Chapter Two
From the several minutes I peeked through the front window of Carlisle Antiques, I deduced the brawny man dressed in a three-piece expensively tailored navy suit walking through the high-priced antique pieces was the insect who broke Amy’s heart.
I could see how she’d fall for him. He fit her type to the letter – handsome, educated, refined and financially set. Yes, I gleaned all of this from the sidewalk.
Throughout my life, I’ve had some dastardly things done to me and because of it I could read people like I would a bio. I came away from the window knowing several things. The one which struck me most was that I needed a top-to-bottom make-over if I wanted to interest a man like Carlisle.
Clothes wouldn’t present a problem. Amy and I were the same size, though our tastes in clothing were miles apart. For her, I would sacrifice comfort for glamour. I’d do whatever it took for the cause.
Hair and make-up were something else. I usually dined on the back porch of my cottage with squirrels, rabbits and deer for company. They never complained about my pale cheeks, dry lips and plain eyes, so I never prettied up for them.
Before I tested the skill of a beautician, I went to visit Amy.
The John Howard was located next to the YMCA on a side street off Charlotte, the main artery in downtown Freedom. There was talk in the capitol about building a new hospital, one better equipped to meet today’s needs for patient care. So far, it was just that – talk. Many citizens wanted to keep it that way. I had been one of those people, and still was, and now that I frequented the hospital daily, I appreciated the amenities the downtown hospital afforded me. If I needed quick, inexpensive and convenient lodging, the Y was next door. If I wanted something with frills, hotels such as The Stratta were within walking distance. The shopping district was two short blocks away. For reading material, the library was across the street and, for those who needed a break, the museum, located on the corner of nearby Pine and Coburg Streets, provided a welcome diversion to those grieving and waiting, like me.
Given the enormous number of pros for keeping the hospital in its present location, Freedom citizens had questioned the reason for the government’s proposal. An investigative journalist – not me – uncovered that the mayor of our fair city owned four hundred acres of land ripe for cultivation, coincidentally where the government intended to erect the new hospital.
It seemed we all had our share of agendas and ulterior motives.
Take what I was doing, for instance. I should feel guilt for my plot to intentionally hurt another human being. That I don’t, didn’t guilt me either.
There would be time to repent later.
I hurried through the hallway, taking a moment to smile at the patients who turned their heads to look into the corridor upon hearing my footsteps, waiting perhaps for a visitor, a nod, or a kind word to brighten their day.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed a white-coated presence dash around a corner and thought it might be Amy’s doctor. He had a habit of running the other way when he saw me.
I caught up to him outside a door marked ‘Hospital Staff Only’.
“Dr. Coville. May I have a word?” I called at his back.
He increased his pace.
I broke into a sprint. Five seconds later, I toed his heels. He had no choice but to stop when I grabbed hold of his white coat.
He turned and sighed. “What is it now, Miss Fox?” he asked, removing his glasses and massaging his eyes.
So, he had noticed me. I thought so. Dr. Coville and I hadn’t hit it off. He’d said I wanted a miracle and gave me no reason to hope for my sister’s recovery. He wished he could, but didn’t want me to believe in something which wasn’t going to happen. I said I understood. I didn’t. False hope was better than no hope. Besides, I wouldn’t turn my back on a miracle happening. I was a romantic in only that way, which reminded me how out of my depth I was playing a seductress.
“Has there been any change with my sister?” I hated to harp on the subject, but if I didn’t ask, no one would say.
“None.”
“Not one little bit? Her temp is the same as it was yesterday – slightly elevated? Not a fraction more, not a fraction less? And the same goes for her blood pressure?” I sounded like a lunatic. Judging from the expression on the doctor’s face, he thought I was.
“Well,” he said, peering at the floor, “there has been one little change.”
My hopes took a giant leap. “Really?” I asked, smiling like an ape.
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not a significant change.”
Instantly, I became suspicious he was telling me what I wanted to hear. I hung my head. “I understand,” I said, without asking what the miniscule change was, fictitious or not. “Have a good day.” I turned and headed for Amy’s room.
She was the same as I’d left her. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes fanning her high cheekbones. At her sides, her arms lay still.
I took her left hand in mine and sat. “Hi, hon. It’s me again. You really have to wake up soon. I’m creating quite a disturbance. Your doctor is scared of me. In fact, he’s probably preparing a strait jacket for me right now. I fired the bedsitter Angels of Mercy assigned to you. Hopefully, the new one will be more attentive to you and less attentive to wiggling her ass in front of the doctors.”
