Hidden Jewel

by V. C. Andrews

  “Yes?” she asked, not disguising her annoyance at being interrupted.

  “I’m looking for Mrs. Morgan,” I said.

  “I’m Mrs. Morgan.”

  “Bonjour! I’m Pearl Andreas. I’m reporting to work today,” I said. “Mr. Marbella, the hospital administrator, said I should come here as soon as I arrived.”

  “You have to fill out these papers,” she said, gesturing toward a small, narrow table on my right. There were stacks of forms on it.

  “All of them?” I asked.

  “Start at the left and fill out one form from each of the first three stacks. Be sure to put down your Social Security number. I can’t issue a release to the financial office so they can issue your first paycheck unless that’s included. And be sure it’s correct.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “As soon as you have all that completed, go see Mrs. Winthrop on the second floor. She’s the head nurse on this shift. You can take the stairway at the end of the hall and make a right. She’ll issue you a uniform and explain your duties.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your uniform doesn’t belong to you,” she lectured. “It belongs to the hospital. You can take it home, if you like, and you are responsible for keeping it clean and in good shape. A ten-dollar deposit will be held against your first week’s salary.”

  She leaned over the desk and looked down at my feet. “You can wear those sneakers today, but tomorrow you should wear soft-soled white shoes. You can buy them at Medical Supplies on Canal Street. You have to pay for them yourself.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  She sighed again; this time it looked like her body would simply collapse inside her blouse and skirt, the hem of which was so low it brushed the floor when she walked. “Is this your first job?”

  “Well, actually …”

  “I’ll explain all about FICA, withholding, medical, food allowances … after you complete the forms,” she said and shook her head. “My assistant is out sick again. She usually handles new enrollments. She works in a hospital and she’s constantly out sick,” she added. “I haven’t missed a day’s work in twelve years, but people don’t have the same attitude about their work anymore. Younger people are very lackadaisical when it comes to responsibilities.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “Actually, I’m very excited about working here this summer. I’m going to become a doctor,” I told her.

  “Really?” She bit the inside of her cheek and tilted her head. “I myself have never gone to a woman doctor, and probably never will.” She snapped her head straight and nodded toward the desk as if someone had poked her to remind her she was at work. She jabbed her long right forefinger toward the stack of forms. “The quicker you fill those out, the quicker you can earn your pay. You have to punch in and punch out every day right over there,” she said nodding toward the opposite wall. “I’ll have your temporary card for you before the day’s over. For today I’ll write in when you actually begin. Don’t expect to get credit for the time it takes to fill out the forms.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said and went to the forms. After I completed them all and handed them to her, she rattled off the information about my pay voucher slip, explaining everything so fast that I barely had time to hear, much less comprehend.

  Then she leaned toward me, pursed her lips for a moment, and said, “Do your work and don’t put your nose into anyone else’s affairs and you’ll do fine.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. She stood back and nodded toward the doorway. I hurried out and up the stairs to the second floor. The nurses’ station was located near the center of the corridor. A nurse who looked about fifty with curly gray hair and friendly blue eyes turned my way as I approached. A short, slim black girl with large round eyes stood beside her.

  “I’m looking for Mrs. Winthrop,” I said. “I’m Pearl Andreas.”

  “Oh, yes, dear. I’m Mrs. Winthrop. We’ve been expecting you. Sophie will take you to the linen closet and find you a uniform,” she said, nodding at the slim black girl, who looked no more than sixteen. Her hair was cut very short, and she had a tiny but prominent scar on the left side of her jaw. She came around the desk quickly.

  “This way,” she said. She stared at me hard, dropping her eyes to my feet and raising her gaze to my face. When we were far enough away from the nurses’ station, she spun around. “What do you want to be a nurse’s aide for?” she demanded. “You look rich.”

  “I want to work in a hospital during my summer vacation because I hope to study medicine,” I told her. “I want to get as much experience on my own as I can.”

