A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (4 page)

“I
don’t
want to have things done for me. I can dust my own paintings.”

“But you have to get up on a step stool to do some of them, and that’s dangerous.”

“So I’ll live dangerously. It’s my life!”

Valerie closed her eyes and let her head fall back for a moment. Then she started to chortle.

“What’s so funny?”

Valerie raised her head. “Remember that time I wanted to go skydiving?”

Mom’s brow furrowed. “When you were 18?”

“Yeah. I said the exact same thing. ‘It’s my life.’”

“And you did it.
Against
our wishes.”

“I sure did. Or at least you thought I did.”

“What?”

“Once I got up there, I couldn’t do it. I chickened out.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “You never told us that.”

“How could I, after the stink I raised?”

Mom shook her head. “You were just as stubborn as your father. Except he would have gone through with it.”

“Which is another reason I couldn’t tell you. He
said
he didn’t want me to do it, but he would have been disappointed if he’d known I hadn’t.”

“Hmm.” A wistful smile brushed Mom’s lips. “You’re probably right. Mr. Daredevil.” Then she focused on Valerie. “Speaking of husbands, you have an anniversary coming up.”

“I sure do.” Valerie stood. “And I’ve got special plans for it.”

“You do?”

“That’s right.” Valerie gave her a wicked smile. “And I’m not going to tell you about those, either.”

Valerie invited Greg to dinner a few nights before their anniversary so he wouldn’t suspect her plans. Between the Triple-H media frenzy and pondering what to try next for her mom, she had little time to prepare. But she spent every free moment she did have designing an evening that would leave him both euphoric and eager to move back in with her.

She loved the astonished look on his face when he arrived and saw how she was dressed—a black satin robe with soft, red lace trim. He’d be even more pleased when he saw the matching slip dress beneath it.

They stood on opposite sides of the island in her
House Beautiful
kitchen, which got about as much use as a library in a brothel. As she poured the wine, she caught him peeking at the spot on her chest where the robe overlapped.
This is working . . .

“It smells like lasagna in here,” he said.

She couldn’t repress her smile. “It ought to.”

“You made your lasagna?”

“I sure did. An early anniversary gift.” She held up her glass of wine and peered into his eyes. “To a marriage worth fighting for.”

He didn’t touch his wine. He turned and walked a few steps away, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. Then he turned back around. “I can’t do this.”

Her whole body froze. “Why not?”

He appeared to struggle for words, then finally said, “There’s no easy way to say this. I want a divorce.”

The floor began spinning, and her gut threatened to heave. She put her wine down and placed her hands on the counter to anchor herself. He was giving up too easily. She couldn’t,
wouldn’t
let that happen. “Please, Greg. Please don’t do this. We can make it work, I know we can.”

“No, Val. No more of your song and dance about ‘When I’m done with this’ or ‘When I finish that.’ Our marriage hasn’t been a priority for you for years. I never asked you to give up your career. I just wanted you to put it in the proper perspective.”

“I can, Greg, I—”

“Bullshit!” He headed toward the front door. “I’m outta here.”

Tears flooded her eyes as she followed him. “Greg, please, I
love
you!”

He halted and spun toward her. “Actions speak louder than words, Val. Now it’s time for me to act.” He strode out.

She started to go after him, but she couldn’t make a scene in front of the neighbors. Her legs crumpled and she sank to the floor, bawling like a spurned teenager. “No! No! NO!”

The oven timer buzzed. At first she ignored the awful sound, then she forced herself up, fumbled into the kitchen, and turned the timer off. Somehow she found the oven mitts, removed the lasagna, and set the pan on the stovetop. She began crying again, then stopped mid-breath.

“I’ll take it to him. Yes!” Grabbing the aluminum foil from a drawer, she ripped off a sheet and started to cover the dish.

“Ow!” She rushed to the faucet and ran cold water over her burnt hands. How could she be so idiotic?

Her sobs continued as the water chilled her through. She finally turned it off, dried her hands, grabbed her wine, and collapsed at the kitchen table. “How did I let it come to this?”

Sylvester, her tuxedo cat, rubbed against her leg.

Looking down at him, she sniffed. “I’m afraid I’ve lost Daddy for good, little buddy.”

He mewed, so she picked him up and buried her face in his silky fur. “I know, honey.” Her weeping resumed. “I miss him, too. I should have tried harder. Why didn’t I?
Why
?”

Sitting in Pam’s kitchen, Valerie noticed her lasagna dish had the same rectangular shape as the pink Formica-and-chrome table.

Pam moaned as she chewed her first bite.

“Mmm-hmm.” Pam’s partner, Wanda, clearly agreed. “I don’t know how any man could walk out on lasagna like this.”

Pam scowled at her. “Wanda.”

