“Please, hurry, this meeting has got to be quick.” The head nurse tapped her microphone. She waited impatiently with her hands resting on the podium. Her hair was pulled on top of her head with a long waterfall wig attached, making her eyes sharp and slanted. When she was sure everyone could hear, she began, “I’m going to get right to the point. Someone messed up. We don’t have time for this, ladies and gentlemen. I’m not going to waste my breath by asking what happened. It had to have been an accident. Easily, anyone could have tripped over a cord, relocated an incubator, and accidentally unplugged the rest. I can see it being an accident. But if it wasn’t—” She leaned into the microphone and lowered her voice. “—know this: You are messing with the wrong crew.”
The crowd clapped and cheered, yelling out in agreement. “This is a family. We are united in caring for those who can’t care for themselves. I put it out to you like this, anybody who doesn’t feel the same way needs to find a new home. Pay more attention. Be more responsive. If you see someone doing something that looks questionable, step in. Take responsibility. Ladies and gentlemen, this is our home. When someone comes through those doors, they are not patients, they become part of this family. Those babies upstairs, each and every one of them are our babies.”
A short woman with full gear, gauze hair netting, and face mask marched down the aisle and up to the podium. It was Frieda. She moved to the head nurse and whispered in her ear.
The head nurse put her hand over the microphone while they whispered back and forth. She let out a deep sigh then announced, “The babies are fine. All their vitals are back to satisfactory.” The crowd clapped and sent out mini praises and thank-you’s to Jesus.
“I know many of you are wondering why you’re here. You’re saying to yourself, That’s not my floor. Not my problem. I’m here to tell you, every floor is your floor. Open your eyes and your hearts and know that our jobs are on the line here. Lives are on the line here. How many more unnecessary mistakes need to happen before you understand, this is serious?” She blinked slowly as if it hurt to do so. “I want everyone in here to raise your right hand, raise ’em. Repeat after me: This is my hospital. This is my house. These are my patients. This is my life. I will be alert, responsive, and caring at all times, so help me God.”
I found myself repeating the words, feeling like I was in a Sunday church service. “By the grace of God, those babies are doing fine. Remember that. Each and every one of you, we can’t win this war alone.” She walked off the stage, and the rest of the nurses clapped and mulled over the words of inspiration. The nurses came out of the meeting charged, ready to put a hurting on anybody who threatened their good name.
“There you are.” Morgan paced hurriedly outside my tiny office. “There’s a mass of hungry media wolves out there. We need a statement prepared, pronto.”
“Okay, okay,” I said more to myself so as not to panic.
She continued to pace. “How could all those news reporters be here and know about the incubators? How? It’s as if someone tipped them off.”
I sat down at my desk and fired off a quick monologue, almost citing verbatim the rah-rah speech I’d heard in the nurses’ meeting. Lots of we s, an abundance of our s, and a pinch of the truth.
I handed Morgan the printout. She scanned the page and then handed it back to me. “Perfect. You’re on.”
“I’m on?”
Morgan escorted me by the elbow. Our heels moved in sync, striking against the tiled floor. As we approached the double glass doors to the entrance, it struck me she was right. This kind of news frenzy didn’t happen by accident. A mass of cameras and microphones stretched from the concrete to the grass and near the street. Near the entrance, a podium was set up. I saw Jasper adjusting cords and microphone height. He showed no traces of crazy. Sure I wanted to work and get back on the fast track, but not putting my life in jeopardy with some smelly nutcase. Jasper glanced my way and gave me a thumbs-up as if all was right with the world. The crowd impatiently waited as if a rock star would descend the stairs at any moment, but it was only me, staring blankly into their engaged faces.
The questions blasted toward me.
“Is it true four infants nearly lost their lives today?”
“When is the hospital closing for good?”
“How are the babies? Might there be brain damage from lack of oxygen?”
The questions were fired from every direction. The statement I’d prepared shook to a blur in my hands. I laid it flat so I could make out what I’d written.