  “You want to be a doctor? How long do you have to go to school to get your degree?” she asked, looking friendlier than before.

  “You go to college and medical school for about seven years, and then you do your internship in a hospital. I’ll be in my late twenties before I can practice on my own.”

  “We’ve got one of those,” Sophie said.

  “One what?”

  “An intern. Dr. Weller. He’s not a full doctor, though. He’s got years to go yet.”

  “Well, it does take years and years of hard work. I hope I can stick it out,” I said.

  She narrowed her eyes again. “You sure you want to be a doctor?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’ve never seen a woman doctor here.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll be the first,” I said and smiled.

  She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then narrowed her eyes skeptically. “You ever give someone a bedpan?”

  “No.”

  “You ever cleaned up vomit?”

  “Once, when one of my brothers got sick,” I replied.

  She leaned toward me. “You ever seen blood, lots of blood?” she demanded.

  “I’ve seen blood,” I assured her.

  “And guts?”

  “I’ve dissected animals and I know what’s inside a human being,” I said.

  Sophie stepped back, shocked. “Where did you do that?”

  “In school in the lab. Didn’t you?”

  “I only went to school through the fifth grade,” she told me, “and we didn’t have a lab, but I clean the lab here, so I’ve seen blood and guts and smelled it, too. You got to have a stomach made of iron. I do. Nothing makes me throw up anymore,” she added proudly.

  “I’m glad,” I said. “It would be hard for you to come to work every day if you got sick to your stomach all the time.”

  She nodded. “The other girl, the one who come here last Friday, she got white as chalk the first day and puked in the bathroom for half an hour before Mrs. Winthrop sent her home. I’m glad you’re here because I’ve been doing twice the work ever since that girl left.”

  “I won’t throw up. I promise,” I said.

  She looked satisfied and led me to the linen room. There weren’t many uniforms. The ones that were there were either way too big or too small. The best fit was so snug I had to leave the top two buttons of the bodice undone. “I guess this will have to do for now,” I said.

  “What’s that around your ankle? Is it a dime?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes. It’s a goodluck charm.”

  She eyed me suspiciously for a moment. “Who gave it to you?”

  “My mother. Someone special gave it to her a long time ago.”

  “My mama says people who wear a dime around their ankle be practicing voodoo.”

  “The dime is good gris-gris, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t practice voodoo.”

  “Does your mama?”

  “No, not really,” I said, but she continued to eye me warily.

  “How old are you?” Sophie asked.

  “Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in two months. How old are you?”

  “The truth or what I tell people here?”

  “The truth.”

  “I’ll be fourteen next August, but they all think I’m going to be seventeen. Don’t you tell,” she warned.

&nb
sp; “I won’t.”

  “Let’s go see Mrs. Winthrop.”

  “Is that the best fit you can find for her, Sophie?” the head nurse asked immediately.

  “The others are much smaller or much, much bigger, Mrs. Winthrop,” Sophie said. “We tried them all.”

  “I’m afraid this is the best,” I said.

  “Well, I’ll ask Mr. Marbella to order more uniforms. Now that you’re here, Pearl, we’ll divide the floor between you and Sophie. You take rooms 200 to 205; Sophie will see to the rest.” She checked her watch. “It’s time to bring the patients their juice and refill their water pitchers. Sophie will show you where things are.”

  Sophie took me to the kitchen where we found another, much younger nurse talking with the intern. He was sitting with his back to us, and she was leaning against the counter. They were laughing when we entered.

  “’Scuse me,” Sophie said and did a small curtsy. “We got to start on the juice.”

  The nurse smirked and moved away from the refrigerator. I saw from her name tag that she was Mrs. Crandle. She had light brown hair trimmed at the nape of her neck, hazel eyes and a firm mouth that dipped with annoyance at the corners. She wasn’t unattractive, but her nose was a little too sharp and too long. The intern spun around in his chair and smiled widely when he saw me.

  “Well now, who have we here?” he asked.

