Thirteen West (18 page)

What kind of a bastard am I? he asked himself. Never mind that Luba could make an abuser out of the kindest man in the world—I don't hit women.

Alma
greeted him sleepy-eyed. "Hey, I can stay in bed till noon," she murmured, "but I wouldn't want to be you in three and a half-hours."

He reached for her, desire vanquishing rational thought.

When the alarm sounded, Barry got up and stumbled across the tiny bedroom to shut it off. He forced himself to stay on his feet, showered quickly and threw on his clothes. Since
Alma
didn't move, he figured she was sleeping until she rolled over and looked at him.

"Not this weekend," she said.

"What?"

"You can't come out this weekend. Starting from tonight."

"Why?"

She raised up on one elbow. "It's really none of your business, is it? We didn't exchange any vows. Or even promises."

Alma
was nothing if not upfront. "You're right," he admitted.

"Just so you understand."

Barry hesitated, glancing at his watch. "Okay," he said finally.

That's how you want it, he told himself as he drove toward the hospital—no strings on either side. Luba's enough of an entanglement. If only she'd disappear, get out of the apartment without all this carryon, trying to turn him into the monster she made him out to be.

It might be none of his business but he wondered who else
Alma
was sleeping with. Someone from the hospital? The guy from
L.A.
she'd gone to visit? Was he black?

Barry grimaced, forcing the questions from his mind. Forget it. What difference did it make anyway? Each person was free to do his or her thing without interference from the other. Unless the other happened to be Luba.

He smiled wryly. Obviously Dr. Perls had never lived with a Luba or he wouldn't have written his glib little exposition about who was not in the world to live up to another's expectations.

His thoughts shifted to the hospital. He'd have to talk to Crawford this morning about Jay-Jay. Why in hell couldn't the man have transferred Jay-Jay to A East when the night shift had called him about the status? The acute ward had better trained personnel and decent equipment. You didn't have to get out of bed to order a patient to be transferred. Not that it would have killed Crawford to haul his ass over to Thirteen West and take a look at an epileptic who'd aspirated. Worst of all, Jay-Jay was probably going to survive—as a complete vegetable.

Thank God it was Friday. He had MOD coming up Saturday night, then call again, oh, damn, on Monday because he'd promised to trade Tony Newbold for the following Friday. He wouldn't be able to visit
Jade
Beach
until Tuesday night.

Have to do something about the McRead girl. ECT seemed the only solution—get her started next week. Barry shook his head. Who the hell was he to be treating these unlucky wretches? It seemed everyone had gotten worse on Thirteen West since being transferred there, himself included.

Except for the Duchess. And that was probably due to the move away from old chronics to a place where she was noticed a little and made a fuss of. Milieu therapy at its best, if it had a best.

"The making of definite and usually substantial changes in the person's immediate environment or life circumstance," to quote Nellie.

Such as putting them in a state hospital to begin with? That was certainly a substantial change in anyone's book. Barry shook his head.

So, why was he in the field if he mistrusted the theories masquerading as treatment? Hell, he couldn't even deal with his own life.

Chapter Thirteen

On Thirteen West, Sally found Laura Jean still catatonic. She'd learned Dr. Jacobs had written an order for electro-convulsive therapy and was troubled. The thought of electricity arcing through the girl gave her the shudders. For some reason, days had left Laura Jean naked from the waist down—perhaps because the doctor had done a vaginal exam. Sally was struggling to get pajamas pants on her when Lew Alinosky stuck his head in the room.

"Need some help?" he asked.

She did, there was no use not to admit it. Dressing or undressing catatonic patients was not the easiest task in the world. She'd have preferred to have a woman helping her with Sally but she'd have to take the luck of the draw.

"I'd appreciate it, Lew," she said.

Once they had the pajamas pants in place, Lew said, "Want to put the top on too?"

That meant taking off Laura Jean's T-shirt and exposing her breasts. Sally hesitated, then chastised herself for being silly. Lew was a psych tech. He was used to working with women as well as men. Besides, he'd already seen the other half of the girl while they were struggling with the pajamas bottoms.

"Good idea," she told Lew.

"Peculiar as hell, what happened to Laura Jean on nights," he said. "The lights being out like they were and all. As zonked on Thorazine as he was, the Preacher would've fallen on his butt if he'd tried to climb that step stool. But somebody did. You'll never make me believe the Preacher laid a finger on her, either."

"I agree. But Laura Jean could have heard somebody in the dark and slid off the bed onto the floor, trying to hide. Her nightmares—"

"You don't still believe that crap about nightmares." When Sally didn't answer, he added, "The whole damn thing stinks—lights out, a stool we keep locked up in the mop closet in here, and her on the floor half-naked. That's no dream."

"Ms Young thinks Laura Jean was trying to commit suicide," Sally said. "You know—put her fingers in the light socket."

"I can't see that, even if it's true you never do know what a schiz will do."

They had the shirt off and the difficulty of working the girl's arms into the sleeves of the pajama top was making Sally wish they hadn't bothered. She sought a way to divert Lew's attention from the way Laura Jean's bare breasts were brushing against him as he helped.

