothing off was getting annoying.
Not only was she bordering on Nurse Ratchet behavior, but also the “thing” as I started to think about her was a size zero if she was anything and wore her uniform way too tight to show off every shape and curve. What an insult to all the clients around here. I’d bet she even ate chocolate in front of them.
And she acted as if I were some moron. How I would have loved to tell Missy Hilary Ragget (very appropriately close to Ratchet indeed) that I had a master’s degree in nursing and could work circles around her while she still emptied bedpans.
Harrumph!
“Look, Nurse Ragget, I will don a Johnny coat to be weighted in. I have a … condition … of not being able to get naked in front of anyone. I am … a Catholic.” She looked at me as if thinking that would never be a problem where sex was involved.
Bitch.
She waved her hand at me after looking at the clock. “Fine. Whatever. Doctor Burger doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Oh great. A temperamental doctor. What were the odds? I only hoped he could hear my heartbeat and breathing through this suit!
Well, it turned out that the Naziburger was very un-Nazi like and a freaking hunk! Jet black hair, strong cheekbones and deep brown eyes (yum) made me wonder if his German ancestry might have mixed with the local American Indians along the way. He had their strong, handsome features.
Not at all what I had expected after Henry’s take on him.
“Inhale a deep breath, Pauline,” he said and instead of breathing in, I sighed.
“Oh. Oops. Sorry.” I did as told, saying a silent prayer that he could hear that I actually did have a heart. I told myself that he was used to listening through large client’s chests so the suit shouldn’t pose a problem.
“Please weigh her, Hilary,” he said and gave me the most gracious smile.
I knew, just knew, I could lose weight under the guidance of this doll.
Even though that’s not what I was here for.
Wow. Admittedly this guy had some Svengali qualities.
Hilary did her thing, helping me up on this scale that went far past the three hundred mark and was much larger then the standard scales I’d seen in doctor’s offices. For a few seconds, she stared at the result (which I couldn’t see) and looked back and forth at the hunk doc.
He started asking me questions about diet, exercise, family history, all which seemed to be an attempt to take my attention from the scale. Well, to be fair, he probably did that since weighing in could be very traumatic for some clients.
Hilary called out a number.
Doctor Burger hesitated, then wrote it down and muttered, “Thanks.”
I had to crane my neck to see the scale before dear Hilary shoved me off of it, or at least tried. Then again, she had to be a weakling with that body. As I leaned forward, she pushed at my arm.
Whoa.
“Get down. You’re done.”
“Oh. Fine.” I coughed as if that would buy me time. I knew how much I weighted from my normal weight, and I knew the weight of the suit. Suddenly my eyes focused enough to read the number. Wait a minute!
Thirty-nine pounds.
She’d added thirty-nine pounds to my weight!
“How much does that suck?” I yelled at Goldie. “I mean, I weigh enough as it is, and she has to add thirty-nine pounds! Thirty-nine freaking pounds. What’s that about?” I took a breath. Had to. “You think she does that to all the clients here? How insulting.”
“True. Then again any one of them could crush her in a heartbeat. Hell, even I could.” Goldie laughed, and then grew serious. “Nothing in this business surprises me though, Suga. Hold on and let’s think this through. Why would she add to your weight?”
I slumped into a chair, which creaked. “Cause she’s a bitch.”
He curled his lips at me.
“Okay. Okay. I’m a professional and although pissed and insulted, you are right. That was purely a female reaction from the core of my gender. Okay. Okay. There has to be a reason, and a more than likely crooked reason.”
Goldie nodded then tapped a coral painted nail to his lips. “You are more than likely correct, Suga.”
When I lifted my legs over the stuffed arm of the chair with a groan, I vowed once again to help as many people there that I could. Extra weight required so much more energy, but somehow I’d manage. Had to. “Okay. Why would she add weight? Don’t I look big enough to be a patient here?”
Goldie looked at me.
“Right. Silly question. But to add more doesn’t make—” I swung my legs back and sat on the edge of the chair. “Hold on. The insurance companies must have guidelines. Of course they do.”
“Yep. I’m sure they do. Guidelines? What’s going on in that smart brain of yours, Suga?
“Gold, what if you needed to be X pounds to be treated here. Or, wait. Not just to be treated here, but for insurance coverag
e of surgery. Gastric bypass requirements do have minimum limits, and that surgery is expensive.”