  “She’s the new nurse’s aide,” Sophie explained. “Her name’s Pearl.”

  “Well, hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. Weller. My mother always thought I should be a doctor because of our name. Get it? I make people weller.” He laughed, but Mrs. Crandle grimaced as if it pained her to hear his joke again.

  “Hi,” I said. He rose to his full five feet eleven inches and extended his hand. He widened his smile to show me his very white and perfect teeth. His dark eyes sparkled wickedly when I put my hand into his. He folded his fingers over it quickly. His skin was as fair as mine, though in contrast to his dark hair, it made him look a little too pale. His strong chin sported a devil’s cleft and another dimple in his right cheek flashed in and out apparently at will.

  “About time we dressed up this place,” he said, still grinning from ear to ear. He shot a look at Mrs. Crandle, who raised her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Just what we needed,” she remarked, “another thing to distract you from your work.”

  “Don’t mind her. I’m never distracted from anything I put my mind on,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on me. He dropped his eyes slowly and raised them with a look of appreciation. “That’s the sexiest nurse’s aide uniform I’ve seen,” he added.

  “There aren’t any that fit me better, but …” I began, feeling my face grow warm as my cheeks turned crimson.

  “Hey, I didn’t say this doesn’t fit you.” He laughed. He was still holding my hand.

  “We’ve got to start bringing the juice to the patients,” I said.

  “Sure.” He flashed another amused smile and released my hand.

  “She gonna be a doctor too,” Sophie bragged.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Not a nurse, a doctor?”

  I looked at Mrs. Crandle who had turned back to me sharply when he asked the question.

  “I think nurses are just as important,” I said, “but I’m interested in practicing medicine outside the hospital too.”

  “Oh? Very ambitious.” He frowned, putting ripples in his forehead. In a deeper voice he asked, “How are your grades in school?”

  “I was class valedictorian,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. We better watch our p’s and q’s, Mrs. Crandle,” he joked.

  “I would say you should watch the whole alphabet and not just the p’s and q’s,” she remarked. “I have an I.V. to hook up. Don’t you have anything to do, Doctor?”

  “Whoa,” he said. “Yes, I do. Well, good luck, Pearl. Please don’t hesitate to ask me any questions,” he said and reluctantly followed Mrs. Crandle.

  “He’s always making jokes,” Sophie said. “Mrs. Crandle says some of his patients will laugh themselves to death. Can people do that, laugh themselves to death?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. She looked unconvinced, but nodded and then showed me where everything was located. I loaded my cart and began my rounds.

  There were two elderly women in my first room, one of whom was on a heart monitor; a man with a broken leg in the second, and a woman in her thirties undergoing tests for a stomach problem in the third. Her name was Sheila, and she was obviously very nervous and concerned. “I have to fast for a day,” she told me. “Tomorrow morning I’m having another test.”

  “What’s wrong with your stomach?” I asked.

  “I get terrible pains right here whenever I eat,” she said, pointing.

  “They’re looking at your gallbladder?”

  “Yes. How did you know? Did the same thing happen to you once?” she asked hopefully.

  “No. I just know that’s where it is and that’s where you would feel pain if it was acting up. But that doesn’t have to be the reason,” I added quickly.

  “I know,” she said sadly. “It could be something else. It could be something far more serious.”

  “Don’t get yourself upset. Wait for all the reports. Most of the time, our imaginations make more of it than it is,” I told her. I had overheard our doctor say that to Mommy once when Pierre and Jean both came down with a bad case of whooping cough. Sheila smiled, and I fixed her bed and made her more comfortable.

  When I turned to go on to my next room, I saw Dr. Weller standing in the doorway, a slow grin forming around his lips. He stepped back into the corridor as I emerged with the juice cart.

  “I overheard what you said.” He leaned toward me. “If Mrs. Winthrop heard you giving patients medical advice, she would send you right home.”

