Arrhythmia (4 page)

Chapter 5

Since I am an unrepentant late sleeper, leaving the coziness of my bed whenever I had an early shift always required a serious struggle. Usually, I dragged myself into the outpatient clinic with no time to spare, bleary eyed and with discernable sleep wrinkles on my face. I was way too lazy for any early-morning beauty routines.

So I looked appropriately charming that Tuesday morning when I slunk into the locker room and slipped on my shapeless hospital scrubs.

For the millionth time, I wondered what idiot had created the popular image of a sexy nurse in a miniskirt and high heels. A real nurse’s uniform had to be practical. That meant pockets with maximum storage space, a comfortable waistband, and material that could withstand constant scalding trips to the laundry. There was nothing sexy about this look.

I yawned, shuffled into the kitchen, and halfheartedly wished everyone a good morning. My coworkers had known me long enough not to take my grumpy tone personally.

The male nurse who’d been on night duty quickly said good-bye and headed off to get some well-deserved shut-eye in his bed. I sighed with envy because I would have loved to trade places with him. Of course, he had just put in ten hours and deserved to go home. But that didn’t matter to me. The new shift always looked at the old shift with a certain wistfulness and dreamed of trading places. It was a sort of natural reflex.

I resigned myself to my fate and rummaged in the kitchen cabinet in search of my mug. It was an acid-yellow color and bore the name Dieter in red letters. How this hideous mug had found its way into our kitchen remained a mystery, since no one named Dieter worked at the hospital. I had taken pity and adopted the mug, and by now I had grown so fond of it that none of my coworkers dared to touch it. I defended what was mine vehemently, even if it did have “Dieter” written on it.

I turned on the coffeemaker, which we affectionately referred to as Hans, and silently watched as the steaming liquid emerged.

Could there be a more amazing invention than the automatic coffeemaker? Hardly. Just the aroma wafting from my Dieter mug was enough to revive my spirits. I sipped my coffee contentedly and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mmm . . .”

“You and your coffee,” chuckled Sandra. “You do have a rather intimate relationship.” She was sitting at the table with our current student nurse, whose name escaped me.

“The only true relationship,” I declared, winking at her.

“Well then . . . Take a look. I’ve got a gift for you and your boyfriend.” She conjured up a paper sack and rustled it enticingly.

Curious, I drew closer. “For me?”

“For you.”

Delighted, I took the sack and peered inside. “Ooh! Chocolate croissants! You’re the best!”

She really was. Definitely my favorite coworker.

I dispensed with the formality of a plate and bit into the fragrant piece of pastry while still standing.

“Mmm, delicious,” I raved with my mouth full. “I adore chocolate croissants!”

Still chewing, I heard footsteps approach in the hall.

“And this is the kitchen, one of the most important rooms in the emergency department.” Chief Physician Baumer’s voice resounded shortly before he appeared in the doorframe. “Ah, and here we have our best nurses congregated.”

He entered the room with a broad grin, followed closely by a tall, tan young man in white whose ocean-blue eyes nearly made me drop my mug.

Fuck! Please, no! No, no, no! Please don’t let this be true!

The ticket thief regarded me with surprise as well. But for his part, he looked more amused than horrified. In fact, he seemed genuinely pleased.

“This is our new colleague, Dr. DiCastello,” the chief physician piped up, confirming my worst suspicions.

The ticket thief was our new resident!

Completely flummoxed, I watched as he turned away from me and extended his hand to Sandra. She jumped to her feet, took hold of his slender fingers, and shook them with an ecstatic expression.

“Hi, I’m Sandra. Welcome!”

“Hi, Sandra. My name is Desiderio.”

Desi . . . what? What kind of name is that?

He withdrew his hand from Sandra’s and gave it to the student nurse, who instantly turned bright red.

“Maria,” she breathed and fluttered her lashes.

It was only when he turned to me that I realized I’d been standing there staring like an idiot the entire time, holding the sack of croissants, my mouth still full. I swallowed, sure that there was chocolate on my face. Still, I resisted the urge to lick my lips. Like a true lady, I wiped my crumb-covered hand on my thigh and awkwardly took his hand.

“Lena,” I said.

“I’m very happy to meet you, Lena,” he said and proceeded to shake my hand quite a bit longer than he had those of the other two.

What’s with the asinine grin?

“Uh, what was your name again?” I asked innocently. “Desi . . . ree?”