“That’s okay,” Valerie said. “I’m glad somebody’s enjoying it.”

Pam’s mouth curled into a sympathetic smile. “You should try to eat some, too.”

“Oh . . .” Valerie waved away the suggestion. “I will later.” She spotted their new chrome breadbox. “Oh, my God! My
Oma
had a bread box just like that!”

“Your what?” Pam asked.

“Oma. That’s German for grandma. Where did you find it?”

“One of those antique malls over on Broadway,” Wanda said.

“Wow.” Valerie’s eyes flooded again. “That could have been hers.” She fought to keep her lower lip from quivering but failed as the tears overflowed.

Pam got up and put an arm around her. “It’s okay. Just let it all out.”

After accepting some tissues from Wanda, Valerie blew her nose and blotted her face. “I’m sorry, I really thought I’d gotten this out of my system at home.”

“Don’t apologize for crying,” Wanda said. “It cleanses the soul.”

Wanda never ceased to amaze Valerie. One minute she was the tough-as-a-wrench plumber who could hold her own with the big boys, and the next, she was a delicate lady fretting over whether her makeup was evenly applied. Her words were a little on the new-agey side for Valerie, but they sounded wonderfully comforting. “You two are the greatest.” She leaned into Pam and allowed her sobbing to run its course.

The tears eventually subsided, and Valerie resumed a more normal posture. “Thank you for letting me literally cry on your shoulders.”

“You’d do the same for us.” Pam returned to her chair.

Valerie dabbed her nose. “I know it’s my fault, and I know it’s been coming for months. But I’m still having a hard time accepting it.”

“I don’t think it’s ever just one person’s fault.” Pam picked up her fork. “I can’t help thinking that if he was committed to making it work, he would have agreed to counseling.”

True
. “I should have tried harder, though. Do you realize it’s been ten years since I’ve made that lasagna for him?”

“But,” Pam raised a finger, “you built a successful business that gave him a much higher standard of living.”

Valerie shrugged and nodded. “But a successful business won’t keep you warm at night.”

Neither Pam nor Wanda tried to argue with that. “So,” Pam asked, “are you going to fight the divorce?”

Valerie shook her head and sighed. “I don’t think so. He seems determined to get out, and I think I’ve reached the point where it just doesn’t make sense to keep fighting a losing battle.”

Pam and Wanda glanced at each other and nodded. Then Wanda said, “On a happier note, you’ve got to love all this publicity Triple-H is getting.”

“Oh! That reminds me.” Pam’s eyes sparkled. “After you left today, I got a call from a producer for
the
goddess of TV talk shows, and guess who wants to interview you?”

Valerie’s mood did an abrupt U-turn. She didn’t have to guess; she knew. She whispered the name with reverence, “
Opal!
”

Chapter 4

Helen made it to the kitchen phone just in time to keep the answering machine from taking the call.

“Hello?” Her heart did a staccato dance.

“Helen?” Charlie’s voice sounded as resonant on the phone as it did in person.

“Yes, this is Helen.”

“This is Charlie Gorski. From the Golden Gang at church?”

“Oh, yes. Hello, Charlie.” She prayed her voice wasn’t shaking.

“That was a very good sermon Sunday, don’t you think?”

“Yes, very good.” What was it about? Jealousy? Sloth?

“I’ve always said envy is a green-eyed monster. I just wish I could say it as well as Reverend Marthaler did.”

“He is a fine speaker. I don’t much care for his smile though. It always seems a little . . . forced.”

“Well, I suppose ministers have to pretend to be happy even when they’re not.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right.” Why did she say that? She sounded like a nitpicker.

“So, I understand you like the theater.”

She braced herself for the anticipated invitation as fireworks—and hand grenades—exploded within her. “Uh, yes, generally speaking, I do like theater.”

“They’re doing a comedy at the cultural center called
No Sex Please, We’re British
. Would you like to go Saturday night?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I already have plans.” An evil, sinful lie.

“Okay. Well, maybe another time.” His jovial nature sounded perfectly intact.

“Yes, maybe some other time.”

They said goodbye and ended the call.

Helen stood alone in her spotless kitchen, staring at the silent phone. “I blew it. My last chance for any kind of excitement and I blew it.” A burning sensation bubbled from her stomach up into her throat. She lifted her head. “This is all your fault, Stanley!”

Although they called it The Green Room—where guests for
The Opal Winsley Show
waited before going on the set—it was actually a pale peach color. The aroma of gourmet coffee permeated the space, and photos of Opal with some of her famous guests, such as Matthew McConaughey, Julia Roberts, and George Clooney, lined three of the walls above cushy, gray couches. A table against the fourth wall offered an array of soft drinks and snacks.

