Thursdays At Eight (17 page)

LIZ KENYON

“S
haron Kelso is here,” Liz's secretary announced over the intercom. “She's asked to speak to you and says it's important.”

Liz sighed. Her afternoon was booked solid but her secretary certainly knew that. If the head of the nurses' union sought an impromptu meeting, then it went without saying something was up. In all likelihood, it meant trouble.

“Show her in,” Liz said. She felt slightly sick to her stomach. Although a strike had been averted, relations between the hospital and the nursing staff remained tense.

Sharon Kelso was a large woman who presented herself as a no-nonsense professional. Liz liked and respected her. She considered her fair-minded but a tough negotiator.

Liz stood as Sharon marched purposefully into her office.

“Liz.” The other woman inclined her head in greeting.

“Hello, Sharon, what can I do for you?” No need to delay this with idle conversation; they were both busy women.

“I'll need about ten minutes of your time.”

“You have it,” Liz told her and motioned to the chair. She waited until Sharon was seated before sitting down herself.

The head of the nurses' union paused to collect her thoughts before speaking. “I don't mean to be telling tales out of school,” she began. Her pinched lips made it clear that she was upset. “One of our nurses is experiencing a problem with a certain visiting specialist.”

There were procedures to be followed in cases like this and Sharon knew them as well as Liz did.

“Do you want to file a complaint?” Liz asked.

“That's an option we've considered,” Sharon said.

“Can you tell me what this is about?”

“It involves recent corrective actions taken by Dr. Sean Jamison.”

Liz should have known it had to do with Sean. She could barely keep from groaning aloud.

“At this point, the staff member involved and I prefer to handle the situation without the formality of filing a complaint,” Sharon said. She appeared to be selecting her words carefully. “Once you hear what happened, you'll understand our hesitation. We don't feel it would serve a useful purpose to make an issue of this. There are extenuating circumstances.”

There almost always were, but Liz didn't say so.

“Before I go any further, I want you to know my staff member accepts full responsibility for her part in this. However, I find Dr. Jamison's behavior offensive and unacceptable.”

“Tell me what happened,” Liz suggested.

The story that followed was short and to the point. “One of my staff made a small clerical error on one of the charts.”

Liz knew there was no such thing as a small error, but didn't point that out.

“It was caught almost immediately, but when Dr Jamison
learned about it, he blew a gasket. He insisted that the nurse in question not be assigned to any of his patients. Now, Liz, you and I both know that's an impossible request.”

She nodded.

“He was rude, belligerent and unnecessarily harsh. We're not perfect. We can only do our best. No one deserves the kind of tongue-lashing Dr. Jamison gave her. It was humiliating and downright scathing, and furthermore he yelled at her in front of other people. I simply can't allow such unprofessional behavior to go unreported.”

“I agree.” Liz understood Sharon's dilemma. Knowing Sean, she could well imagine the scene. She was surprised she hadn't heard about it before now. Liz didn't blame him for his anger but took issue with the manner in which he'd expressed it. Under normal circumstances, Sharon wouldn't hesitate to file a formal complaint. The reason she didn't was understood; the nurse had been in the wrong and she didn't want documentation acknowledging her error.

“You'll talk to Dr. Jamison?” Sharon asked—less a question than a demand.

“I will,” Liz promised, although it was the last thing she wanted. To this point, they'd managed to avoid each other. It wasn't difficult. Other than instances such as this, there was no reason for any contact.

“Thank you,” Sharon said, rising. “We're pleased with our new contract, and don't want anything to stand in the way of a long and healthy working relationship.”

“I couldn't agree with you more,” Liz returned, the knot in her stomach tightening.

Sharon left then, but Liz remained standing, considering how best to handle this situation. Sean might assume that her asking to speak to him was a convenient excuse to see him
again. She shook her head in frustration; getting involved with him, however briefly, was a mistake.

She walked over to her desk and pushed the intercom button. “Cherie,” she said, “leave a message for Dr. Jamison to stop by my office at his earliest convenience, would you?”