“Desi-derio.”

“Ah, Desiderio. OK, I can remember that.”

“I’m sure of it,” he said mysteriously and finally released my hand.

Shrugging my shoulders, I showed my lack of interest by turning away from him and taking a huge bite of my croissant so no one could expect me to talk.

Dr. Baumer reminded us of his presence by clearing his throat loudly and inviting his new colleague to an X-ray consultation.

As soon as Desiderio was out of earshot, Sandra and the student nurse—
Maria, right?
—completely lost it.

“God!”

“What a man!”

“And so nice!”

“That smile!”

“Those eyes!”

“Reinmann was right for once!”

Annoyed by their gushing, I tried to focus on my breakfast. You would have thought Justin Bieber had personally been in our kitchen, and Sandra was really too old to act like a screaming teenybopper.

He was attractive. Yes, fine, I had to admit that he was very attractive, but was that really an excuse for going berserk? How horrible!

“Jeez, Lena! You’re not saying anything.” Sandra had suddenly noticed. “Don’t you think he’s cute?”

“Nah.” I waved. Maria looked at me as though I had taken leave of my senses. “The guy is sort of cute, but what’s more important is how well he knows his stuff. Besides, that name? Dr. Desiderio DiCastello? There are way too many
D
s in it for anyone to take the man seriously. This is not some kind of hospital soap opera.”

“I think it sounds really nice.” Maria sighed dreamily.

I looked at her with pity.
Poor girl, someday you’ll learn . . .

The ticket thief, aka Desiderio, wasn’t sighted again in the ER that morning. Reinmann had briefly mentioned that the new resident would have to undergo an intense briefing with the chief physician to assess his factual knowledge. “Grilling” is actually the word the attending physician used, and it made me gloat, even though I had no idea what that grilling entailed.

Toward noon, as I was preparing an infusion in a treatment room, I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched from an open door. A curious tingling in my neck whispered to me who this secret observer must be.

Desiderio.

I pretended I didn’t know he was there and focused all my attention on drawing the medication out of a vial into a syringe. When he suddenly broke the silence, I was so startled that I nearly jabbed the needle into my index finger.

“Hi there,” he said airily as I heard him approaching from behind. “How are you?”

“Great,” I answered curtly without looking up from my work.

What the hell does he want?

“Did you stay much longer at Go on Friday?” he asked casually.

Shit . . .
I was biting my lower lip.

“Don’t know, exactly. Must have been pretty late.”

Desiderio wasn’t about to let my standoffishness deter him. He came up next to me and watched my attempts at readying the infusion.

Unfortunately, his intrusive observation made me nervous, and I was sure he noticed my clumsy fingers. I was close to screaming at him to get lost.

“Are you still angry with me?” he suddenly wanted to know, at which point I dropped the closed glass vial.

Quietly clinking, it rolled over the work surface in Desiderio’s direction. He deftly caught it and offered it to me. For one moment, I stared at it before finally daring to look him in the face. He was gazing at me expectantly.

I gathered all my poise and took the vial with the tips of my fingers, careful not to touch his.

“Um, what do you mean by ‘angry’? Uh . . . I . . .” I struggled.

“So yes, you’re still angry with me,” Desiderio concluded calmly. “Well, my peace offering still stands. May I buy you a coffee?”

Frustrated, I shook my head. “No!”

“Why not?”

Because coffee has nothing to do with it!

“Because . . . because,” I stammered and wondered how to make him understand in the most polite terms that I had no interest in sexy womanizers. “I’m, um, I’m seeing someone.”

Sure, it was a lie, but it’s the only thing you can tell guys that’ll make them go away without offending them. He was, after all, our new resident, and we’d have to work together for months. I could hardly start off by accusing him of being a macho womanizer on the first day, could I?

Desiderio was studying me quizzically. “Oh, really? You have a boyfriend. Hmm.” He scratched his elbow. “Then why is Dr. Reinmann trying to set us up?”

What?
I audibly gasped for air.

“Please tell me he didn’t actually say that.”

“He sure did. How did he put it, again? Right, I remember. ‘Whenever Nurse Lena is not being bitchy, she’s a real catch. Incidentally, she is twenty-five, single, and childless. It’s about time she got hitched.’ Those were his words exactly.”

I felt my face change from an embarrassed pink to an enraged purple. I cursed to myself with my fists clenched. Where did Reinmann get the nerve? Was he out of his mind?

