Author's Note: Language Alert
"Dee. You need to come get me. Can you do that?"
"Dee. You need to come get me. Can you do that?"
"I'm on a set. What's wrong?"
"I cut the tip of my thumb off."
That was end of any hesitation Deanna had.
"I'll be there as soon as I can get there."
Deanna and Arlen had been in the county hospital ER for five hours. When they had arrived, Arlen had been bleeding profusely and the technicians had sterilized the wound and put on a temporary dressing. But now, that dressing was failing.
Various nurses had come into Arlen's assigned room and had assured them that he would be the next patient to see the doctor, but this was a big-city ER. There was a constant flow of victims of gunshots, knife wounds, car accidents, and drug overdoses. Each one moved Arlen further back in the triage line.
The room had windows to the hallway and Deanna watched as, yet one more time, the tall, good-looking man passed by and eyed her covertly. She was used to this. Deanna kept herself in very good shape--she couldn't get the kind of acting roles she wanted if she didn't--and, most of the time she took the male attention she got in stride.
She had a tendency to view her looks as a tool to get what she wanted professionally. The downside of her looks was that, most of the men she met saw her as what she was on the outside and never bothered to find out who she really was. Arlen was the lone exception to this rule.
They had met when her last boyfriend, Kendrick--who had been friends with Arlen for many years--had introduced her to Arlen and Monica. Deanna and Arlen had immediately bonded as friends, but Monica had always held her at arm's length. Deanna didn't care then, and after she had found out what Monica had done, she really didn't care.
She and Kendrick had an ugly break-up and Arlen and Monica had gotten a divorce. So it was that she and Arlen helped each other get through their heartbreak and this resulted in them becoming roommates. She had long expected Arlen to come visit her in her bedroom, but he never did. After they had lived together for a year, she asked him why.
"When I loved Monica and she loved me, when our relationship was at its best, it was the greatest joy I ever experienced. Now that it's over, I can't go back to being what I was before I met her.
"Remember what you said about Kendrick and the others?"
"Yes. That they used me for their own gratification."
"Yes. Dee, I love you as a friend and I want the highest and best for you. That best is not me, at least not right now. I would do to you what they did. You would hate me afterward and I would feel nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Yes, nothing. I feel something now: our friendship. But that would end, and I think you know it."
Deanna wasn't as sure as he was, but his explanation was enough.
Deanna knew that she and Arlen made an interesting pair to onlookers. He was only ten years her senior, but he was overweight and the reddish-blond hair on his head and face were graying. Under most other circumstances, the reaction of others amused her. Not today. Her friend was bleeding heavily.
The passerby was wearing what looked like an EMT uniform. When he knocked on the door of the room, she wasn't surprised.
James was used to this. Most of the patients who frequented the ERs of Los Angeles were bedraggled illegal aliens, but, occasionally, there was some young, sweet thing here--with her parents or one of her kids. All he would have to do is put on his professional survey persona and he would have the girl's phone number. Many times, he was thankful for speaking Spanish. Some of these Mexican girls were hot!
But the one he had his eye on today wasn't Mexican, or at least he didn't think so. Maybe partially. Tiny and blond. Nice ass!
She was in a room talking with an older guy, the patient--her father, perhaps. He couldn't be anything else to her. After all what would a girl like her be doing with an old, fat guy like that? Well, he'd find out what the situation was during the survey. The ruse always worked.
"May I come in?"
"Sure," said Arlen.
The man walked over to Arlen and stuck out his hand.
"My name is James Cattrell and I'm an LA County EMT attached to this facility."
Arlen shook with his uninjured hand. "Are you here to treat me?"
"No, sir. I'm here to take a survey as to how you were treated by our EMTs."
"Okay," said Arlen skeptically.
James readied the clipboard and pen he kept for these occasions. He had created the survey himself on his home computer.
"What's your name, sir?"
"Arlen Tortelli."
"How old are you?"
"47."
James turned to Deanna.
"Ma'am, what's your relationship to Mr. Tortelli?" It was here that James made his mistake. Oh, it wasn't usually a mistake. But Deanna knew an act when she saw one.
"Why do you need to know? Your survey is for the patient. I'm not the patient."
"We'll, ma'am, we like to include the family members in this survey."
"Bullshit." Deanna got up from her chair. "You came in here to find out if this was my father. Well, I'll give you a clue as to our relationship. What if I told you that I suck his cock every night and twice on Sundays?"
Oh shit, James thought.
"Ma'am, I assure you that I don't mean anything like that..."
"Please. We've been here for almost six hours and you come in with some transparent shit like this? I bet the illegal alien bitches go for it. Well, this Mexican isn't buying it." Deanna was half Mexican.
"Now get the fuck out of here and get a doctor in here before you need one!"
James hurried out the door.
Arlen looked at her. "You're crazy, you know."
"So you keep telling me."
"You know you threatened that guy. He might call the cops."
"That pussy motherfucker won't call the cops. If he did, all his boys would know he's afraid of some chick."
"Well, that makes sense." Arlen paused for a beat. "Why is everyone so preoccupied with where I put my dick?"
Deanna laughed. "I thought that line might get his attention. He had been walking up and down the hallway pretending not to look in here. I know when I'm being stalked."
"I guess you do."
The doctor arrived less than half an hour after the incident and, soon, they were on the way back home.
"Thirty days not working, eh," Deanna said. "You're gonna go crazy."
"I don't think so. Remember I told you: there are no accidents in the life of the believer. God has something else he wants me to do in this next thirty days."
No comments:
Post a Comment