“Of course,” Cherie returned, sounding delighted at the prospect. “I'll do it right away.”

Sean didn't keep her waiting long. That very evening, just as Liz was shutting down her computer for the night, Sean appeared at her door. Cherie had long since gone home and Liz was there by herself. Sean often seemed to plan it that way.

“You wanted to talk to me?” He wore his usual cocky grin as he strolled casually into her office.

“This is a professional matter,” Liz told him immediately. “Please sit down.”

His face was carefully neutral as he claimed the chair across from her. “This has to do with the Tucker baby, doesn't it?”

“I wasn't given the full details.”

“Was a formal complaint made? If so, I'm here to tell you the woman deserved everything I said. There's one thing I won't tolerate and that's—”

Liz held up her hand, stopping him. “A complaint wasn't filed.”

He indicated no relief. “The woman deserved to have her wrist slapped. Her carelessness could have cost the Tucker baby his life. There are a lot of things I'm willing to put up with at this hospital, but sloppy record-keeping isn't one of them.”

“No one's saying you were wrong about the nature of your criticism.”

“Naturally, because I was right. Believe me, if I hadn't been, Sharon Kelso would have filed a complaint so fast, it'd make your head swim.”

All of that was true, but Liz chose not to respond.

“What does she want?” Sean demanded. “An apology? Because I don't owe
anyone
an apology.”

“Actually, no. The nurse in question is willing to accept responsibility for this error.”

“Good, because that's what she needs to do.”

“I believe,” Liz said, “that Sharon came to me as a gesture of good faith. She wants to keep things low-key and nonconfrontational. She—”

“Like hell! She wants me reported as an unreasonable jerk.” He shrugged. “I already know that, and so do you. When it comes to my patients I'm like a wounded bear.”

“No one's faulting your skills or your commitment.”

“Just my bedside manner?”

“No, I'd say it's your nurses' station tactics that are causing the problems.”

His frown relaxed. “I'll admit I got damned angry.” A grin began to emerge.

That was an understatement, Liz was sure.

He rubbed the back of his neck and expelled a slow sigh. “I probably did come down on her a little too hard,” he was willing to admit, but with reluctance as if he, too, was making a concession to keep the peace. “I was afraid I was going to lose the Tucker boy. I hadn't slept in over thirty hours. I'll say something to her in the morning. That'll smooth things over.”

“You were up for thirty hours? That's not good for you or your patients.” Although she chastised him, she remembered doing the same thing herself once, years earlier, when her baby's life hung in the balance. Liz had been afraid to leave Lauren, afraid to fall asleep, afraid to even take her eyes off the baby. The staff had been gentle with her and Steve, but there'd been no physician by their side. No one to comfort her when her baby girl died.

How grateful the Tucker family must be to Sean. Liz found it difficult to think ill of a physician as dedicated to the well-being of his patients.

Sean glared at her. “Don't tell me how to do my job and I won't tell you how to do yours.”

She remained calm. “You should learn how to deal with pressure—some method other than terrorizing staff. You need to find some kind of release.”

“I know, but you won't cooperate. A week in bed with you would cure everything that ails me, and it'd probably do you good as well.”

Liz gasped; she couldn't help it. She wasn't sure if she should be furious or just plain insulted. “I don't appreciate your making comments like that,” she said in a stiff voice.

“Of course you don't. Why else would I make them?”

She stared at him and saw that he was smiling. Ten minutes with Sean Jamison and
she
was the one struggling to hold onto her temper.

“How do
you
relieve the stress of the job?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“I…I do a number of things.” Liz wasn't ready for his rapid switch from provocative to serious.

“Such as?”

“Most recently I took up knitting,” she said, although she'd had to cancel her sessions with Julia this week.

“Knitting.” His gaze was skeptical.

“One of the women in my breakfast group owns a yarn shop.”

He grinned. “Ah, yes, this breakfast group of yours. Tell me, are the meetings just an excuse for men-bashing?”

