Cheating to Survive (Fix It or Get Out) (5 page)

“Don’t you understand? I am working day and night. I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for your daughters?”

“Look, I’ve taken them on vacations.”

“Vacations of your choice, all they’ve ever wanted was to go to Disney.”

“Disney, are you serious? I can’t walk around Disney.” His face curled up into a head of cauliflower.

“Why not?”

“A high profile lawyer does not prance around Disneyland with Mickey Mouse and Adana.”

“It’s Aurora.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He leaned over, pressing his hand on the sheetrock above her head. “I’ll have you know, if it wasn’t for my hard work the girls wouldn’t have experienced the things they have so far.”

“You? You’ve never done anything with them. Ever.” Heather took a step to the right and then turned way. Pointless to continue. His ignorance amazed her. How someone could be so intelligent, yet so blind. He acted as if his girls were strangers, tenants living in separate parts of the house. He would never realize, it was clear now. Three children and still nothing.

It was his mother’s fault of course, she contributed to the madness. Showering him with presents and not bringing any for the girls. Throwing him a party when the law firm hired him, the same year Gia turned one. His party eclipsed hers. Completely intentional.

Were they invisible? They were such wonderful girls, hilarious and full of life. It would never improve. How could she compete against such lunacy?

****

“This is ridiculous.” The new nurse slammed the phone down in the receiver. “Three calls to Dr. Mangle’s service and still no return phone call. How are we supposed to care for the patients if they don’t return important phone calls?”

“He does it all the time,” an older nurse said. “Get used to it.”

“How is that okay?”

“It’s not, but he always has an excuse. Never a good one but– ”

The chatter terminated. Dr. Mangle sauntered into the nurse’s station. His receding hairline revealed a perfectly combed brown coif. His pale grey suit made him look like a retired Florida doctor. Heather’s eyes narrowed and she bit the inside of her lip waiting for the performance to unfold.

“Dr. Mangle, I left three messages with your service.”

“You did?” His tone soft and comforting. “I’m so sorry, I never received those messages. What is your name?” He leaned over to read her badge. “Ashley? I’m so sorry Ashley.” He reached out for her hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it. “I’ve been having problems with my service lately. I’ll have to look into it. This is inexcusable. Now, how can I help you my dear?”

The nurse’s face turned red like a sun kissed pepper, and then as if on cue, the anger dissipated, all forgotten. Heather shook her head in disbelief. She watched him for years execute the same routine, everyone believing his bullshit. He pulled a chart from the rack, looked at Heather and leered. His capped teeth were too big for his thin, shriveled lips.

Heather looked away and refused to acknowledge him. She glanced at the clock instead, then stood and put her patient’s chart away. Show time.

Heather plopped her one stack of photocopied handouts on the table in front of the tri-fold board in the cafeteria. “There I’m done, can I go home now?”

“Stop,” Catherine said. “This’ll be abso-positive-olutey fun.”

Heather turned away before she jammed the plastic chicken drumstick down Catherine’s throat.

“Just have to unpack all of mine now and organize them to be accurate and in order.” Catherine unloaded her six handouts, each a different color of the rainbow, embellished with photographs of fruit baskets, sweet potatoes, beans and a farm stand overflowing with vegetables. On the far end, she laid out recipes for salmon with mango salsa, and quinoa with black beans and cherry tomatoes.

“Good thing I put my handout down first otherwise there’d be no room for it.” Heather rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and held it.

Catherine wet her pale lips. “What handout did you prepare?”

“The myths of fats.”

“She told you not to do that.”

“No she didn’t. Actually, she never answered me, so I just threw a new title on it.” Heather held up the top copy,
Nutrition Tips for People with Diabetes
. “It’s not like she’s going to read it, she never makes it over here to see what we prepared.”

“What do you mean?”

“She hides us in the back on purpose so as not to distract everyone from her presentation. All she cares about is that her salad bar is glistening and the berries are carefully placed on the angel food cake and her special decorations are positioned precisely where the CEO of the hospital will see them.”

“Where did she get the decorations from?” Catherine picked up a vase that resembled a cluster of goiters.