  “I didn’t give—”

  “You let her believe it might be her gallbladder. Uh-uh-uh,” he said, wagging his forefinger. Then he laughed. “It’s all right. Chances are very good that you’re right. Actually,” he said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms, “you did a smart thing deciding to work in the hospital during your summer vacation. You’ll pick up a lot just hanging around and listening.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” I said.

  “You know, I’m studying and learning every day myself. I’m interning here under Dr. Bardot. He’s constantly testing me.” He smiled. “I bet you can help me,” he said, nodding with a thoughtful look.

  “Me? How?”

  “You can be my study partner. You know, ask questions, test me on stuff. Do you have a heavy social schedule?’ he asked.

  “Social schedule?”

  “Do you punch a clock with a boyfriend, too?”

  “Oh. No, not anymore,” I said.

  “Good. Maybe you’ll give me some time, then. I promise you’ll learn a lot too,” he added. “And I don’t mean just medical information. I can fill you in on what to expect, how to prepare your applications, interviews. It’s getting harder and harder to get into a good medical school in this country, you know. There are a lot of valedictorians out there competing for the same spaces,” he warned.

  I thought a moment. Learning about all this was why I had wanted to work here.

  “Okay,” I said. “Do you study during breaks?”

  “Oh, no. We’ll do it after work. I don’t live far from here. It’s a small apartment I took near Tulane University. That’s where I attended premed and med school. You expect to go there?”

  “I might, yes,” I said.

  “Fine. I’ll fill you in on all the nitty-gritty. What’s your shift tomorrow? Same as today?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m free about the same time. We can start right away—if that’s all right with you, that is,” he said.

  I hesitated. I liked the idea of working with an intern, but why had he chosen me and so
quickly? “Wouldn’t you rather work with someone who is already a medical student?” I asked.

  “They want to study only what they need.” He smiled again. “Hey, I won’t bite you, and even if I did, I’d treat the wound,” he added and laughed. “But if you think you’ll be uncomfortable or—”

  “No, it’s all right.”

  “Great. And don’t worry about getting home afterward. I’ll see to that. I’ll even make you dinner, if you like. Nothing fancy, of course. I’m not living on a doctor’s salary yet. Fact is, and you better know it now, interns are medical slaves. But we all gotta pay our dues. See you later.” He winked and walked down the corridor.

  I wondered if I had agreed too fast to help him. He was already an intern. I probably wouldn’t understand half the questions. Surely I would just be wasting his time and my own, I thought, but then I thought, He should know that, and yet he still wants me to help him.

  “This isn’t exactly a place to daydream,” I heard someone say. Mrs. Crandle was standing in the door-way of my next room.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said and hurried on.

  Sophie wasn’t exaggerating about the problems we could encounter as aides. An elderly man in room 205 messed his bed, and I had to clean it up. I must have swallowed a hundred times and held my breath for an hour before I was finished. Mrs. Crandle made me wash down the bed frame and scrub the floor around the bed as well.

  Sophie and I had to run down to the laundry and carry up fresh linens. I emptied a half dozen bedpans and cleaned bathrooms. I thought my first day at the hospital would be relatively uneventful and just the sort of work I had expected, but shortly before my shift ended, Mrs. Conti, the elderly woman in room 200, had a heart attack. Mrs. Crandle called for a Code E Blue, and Dr. Weller came running from the other end of the corridor. I watched them wheel in a defibrillator. Another doctor came from the third-floor cardiac care unit. They worked and worked, but Mrs. Conti’s heart had stopped dead and didn’t start again.

  Her roommate, Mrs. Brennen, cried hysterically and had to be sedated. There was a flag of mourning on everyone’s face. Mrs. Conti had been dozing when I had delivered her juice and had barely opened her eyes when I returned to freshen her water pitcher and see if she needed anything. I had seen and heard her heart monitor, and Mrs. Brennen had told me that Mrs. Conti had been upstairs in the cardiac care unit for ten days before being brought down to the second floor.