"Tell me again what happened," says Gina.
This is the third time I'm having to tell her this. "I'm lying in bed, half asleep and sort of dreaming. I hear these footsteps tapping and I wake up. I look up and there's a woman standing at the foot of my bed saying, 'Who are you?' Then, when I pick up the remote and call the nurse, she leaves. Period. End of story. Now, doesn't that sound suspicious to you?"
"Look," said Gina patiently, "Number one, you had surgery a couple of days ago. Number two, you're pumped full of painkillers so you might not be thinking clearly. Number three, you and Rick are kind of scared of being discovered—right? It just might be your body, and the drugs, and the stress of surgery messing with your head. Doesn't that make sense?"
"So you think I shouldn't tell him."
"No, I know you shouldn't tell him. He's been worried about you though he's trying to pretend he's not. And, by the way, he paid your rent for next month, he bought you a bunch of groceries, and he's had a housekeeper come in to clean your apartment. Don't you go telling him that I told you this, you hear? It's supposed to be a surprise. Oh, and I bought a couple of new nighties for you, and makeup for when he comes to see you, which should be tomorrow. Don't you think he deserves to see a happy girlfriend who's getting better instead of one who's going to stress him out?"
I sigh. Gina's probably right, it could have been someone who accidentally came into the wrong room, but it doesn't feel that way. After all he's done for me, he should see me looking pretty and cheerful, especially since the doctor says I'm doing better than he expected. I've talked him into letting me have a month off work. I have a paycheck waiting that Gina's promised to pick up and I may borrow some money from my parents and head to Mazatlan to get some color back because I'm pasty white.
I put the thought of the mystery woman out of my mind and drift gently off to sleep. There's something about being in a hospital that takes you out of the real world. I'm not ready to go home yet, but I'm looking forward to it. I just wonder what it's going to be like to not be waited on. Or lose those lovely Demerol injections whenever I'm in pain.
The next morning I wake up feeling happy—Rick's coming. No matter when he shows up he'll be here sometime today. I take a shower and wash my hair which I can't do much with since it's too tiring to stand. I put on one of the nighties Gina brought me, a moss green trimmed with gold ribbons. Over this goes a black kimono jacket and I must admit I'm happy with the way I look. For the first time in days, I put on makeup.
I get a few whistles as I walk down the hall and it puts a spring in my step. Walking still isn't the easiest thing to do, but I want to get better. The happier the doctor is with me the sooner I can go home. And the sooner I can get better the sooner Rick and I can have sex again.
I'm cheerful as I wait and the nurses notice. I'm being teased but that's okay. No one knows who he is, he's just my boyfriend. I get a hard time and even some sympathy about his taking so long to show up, but I know he'll be here.
At seven o'clock I hear the familiar thunk of his cowboy boots on the linoleum. He sets down his guitar--I swear the guitar is attached to him--and he takes me in his arms, trying to avoid the IV lines. It feels good to have him hold me.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay," he whispers in my ear and squeezes me tightly, then holds me at arms' length. "You're a little pale, but you look really good. And you put on makeup! You look really hot in that green nightie, I'd like to take it off."
"Not advisable, if I have to wait, so do you! I'll be home in a few days, I hope, and we can see what we can do to make each other happy."
"Umm, sounds good, but are you sure we can't do anything now?" he said with a mischievous grin.
"Nice try," I told him, "I'm afraid that has to wait. I'm just glad this is over with and now I won't have to live with the damn pain."
"I'm glad to see you're getting better, you don't know how much it hurt me to watch you suffer and I couldn't do anything about it." He started kissing me and I hoped the nurse didn't walk in.
He pulled away and smiled, then went and shut the door. He pulled his guitar from the case and sat at the end of the bed and began to play. One by one I heard the melody of my favorite songs in his beautiful tenor voice. The music soothed me like a lullaby and I began to relax and feel sleepy.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he said and touched the tip of my nose. "The nurse is probably going to come and tell me that visiting hours are over."
The word "visiting" struck a nerve and I decided to ignore Gina's advice.
"Rick, before you go, can I tell you something? Even if it sounds really strange?"
"Of course," he said, and put his guitar away, "What did you want to tell me?"
"Well, something really strange happened to me yesterday," and I proceeded to tell him about the woman who came into my room.
"Were you worried it was my wife?" he asked, and I nodded. "Sweetie, I'm sure it wasn't. I don't know how she'd even have found out. You've been so stressed out by what was going on with you, then there's the surgery, and you're hopped up on drugs I've love to get my hands on. I'm sure it was someone who went into the wrong room and then asked who you were because she didn't know she was in the wrong place."