Leave it to Sean to suggest such a thing. “Oh, hardly. The problem with you men is that you're so threatened by women getting together, you naturally assume it's all about you.”

“Well, isn't it?”

“No,” she said emphatically.

“All right,” he said, sincere once again. “I agree with you, I need a way to release work pressure, but I don't know that knitting's my thing.”

“Don't knock it until you've tried it,” she joked.

He considered her words, then slowly nodded. “All right, I'll try it. Are you willing to teach me?”

This was more than a casual question, and Liz knew it. The last time they'd talked, Sean had made it clear that she'd have to come to him if their relationship was to advance. He'd riled her so much with his attitude and his arrogant tactics she'd vowed never to see him again. That hadn't stopped her from thinking about him, though. For weeks she'd pushed any thought of Sean Jamison to the farthest reaches of her mind. What irritated her was how often she'd been required to do so.

“It's a simple question,” he teased, obviously well aware that it wasn't.

“Just you and me and a ball of yarn?” she asked, delaying a response while she weighed the risks.

“Sounds kinky, but I'm game if you are.”

Liz groaned.

He knew she hated the sexual innuendoes and with a sheepish grin, raised both hands. “Just kidding.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You're serious about knitting?”

The teasing light left his eyes. “I promise to make an honest effort.”

They both understood that he wasn't talking about knitting.

“What do you say, Liz?” His eyes continued to hold hers.

Her first inclination was to tell him to forget it; she didn't need the grief. Instead she found herself tempted. They'd
gotten off to a bad start. He'd wanted one thing and she another. Finding a middle ground might not be possible, but if he was willing to try again, then she could do no less.

“All right,” she agreed. “Don't make me sorry,” she muttered as an afterthought.

He laughed, and the robust sound made her smile, too.

“Would I do that?” he asked.

KAREN CURTIS

April 19th

T
he breakfast group met this morning, and as usual we were all full of chatter and news. Julia and her husband bought a crib for the baby and set it up in their bedroom. Clare got a humorous card from Julia's uncle Leslie and showed it to everyone. She was a little giddy about it, and I found that rather endearing. Here she was, married all those years, and then she gets flustered over a silly card. Apparently the dinner party went well, although neither Julia nor Clare said much about it. We get sidetracked so easily.

The one who surprised us all is Liz who, just before we broke up, casually mentioned that she's seeing Dr. Jamison again. You could have heard an egg crack when she dropped
that
news. Everyone went quiet. No one likes him, (well, not that we've actually met him, but we have a pretty clear picture). We're all wondering what a savvy, sophisticated businesswoman sees in
a man who treats women like objects. On second thought, there must be more to the man. I sure hope so. I'd hate to think Liz is another Victoria.

Speaking of my sister, I heard from her. She mailed me one of those sappy, sentimental cards about how great it is to have a sister. If she truly felt that way, she'd listen to me. Hey, I understand about her staying with the twit, but the abuse isn't going to stop unless some changes are made. Victoria claims Roger loves her and is genuinely sorry. I'm sure he is and will continue to be—until the next time he slaps her around. Thinking about my sister and her marriage depresses me. So does the state of my own love life.

I haven't been out on a date for so long that I'm beginning to lose hope. I've been busy, but it isn't like there's someone in the wings just dying to ask me out, either. Glen Trnavski, maybe, although I haven't heard from him in a while. I've been substitute teaching at different schools lately, so I haven't had a chance to run into him. It's sort of pathetic that I'm even thinking about him, since we only went out once. He's a nerd, the kind of guy who dangles a slide rule from his belt loop, but a nice one and really very sweet. Doesn't matter—he hasn't called and neither has Jeff. Jeff and I will only argue, so it's just as well we're not in touch. Especially after our last conversation… Glen might be a little on the dull side, but at least he's focused. (Not on me, though. Ha! Ha!)