“Her house. You have to see her salad bowl. It looks like one of those bowls you made in kindergarten art class out of clay, only bigger.”

Catherine laughed. “Seriously? Where is it?”

“No idea but I’m not looking for it. If I hide back here all afternoon I’ll be safe.”

Victoria approached, carrying a dozen red and yellow balloons. The expression on her face was capable of popping them all. “I’ve had it. I don’t get paid to play with helium.”

“You had to blow up the balloons yourself?” Heather broke into hysterics.

Victoria shoved the twelve balloons in Heather’s face. “Only after the beast cursed at me for not knowing how. But rest assured, she taught me a whole lesson in balloon filling and ribbon tying. I’m a professional now, can’t wait to tell my family. My father would’ve been proud”

“So sorry,” Catherine started, “not sure how the two of you put up with her for so long.”

“Two years of Hell.” Heather’s body stiffened.

Jean sashayed into the cafeteria, her theater. All traces of evil vanished when in the presence of her audience. She twirled in her handmade yellow smock dress that resembled the yellow balloon Heather just tied to the table leg. Heather fantasized merciless punishments and then pierced the yellow balloon with her thumbnail.

The
boom
and
whoosh
caused several patrons in front of them to jolt. “Oops,” Heather said.

“You just broke one of the balloons,” Catherine said.

“No, really? You’re so observant.”

“Now we don’t have an even amount.”

“Who the hell cares?”

Victoria shot Heather a glare, shutting her up. Catherine’s need for perfection tensed Heather’s body into a fevered state, her rigid forearm muscles quivered as she fought off violent urges. Catherine personified the new-dietitian nerd mindset.

Only a job, that’s all, life began once you left work. Did any of this matter? Not to Jean at least. Jean finished shaking hands with various members of administration, accepting their compliments on the fine presentation. The presentation the three of them worked on all week.

Half way through the four-hour ordeal, Jean charged over to their nutrition table. Her grin contorted into a wrinkled puddle of flesh, snarling. Her bloated feet clobbered the floor beneath them.

“Shit.” Heather hid her gum behind her back teeth.

“Why the hell are the fruit salad platters half empty? You never let them get to less than two thirds full.” Jean’s chest heaved, loud breaths expelled. Seeing the food service director have a heart attack right in the middle of their National Nutrition Month presentation would be classic.

“We’ve been operating the booth like you told us,” Catherine whimpered. She twisted the balloon string around her finger until the tip turned red.

“I never want to see a plate half empty. Fix it.”

Of course she didn’t want to see a plate half empty. When you weigh four-hundred pounds, that must be a scary site.

Jean grasped her front bra strap with both hands and tugged. “I can’t wait to take this damn bra off and let my tits hang out.”

With that, she stomped off. Catherine followed her like a baby duckling, then grabbed a bowl and piled layers of cantaloupe and strawberries onto the platter.

“I’m taking the girls to the children’s museum this weekend,” Heather said.

“Laurel and Gia are alright with that?” Victoria asked.

“Rori’s never been there and they’re actually excited to see her reaction.”

“That’s wonderful. The four of you are like the Brady Bunch, well without the boys.”

“Without Lance.” Heather folded her arms across her chest and ticked her tongue.

“He’s not going again?”

“Does he ever? He’s too important to prance around a children’s museum, what would everyone think?”

“That he’s a father enjoying a day in a museum with his daughters.”

“Victoria, you’re being unreasonable, surely you can’t expect a lawyer trying to make partner to spend his free time with his children? What would they say? They could never take him seriously.” Heather huffed, wafting a red balloon aside.

“He’ll regret it one day.”

“No he won’t. First born son, only child in an Italian family, the world revolves around him, his mother assured it. No one else exists.” Heather followed the circling pattern in the cafeteria carpet with her eyes. “I’m glad I had girls, you know. If I had boys, they’d grow up ignored by their father, bitter and resentful. They need someone loving and attentive, someone that will be there for them, support them.”

Victoria put her hand on Heather’s shoulder. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“All the time, I can’t sleep.”

