More Lies and Alibis (Using Lies as Alibis #2)

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “What you got?” I ask.

  “Two college girls, brought in by another one of their friends. Both presenting with cough, shortness of breath, and high fever. One of the girls has some paralysis in her lower extremities. Should we quarantine them? Is it an outbreak of some sort?”

  I start running through multiple scenarios in my mind as I scan the chart, pull a mask on my face and step behind the curtain to examine the first girl. The friend that brought her into the hospital sits next to the bed, as the patient moans and coughs.

  “Hi Stephanie. I’m Dr. Baker, and I’ll be providing your care today. Are you in any pain right now?”

  Stephanie shakes her head. “The other doctor gave me something, but my chest was hurting.”

  “And you came in with a fever. Do you remember when the symptoms started?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Have you recently traveled out of the country?”

  “No. I wish.”

  I give her a smile. “Me too. Where is summer, right?”

  Stephanie looks at her friend. “This summer is gonna be the bomb right, Keke? South Beach baby!”

  Keke stands up and does a little dance. “That’s right girl!”

  I take a good look at Keke’s physique and swallow hard. She’s tiny on top. B-cup at best with a miniature waist line. Her thighs are also stick thin. But Keke’s hips and behind look like a bad Photoshop job.

  “Do you live in the dorm with Stephanie?” I ask Keke.

  She nods.

  “What college do you attend?”

  Both girls speak at the same time. Keke says, “Spelman.”

  Stephanie says, “Georgia Tech.”

  I lift an eyebrow at Keke. “But you’re not sick.”

  “No. I take my vitamins every day.”

  “Okay. If you don’t mind, Keke, can you step out for a moment. I need to examine Stephanie.”

  Stephanie looks worried. “C-can she stay?”

  “Is she immediate family? Your domestic partner?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Then, just for a few moments, I’m going to ask her to step outside the curtain. You can come back in few Keke. Why don’t you and Dr. Phillips here go check on your other friend?”

  I whisper to Jillian. “I think I’ve just diagnosed Stephanie. Book two operating rooms. Page Lucas and any other on call surgeon. And get a plastics consult.”

  When Jillian and Keke are gone, I say, “Stephanie, do you think you can stand?”

  She nods and slowly swings her legs out of the bed. Her figure shares the same monstrous proportions as Keke.

  “Did you get booty shots, Stephanie?”

  She laughs. “No ma’am. This is a sweet tea and biscuit booty right here.”

  “Understand that was not a pick up line, nor am I the baller that you want to land,” I say, my voice gravely serious. “I asked you that because I believe your life is in danger.”

  “It is?”

  “Do you know what was injected into your body?” I ask.

  Stephanie swallows hard. “She says it was hydrogel, and that the plastic surgeons all use it.”

  Stephanie coughs and holds onto her chest. I help her back into the bed. Then I notice the red dots on her hips and behind where she was injected with a probably unsterile needle. There’s got to be at least ten dots on each side. How much silicone did this child pump into her body?

  “When and where was it done?”

  “Two nights ago, at the club where I work.”

  I close my eyes and try not to shudder. Now I know it was done in an unsterile environment. “What club?”

  “Club Hurricane. It’s a strip club.”

  “And did Keke give you the injections?”

  Stephanie pauses. Of course, she’s loyal to the girl that’s put her life in danger.

  “She’s a shot girl. She does everybody. We pay her five hundred instead of giving the plastic surgeon ten thousand.”

  I take out my stethoscope and listen closely to the sounds of Stephanie’s lungs as she breathes. Just as I thought. If we don’t operate on this girl soon, she will die.

  Lucas steps around the curtain. “You had me paged?”

  I nod. “I think this is Silicone Embolism Syndrome. She presents with shortness of breath, chest pain and fever after receiving alleged hydrogel injections in the hips and buttocks. Her friend is here too. I haven’t examined her yet, though.”

  “Jewel got the shots too,” Stephanie says in a shaky voice. “Are we gonna die?”

