"This is your usual nurse?" Mendel asked Iskowitz after she was gone.
"Miss Hill? She's new. Very cheerful. I like her. Not sour like some of the others here. Friendly as they come. And a good sense of humor. Well, you better go. It was such a pleasure seeing you, Lenny."
"Yeah, right. You too, Meyer."
Mendel rose in a daze and walked down the corridor hoping to run into Miss Hill before he reached the elevators. She was nowhere to be found and when Mendel hit the street with its cool night air he knew he would have to see her again. My God, he thought, as he cabbed home through Central Park, I know actresses, I know models, and here a young nurse is more lovely than all the others put together. Why didn't I speak to her? I should have engaged her in conversation. I wonder if she's married? Well no-not if it's Miss Hill. I should've asked Meyer about her. Of course, if she's new… He ran through all the "should-haves" imagining he blew some kind of big chance but then consoled himself with the fact that at least he knew where she worked and he could locate her again when he regained his poise. It occurred to him that she might finally prove unintelligent or dull like so many of the beautiful women he met in show business. Of course she is a nurse which could mean her concerns are deeper, more humane, less egotistical. Or it could mean that if I knew her better she'd be an unimaginative purveyor of bedpans. No-life can't be that cruel. He toyed with the notion of waiting for her outside the hospital but guessed that her shifts would change and that he'd miss her. Also that he might put her off if he accosted her.
He returned the following day to visit Iskowitz, bringing him a book called Great Sport Stories, which he felt made his visit less suspicious. Iskowitz was surprised and delighted to see him but Miss Hill was not on that night and instead a virago named Miss Caramanulis floated in and out of the room. Mendel could hardly conceal his disappointment and tried to remain interested in what Iskowitz had to say but couldn't. Iskowitz being a bit sedated never noticed Mendel's distracted anxiousness to leave.
Mendel returned the next day and found the heavenly subject of his fantasies in attendance with Iskowitz. He made some stammering conversation and when he was about to leave did manage to get next to her in the corridor. Eavesdropping on her conversation with another young nurse, Mendel seemed to get the impression that she had a boyfriend and the two were going to see a musical the following day. Trying to appear casual as he waited for the elevator, Mendel listened carefully to find out how serious the relationship was but could never hear all the details. He did seem to think she was engaged and while she had no ring he thought he heard her refer to someone as "my fiance." He felt discouraged and imagined her the adored partner of some young doctor, a brilliant surgeon perhaps, with whom she shared many professional interests. His last impression as the elevator doors closed to take him to street level was that of Miss Hill walking down the corridor, chatting animatedly with the other nurse, her hips swinging seductively and her laugh musically beautiful as it pierced the grim hush of the ward. I must have her, Mendel thought, consumed by longing and passion, and I must not blow it like I have so many others in the past. I must proceed sensibly. Not too fast as is always my problem. I must not act precipitously. I must find out more about her. Is she indeed as wonderful as I imagine she is? And if so, how committed is she to the other person? And if he didn't exist, would I even then have a chance? I see no reason why if she's free that I couldn't court her and win her. Or even win her from this man. But I need time. Time to learn about her. Then time to work on her. To talk, to laugh, to bring what gifts I have of insight and humor to bear. Mendel was practically wringing his palms like a Medici prince and drooling. The logical plan is to see her as I visit Iskowitz and slowly, without pressing, build up points with her. I must be oblique. My hard sell, direct approach has failed me too often in the past. I must be restrained.
This decided, Mendel came to see Iskowitz every day. The patient couldn't believe his good fortune to have such a devoted friend. Mendel always brought a substantial and well thought out gift. One that would help him make a score in the eyes of Miss Hill. Pretty flowers, a biography of Tolstoy (he heard her mention how much she loved Anna Karenina), the poetry of Wordsworth, caviar. Iskowitz was stunned by the choices. He hated caviar and never heard of Wordsworth. Mendel did stop short of bringing Iskowitz a pair of antique earrings although he saw some he knew Miss Hill would adore.
The smitten suitor seized every opportunity to engage Iskowitz's nurse in conversation. Yes, she was engaged, he learned, but had trepidations about it. Her fiancé was a lawyer but she had fantasies of marrying someone more in the arts. Still, Norman, her beau, was tall and dark and gorgeous, a description that left the less physically prepossessing Mendel in a discouraged state. Mendel would always trumpet his accomplishments and observations to the deteriorating Iskowitz, in a voice loud enough to be heard by Miss Hill. He sensed that he might be impressing her but each time his position appeared strong, future plans with Norman entered the conversation. How lucky is this Norman, Mendel thought. He spends time with her, they laugh together, plan, he presses his lips to hers, he removes her nurse's uniform-perhaps not every stitch of it. Oh God! Mendel sighed, looking heavenward and shaking his head in frustration.
"You have no idea what these visits mean to Mr. Iskowitz," the nurse told Mendel one day, her delightful smile and big eyes making him go a hundred. "He has no family and most of his other friends have so little free time. My theory is, of course, that most people don't have the compassion or courage to spend lots of time with a terminal case. People write off the dying patient and prefer not to think about it. That's why I think your behavior is-well-magnificent."
Word of Mendel's indulgence of Iskowitz got around and at the weekly card game he was much beloved by the players.
"What you're doing is wonderful," Phil Birnbaum said to Mendel over poker. "Meyer tells me no one comes as regularly as you do and he says he thinks you even dress up for the occasion." Mendel's mind was fixed at that second on Miss Hill's hips, which he couldn't get out of his thoughts.
"So how is he? Is he brave?" Sol Katz asked.
"Is who brave?" Mendel asked in his reverie.
"Who? Who we talking about? Poor Meyer."
"Oh, er-yeah. Brave. Right," Mendel said, not even realizing he was at that moment holding a full house.
As the weeks passed, Iskowitz wasted away. Once, in a weakened condition, he looked up at Mendel who stood over him and muttered, "Lenny, I love you. Really." Mendel took Meyer's outstretched hand and said, "Thanks, Meyer. Listen, was Miss Hill in today? Huh? Could you speak up a little? It's hard to understand you." Iskowitz nodded weakly. "Uh-huh," Mendel said, "so what'd you guys talk about? Did my name come up?"