Goldie sat up straighter. “I think you’re onto something, Suga.”
“I’ll just bet patients have to be a certain weight for the surgery, which could run into big bucks. So the clinic fudges the weights so they can do more.” I looked at Goldie.
“Bingo, Suga. Bingo.”
I left Goldie resting while I walked to the office to do as much snooping as possible. When I neared the front reception desk, I noticed Henry talking to a woman who wasn’t as large as I was (at the moment) but she wasn’t exactly thin.
Great. Maybe she’d been here for sometime, and I could learn from her. I walked closer, sporting my best interrupting smile. “Hey,” I said, and pushed myself closer to Henry.
“Pauline. Where’s your cousin?” Henry asked.
At first I wanted to say all my cousins were back in Hope Valley, but then I remembered the cover we’d used to get Goldie in here with me. “He’s beat. Resting.” I turned toward the woman and stuck out my hand. It was then I realized my hands and wrists were pretty slender. Quickly I pulled back, but not before she appeared to notice.
Oops.
“I’m Pauline,” I said before she could process anything about me. “Just arrived. Lovely place. You? Been here long? Henry, you’re not being very polite not introducing us!” There. All that rambling should detract her from my hands—or more than likely scare her off.
Henry curled his lips at me. “Pauline, if you gave me the chance I was just going to say, this is Hannah Gura. This is Pauline—”
“Polish … Sokol. I’m of Polish decent. You?” Suddenly I felt a bond form. At least I planned to cultivate one to form.
“Why yes. I am Polish American.” She held out her hand.
Yikes. I decided to go for it and shook very hardily so she wouldn’t be able to get too close a look. Then again, her hands weren’t much larger than mine. Only a tiny bit. Good. She’d probably not notice.
“Well, I’m in the mood for a cup of tea. That allowed, Hank?” I asked, and then chuckled.
“Of course. You can get one in the lounge—”
Hannah stepped forward. “Tea sounds great. I’ll show her.”
Henry nodded and turned toward his computer, pretty much ignoring us in seconds.
I followed Hannah down the hallway, making small talk about our families and just how Polish we were-like celebrating Wigilia, eating kielbasa and pierogies until we came to the end where double doors opened to a lovely lounge area.
Windows covered the walls, overlooking the mountains in the distance; the sandy desert in the forefront and beneath the windows cacti grew and stretched so one could notice the tiny red flowers, many harpooning little nests.
“Neat place,” I said, following Hannah to the counter where containers held coffee and tea. No packets of sugar though. Only the fake low-cal stuff and skim milk. “Where you from, Hannah?” I looked at her and waited.
Did she hesitate? I really couldn’t tell since she had been pouring hot water into two mugs. “Nearby actually. Not too far away.”
“New Mexico?”
“Uh, yes. New Mexico.”
She handed me a mug, and I stuck a teabag into it. “How long have you been here?”
While she lifted the teabag in and out of her mug, she looked out the window as if the answer were there. Interesting.
“I’ve been here over two weeks. And you just arrived.”
She’d said it as if I didn’t know how long I’d been there. My instincts kept me questioning Hannah. “Yeah, just got here. All the way from the east coast. You ever been there?”
“East coast? No. I’m from around here.” She took a sip of tea and walked toward the window.
She’d already told me she was from around here. Interesting again.
“It’s nice back home, but when winter comes, I’d rather be out here. Do you work, Hannah?”
Her back stiffened. Clearly Hannah was not liking all my questions or perhaps hiding some weird profession. She continuously played with her teabag until the tea was as dark as coffee. Never did she make eye contact and her hands shook as if she definitely was hiding something or at least trying to avoid talking with me.
“I do work, but I’m taking time off to be here.”
“Me too.” Okay, it’s part of my job, but I sure wasn’t going to share that. I made a mental note to check out one Hannah Gura. Because Polish or not, she was being evasive.
Hmm. Or was my brain on investigative mode at all times so that I was reading into everything this woman said? Gut instinct had kicked in, and I’d learned throughout my years of nursing to trust it. Relying on it had saved many a patient’s life.
Clearly there was something about Hannah that gave me pause.
And I needed to find out what the heck that was.
And if she could help or hurt my case.