“Our mission at Jackson Hospital is to provide our community with excellent health care as well as compassion, honor, and peace of mind. We want the community to know we are here with pride and dignity, knowing that every precaution is always made to provide a safe and healthy environment. We are happy to report the infants are doing well; heart rates and oxygen levels are excellent. They are completely out of harm’s way and remain in the capable hands of our loving, caring staff.” I folded the paper neatly as if I’d just given a valedictorian speech.
I caught a glimpse of Kandi standing off to the left, away from everyone else, her arms folded over her heavy breasts. I could swear she was sneering, her lip hiked up in disgust. I didn’t have time to concentrate on the drama queen. The questions continued to be fired from all angles. I finally had the strength to point, signaling to a journalist who held his pen in the air. He was nice enough looking, a tempered face with a long comb-over extending from one ear to the other. He gave the impression of someone who knew how to report the unbiased truth.
“Incidents of this nature seem a little excessive for one hospital. Do you suspect sabotage, maybe one of your own staff?” His question landed squarely in my face, causing short-term blurriness.
“All possible explanations are being investigated.”
“Possible explanations for putting people’s lives at stake? That means you have no idea what’s happening in your own hospital?” The journalist tilted his large comb-over to the side.
I ignored him and made a note to self: There was no such thing as an unbiased reporter, no matter how modest and humble they appeared. I pointed a finger to an attractive newswoman with her camera crew focusing on her good side. The camera swung around to me after she asked me to introduce myself.
“Yes, of course. I’m Venus Johnston. I’m the public affairs spokesperson, a position I’m most proud of at this time. This hospital represents a bold history of achievements and will continue to do so.” From the corner of my eye, I could see Morgan Taylor lift her hand in a small fist. A few others started clapping. I figured it was best to end on a high note.
Before I could close out the press conference, the newswoman continued. “Thank you for that wonderful introduction,” she said into her microphone. “Now if you could briefly touch on the past few incidents surrounding the hospital. The patient who was given a near overdose. The male patient who was prepped for the wrong surgery.” She lifted up a yellow pad. “Then there was the woman who’d actually died in Jackson Memorial and the next of kin was never contacted, though billing continued for the deceased’s care for nearly a week. Needless to say, she wasn’t good for it.” This comment brought about a few chuckles from her fellow newshounds.
I took the opening quickly. “The incidents you are referring to have yet to be fully investigated; therefore, you are relying on hearsay. I assure you, Jackson Memorial is operating to the highest degree and, match for match, we are as well run as or better run than any hospital in the Los Angeles area. When Cedar Crest lost a patient for well over twenty-four hours, no one was there requiring a public explanation. When Grossmont removed the spleen of the wrong patient, I don’t recall it being on the six-o’clock news. As for the interest in Jackson Memorial, we’re flattered. Knowing all eyes are upon us will make us even more efficient. I want to thank you all for this opportunity to introduce myself. The next time we meet, it will be assuredly under better circumstances.”
I caught
a glimpse of Clint standing in a small group of doctors. He winked and put his thumb up.
“So you’re saying there are future changes under way for the hospital?”
“I’m not able to comment at this point, but I can say that once these changes are made, Jackson Memorial will no longer be under threat of closure. Thank you, and have a good day.”
Morgan was my own private cheerleader when I stepped down from the podium. “Venus. Thank you. Perfect. You handled them—you truly handled those vultures.”
The crowd dispersed slowly. The picketers went back to their circular march. Somehow I made it back to my office, shaking knees and spotty vision. I closed the door and sat down with a dry cotton ball mouth. I thought about each and every word I’d uttered, wondering if I was really cut out for this job. I spun around in my wickedly crooked chair and sank into the moment, finally allowing myself to take a deep relieving breath. It was scary and exhilarating all at the same time. All those cameras pointed at me.