Valerie’s jittery stomach warned her to avoid food, even the Frango Mints. But the “hunk” she’d brought with her, a physical therapist named Chad, gobbled the sandwiches like a growing boy.

Chad had emerged as the most photogenic and articulate Triple-H employee, making him the natural choice for the
Opal
appearance. With well-defined muscles, expertly combed hair, and engaging hazel-green eyes, Chad was attractive even as he stuffed his face.

Valerie got up and poured herself a glass of water, turned, and nearly spilled it on a man whom she hadn’t even heard enter the room. “Oh, excuse me!” The stench of cigarette smoke invaded her nostrils as she realized he was Opal’s other guest that day, the meteor-hot actor Jose Sanchez. 

“No problem.” He didn’t even make eye contact and went straight for the coffee.

Valerie returned to the couch where Chad sat. When Jose sat on an adjoining couch, she and Chad introduced themselves, and Jose needlessly did the same. Valerie tried not to stare, but the numerous creases on his face fascinated her. He looked so good on television and the silver screen. How did they hide the wrinkles?

Jose asked why they were on the show, so Valerie gave a brief explanation.

“Home Health Hunks?” He sounded incredulous.

Valerie launched into her usual spiel about why she chose the word “hunks,” but Jose cut her off.

“How can you go along with this, dude?” he asked Chad. “Don’t you realize what she’s doing? She’s, like, pimpin’ you, man.”

Color soared into Chad’s face like the liquid in a thermometer. “I’m a licensed physical therapist,
not
a gigolo.”

Jose raised a hand defensively. “Call it whatever you want, man. You know what you’re doin’.”

Thankfully, the assistant producer showed up to escort Valerie and Chad to the set. Once they reached the hallway, she turned to him. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault. I figured somebody would say something like that eventually.”

His tone suggested he honestly took it in stride. Valerie, however, had a sudden urge to bolt. What if Opal made a similar comment? What if they had to stay on the set while Opal interviewed Jose, and he started in on Chad again? She sucked in a deep breath. She would handle it the way Chad did. Forewarned was forearmed.

When they were introduced, the applause and bright lights forced Valerie into the moment. Opal acted as warm and friendly on set as she had when they’d talked to her beforehand. She asked some tough questions, but nothing that implied prostitution, and they were escorted off the set before Jose’s segment. Once again, Valerie had fretted far more than necessary.

When the taping ended, Valerie thanked Opal and quickly departed with Chad before Jose could make any further remarks.

As they walked to the car, Valerie and Chad high-fived and congratulated each other on their stellar performances. She turned her phone back on and a minute later, it rang.

“How’d it go?” Pam asked.

“Great. And Opal didn’t call me a pimp once.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later. What’s up?”

“Well, you may not be a pimp, but it does seem you’re a matchmaker. Thomas Fontana quit, and you’ll never guess why.”

“Why?”

“He’s getting married. To one of our clients.”

Valerie and Pam often took walks outdoors to fight the afternoon doldrums, but the sauna-like July weather, courtesy of Lake Michigan, sent them to the mall instead.

Valerie stashed away the memory of the
Opal
taping that morning and focused solely on damage control. “I swear, Murphy’s Law must have been written by someone who just started a business.” She maneuvered around a slowpoke with the expertise of a seasoned mall trekker. “Whatever can go wrong, will. Especially things you never expected in your wildest dreams.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not beating yourself up about it,” Pam said.

Valerie worried enough about the things she
did
feel responsible for; no need to take on the virtually unpredictable. “No, I’m not. But we do need to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Oh, come on. What are the odds?”

“If I asked you yesterday what the odds were that one of our guys would marry a client, what would you have said?”

Pam took a moment to answer. “A zillion to one.”

“Precisely.”

“That woman is forty-two years older than Thomas. It’s unbelievable.”

“And according to
Forbes
, she’s worth $1.2 billion. That’s a pretty attractive figure to a nurse.”

Pam guffawed. “I’d hate to see what her
real
figure looks like.”

“Now, now. Love is blind, remember?”

“I sure hope it is, for his sake.”

They passed a pretzel shop where the aroma tugged at Valerie’s stomach. “The
real
danger here is that the children of wealthy clients might not choose Triple-H if they’re afraid that could jeopardize their inheritance.”

“Oh, wow.” Pam sounded deflated. “That hadn’t even occurred to me.”

“So how can we prevent any more of our guys from doing this?”

“I don’t know. Castration?”

“Lovely. No, I think we’re going to have to make it a condition of employment that they agree, in writing, not to get romantically involved with a client.”

Pam waved off a young woman who tried to squirt lotion on her. “But how is that going to stop it? They can just quit their job, like Thomas did.”