Three
After my tea with Hannah, she made some excuse to leave. Sounded like “exercise class.” And here I had all the makings for questioning her until I was satisfied that she was not part of some big scam at this place. Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and because I’d learned from past cases that these things took time and, to use a cliché, I had to seize the moment.
Taking the last sip of my tea, I heard the door close behind me. When I turned around, I watched a rather heavy, short woman making her way toward the tea board, so I waved at her. Maybe one more to question. “Hey, the English breakfast tea is pretty good.”
She appeared shy at first, only giving me a nod. Then she started to pour hot water into a mug, so I got up and decided maybe the English breakfast was so good that I’d have another—and talk to this client at the same time.
“I’m Pauline,” I said, ripping the teabag from its paper.
“Mitsy. Mitsy Sparks.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She crumpled ripped empty packages of Splenda, all four of them, into a ball of her fist as if trying to hide them from me like one of my nieces or nephews would do with some kiddie contraband.
My heart went out to Mitsy. She very much reminded me of one of my nieces who was the most self-conscious since being the tallest girl in her class. Mitsy wasn’t tall, but I’m sure her weight added to her self-esteem issues.
At first I made small talk to break the ice (about the only calories we were allowed around here), then I asked Mitsy to sit by the window with me, telling her how we might see a hummingbird near the trumpet-type flowers.
“Well, this place is really pretty. Isn’t it?” I asked, sipping on my tea and reminding myself that using the “powder” room was no easy feat in this outfit so I better go easy on liquids. I set my mug down on the glass top end table.
“I guess.” She held onto her mug as if for dear life and took long noisy fast sips.
I chuckled. “You know, I once did the Weight Watcher program and learned if you eat or drink slowly, you’ll enjoy the taste more and have less.”
She looked me up and down.
“Granted I didn’t stick with the program. But it works. You should try it. Slow down a bit.” I know she wanted to say “look who’s calling the kettle black, but I didn’t let her. I hurried onto another subject. “So, how long have you been here? “My surgery … is … tomorrow.”
Ah. No wonder the concern and quietness. I started to assure her, as if I knew what I was talking about, and used my old line, “the patient has the easiest part. You’ll sleep right through it!” all the while Mitsy stared at me. “Oh, yeah. My sister is a nurse. I learned a lot from her.”
She seemed to buy it or maybe she just didn’t care about me since she had other worries on her mind—like major surgery tomorrow.
The nurse called Mitsy for what I figured was pre-op instructions but before she left, I took her hand. “You’ll do fine. I know it.”
She gave a faint smile and walked out of the room.
And I said a silent prayer for her.
Goldie and I sat looking at one another in our room. The television blared some kind of news show. The lights were dim enough to induce sleep or at least sleepiness, and the two of us remained silent.
Until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Eight hundred fifty calories? Are they nuts or just too cheap to feed us around here?”
Goldie’s stomach growled. “I’m not even a client and they didn’t give me much more.”
“You had a biscuit!” My tone even surprised me. I sounded like an heir fighting—make that nit picking—over an inheritance. “Geez. Sorry, Gold. As if you are the cause of my starving.” I got up. “We have to get out of here and find some food. Snacks. Chips. Chocolate!”
Goldie’s eyes lit up. “Think we can?”
I glared at him. “My dear Goldie, we are two very bright, crafty investigators. If we can find criminals and murders, we can damn well find chocolate!”
With that, we got our wallets and dressed in our darkest clothes. I tried to think of what Jagger would do in this situation to get out of here. Then I caught myself in the mirror. “Hold on. I should change. Yeah, despite what I’d told you before, I have to take this suit off to be less conspicuous.”
Goldie tapped a nail to his tooth. “Go for it.”
Before I could get the entire latex piece off my face, we were out the window and dodging cacti as they reached out to impale us on their decorative spikes.
“These damn things seemed trained to keep patrons in this place,” I whispered.
Goldie laughed. “Just be glad I had the foresight to pack you a pair of jeans and shirt that fits you or you’d be snatched by the spines for sure on clothing way too big.”
He was correct. At least if someone caught us, they wouldn’t know I was Pauline Sokol, Rancho Mirage client.
Then again, I might get arrested for trespassing, since private property signs were not scarce around here.
Goldie and I made our way around the main building. On the far side sat a few cars and pickups, which we assumed belonged to the staff. This side of the place was empty and quiet. Perfect.