Eventually I stopped patting myself on the back and thought about the reality of what just happened. Babies’ lives were endangered. It could have been a real tragedy. Worse, It’s as if someone tipped off the media about the incubator incident before it even happened.
“Couldn’t have done better myself,” he said, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his blue-and-white-striped dress shirt, the kind with a white collar and white cuff. It was unfitting of his style, like he’d bought it at a used clothing store with impeccably good taste. Far calmer than earlier, he cocked his head before speaking. “I thought the question about sabotage was interesting.”
“It was the furthest thing from my mind.”
“I think it’s a fair question. Definitely possible. There are a lot of people who feel mistreated in this hospital. People who have unjustly been accused of negativity all because the administration has needed a scapegoat.” The edge of his voice cracked. He stepped completely inside and closed the door.
“Like who?” I suddenly felt like sprinting out of there. The air was at a minimum when Jasper was around, but this was something else. Fear. I slipped my shoes back on underneath the desk. I spied my purse hanging on the hook near the door where I’d thrown it haphazardly before meeting the press.
“I’m not going to mention any names. It would be unfair to continually persecute someone who hasn’t been proved guilty.” Jasper shoved his glasses tight against his face. “Lest he not judge who does not want to be judged.”
“All right, yeah, I can see your point.” I stood up. “I think I’ll call it a day.” I moved with efficiency to grab my purse, but it didn’t budge. I snatched it, pulling the steel hook out of the wall.
Jasper faced me with concern.
“Must have missed a stud when they installed it,” I said, picking up the hook and tossing it in the trash. I moved to get away as fast as possible.
Big News
Jake stood over me at the kitchen table where I’d been working on my laptop with the sole purpose of not waking him. But there he was in his boxers at midnight, standing over me. “How’s it feel to be a superstar?” He leaned over, giving me a proud papa kiss on the forehead. “You’re on every news station.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the OJ.
“You’d think there was something else more pressing going on.”
“That’s what happens when you give a good performance. Now I understand why you couldn’t meet me for lunch.”
“I’m so sorry about that.” I looked up and gave him my sincerest eyes.
He leaned in and kissed me again. “I understand, babe.” He wedged a kiss in my ear and slid his hand down the front of my sleep T. “I think it’s time,” he whispered, cupping both of my breasts and squeezing gently. The tingling swirl of heat landed between my legs.
I nudged his hands away. “Give me a few more minutes.”
He massaged my shoulders, kissed my neck and whispered, “Now, baby.”
Jake was in serious love mode. He reached around and circled the tips of nipples that completely disagreed with me. Yes, it was time, they screamed, budding against the thin cotton, but I needed a few more minutes.
He slipped his fingers through my hair and pulled the band loose, allowing the mass of thickness to break free. Jake inhaled then began planting a wet trail of kisses along the curve of my neck as he worked his way to my mouth. He sucked my bottom lip just lightly enough to get my juices flowing.
“Just five, I promise, five more minutes,” I said, prying my face out of his grip, ignoring the warm spasm centered below my belly. I squeezed my thighs tight, letting the fabric of my nightgown gather between my legs. Five more minutes, I had to tell my own body, Just hold on.
Jake let out a sigh of defeat. He grabbed his glass of orange juice and left without a word.
I couldn’t help it. The imagery of Jasper sweating and nearly delusional kept creeping into my mind. I wouldn’t be able to rest or make love properly until I’d surfed the Net clean of every story about Jackson Memorial dating all the way back to the 1970s, still nothing associated with Jasper Calloway.
I pushed my reading glasses high above the flat ridge of my nose. The computer light picked up the taut angular shape of my cheekbones. I could almost see my entire face in the reflection of the screen from leaning in so close. All the information I needed had miraculously appeared.
By this time Jake was back. He pulled up a chair next to me. His arms folded over his bare chest. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. He reached out and pushed the laptop closed. “Come to bed, babe. It’s late. Whatever you’re doing can be finished in the morning.”
I lifted it right back up then held up one finger, indicating un momento.