I brushed her bangs to the side, like she preferred them. At one time, heads were shaven for Amy’s type of surgery. Not so anymore. When Amy woke, she’d be relieved her hair hadn’t been buzzed off.
“Shamus and Shawn say, ‘Hi’. I told them you had an accident. They wish you well. I left some nuts on the porch for them before I left. I knew you’d want me to, even though they can fend for themselves. They answer to their names, now.” I sat, remembering the first time she’d seen the squirrels.
“Did you see the size of their cojones?” she’d asked.
“No,” I said, keeping a stern face.
Amy gawked at me and said, “How could you not notice? They’re quite impressive.” She giggled.
Bringing my thoughts back to the present, I turned sober, realizing how much I’d miss Amy. My life would be empty without her.
Amy couldn’t die.
She just couldn’t.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed someone hovering outside in the corridor. Using my fingers as a tissue, I rubbed the tears from my eyes, walked to the door and peered out. “Ah,” I said to Beulah Watson, Amy’s day shift nurse.
Beulah and I hadn’t hit it off, either. I’d simply inquired whether there was any change in Amy’s condition. There was no need for her snarky reply, “I don’t know your sister from a hole in the ground.” I pointed out then she knew Amy was my sister, so she wasn’t just any hole in the ground, to which she replied, “Miss Fox, the entire hospital knows you’re her sister!”
I followed Nurse Watson into the room and watched her record Amy’s readings – vital signs, I concluded.
“Any improvement?” I asked sweetly.
“She’s stable.”
Stable, but no improvement, I took that to mean.
Beulah checked Amy’s shunt for the IV. Apparently satisfied with the connection, she let Amy’s hand fall to the bed.
I didn’t care what the ‘entire hospital’ said or thought about me, I wouldn’t let Beulah or anyone mistreat Amy. “You’re handling my sister very roughly,” I said.
“She doesn’t feel a thing,” she responded, double-checking the IV drip.
Beulah’s cavalier attitude toward patient care and lack of social skills – I should talk – rated a two on a scale of ten.
Perhaps I expected too much. Not long ago a sixty-eight-year old man died from starvation while recuperating in the hospital from pneumonia. I didn’t want anything like that happening to Amy. I was responsible for her. I was her only living relative. I let her live her life and didn’t butt in, not even when she would have benefited from my wisdom. This was something different, tho
ugh. If I didn’t butt in and fight for Amy, no one would. I couldn’t sit back and believe Amy would be in capable and compassionate hands in the hospital. Cruelty, intentional or not, occurred all the time, even in hospitals and more than realized. It was left to me to ensure Amy would not become a statistic, or the young woman someone talked about – The Lenihan girl. You remember her? A while back.... she died because no one cared.
I stubbed my finger in the air and took on a haughty attitude. “My sister is comatose not a paraplegic. If you read her chart, you’d know it. Besides which, a patient’s condition does not give you the right to treat them like they’re rutabagas. I want you off my sister’s case.”
“You don’t have the authority – ”
“No?” I came to within two inches of her face. “Exchange Amy for another nurse’s patient – hopefully one with compassion who is attentive to the needs of the sick – or I’ll have this matter brought up with the board. The director is a personal friend of my boss, the managing editor of The Freedom Times & Transcript.”
She huffed. “Nurse Edith Robinson will take over Amy’s care.”
“Be thankful I’m not reporting you to the ANA.”
The incident would stay in my memory forever. I hoped to share the occurrence with Amy one day soon. Right now, I had payback to deliver. Before I left to find a Freedom telephone directory, I smoothed Amy’s blankets around her and fluffed her pillows, all the while praying for her recovery. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I knew bupkiss about beauty salons, so choosing one came down to marketing design. At the payphone in an alcove outside Amy’s room, I searched the yellow pages. The First Lady caught my eye, mainly because the woman modeling a trendy do in the full page advertisement reminded me of Amy – blue-eyed, perky nose, full lips, and dimpled chin. Luckily, the salon was within walking distance. I memorized the telephone number.
Back at Amy’s bedside, I phoned the First Lady. By chance, Vanessa had a cancellation and could take me if I could be there in five minutes.
I left a note for the new bedside sitter that I’d call in an hour and placed the prepaid cell phone I’d purchased for her predecessor across the paper. I kissed Amy on the forehead, not goodbye but farewell until tomorrow, and ran from her private quarters into the corridor.
