Dr. Rhodes chuckled as if I’d been joking about the oak tree debacle. I smiled weakly. Nurse Chasseure came in with the bandage and silently and sullenly began to wrap my ankle. What was her problem? Didn’t nurses have to take some kind of oath like “Look like you like your job even though you’re stuck treating gunshot wounds on Saturday night instead of clubbing in SoMa.” Apparently a sympathetic demeanor was not a requirement for all nurses these days.
“I’ll need to see you again in a few days,” Dr. Rhodes told me. He looked down at my chart. “Is this your current phone number and address?”
I nodded. He wanted to see me again. Of course, his interest in me was purely professional. Still, I felt lucky because he could have passed me off to an assistant.
“Hold on,” Dr. Rhodes said. “Wait here while I get you a few pain pills and an ice pack to tide you over until the pharmacy opens tomorrow.” He left me, and a minute later Nurse McCranky left too without a word.
I sat up then and the room spun around. It was a strange feeling. No one knew where I was or what happened to me. Except MarySue. Had she called an ambulance? Was there an ambulance? Had she brought me here in her Mercedes on her way to the Benefit? Or had she left me lying on the ground while she dashed off to the party in her silver shoes hoping I wouldn’t recover. At least not until the party was over. She got her wish. But who brought me then, Smythe’s Landscape Service? If so, I wanted to call and thank them.
I stared at the wall as I waited for my pain pills. Light-headed and dizzy, I wondered how I’d fit my foot back into my shoes. Any shoes. I shuddered to think of having to wear some kind of ugly orthopedic shoes with support hose. I might have slipped out of consciousness for a moment until I heard the voices in the hall. It was Nurses Bijou and Chasseure.
“Saturday nights are the pits,” Winnie said. “Last time I’m working this shift. I don’t care if I get time and a half. I’m dead on my feet.”
“At least you’re not dead dead,” Opal said. “Like that woman they brought in from some big high-society charity thing.”
I blinked. High-society charity thing? I opened my mouth to ask who it was, but my mouth was so dry no sound came out.
“Yeah, you catch her dress?” Winnie asked. “Plain black. Looked like a long sweater. If I had that kind of money, I’d wear Marc Bouwer.”
“Who’s that?”
“Who’s that? Don’t you read Entertainment Weekly? He’s the designer to the stars, that’s all. If I had MarySue Jensen’s money, I’d be wearing . . .” Her voice faded as I grabbed the edge of the pad and slid off the table. Pain shot through my ankle, and my knees buckled. I fell onto a chair and tried to catch my breath.
“Just thought those society types had better clothes, that’s all,” Nurse Bijou said. “If I was her, I’d wear—”
“I know, I know, Marc Bouwer, whoever that is.”
“And my shoes? Guess what I’d wear.”
“Manolos?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I can tell you Ms. MarySue wasn’t wearing any shoes at all. Not when I saw her. She was covered with a sheet except for her feet. They were bare. No shoes. Nada. Zilch.”
“How’d she die? You hear?”
“Maybe she was murdered. There are plenty of people who’d kill for a pair of Manolos.”
“Would you?”
“Wouldn’t I!”
I heard muffled laughter and then nothing. I hobbled to the door and looked out. The hall was empty except for Dr. Rhodes on his way back with my medicine. He gave me more instructions along with the ice pack and the meds and said he had an emergency but he’d see me later that week. “Oh, and Rita . . . stay off of ladders,” he added with a twinkle in his cobalt blue eyes.
“I will,” I promised. I would have promised him anything at that point.
I clomped out to the waiting room barefoot on crutches the nurses had left for me, my shoes in a plastic bag, and made an appointment to see Dr. Rhodes in three days at four in the afternoon, which I was already looking forward to. I was intending to call a cab when I saw Nick Petrescu leaning against the counter chatting up the receptionist. What was he doing here?
“There you are now,” he said. “I am waiting for you.”
“But . . . it’s still early morning. How did you know I was here?”
“They called me after finding my card in your possession. Perhaps thinking I am next of kin? How is your feeling?”
“I’m okay.” I wasn’t okay. I was weak and tired and in pain. I needed one of my pain pills, and I needed to go home. “I just need some rest.”
“What happened?”
“I fell off a ladder. It could happen to anyone.”
He looked confused, as if his English wasn’t quite good enough to figure it out.
“I will bring my car around to the front of building.”
I nodded. I didn’t know he had a car, and I didn’t know the emergency people would go through your purse to see if there was a business card with the number of a gymnastics coach they should call. But they’d obviously done just that.
A half hour later Nick dropped me off at my house. He looked worried when I collapsed on my living room couch and propped my bandaged foot on the coffee table. I told him I was fine and I just needed to lie there for a day or two. It was true. I didn’t want anyone hovering around watching me while I recovered. I knew what I had to do. Take my medicine and follow Dr. Rhodes’s instructions for RICE: R—rest, I—ice, C—compression and E—elevate.
“I am sorry I have advanced tumbling class today or I could cook something for you. Some sarmalute or—”
“Thanks, Nick, I couldn’t eat a thing right now, but I appreciate it.” All I wanted to do was lie there and watch some mindless program on TV. My brain wasn’t working very well. I guess I was lucky to be alive, all things considered. It seemed MarySue hadn’t been so lucky. Brain or no brain, I had to find out what really happened last night. Was it true MarySue was dead?
“If you are not better tomorrow, I think you should see a different doctor. I don’t believe this Dr. Rhodes is very good, and he is not a specialist in brain injuries.”
“My brain is fine,” I insisted. How did he know anything about Dr. Rhodes? Or anything about my brain? Had he met my doctor? Had he overheard some gossip? No way was I going to change doctors. “I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow.”
Nick finally left after promising to come by tomorrow with a bowl of his grandmother’s zama for me. A dish that was guaranteed to cure any and all ills.
As soon as he left, I hopped on one foot to the kitchen. I put the cold pack they’d given me in the freezer and took out a bag of frozen peas to wrap around my ankle until the real thing was ready. I don’t eat frozen peas or any kind of peas. They’d been left there by the previous tenant and I’d forgotten completely about them until now when they sure came in handy. Back on the couch, I slapped the bag of peas on my ankle, propped my foot above my heart, clutched my remote control and watched the local news.
When the news anchors finished with the weather report, they got to the juicy stuff.
“Police are calling socialite MarySue Jensen’s death a possible homicide,” said the attractive dark-haired anchorwoman.
The peas rolled off onto the floor as I swung my legs around, leaned forward and turned up the volume.
“Here’s what we know, Amy. Well-known society maven MarySue Jensen, wife of California Airlines exec Jim Jensen, was taken to San Francisco General Hospital last night after she hosted the Golden Gate Garden Benefit at the Lakeside Nature Reserve in Golden Gate Park. Her lifeless body was found in an Adirondack chair late last night by park rangers who called the authorities. Her grief-stricken husband Jim Jensen didn’t realize her expensive and one-of-a-kind hand-spun silver shoes were missing until hours later. The case is now being treated as a possible homiciderobbery.”