Jake stood up, taking my hand, lightly pulling my palm to meet his lips.
I snatched my hand away. “Okay, just three more minutes. Did you know you can find anything about someone for thirty-five dollars? Everything—their credit report, marital history, criminal history. It’s a crying shame, but amazing at the same time.”
“Take your time,” he said, walking out of the kitchen.
A while back, Jake told me he’d been rejected by awoman twice in his lifetime, both times had been me, which was irony in itself. He’d married the one woman who’d had the restraint to say no to him. In both cases, I made it up to him later. I planned to do so again.
I typed in my credit card number and within seconds I’d downloaded every aspect of Jasper Calloway’s life. I ran to Jake’s office, where the wireless printer was already rolling. Thirteen pages. I read each and every page. Before long, it was three in the morning.
By the time I got to bed, Jake was secure in dreamland. I scooted next to the warmth of his body and tried to shake the cold fear. It had to be Jasper, I thought before sleep shrouded my mind. It had to be him.
C-A-T, Kat?
The next morning I awakened pinned underneath Jake’s thigh with his arm draped over my chest. The alarm clock was going off, but I couldn’t budge to turn it off. Finally he shifted position and I made my escape.
I grabbed what I’d planned to wear and headed for the bathroom but changed directions when I heard Mya’s morning banter. No complaints, just talking to herself.
“Hey, Miss My-My. How’s my baby?”
She smiled when I entered the room, standing up against the crib with her stuffed SpongeBob in her hands. I picked her up and inhaled her soft scent. Even with a wet diaper, she smelled of baby powder and mineral oil. The heaviness of her diaper weighed her down. “You’ve got to start going on the potty, little lady.”
She shook her head.
I set her down on her two round feet while I went to the closet to get the Fisher-Price potty. She started pitching a fit. I picked her up to shush her. I sat her down on the blue plastic and handed her SpongeBob. She threw him across the room. SpongeBob landed on his square head.
“Okay, okay, but if you sit on the potty, Mommy will make you Happy Face pancakes, wi
th little sprinkles.” She adamantly shook her head, probably remembering the last time. More like scary-face pancakes after I’d burned them and went a little heavy on the whipped cream eyebrows. I kissed her and hugged her. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want them either, sweetie.”
Every time I sat her on the potty, she got right back up. “Stay there,” I ordered.
After the tenth time, I gave up. I changed her into a fresh diaper, securing it tight around her thick thighs. I grabbed the cute one-piece terry jumpsuit that was my favorite. I’d bought it before she was even born. Jake had laughed at all the baby clothing in boxes stacked ceiling high when we’d moved in with him. Mya was no more than doll size, but I had enough clothing to start her first day in kindergarten. “A girl is nothing without a wardrobe,” I told him.
It shocked me when I couldn’t get the pink terry sleeve over her shoulders. The bottom kept unsnapping whenever I made headway. When did this happen? “You’re growing so big, My-My. I bet you can say ma-ma. Say ma-ma, ” I repeated while I found something else for her to wear.
She shook her head. All the books I’d read made it clear there were no true timetables for language development, but I was sure at this age, a child was supposed to know how to say mama.
“Good morning?” Trina sang out as she came into the room. Daybreak had turned the walls a pale orange where they appeared gray before.
“Cattt,” Mya sang out.
I clapped softly. “Good job, My-My. Trina, would you mind writing down Mya’s activities during the day, maybe keeping a log of some of the things she does and … maybe start her on the potty.”
“Sure. But the potty … I think she’s a little young,” Trina said over her shoulder.
“No. All the books I’ve read say potty training should start as early as possible. If she can walk, she can go to the potty.”
Trina dumped an armload of toys into the white wood chest. “Sure, no problem.”
“Cattt,” Mya did a little dance against the railing of her crib. This was more excitement than I’d seen out of her since she got to squeeze Mickey’s nose at Disneyland over the summer.
Nappily Married Page 10