On a more positive note, the hair spray commercial airs for the first time next week. The filming took forever. I liked the director, but this ten-second spot isn't exactly
Gone With the Wind.
Unfortunately, the only part of me that shows is the back of my head. The camera shows me tossing my head as my perfectly shaped hair bounces about with every curl perfectly in place, thanks to “Beauty Hold.” It's supposed to look like I'm playing tennis, but in reality I was hopping up and down on a
trampoline. Needless to say, Mother's relieved no one will know it's me.

My rent is paid and I just got a check from the school district. I feel flush! It's only fitting that I celebrate my first national commercial. I haven't been to a movie in forever, but it's getting harder and harder to find someone who isn't one half of a couple to do things with. I never thought I'd have this kind of problem, but nearly everyone I know, male or female, is either married or has a significant other.

I could always ask Liz, but she works such long hours and besides, the little time she does have available is about to be taken up by the good doctor. Clare might be interested. She's fun, and I find myself liking her more and more.

 

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Karen asked. She'd followed her impulse and phoned Clare Craig, and to her delight Clare had immediately agreed. She seemed surprised that Karen had a Friday night free.

They took a few minutes to choose a film and decided on a comedy.

“Sure, pick me up,” Clare said, “that way you can meet my son.”

“Alex will be home?”

“He makes pit stops every weekend.” Clare laughed. “I told him I should install a drive-through window so all I have to do is lean out and hand him money and food.”

Karen laughed, too, and wished her mother had half the sense of humor the women in her Thursday morning breakfast group did. She and Catherine might have gotten along better if they'd found a reason to laugh together.

She finalized her arrangements with Clare and they ended the conversation.

Predictably, on Friday morning Karen got called in to substitute teach at Manchester High School. In the English department this time. She hesitated before taking the assignment, but not for long. The money was too good to ignore and besides, Manchester High was where the elusive Glen taught chemistry.

High school was Karen's favorite age group. Somehow—maybe because of her own age—she found it easier to relate to the kids. She had three periods, then an hour's break before her two afternoon classes. The eleventh-graders were studying
Macbeth,
a play she knew fairly well, since she'd been in a college production, playing one of the witches. She gave the ninth-graders a creative-writing project. During her lunch break she ate in the teachers' lounge, thinking she might accidentally-on-purpose run into Glen.

She didn't, but when she asked about him, several of the other teachers sang his praises. Apparently he was popular with the staff. He might be popular with her, too, if he made more of an effort to seek her out. After school, Karen decided it would be all right to casually wander the halls until she located him. She found him in the chemistry lab with a handful of students clustered around him like groupies around a rock star.

Standing in the doorway, Karen was uncertain if she should interrupt. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Trnavski?” she said.

Glen glanced up and did a double-take. He was pleased to see her and made it obvious. “Karen, hi!”

“Hi,” she said. “Um, I was subbing here and thought I'd stop by and say hello.” She held up her right hand. “Hello.”

“I was just finishing,” he said, closing the text with a snap.

The students exchanged shocked glances, as though stunned that their teacher had a life outside of chemistry. “But…” one of them began.

“We'll go over this again on Monday,” he said, dismissing them.

“But the test…”

“Has been postponed until Tuesday.”

From the way they reacted, Karen knew the extra day to study had been an unexpected gift. The six students left, chattering away and patting each other on the back as if they'd just been granted parole.

He waited until they'd disappeared down the hall before he spoke. He might not have the sleek good looks that would attract Hollywood, she thought, watching him, but he wasn't bad on the eyes, either.

“You're looking fine,” he said as the last student vacated the room.

His admiration was just what Karen's sagging ego needed. But if he was as interested in her as he seemed to be, she couldn't understand why he hadn't contacted her. “I haven't heard from you in a while.”

Glen turned away and erased the blackboard. “As I recall, you said you wanted to be friends. Nothing more and nothing else.”

“I said that?”

“Maybe not in so many words. But I got the message and decided not to waste either your time or mine.” He brushed chalk dust from his palms.

“Oh.” She did remember making some remark to that effect, but only because she hadn't really known what she wanted. Anyway, she'd said it months ago. Couldn't a girl change her mind? Glen was smart and funny, and the more she was around him, the more she liked him. “I've been known to make statements I later regret.”