An empty elevator car opened the instant I stepped in front of it. The car shot to the lobby, where I burst through the open doorway and onto the street.
I made it to the salon with one minute to spare. Panting for breath, I stood in reception, looking more like a psycho than a client intent upon a make-over. “Josie Fox,” I said between gasps for air. “I have an appointment with Vanessa.”
The hostess, a redhead too beautiful to sit a desk for any reason, ran a perfectly manicured nail down the page of appointments. “Ah yes, here you are. You’re lucky. Katrina van den Haag never misses her weekly appointment.”
I raved my good fortune and sucked up a little. “I’ve heard so many good things about the First Lady. Everyone says your establishment is the finest in the city.”
The hostess, obviously a trained professional, smiled and escorted me to an area enclosed within silk screens. She invited me to sit. I sank onto the richly textured leather, admiring the lush tan color and losing myself in the luxury. Music – Mozart, I thought – came faintly through speakers expertly camouflaged in lush ferns placed at strategic places throughout the area. I noticed the absence of chatter, ringing telephones, laughter, sounds commonplace to a beauty parlor. The elite laughed. I knew they did. I listened intently for hushed voices, a manner of speaking I assumed the rich shared. Nothing. No sounds of happiness, sadness or displeasure. I closed my eyes to think on the subject and didn’t become aware of Vanessa until she stood before me. Without a thought to decorum, I yelped my surprise. I felt silly, sure my lack of sophistication was written across my forehead in letters that spelled ‘hick’.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “Howdy.”
All business, my ‘handler’ opened my dossier. Imagine, me who kept an eighty-year-old barber in Devil’s Creek in business, had a file at a beauty salon. And not just any beauty salon, but one frequented weekly by Madame Katrina van den Haag, who I assumed was one of the elite of Freedom. Amy would be impressed. First, though, she’d snicker at the absurdity. The thought made me want to laugh. I remembered where I was and considered that guffaw-ing was probably frowned upon in this enterprise that probably only the affluent of Freedom frequented on a regular basis. I should feel blessed.
Vanessa ran her fingers through my hair. I wouldn’t have noticed her grimace if I hadn’t expected it. Her reaction was not one I never experienced before and took no offence.
“Pretty bad, huh?” I said, unintentionally sounding prissy-missy like.
“How much time do you have?” Vanessa asked, frowning at the frizzed ends of my hair.
I didn’t know what she meant. “Excuse me?” I said.
“Are you free for the remainder of the day?” she asked.
“It’s that bad, huh?” I waited for her answer, but she didn’t respond. Obviously, the outrageous condition of my hair was not something to joke about. I opted then for directness and more suck-up.
“I see you have a vision for a hairstyle for me.” She rewarded my perception with a smile. “All right, then. You have license to do with it what you will, with one stipulation.”
“What’s that?” she asked, like the floor had disappeared from beneath her feet.
“That you leave it long enough to tie back.” Vanessa’s cocked eyebrow prompted me to add, “My schedule gets pretty hectic at times. I don’t always have time to fuss with my hair.”
Vanessa nodded, like she understood. I knew she didn’t. What was important to one might not be important to another. Just as I wasn’t an image of loveliness, Vanessa wasn’t a slump. Heck, she probably came into the world applying lip gloss. I could only wish for such self-confidence.
I knew Vanessa’s type. Long ago, I stopped being envious of women like her. I was what I am, and no amount of make-up or fashion would alter the fact.
Suddenly, another operator, this one wearing lavender scrubs, appeared at my side. Her stealth arrival startled me. I searched the floor for a hidden foot buzzer. Next, I checked Vanessa’s frock for a call button. Again, nothing. I figured they must have built in radar.
Lavender Scrubs placed her hands at the nape of my neck and swept her fingers upward through my hair. She removed her hands. My hair stayed in place.
All three of us cocked our brows.
Lavender Scrubs ushered Vanessa to a corner where she probably issued her instructions on the best method to handle my case. She looked over her shoulder at me, perhaps hoping to see an empty chair. I winked. She averted her eyes.
Moments later, Lavender Scrubs left the strategy room as covertly as she’d arrived.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked, injecting cheerfulness in my voice. It occurred to me Vanessa had not allowed enough time for my do-over.
“Step this way, please,” she said. “Carlo will assist in the prep work.”
The words “prep work” momentarily froze me in place.