Had he not been an old man and my superior, I would have marched straight over and beaten him up.

Desiderio had been watching me with an amused expression, but now he seemed to realize I needed calming down. “I don’t really know Reinmann yet, but I think he meant well,” he said.

“I can’t believe this!” I snorted, incensed. “It’s none of his damn business whether I’m married or not!”

“Then you don’t have a boyfriend?”

I groaned as I wiped my face with my hand. “No,” I admitted.

“I see.” He thought for a moment. “That means there’s no reason we can’t go out on a date, right?”

What?
Speechless, I gaped at Desiderio yet again. I had just brazenly lied to his face, and he still wanted to go out with me? What was this guy’s problem?

“How about today?” he asked cheerfully.

“What? No!”

“Would you prefer tomorrow? Three thirty?”

“No!!!”

“So when?”

Hello?
What was so hard to understand about three exclamation marks?

“I don’t want to go out with you!” I shouted in exasperation.

He went “Hmm” and pensively tapped his chin with his forefinger. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s so difficult to understand?” I asked, even though I actually was pretty sure I knew the answer. Desiderio was probably completely unaccustomed to rejection. He couldn’t understand how any woman could turn him down.

“Well, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go out with me,” he explained and looked at me solemnly. “You’re single, I’m the right age, you find me unbelievably attractive—”

“Wait a minute!” I interrupted. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“You told me yourself, last Friday!”

“What?” Alarmed, I searched my memory, but I could find no such statement. What if I had suffered a blackout after all? God forbid.

“You told me that I had a lovely smile,” he said, jogging my memory.

I frowned. “There is a huge difference between unbelievably attractive and a lovely smile. Lots of people have nice smiles.”

He didn’t press the point. “Also, I make you nervous and you get goose bumps when I touch you.”

“Wha . . . ? How would you know?”

Desiderio leaned forward a little, pulled his lips into a crooked smile that literally paralyzed me, and reached his right arm toward me. I automatically held my breath and was completely incapable of escaping from his touch as he gently moved a strand of hair over my shoulder with the back of his hand.

“You see?” he whispered. “Goose bumps.”

I noticed the treacherous hairs on my forearm.

That’s it! Enough with all this politeness!

“Knock it off!” I snorted with indignation, trying to pull away. “I always get goose bumps when someone messes with my hair. My hairstylist sees them every six weeks, so don’t flatter yourself!”

Desiderio answered with a knowing grin, “Is that right?”

“It is, yes! Your ego is impressively big, but in this case it won’t work because mine is even bigger.” I sniffed disdainfully. “So you can save yourself the trouble and leave me alone, because I’m not interested in a date, and I’m not going to change my mind. Sorry if rejection is a new experience for you. And now I really must finish prepping this infusion because the patient in Number Two is waiting.”

Desiderio heaved a deep sigh and shook his head while I stared at him angrily. “OK then, I’ll give you time to think. But I’m not giving up so fast. You’re wrong about that ego thing, by the way. See you later.”

He left the room. And me in a tizzy.

Chapter 6

I was with Frank at the hardware store, rummaging through tons of color swatches.

It turned out that my dear friend had decided to put a definitive end to his relationship with Birgit, and that included purging all memories of her from his apartment. Since Birgit had managed the interior design of the place, our job was enormous. The first task was the bedroom and, after several days of not knowing what to do with it, Frank had finally called me in for help. Naturally, I was glad to help him in any way I could, and I soon discovered I was badly needed.

“What do you think of this?” he asked, eagerly holding up a swatch reminiscent of vomit.

I made a face. “Yeah. If you want to wake up every morning to walls that look like vomit, this is a great choice.”

“That bad?”

“No. Worse.” I tore the hideous ochre-colored swatch from his hand and hid it in the stack. “If you really want an earth tone, we should choose some like these.” I handed him Milk Coffee and Cappuccino.

He squinted at them both and then pointed to Milk Coffee.

“Very pretty. That would have been my choice as well,” I praised him.

Frank was visibly pleased and relieved to know that we were on the same page. I perused several other cards and handed him more brown hues.

“Some of these colors might create a nice contrast,” I suggested.

“Contrast?”

“Well, yes. Maybe with a single stripe,” I thought out loud.

“Stripes.”

I snapped my fingers and beamed at Frank. “Now I’ve got it! We’re doing three horizontal stripes, in three different widths. That’s going to be pretty! What do you think?”

