Thirteen West (10 page)

Lew's back was to Grace and he hovered over Laura Jean, not touching her but not moving away, either. Grace caught her breath, saliva filled her mouth.

"Laura Jean," he said and Grace heard a change in his voice that made her shiver.

The girl laughed, but when he reached for her and slung her over his shoulder she began to writhe and scream, pounding his back with her fists.

"Shut up, you little bitch. I'm putting you to bed whether you want to go or not. Cut it out!"

Ms Reynolds ran into the day room. "Put her down, Lew," she ordered.

Lew dumped Laura Jean onto her feet and she crumpled into a heap, sobbing.

"You told me to find her and get her to bed," Lew said sullenly.

"My mistake as well as yours. It seems I'll have to assign her exclusively to women." She spotted Grace, standing against the wall. "Grace, you take Laura Jean to her room, please. Lew, stay here. We'd better have a little talk."

With urging, Grace got Laura Jean to her feet and walked her to her room where the girl sat on the edge of her bed, wild-eyed.

"Don't turn off the light," she begged over and over, oblivious to Grace's assurances that the light would stay on, was always left on.

Ms Reynolds stuck her head in. "I suppose I'll have to give her a shot," she said. "Laura Jean's been jazzed up every night this week for some reason."

She left and came back in a few minutes with a syringe and needle. Grace held the girl while the charge nurse injected her.

All the way home Grace thought about Laura Jean. When her ride dropped her off, she roused enough to say thanks and good night. There was a light on in Papa's den. He was waiting up for her again. Quickly she let herself into the house and hurried to her room to remove her uniform and slip on a full-length, long-sleeved robe. Papa hated to see her in a uniform.

"What happened to you today?" he said when she ventured into the den. "Speak up. I see by your expression you've done something inexcusable. What is it?"

"I was only thinking about one of the patients, Papa. A teenage girl."

"What about her?"

Grace spotted an empty brandy glass on the side table. Her hands began to tremble. "Nothing, really. It's just that she's afraid. And this tech, this man, he was looking at her. She was partly undressed and he saw her like that. I—it was upsetting."

Her father's pale gray eyes narrowed and he began rubbing the palms of his hands along his thighs. "You watched abominations? You defiled yourself?"

"Oh, no. He didn't do anything. He just stared at her."

"You know he lusted and yet you did nothing." Spittle collected in the corners of his mouth. "Sins of omission are as punishable as sins of commission."

Grace hung her head. She heard the slick slither of leather against cloth and knew he was removing his belt. Warmth flooded through her.

"Down on your knees, sinner," her father ordered.

Chapter Nine

I should have shoved the truth at Luba, Barry told himself as he drove his white Porsche along the road to
Jade
Beach
. Why the hell did I lie about having to dictate chart notes at the hospital? She's not my wife, the way she's acting there's no commitment anymore—that's what I should have said.

Alma
's tiny ramshackle cottage was easy to find with the map she'd drawn for him, telling him he was on his own if he got lost as she had no phone.

She greeted him, yawning, wearing a white terry cloth robe tied about her waist. "You're really early." she said. "I'm still having coffee. Want some? It's not instant. I get enough of that at work."

He'd come away without eating and took not only the coffee but the toast she offered—warm, dripping with butter.

"The berry jam is homemade," she said. "My mother's a compulsive canner and preserver."

Luba didn't even see that there was bread in the place, much less homemade jam. Barry ate the toast greedily, teasing himself with the question of whether
Alma
was wearing anything under the short robe she had on. The vee showed a generous amount of breast.

"How'd you ever find a place like this?" he asked, looking around with appreciation.
Alma
had neither made the interior cutesy nor gone pop-art.

She tilted her head and smiled. "Connections. But I had to paint the whole damn place myself. Only the three rooms, but it was a real mess when I moved in. Carted out two and a half garbage cans of trash and I threw away the furniture. I suppose that's why I painted everything white, reaction from the filth. Unless you see a more sinister motive..."

He grinned at her and shook his head. "I like what you've done."

"I can't say I have a generous landlord—he refuses to spend one cent on this place and the rent is unreal. I'd find a housemate to help with costs if I didn't value privacy so much.

"They can be easier to get in than get out."

Alma
raised her eyebrows.

He didn't elaborate, taking another piece of toast instead. "I envy you this place, the beach so close, swim any time you feel the urge."

Alma
shivered. "Not this time of the year."

"You can still go out, walk along the sand and the ocean is right there."

"You sound like you can't wait," she said. "Hang on and I'll throw on some warm clothes."

He watched her rise and place the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe she'd just gotten up but her hair was neat and the robe cinched in at her waist made her look anything but slovenly. She went through a curtained doorway.

Barry stared at the red and white print of the curtain, all thoughts of the ocean wiped from his mind. He put down his half-eaten toast, got up and walked to the curtain, hesitating only a moment before he pushed it aside.