“Really?”

Karen nodded, hoping he'd take the hint and ask her out again.

He didn't.

Glancing at her watch, she decided to make a quick exit. No need to hang around, possibly waiting to be humiliated. The sole purpose for seeking him out was to let him know she was available, which she'd now done. She briefly considered asking him out, but figured he was too traditional to be comfortable with that. “Okay…see you later,” she said breezily, then turned to leave.

“Can I phone you?” he called after her.

She turned back. “I'd be disappointed if you didn't.”

“Do you have a date tonight?” he asked, following her into the hallway. He struck a casual pose, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms. “Or would you like to go out?”

“Sorry,” she said, “I already have plans.”

“Another time, then?”

“I'd like that,” she said, walking backward until she collided with the janitor, which totally ruined her exit.

 

Two hours later, Karen drove to the address Clare had given her and parked in front of the large, professionally landscaped house. It was the first time she'd been to any of the other women's homes, and she was impressed.

Alex answered the doorbell and stared at her.

“Hi, I'm Karen Curtis,” she said, introducing herself. “Your mother's friend.”

Alex was a tall seventeen-year-old, and although they'd never met, he seemed vaguely familiar.

“You came looking for Mr. Trnavski this afternoon, didn't you?” he asked as he held open the screen door.

“Is that Karen?” Clare's voice came from down a hallway.

“Yeah,” Alex shouted over his shoulder.

If the outside of Clare's home was impressive, it paled in
comparison to the inside. Every aspect of the house spoke of quality and craftsmanship. Karen thought about her parents' place, where her father's desire for comfort—comfortable armchairs, big TV—warred with her mother's often pretentious decorating ideas.

“Are you dating Mr. Trnavski?”

“We're friends.”

“Man, I've never seen him get so flustered before.”

Karen was thrilled to hear it.

“I see you've met my son,” Clare said, entering the living room. She was trying to fasten an earring in place. She leaned her head to one side as she fiddled with the gold loop.

“Mom, this is Ms. Curtis from school.”

“Yes, sweetheart, I know. Karen's in my breakfast group.”

“Your breakfast group? I thought that was a bunch of old women like you.”

Despite herself, Karen laughed. “I don't think you're earning points with your mother,” she said.

Alex looked embarrassed. “You know what I mean.”

His mother closed her eyes for a moment, as if to avoid the subject entirely. Then she resumed her struggle with the earring, finally succeeding.

“You're divorced, too?” Alex sat down on the sofa arm and gazed up at Karen.

“No. I've never been married.”

“Not everyone in the group is divorced,” Clare informed her son.

She didn't mention that she was, in fact, the only one of the four who was. Karen wondered why.

“Aren't you going to—” He stopped and frowned. “Isn't this Friday night?”

“Yes.” Karen frowned, too. “Is that a problem?”

“Your divorce support group is tonight, isn't it, Mom?”

“Oh,” Clare said. “That's what you mean. Well, it's an ongoing session and the people change.”

“You're not going?”

“Not tonight. Karen and I are taking in a movie.”

“Oh.”

“I'll be just a moment longer,” Clare told her, hurrying down the hallway.

Alex continued to stare at Karen.

“What's the matter?” she asked. “Didn't you realize teachers had a life outside the classroom?”

“It's not that,” he said. “It's my mom.”

Karen waited for him to finish.

“You don't understand. She's never missed a meeting of that group. She
needs
her group.”

“Maybe she doesn't need it as much as you think.”

Alex shook his head. “She needs it,” he insisted.

“Then ask her.”

“I will,” Alex said, standing as his mother came back into the room. “What about the divorce support group? Don't you think you should go?”

Clare reached for her purse. “I decided not to.”

“Well, I can see
that.
Why not?”

“Because, my dear son,” Clare said and pressed her hand to the side of his face, “it's time to move on. I'm ready,” she said, glancing at Karen. “How about you?”

“Ready,” she echoed and smiled to herself.