“That’s going to be pretty,” he echoed helplessly.

Lord, men and their imaginations! When it came to color design, most were hopeless. But oh, when it was time to imagine a pretty girl naked, their imaginations knew no bounds!

I smiled at Frank and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. It’ll be perfect.”

He nodded gratefully. “That’s why I asked you.”

“Yes, good call.” And then I remembered something.

“Hey, what color are your curtains?”

“Hmm. Green, I think. Why?”

“You think? Oof! I’d better come look for myself. If you change the walls, you might have to change the curtains.”

Frank’s eyes grew larger. “You think?”

I sighed in frustration.

“Ah, well. I’ll defer to your superior female taste.”

“Very wise,” I said as I put my arm around him. “But I think it’s time we discussed your budget.”

“Oh dear,” said Frank, loosening his imaginary tie.

I giggled as I heaved three different cans of paint into our shopping cart.

“No, seriously. You have to tell me your limit before my madness drives you to ruin.”

He thought briefly. “I own the apartment and I’m planning to spend many years there, so doing a good job with the interior decoration is pretty important. Let’s say this: you can have free rein to plan it, and when I’ve had enough, I’ll stop you, OK?

Delighted, I clapped my hands. “Agreed!”

I really was in heaven, because I loved everything having to do with interior design. Having free rein with Frank’s place was incredible. It was a dream of an apartment in an old building—high ceilings and windows, a perfectly restored wood floor, and masterfully constructed stucco. And now I had the chance to turn this jewel into a true gem!

I could barely suppress a cry of jubilation as I raced down the aisles, grabbing everything I thought was necessary for the renovations, while Frank, smiling and shocked, followed me. Masking tape, drop cloth, brushes, paint rollers, grids . . .

“Do we really need all this stuff?” he cautiously asked, eyeing the huge mound of merchandise I was pushing.

“Of course. If you’re going to paint, it’s important to do it professionally.” I paused when I noticed his tense expression. “Aw, is it too much? Sorry. Let me see what’s not too urgent—”

“No, no. Leave it. If you say we need it, then we need it,” he said quickly.

“Mmm. You don’t really look convinced.”

“I was lost in thought, is all.”

“OK. In what thoughts exactly?” I furrowed my brow.

Frank shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Finally, he ran his fingers through his dark brown hair in resignation. “I was just thinking that a girlfriend is indispensable for making an apartment nice, and I’m such a poor slob that I have to get my best friend to help me with this shit.”

“Oohh!” I went over to him and gave him a firm hug. “My poor little slob,” I mumbled into his shoulder. “What are friends for if not to help each other, hm? To hell with girlfriends; your best friend is a better decorator any day. And besides, in the future, any woman you take to your perfectly designed apartment will never want to leave, I promise you!”

He laughed softly and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I released my embrace. “To be honest, by asking for my help, you’re doing me a bigger favor than I’m doing you.”

“Yeah, I’m getting the feeling that this is seriously your idea of fun.”

“Pff, fun is an understatement!” I went through the list of necessary items in my mind. “I think we have everything. Let’s run by your place so I can check to see how the color will actually look on the walls.”

We got into the long line at the cash register to pay for our things. Actually, Frank was the one paying, but I supported him by placing the stuff on the conveyor belt, and in that way I was extremely helpful.

Out in the parking lot, stowing our purchases in the rather limited trunk of Frank’s Audi convertible presented a logistical challenge.

“A roadster is so impractical,” I groaned as I shuffled the cans of paint for the third time.

“Well, it’s not supposed to be practical. It’s supposed to look good and go fast,” Frank said, defending his darling.

I continued to grouse because, no matter how hard I tried, I could find room for only two of the three cans of paint. “Shoot! Well, OK then, I’ll just have to put that one between my legs. Do we have everything else loaded?”

“I think so.”

“Thank goodness!”

“I’ll just return this,” said Frank, pointing to the cart. “Be right back.”

As he rolled the cart away, I thought of an especially ugly expletive for the trunk. The Audi seemed unimpressed by my vulgarity. I actually liked fast cars, but there were just some situations when a rusty station wagon like mine was unbeatable.

I was heaving the remaining paint can and was about to carry it to the passenger side when I noticed a black car parked two rows over.

Actually, it was more the individual walking up to the vehicle who magically attracted my attention.

Dr. Desiderio DiCastello.