  “We’re going to do everything we can to get that poison out of your body. Someone is going to come over shortly to take you for a CT scan. It’ll take pictures of the inside of your body and tell us how much damage has been done.”

  One of the registration specialists rushes in with a stack of paperwork for Stephanie to sign for her surgery, so Lucas and I step outside of the curtain and head over to assess Stephanie’s friend Jewel.

  “What are you thinking?” Lucas asks.

  “It sounds like she’s got multiple silicone clots in her lungs. Scans will have to come back before I know for sure…”

  “She’s having a seizure!” Jillian screams from behind Jewel’s curtain.

  Lucas rushes over and tears open the curtain. He immediately starts calling out medications. Keke’s face turns as white as a sheet and she darts away from the hospital bed. I press the red button on the wall to alert hospital security and initiate an immediate lock down. She is not about to escape on my watch.

  “What is this?” Jillian asks as she examines Jewel’s blood shot eyes.

  “Brain bleed. Silicone embolism in her brain most probably,” Lucas says. “I’m taking her to the OR right now to stop the bleed. Hopefully it’s in time.”

  Lucas, Jillian and the surgical nurses push the bed through the emergency room. I was hoping that Lucas was going to be able to go shotgun with me on Stephanie’s surgery. I know what to do, but I’ve never tried to remove silicone from someone’s body before.

  “Do you want me to scrub in with you?”

  I spin on one heel to face Fatima. “That’s okay. I’m good.”

  “Well, I was looking at the chart and it looks like a case that I had in Dallas,” Fatima says. “A young girl had gone to Mexico and gotten silicone breast implants that exploded. The silicone traveled to her lungs just like in your patient.”

  “I don’t even know if we need surgery yet. We might be able to treat her with steroids and antibiotics. But if I do have to operate, I’ve got it.”

  I walk past Fatima and snatch the chart from her hands.

  “Seriously Sydney?” Fatima says to my back. “You can’t possibly still be mad about that.”

  Slowly, I turn to face her again. “About what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, Sydney. He meant nothing to me, you know? That was eight years ago. I’ve moved on.”

  I clear my throat. “Clearly, neither friendship nor sisterhood meant anything to you either. But, we’ve moved on as well.”

  “Good, because nobody wants Lucas, and I’ve got a job to do. I’m here to save lives. I’d appreciate you not getting in the way of that.”

  She storms away to assist on another patient in the emergency room, and I stand ready to explode. I’ve got to get my mind right, because I can’t have this girl taking me off my game and making me insecure. We’re not in college anymore, this is real life.

  A uniformed security guard approaches me with a serious expression on his face. Now what?

  “Nurse Connie told me you were the doctor who set off the alarm. Is that correct?”

  I nod. “Yes. Did you get the girl we described?”

  “Unfortunately, we didn’t. There was a car waiting for her, and she got out right before the locks engaged.”

  “Shoot! Are the police here yet?” I ask.

  “Not yet, but when they get here, do you want to talk to them.”

  “Absolutely. That girl has
at least committed assault, maybe even attempted murder.”

  The security guard nods. “I will bring the officers to talk to you when they get here.”

  I don’t think this night could get any worse. Mutilated young women and the perpetrator got away? And Fatima Graham wanting to muscle in on my surgeries. I need a drink. Or my sisters.

  I whip out my phone and send a text. Mandatory sister lunch! Tomorrow at Busy Bee’s!

  Chapter Six

  Dionne

  I really hate when one of my sisters decides to come to Busy Bee’s for lunch. Usually, it’s Sydney’s greedy butt that picks here, and since it was her turn I had to go along. I love the food, especially the smothered chicken and gravy, but this place is a hangout for the head blogger of trueblackgossip.com. Her name is Makenzie Bryant and she’s staring over her peach cobbler at me. I pretend not to notice her behind my Chanel shades.

  Now she’s no longer staring. She and her twelve packs of wet and wavy yaki hair weave are walking over to my table.