Alma
was naked, her back to him. He caught his breath at the lush curve of her buttocks, the perfection of her brown skin.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. "I thought you were eager to commune with the mysterious ocean."

He reached for her. "You're all the mystery I want right now."

Her scent was clean—a lemony fragrance—even afterward, lying beside her in her narrow bed. He smelled himself, the musky odor of semen, but the faint rancidity he'd noted lately in Luba was missing. He ran a finger up the rise of
Alma
's breast. "Lovely."

She grinned at him. "Find any masses?"

He blinked, rising on one elbow to look at her.

"Thought maybe you automatically checked for abnormalities when you were fooling around like this."

He put his hands over both her breasts. "Nothing abnormal about you."

Later he walked with her on the damp sand, the waves icy as they licked his bare feet. He found her just as enticing in a red jogging suit, the hood tied under her chin. Evidently this wasn't going to be a single bam-thank-you ma'am thing for him, a pacifier to satisfy simple lust. He wanted more of
Alma
. He'd now have to see her at work, wanting her, and there was Luba at home. How long before an intolerable situation became impossible?

Barry hunched his shoulders and walked faster. Accept the day's offerings, he told himself. Don't try to examine tomorrow. Sufficient unto the day the guilts thereof.

The ocean heaved gray-green under a lowering sky, the faint scent of brine borne on the dank wind off the water. Damn, it was cold—his feet ached and the dampness struck through his jacket. More rain on the way.

"Had enough?"
Alma
asked.

"Of the weather, yes. When do you have a day off?"

"Tomorrow. And Tuesday. But I—"

"But me no buts. I'm MOD tomorrow night, free Tuesday after five or so. Is there a decent place to eat around here?"

"Several. Cheap but good, expensive but good, so-so and so-so. But I—"

He stopped and pulled her around to face him. "I intend to take you to dinner Tuesday evening."

"I'm going to L.A. Sorry."

"Why can't you be back by then?"

She stared at him, laughed and touched him lightly on the cheek before freeing herself. "Why is it so important?"

"Would you like a personal demonstration here on the sand?"

She slanted him a look. "Dare you."

When he reached for her, she ducked and ran, getting a head start and almost making it back to the cottage before he caught her. He held her against him, but was too winded to kiss her. Getting out of shape, damn it, too little exercise the past couple years.

"Okay," she said, flinging back her head to look at him, the hood slipping from her hair. "See you Tuesday about seven. And, no, you can't come in now. I'll have to rush to get to work on time as it is."

* * *

After she'd retrieved Barry's shoes for him and shut the door,
Alma
stood a moment, smiling to herself. She'd get back Tuesday night. Charlie wouldn't like it, but—
Alma
thrust up her middle finger in an inelegant gesture. Serve him right.

Charlie'd kept her waiting enough times, to say the least. Besides, over and above the good sex, she liked Barry. Wonder how he was explaining this to his roomie? Have to find out more about her. Did the woman know? Care? She wouldn't want some female pounding on her door, making trouble. No way.

Alma
dressed quickly, drove a little faster than usual and was on time when she reached Thirteen West. Midway through the evening, as she sat charting, she suddenly realized this was the Sunday night she'd been dreading.

Frank was off and Willie Rhone was on. Thank God the combination only happened once or twice a month. The evening supervisor who replaced Frank two nights a week was not only a woman but a bitch you couldn't talk to. No way would or could she fill in for Frank by walking
Alma
to her car.

Alma
thrust it from her mind and tried to concentrate on the charting, on the ward details. She found herself glancing again and again at the clock, though, as twenty-four hundred hours came closer.

She gave a brief report to the night charge tech, Mr. Thompson, who relieved her. Night shift had no nurses on the wards, only the night supervisor was an RN. Joe Thompson, correct but chicken-shit, was technically Willie Rhone's boss on this shift but he was no match for Willie, who'd be waiting for her by the door.

"Well, if it isn't Momma A," Willie said, making a big deal of unlocking the door for her. He let himself out, too, and walked along the corridor to the outside door with her. "Still saving that hot black ass for old Frank?"

Don't say anything, she reminded herself. It's always worse when you do. She quickened her pace.

"You weren't always so uppity," Willie said, his arm brushing hers. "You know you liked it fine from old Willie. You begged for it. Now you a big shit charge nurse, black meat's too trashy for you. That it, Momma?"

She jerked away from his touch and held out her key to thrust in the outer door.

He blocked the door with his body. "Old Frank don't like girls. You ain't gonna get nowhere with him. All you got to do is let me know where you live—gonna find out sooner or later anyhow. Pretty cool how you got that fake address on your records. Ain't gonna stop me, Momma, you oughta know by now nothing stops Willie." With a sudden lunge, he thrust a hand under her uniform skirt.

She jumped back. "Don't touch me!"

"Aw, Momma A, you know you like it."

"I swear I'll report you."

He stopped smiling, his eyes narrowing. "You know better'n that."