“I wish I knew what to say. I’m glad I finally saw him though, put a face to all the stories you’ve told me over the years.”

“He looked good, right?” Heather’s cheeks ignited.

“If you like them young.”

“He’s my age.” Heather laughed.

“I like older, distinguished gentleman. Salt and pepper hair, wrinkled brow from all the pensive thoughts.”

“I want it like the movies,” Heather began. “Sitting in front of the fireplace, eating lo mein out of the carton with chopsticks.”

“Him feeding you a few noodles, one slipping off the chopstick and landing in your lap.”

“Then he nudges me in the shoulder.”

“And you both break out into childish laughter.”

“Exactly!”

The two of them stared off into a place they would never visit. A location often visualized but never traveled. One filled with romance and seduction. Something nonexistent. They didn’t notice Jean hollering at poor Catherine.

****

After taking apart the nutrition booth, Heather returned to her floor and sat in the nurse’s station looking through one of the seventeen charts she had to write notes in before leaving work. An impossibility.

An unfamiliar doctor in green scrubs pulled out a chair and sat at the far end. Heather perused through the endless illegible handwritings but could swear the new doctor was checking her out. She wanted to twist her head an inch, just enough to know for sure. She kept her head stationary but let her eyes slowly drift to their corners.

He was.

A tremor ran through her body making her jerk. She froze and swallowed hard hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Cold?” He rotated his body towards her.

Heather spun her head, unable to move. Holy crap. Mammoth shoulders, chest pressed against his green scrub top stretching it, reaching for her. A chocolate-colored leather cord gripped his neck tightly, alloy rings hung from the center.

“I said are you cold?”

“What?” She sputtered like a frog shooting its tongue at a fly.

“You trembled, I asked if you were cold.” He rolled his chair a few feet closer.

Most of the doctors in this small community hospital were nothing to look at. Old, short, fat, bald. He was definitely none of those. His eyes pierced hers, gluing her in position. He moved closer, his large muscular thighs thrusting himself across the floor. She still had not spoken.

“No, I’m not cold.” Her heart fluttered when she spoke. What was wrong with her?

He slid his chair adjacent to hers, settling only inches away. “I’m Dr. Silvatri, new gastroenterologist. Just teamed up with Dr. Bettman’s practice.”

“Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Heather, one of the– ”

“I know.”

She squirmed in her chair, legs folded into a knot.

He leaned forward and lifted her binder. She had plastered the red book with pictures of Laurel, Gia and Rori, camouflaging the boring nutrition forms organized between the pages underneath. He placed it back on the counter, his pinky finger slipped alongside hers. It lingered, and his warmth fused their fingers together like a magnet to steel. Electrifying. She continued to look at her photos, afraid to behold his perfect chiseled jaw.

“Are these your daughters, how old are they?”

Her eyes remained focused on the photographs. “Yes, they’re twelve, ten and four.”

He nudged her finger forcing her to look at him, his eyebrows flicked. The floating globes within, transfixed her. She never saw blue that riveting before.

“Your eyes look like my birthstone, sapphire.” Heathers’ words spilled out now. “I mean…” Shit.

“Libra, my wife’s a Libra.” He stretched, extended his leg and pretended to shift his weight. His foot now bonded with hers.

“The best sign there is.”

“Really?” he chuckled. “I beg to differ.”

“It is. It’s the sign of balance.”

“So, on one side you’re a devoted wife, mother and nutrition person…”

“Registered dietitian,” she corrected. A smirk trickled across her face.

“Sorry, registered dietitian.” His fingers patted her shoulder. Each touch like a spark plug, charged her skin. “And on the other side is what?” He grabbed his sultry chin, tweaked it repeatedly waiting for an answer.

“I like to garden.” What a dork. What was wrong with her today? Where was the fiery Heather hiding?

“Nope, that stays on the side with the mommy things.” He leaned back in the chair and rested his arms behind his head. His scrubs pulled tight across his crotch. Heather scanned his pants and envisioned the masterpiece beneath the cloth. He relocated his right hand and planted it in between his legs interrupting her examination. His smile enlarged.

“I lift weights,” she blurted.