"I asked Dr. Jacobs for a simple definition of schizophrenia," she said finally. "He told me I should imagine a way of living where I was estranged from myself as well as everyone else."

"Can't say I'd care to try it. Hate to see it happen to young chicks like Laura Jean. What kind of life is this?"

When the pajama top was finally in place, Sally breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the covers up over the girl. "Dr. Jacobs said the ECT would bring Laura Jean out of the catatonia," she said, "and then he wants to try group therapy. So she won't always be like she is now."

"Yeah, maybe. But I worked on the teenage ward and the ones as bad as her don't get all the way better, ECT or not. A lot of tranq zombies over there." He stared down at Laura Jean so long that it made Sally nervous.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"If she wasn't having nightmares," he said slowly, "then someone screwed her into catatonia. Ever think of that? I got my own idea of who could've done it. Smartass bastard, the kind my wife—" He broke off abruptly, turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Sally wondering uneasily what he'd been about to reveal.

"There you are." Janet Young came into the room. "We got along so well working together last night I thought maybe we could do it again."

"I'm finished with Laura Jean already," Sally said, hoping to discourage her.

"But you still have the others to do. I'll help you."

Unable to find a good reason why not, Sally nodded. Though she didn't give credence to what the Duchess had said, she really didn't want to work with this woman. But there was no way to say so without hurting the LVN's feelings.

"You live in the singles apartments, don't you?" Janet asked. "In 32."

"Yes."

"Maybe I could come by and take a look at your place."

"Oh. Well, I don't know..."

"You see, I'm waiting to move into one and I'd like to get some measurements."

"You're waiting for my apartment?"

"No, I understand 32 is kept for short term residents—like you are. I'm on the waiting list for the next vacancy in the others. Maybe I could drop by after work tonight. It would only take a few minutes. We can walk over together."

Sally tried to come up with a reason to keep Janet away. Not that she was afraid of her but she just didn't want the woman in her apartment. She couldn't use David as an excuse because he wasn't here. Besides, she hadn't seen him since that fiasco—maybe he wouldn't want to have anything more to do with her.

"As a matter of fact," she said, feeling like she was being driven to the wall, "tonight isn't convenient. I have a date."

Janet's eyebrows rose. "Surely not with David Boyer. Hasn't be been—ill?"

Why did Janet speak of him so mockingly? Did everyone know what had happened between David and her and what David had suffered as a result?

"I've seen you two in cozy conversations," Janet went on. "So sweet."

The tinge of mockery was still there. I really don't like her, Sally decided.

"I'm sure your date isn't with Lew Alinosky," Janet said. "He's very much married and so jealous of his wife it keeps him too busy for fooling around. Besides, I'm sure you're not a girl who'd date married men."

Malicious was the word for Janet. Anger rose in Sally. She was getting ready to say who she dated was no one's business but her own when Janet spoke first.

"That leaves Dr. Jacobs who, I understand, lives with a woman friend already. And, from the way our dear charge nurse eyes him, you'd have to ace her out as well. So who's the heavy date with?"

Struck by the similarity to how Em used to act—it was almost like Janet was Em, reincarnated—Sally fumbled with words. "I—I—"

"I don't really think you have any right to know." Frank's voice came from behind them, making both women start and turn to where he stood in the doorway. "But I'll tell you anyway," he added. "Sally's going out with me."

Sally stared at him, speechless. How long had he been standing there?

"Isn't that right, Sally?" he asked.

Feeling trapped, but not knowing what else to do, she nodded. Looking from one to the other of them, both intent on her, she fled past Frank, who made no move to stop her. Sally couldn't avoid Janet for long, since she'd agreed to work with her. Eventually she joined her in the four bed women's room.

"I must say I'm surprised." Janet's voice was no longer mocking. "I suppose you know what you're doing but he's practically old enough to be your father."

"Not unless he was extremely precocious," Sally retorted, determined not to allow herself to be dominated.

"I've heard rumors—" Janet let her voice trail off.

Recognizing the ploy, Sally didn't respond. Frank might have a blemished past—he'd more or less said so when he'd come to her apartment uninvited. Though she was curious, she had no intention of asking Janet anything about him.

"He never takes out girls," Janet said after a long pause.

"I'm a girl."

"That's what's so odd." Janet smiled with cold eyes. "Perhaps you'd better reconsider. He could have—unusual tastes."

Sally fought the urge to laugh at the lengths Janet was going to, all to prevent an imaginary date. It would be imaginary, wouldn't it? Or was it out of the frying pan into the fire? Her stomach began to churn and spasm with tension. Frank really wasn't expecting her to go anywhere with him, was he? Or to come to her apartment? Bile rose in her throat.

"You're so pale." Janet's voice was tinged with satisfaction. "Don't you feel well?"

Damned if she'd let Janet know how apprehensive she was about exactly what Frank intended to do. Summoning up an enigmatic smile, she murmured, "It's just the anticipation of a first date with an exciting man."

* * *

"Frank said to wait—he'll be back,"
Alma
told Sally near the end of the shift. "He usually walks me to my car." She laughed. "I don't like the dark. Tonight I hear you're coming along?" She raised an eyebrow.