Of course, I gaped not just because of who it was but also because I felt as if I were in the middle of a soft drink commercial.

Desiderio was in a worn pair of jeans and a white tank top. Most men would look grungy in a getup like that. He, on the other hand, radiated pure sex appeal.

He had a large bag slung over his shoulder. It was obviously heavy because his biceps were protruding. Even from this distance, I was able to make out their steely curves.

Dear God in heaven!

Desiderio reached his car and placed the bag in the trunk. I gulped as he straightened up and slowly wiped the sweat from his brow. He had his back to me, and I stood there mesmerized by his well-shaped shoulders. My gaze slowly wandered down his spine to his butt.

Now that was a sexy ass!

“You know that guy?” Frank’s voice floated to me as though from far away.

I turned toward him in a flash. “What?”

Oh God, how embarrassing!

“I was asking if you knew that guy over there,” he repeated slowly.

“No!” He looked so incredulous that I amended my reply. “Oh, you mean
him
? Uh . . . that’s just our new resident.” My cheeks burning, I dragged the paint can to the footwell of the passenger seat and assiduously avoided looking in Desiderio’s direction.

“Oh?” Frank checked out the new doctor briefly. “Nice.”

The understatement of the year . . .

I could understand his dismissive tone. Desiderio’s looks would make Mr. Universe himself feel insecure. I ignored his comment and quickly climbed into my seat.

“Ready?” I asked impatiently and took pains to avoid looking at Frank as he got into the car.

I heard the engine roar and felt the car move forward, and yet all I could see was that incredible body before my eyes. I realized then that I wouldn’t forget the image of Desiderio in that parking lot in a hundred years.

Once we got back to Frank’s apartment, I threw myself into the work, and yet my thoughts kept creeping back to Desiderio. My fixation both puzzled and irritated me.

What exactly was it about that hombre that would not let me go?

It’s totally normal to let yourself be briefly enchanted by visions like the one I’d had, but you usually got over it and went on with your life. That’s how I’d always handled things in the past.

So what made Desiderio so special?

Charm, irresistible looks . . . OK, but he was certainly not the only man with those qualities I’d come across in my life.

In fact, another such a specimen was kneeling by my feet and stirring a can of light brown paint.

I studied Frank for a moment and asked myself why my brain didn’t go into overdrive at the sight of him.

He was athletic and muscular, as was clearly visible through his tight shirt. His facial features were prominent but even, and the faint laugh lines around his dark eyes were really quite luscious. Frank was also one of the most sensitive and considerate people I knew. Though I usually wanted to keep my worries to myself, he always knew when something was wrong, and he always let me decide whether I wanted to talk about it.

He had both feet on the ground and always set clear goals, which he worked to attain as swiftly as possible. As a manager of a large hotel, he was financially secure, and he demonstrated that with a certain standard of living that was gracious and yet not showy.

All in all, he was the perfect life partner.

The more I contemplated Frank, the less I could comprehend Birgit’s decision to leave. What sort of person would give up a future with such a good man on a whim?

I really couldn’t figure it out. All I knew was that Frank wouldn’t be alone for long. I wished with all my heart that the next time he would find his true love.

But why on earth, since he was so perfect, didn’t I feel any urge to fling my arms around his neck?

Maybe it was that we had been friends for such a long time. Frank would always be the sweet, kind boy I hung out with as a kid.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

His voice brought me back to the present. He had a questioning look.

“No. No.” I peeled the plastic cover off a paint roller and grinned at him. “You know, if we’re both still single at thirty, we should think about getting married.”

Frank stopped what he was doing and frowned. “Wait. Here I am stirring paint with a cooking spoon and you’re thinking about marrying me?”

“Umm, yes.”

“Tssss.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Women! I definitely have to remember this trick!”

“Good luck with that.” I laughed.

He got up and handed the paint over to me. “I like your plan. We would make a dashing bride and groom.”

“Definitely,” I confirmed in all seriousness. “I hope you know, though, that the wedding is not going to be cheap. Whenever I do get married, it’s going to be really over the top.”

“No problem. Should we go check out a few wedding bands tonight?”

“Who knows if they’ll still be playing in five years. I think we had better concentrate on your apartment for now.”

“On
our
apartment, dearest darling!”

I chortled happily. “Of course! I’m sorry to say that we’re going to need new curtains.
Our
old ones happen to be orange and not green. Easy mistake to make. In any case, orange doesn’t really go with the new wall color.”