Valerie growled. “You’re right. We’ll have to come up with some kind of severe penalty, like . . . they have to reimburse us for the cost of turnover, which can be pretty steep.”

“That might work. I’ll set up a meeting with Barry.”

“Good idea.” Their attorney, Barry Derrough, had profited far more from the creation of Triple-H than anyone else so far. “Actually, Barry’s the one who should have foreseen this possibility. But I guess we can’t be too hard on him, since it caught us completely off guard.”

A muffled version of “California Dreamin’
”
issued from Valerie’s purse. “Oh, my God, it’s Russell.” She pulled out her phone and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Pitchafit, what’s happenin’?” Her brother had dubbed her Pitchafit when she was 12. She was the pitcher for her softball team and threw a temper tantrum when the umpire called her out at the plate.

“Oh, not much. I was just on the
Opal
show, but I suppose Opal is too mainstream for you yoga freaks.”

“Opal? Wow. I hadn’t heard about that.”

“It won’t air until next week, so you can still catch it. Of course, that’s assuming you care about what your beloved sister is up to these days.”

“Actually, I was hoping to hear about it in person. I’m going to be in Chicago next week for a conference, so I’d like to come up and spend an evening with you and Mom.”

Russell ran a yoga retreat center in California and practically never sullied his bare feet with Midwestern soil. “That would be great. What day?”

“Thursday. Can I stay with you?”

“Sure. I’ve got four bedrooms and only one human to inhabit them.”

“Yeah, Mom told me about you and Greg. How are you handling that?”

She paused. “Oh, the same way I handle everything. By working my ass off.”

“Maybe you should plan a trip out here.”

“And live without eating flesh for a week? No way, tofu-breath.”

Russell chuckled. “I’ll talk you into it one of these days. How’s Mom doing?”

“Still an accident waiting to happen. Maybe you can help me talk some sense into her.”

“Right. And maybe you’ll retire early to take up alfalfa farming.”

Figuring out where to take Russell and Mom for dinner always gave Valerie fits. Mom believed a meal revolved around meat, while Russell believed harming any living thing was unethical and that meat production was environmentally unsustainable. On an intellectual level, Valerie agreed with Russell. On a gut level, she loved a good steak.

Mom’s gastrointestinal problems ended up preventing them from dining out anyway, so they ordered in Chinese. Mom insisted they eat in the formal dining room, where the highly polished furniture still made Valerie nervous about spilling her milk. Mom even put out the good china with its fading gold trim. “It’s a special occasion!” This presumably also explained why she brought out two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Russell’s hairline seemed to have receded another two inches since Valerie had last seen him. His uptight wife and mischievous boys likely contributed to that. He rolled his last moo shu tofu pancake. “I wonder what Dad would have said about your latest enterprise.”

Before Valerie could respond, Mom said, “Oh, he thinks it’s a great idea.”

Russell and Valerie stopped chewing and turned to their mother.

Mom shook her head. “I mean,
would
have thought it’s a great idea. I often think about how he would react to things that have happened since his passing.” A wistfulness softened her gaze. “I knew him so well, I honestly believe I know exactly what he would have said.”

“And what’s that?” Valerie asked.

Holding up a fist and punching the air, Mom said, “Go get ’em, girlie!”

Valerie and Russell laughed.

“You’re absolutely right,” Valerie said. “I can still hear him yelling that at my softball games. It’s amazing you can remember things like that, but you can’t remember if you took your medication five minutes ago.”

Mom’s smile flat-lined as she aimed a lethal glare at Valerie. Then she turned to Russell with her happy face. “So what’s new at the retreat center?”

His good humor vanished. “I’m just hoping it will still be there when I return.”

“Oh?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked all of his forty-nine years. “My new assistant is spacier than the Milky Way.”

Valerie wanted to make a crack about a study that linked tofu and dementia, but she restrained herself. “So why did you hire her?”

“Him. He seemed great on paper, aced the interview, and had glowing references.”

Even though Valerie sympathized, she couldn’t resist. “Doesn’t everyone from space have glowing references?”

He sneered at her. “Smart-ass.”

“Russell!” Mom’s reprimand caused Valerie and Russell to glance at each other and erupt into snickers, just as they would have as children. Mom’s expression softened as a grudging smile lifted her lips. “You two,” she admonished, shaking her head.

“Speaking of work,” Russell said, “I’ve got an early flight, and it just occurred to me that I’d be closer to the airport if I stayed here instead of at Val’s. Would that be okay, Mom?”

“Oh . . .” Mom hesitated just a fraction of a second longer than Valerie would have expected. “Of course. You can stay in your old room.”

“Thanks.” He smiled wearily. “Every extra minute of sleep is precious to me these days.”

“Tell me about it.” Valerie poured everyone more wine.