He had a strange look on his face, though, like he was worried too but he didn't want me to know. He had a point, how could she have known about me because we have been careful. And how would she have known my name, or that I was even in the hospital? He always said he appreciated the fact that I understood that we needed to be cautious. I was never careless and would never have gone to his house to see him.
"Tell you what," he was telling me now, "You just concentrate on getting better. Hopefully, you will be out of here in a few days and back to your apartment. You won't feel so stressed once you're back in familiar surroundings. Hospitals aren't nice places, believe me, I know. What happened was probably nothing so treat it like that. We're missing you at the studio, even Robbie asks about you. I'll try to come see you tomorrow, but I can't make any promises." He leaned over and kissed me tenderly, "Once you're out of here things will seem better, you'll see."
Six days from when Rick took me to the emergency room I was finally allowed to go home. Check-out time for hospitals tends to be eleven and a very grumpy Gina came to pick me up.
"I wouldn't be up this early for anyone but you," she groused, but she was the only one who could pick me up, she knew there was no one else. "Let's get this over with, you're done with all the medical stuff, right?"'
"Yes, everything is signed and I've got my bottle of pain pills in my purse. At least you're off today, Gigi, so it could be worse. I'm sorry to pull you out of bed so early but..."
"I know there's no one but me you could call on, so it's my pleasure. I forget sometimes that you don't have family here and all of your friends are from the company. Tell me, did you even tell your family what happened?"
"Hell no, they'd try to talk me into flying to Seattle and staying with them. No way, I moved down here to get away from them. If they're that curious about my wellbeing they can ask—and they haven't."
"Okay, sorry, I forget what a sore subject this is for you. I happen to have a great family, I'm sorry you don't. Does Rick know?"
"He started to ask about them once and I told him I didn't want to talk about them, ever, and he left it alone. He has one of those great families too. People like you and him don't really get what it's like when you'd like to forget your family exists. Now, instead of unpleasant talk about family, I am going to buy you food and drinks at the restaurant of your choice. It's the least I can do to thank you for emerging from bed before three p.m.
After she dropped me off at home and got me settled, I took a Demerol and smoked a joint. I threw a blanket over me and the cats snuggled with me. I have a comfortable couch and decided I'd rather be out in my living room than in the bedroom. Even the noise from the neighborhood didn't bother me because I slept until I heard an insistent knocking at the door. I got up stiffly and went to answer it.
Rick stood there, smiling. "Welcome home, babe," he said and took me in his arms, "How are you doing?"
"Better, but I slept too much. I want to take some Demerol but I haven't eaten since about noon—what time is it now?"
"Midnight, or thereabouts. What have you been doing?"
"Sleeping, beautiful uninterrupted sleep. No one wanting to take my blood pressure, no one trying to serve me terrible food. The Demerol must have really knocked me out."
He swept me up in his arms and carried me to the couch, then sat down and drew me close to him. "How long do we have to wait before we can have sex?"
"Three weeks," I answered, "That's a long time but it's a lot sooner than I thought it would be." I sighed, "It's seemed like it's been forever."
"Well, remember what I told you in the hospital, that there were things we could do? Would you be willing to do something for me?" He put his mouth on my ear, tickling it with his tongue.
I thought for a moment, I never knew what to expect from him, then decided what the hell.
"Okay, if it's something I can do that won't hurt, I'm overdue for some Demerol."
He smiled and undid his belt, then opened his jeans and pushed them down to his ankles. He took my hand and put it on him, putting his over mine and began moving it up and down, showing me how he wanted me to do it.
I wished I could do a little more, but that would have to wait. In the meantime, I watched as his eyelids lowered, his mouth grew slack and he tipped his head back. He removed his hand and put it on my breast, caressing it and squeezing it gently, then moving his hand back to mine.
Suddenly his breathing grew faster and he began to moan. I could feel him climax and his semen spills over my fingers.
He opened his eyes and smiled, "I'm afraid we made a mess."
"I'll bring you something to clean up with, and I'm afraid I'm going to need a clean blanket." I returned with a damp towel and a dry one. "Do you want to take a shower?"
"Nah, I'll be all right." He put his hand on my face, "Are you still worried about my girlfriend?"
"Well, yes, but now that I'm home I feel safe. If she ever shows up here, I'm moving to another city. I don't want to be part of a twisted love triangle. I want things to be just like they are."