dressed in a blue lab coat, standing just inside the
curtain-enclosed cubical, a disposable thermometer in
her hand. As the thermometer came toward her, Andrea opened her mouth and the
woman slipped it under her tongue. Andrea looked around the small area. Hanging
on a line-up of metal hooks was her crocodile-printed military jacket, black
silk leggings, and black bikini panties and half-bra. The crystal-encrusted
leather boots stood on the floor beneath. The word that came to mind was hooker .
The nurse
removed the thermometer. "No fever," she said, tossing the
thermometer away. "You had a touch of tourista .
We get a lot of that here, usually from the water. But it also could have been
the food. It said on your chart you were at the Pirate's Cove when you got
sick. It's not too clean there. But you're fine now. Just go easy on the food
today. The doctor will be in soon to talk to you about that."
"How long
have I been here?" Andrea asked. The sun was well up, but she had no idea
what time it was.
"About
twelve hours," the nurse replied. "You were brought in last night
around nine, but the doctor was delivering a baby at the clinic in Nicholl's
Town and didn't get here until after midnight."
"My
stomach feels sore," Andrea said.
"That's
because it was pumped," the nurse replied. "But you were doing a
pretty good job of getting rid of everything in it before then, which is
probably why it's sore. The doctor will talk to you about it when he stops in
to see you. And your husband said to tell you he went to find something to eat
and will be back later."
"My
husband?" Andrea said, confused. "Are you talking about a tall man
with an Italian accent?"
The woman
looked at her, puzzled. "Tall, black man, but no Italian accent. He insisted
he was your husband. He was talking to Dr. Soros about your condition,
demanding blood be drawn for a blood test. Dr. Soros saw no need, but your
husband got pretty... umm... insistent about it."
"Insistent?
In what way?" Andrea asked. Jerry could be formidable when he wanted
something, every bit as formidable as her father was when he wanted something.
She'd often wondered what would happen if both men wanted the same thing. Who’d
come out the victor. In fact, for twenty-five years she'd felt like she was
sitting on a keg of dynamite, just waiting for one of the men to light the
fuse...
"When Dr.
Soros assured your husband there was no need to draw blood, your husband
slapped a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table and told the doctor he could
either draw blood, or see his attorney in court. Dr. Soros refused the money,
but had the blood drawn." The nurse filled a cup with water and set it on
the tray beside the pitcher. "Your husband was very agitated. Worried, I
suppose. He seemed to think there was more to it than just a case of food
poisoning. But you can talk to him about it when he returns." The woman
drew the curtain closed as she left.
Andrea stared
at the black bikini panties and bra, wondering whatever possessed her to wear
the things. How humiliating to have them hanging in
plain view...
"So
where's your lover now?" Jerry asked, emerging from behind the curtain
that was still swaying from the nurse's exit.
"I don't
know," Andrea replied. "He's not my lover."
Jerry walked
over to where the underwear hung, and toyed with the lacy edging of the bra.
"Your Italian stud then," he said. "I forgot. You're more
interested in what's inside Cavallaro's thong than what's inside his head."
"I don't
even know that Alessandro wears a thong," Andrea clipped. "That's
what Val told me. She's very open about discussing the physical attributes of
her toy boys."
Jerry looked at
her with awareness, then studied her for a few moments before saying, "I
suppose she likes to talk about their failures too."
"She
doesn't have a problem with that," Andrea said. "Size seems to be
important though. She was impressed with what Alessandro had to offer and
assumed I'd be interested in knowing, since he
curtain-enclosed cubical, a disposable thermometer in
her hand. As the thermometer came toward her, Andrea opened her mouth and the
woman slipped it under her tongue. Andrea looked around the small area. Hanging
on a line-up of metal hooks was her crocodile-printed military jacket, black
silk leggings, and black bikini panties and half-bra. The crystal-encrusted
leather boots stood on the floor beneath. The word that came to mind was hooker .
The nurse
removed the thermometer. "No fever," she said, tossing the
thermometer away. "You had a touch of tourista .
We get a lot of that here, usually from the water. But it also could have been
the food. It said on your chart you were at the Pirate's Cove when you got
sick. It's not too clean there. But you're fine now. Just go easy on the food
today. The doctor will be in soon to talk to you about that."
"How long
have I been here?" Andrea asked. The sun was well up, but she had no idea
what time it was.
"About
twelve hours," the nurse replied. "You were brought in last night
around nine, but the doctor was delivering a baby at the clinic in Nicholl's
Town and didn't get here until after midnight."
"My
stomach feels sore," Andrea said.
"That's
because it was pumped," the nurse replied. "But you were doing a
pretty good job of getting rid of everything in it before then, which is
probably why it's sore. The doctor will talk to you about it when he stops in
to see you. And your husband said to tell you he went to find something to eat
and will be back later."
"My
husband?" Andrea said, confused. "Are you talking about a tall man
with an Italian accent?"
The woman
looked at her, puzzled. "Tall, black man, but no Italian accent. He insisted
he was your husband. He was talking to Dr. Soros about your condition,
demanding blood be drawn for a blood test. Dr. Soros saw no need, but your
husband got pretty... umm... insistent about it."
"Insistent?
In what way?" Andrea asked. Jerry could be formidable when he wanted
something, every bit as formidable as her father was when he wanted something.
She'd often wondered what would happen if both men wanted the same thing. Who’d
come out the victor. In fact, for twenty-five years she'd felt like she was
sitting on a keg of dynamite, just waiting for one of the men to light the
fuse...
"When Dr.
Soros assured your husband there was no need to draw blood, your husband
slapped a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table and told the doctor he could
either draw blood, or see his attorney in court. Dr. Soros refused the money,
but had the blood drawn." The nurse filled a cup with water and set it on
the tray beside the pitcher. "Your husband was very agitated. Worried, I
suppose. He seemed to think there was more to it than just a case of food
poisoning. But you can talk to him about it when he returns." The woman
drew the curtain closed as she left.
Andrea stared
at the black bikini panties and bra, wondering whatever possessed her to wear
the things. How humiliating to have them hanging in
plain view...
"So
where's your lover now?" Jerry asked, emerging from behind the curtain
that was still swaying from the nurse's exit.
"I don't
know," Andrea replied. "He's not my lover."
Jerry walked
over to where the underwear hung, and toyed with the lacy edging of the bra.
"Your Italian stud then," he said. "I forgot. You're more
interested in what's inside Cavallaro's thong than what's inside his head."
"I don't
even know that Alessandro wears a thong," Andrea clipped. "That's
what Val told me. She's very open about discussing the physical attributes of
her toy boys."
Jerry looked at
her with awareness, then studied her for a few moments before saying, "I
suppose she likes to talk about their failures too."
"She
doesn't have a problem with that," Andrea said. "Size seems to be
important though. She was impressed with what Alessandro had to offer and
assumed I'd be interested in knowing, since he
Similar Books