  She thrusts her hand out as if I’m going to shake it. I look down at it and then sigh. These paparazzi are so annoying.

  “I’m Makenzie Bryant, lead reporter for trueblackgossip.com.”

  This makes me laugh. “Reporter? Making up lies equals reporting?”

  “We don’t lie. We report on true gossip.”

  “That’s your tagline so it must be true, right?” I say. I hope her reporter skills help her catch the sarcasm.

  Makenzie sits down in front of me. She’s real bold and about to get dealt with. Maybe she thinks because I’m pregnant that I won’t still bring the ruckus. She’s about to find out.

  “When are you gonna let me interview you about Rod’s lovechild? Or maybe, you and Rod can sit down with me and talk about his entire ordeal. The shooting, the amnesia and his daughter.”

  “Why would we talk to you?”

  Makenzie slides a piece of paper from her backpack across the table. It’s a copy of the divorce filing that Rod made before he got shot.

  “Because I think it would be better coming from you two than from documents scanned on the internet.”

  I shrug. “You think I care if you put that up there? Rod and I aren’t getting divorced anymore, so it will be a pretty pointless story.”

  “Well, you’re right, but I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt and offer you the interview first. Rod’s stripper baby mama has been reaching out to us every day.”

  Now she’s got my attention. Does Peach plan on violating the terms of her confidentiality agreement with Rod?

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “I understand how embarrassing it is for a groupie to have your husband’s first born, but obviously your love has stood the test of time. He’s still with you.”

  “Girl, bye. I am not in the mood for this today. Go find someone else to stalk.”

  Makenzie stands up from the table and goes back to her own seat. She takes out her iPad and starts typing, undoubtedly writing up her conversation with me. I should’ve ignored her completely. I keep telling myself not to feed the trolls.

  Camille walks in next and plops down in front of me. She looks like she’s lost ten pounds, which is a good thing because Cami Cam stays on the thick side of things.

  “Did you order yet?” Camille asks as she sits.

  “Yes, I’m fine, big sis. My pregnancy is going well. Thank you for asking,” I say as I slide my sunglasses off and stuff them in my purse.

  “Oh, you know I want to know about the baby. I just wanted to know if we’re waiting for Sydney. I only have an hour lunch.”

  “You work at the church and they hardly pay you anything anyway. Who cares if you’re late getting back?”

  Camille shakes her head. “I do.”

  “Well, while we’re waiting on Sydney, we can talk about my baby shower. We’re having it on New Year’s Day.”

  “That’s four days away.”

  “I know. Our friends don’t need that much notice.”

  Camille rolls her eyes. “Oh, so this is going to be one of those star studded events, huh? What are you telling me about it for? I’m not an A-list celebrity?”

  “No, but you’re at least D-list because you’re my sister. You could probably get a reality show.”

  “Was that supposed to be funny?”

  I laugh out loud at my own joke. “It’s funny to me.”

  “Well, Sydney and I are planning a baby shower for you with our family. We don’t like your fake celebrity friends.”

  “That’s fine, but I still want you to come to my New Year’s Shower. Oh, and you have to wear white. It’s an all-white shower.”

  “All white in January? Grandmere Batiste is going to keel over and die.”

  “No she won’t. She’s a fashion rebel.”

  Finally, Sydney is here wearing her signature high ponytail and ratty grey sweats. She’s wearing the designer sunglasses that I gave her for Christmas as a headband. Fashion is such a waste on her.

  “Hey y’all. I need macaroni and cheese,” Sydney says as she slides into a chair. “And candied yams. And greens.”

  “Didn’t we just eat all of that artery clogging food on Christmas, Dr. Baker?” Camille asks.

  “Yes, but that was before Fatima Graham came to work at Atlanta General.”

  Camille’s jaw drops and my mouth forms an o. “Not Fatima Big Booty Graham, the one who slept with Lucas in college?” I ask.

  “Yes!”

  “Did she get fat?” Camille asks.

  “I wish. No. She looks even better.”

  “That sucks,” I say. “It’s always a good thing when they get fat or have bad plastic surgery.”

  Sydney nods at the waitress coming our way. She must be really stressed, ‘cause she’s ready to eat.

  “I will have the smothered chicken with macaroni and cheese, yams and greens. And sweet tea,” Sydney says.

  Camille shakes her head. “I will have the grilled chicken salad, and a water.”

  Since I’ve only got a few more weeks of being greedy, I go big. “I’ll have the smothered chicken too, but with the dressing and collard greens. Sweet tea to drink. Thank you.”

  As the waitress walks away, Sydney sighs. “What am I gonna do y’all? Every time I see her I want to start clawing her eyes out. Doctors don’t do that!” she says.

  “Christians don’t go around being violent, Syd. Ask yourself what Jesus would do.” Camille says.

  No she didn’t.

  “Christians don’t flip houses with money they won at the bingo hall,” I say. “Did Jesus do that?”

  “Well, somebody’s got to be the voice of reason!” Camille says. “What is your advice?”

  I don’t know if I should say what I think. I do happen to know that Sydney hasn’t broken Lucas off since they’ve been dating, so he has got to be pretty desperate for the cookie. My advice isn’t what someone saved would do.

  “You should just give him some, so he doesn’t get any ideas. Why are you holding that cookie hostage? Let it out the jar.”

  Sydney puts her head down on the table. Then, she pops back up.

  “Do y’all think Lucas would get back with Fatima just because I’m not giving him any? If he does, I am not marrying him.”

  Camille looks unsure, and I can’t call it either. Lucas has already cheated once, at the very beginning when they were crazy in love. I don’t know if I believe cheaters can be reformed. Not even if they have amnesia.

  “I think Lucas wants to do the right thing this time,” Camille says. “You all are adults now, not horny college coeds.”

  Sydney pulls a strand loose from her ponytail, something she does when she’s nervous. “I hope so.”

  “You are coming to my baby shower right?” I ask.

  “When is it?” Sydney asks. “Wait. I thought Camille and I were planning it?”

  “Not your little family shower. The star studded New Year’s Day all white
push party.”

  “Push party?” Camille asks. “Push party?”

  “Yes. The party for when I’m about to push my baby out.”

  Why are my sisters staring at me right now?

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Sydney says. “And I thought you were having a C-section to keep from stretching out your lady parts?”

  “I am, Sydney. It’s just a figure of speech. Look, I know you have potential drama with Fatima, and Camille’s husband is on the verge of putting her out. But we still need to celebrate my baby. Shoot, Peach has moved her gelatinous behind to Atlanta and y’all don’t see me tripping.”

  “Bryan is not putting me out,” Camille says. “We’re actually doing great.”

  Sydney and I stare at Camille. Her denial is too real. She and Bryan are doing the opposite of great.

  “So, when you called Grandma and was crying on the phone what was that about? Were those tears of joy?” I ask.

  Camille narrows her eyes at me. “You should mind your own business.”

  “You should stop trying to pretend like you guys are all good and you’re not. We’re your sisters Camille. You don’t have to lie to us,” Sydney says.

  Camille blinks several times, probably trying to hold back tears. “I don’t want to talk about me and Bryan, okay?”

  The quiver in Camille’s voice makes me feel horrible for going hard on her.

  “I’m sorry Cami,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said anything about the phone call. You know we’re all pulling for you guys.”

  Camille dabs at her eyes with the corner of her napkin and clears her throat. “You know what? I’m gonna go now. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “What about your food?” Sydney asks.

  “I can pick something up on the way back.”

  “Don’t leave, Camille. I said I was sorry.”

  A tear falls from Camille’s chin as she stands. “Just because you apologize, it doesn’t mean that I have to accept it.”

  Sydney glares at me as Camille rushes out of the restaurant. “Dionne!”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt her little judgmental feelings. You know she would’ve done the same to me. Shoot, she has done the same to me.”