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Jimmy likes busting my balls about Veronica. “I know you’re hittin’ that, Georgie. Don’t even try to deny it.”
There’s a Veronica in every workplace. She’s the one we guys like to step into a corner and share nothing but nasty, lascivious fantasies about. Like Juanita (who’s probably going through a nervous breakdown right now), Veronica Rojas also works for Environmental Services during the night shift.
One can understand Jimmy’s conclusion about me and Veronica when you consider the fact that she has been quite diligent in trying to lure me to her apartment. It’s been pretty clear that she is very willing to be “hit” by me and his awareness of that, combined with the nightly reminder of Veronica’s undeniable hittability, makes my lack of interest an unfathomable anomaly. Veronica carries a sumptuous medley of curves that any man would love to spend hours navigating his hands through. And though her dark roots betray her dyed-blond hair, it frames her nicely sculpted Mexican features, highlighted by eyes that promise an unforgettable time in the bedroom. On top of that she is also great socially. She is a devoted mother to her two boys and is also very giving to her friends, especially with food. For example; in my case she knows that I love her chíli con cárne so she’s always bringing me leftovers from home. And I gotta say, her chíli con cárne kicks some serious ass.
So why in the world wouldn’t I be interested? Why wouldn’t any man? For Jimmy it will have to remain a mystery. I obviously can’t share with him the risks someone would face having a sexual relationship with the undead. That being said, I also don’t need the complication, especially with someone like Veronica, who loves to court the attention of other men despite being in a relationship with a trombone player from a local salsa band. She is a woman that feeds on the attention of horny males the way I feed on blood.
“I bet you had her last night, you dog,” says Jimmy. “Look at her walking in here. She’s got eyes on nothing but you.”
Veronica’s a safe enough distance away not to hear the lusty details of our conversation. She’s got her ever present plastic Shoprite bag with her Tupperware container in it. And Jimmy’s right. Her focus is only on me, making it harder for me to deny that there’s anything going on between us. “Jimmy, you’re wasting your envy. I am not sleeping with Veronica.”
“I don’t believe that shit for a second, but if it’s true, then there’s something wrong with you, bro.”
Veronica’s playful little sing-song call is that of a woman who knows how to tease. “Hi Georgie baby, guess what I brought for you tonight. Can you smell it?” Can I smell it? I was able to smell her chíli, her Victoria’s Secret perfume, and the fact that she will soon be on her menstrual cycle before she even walked in the hospital.
“Yeah, I bet you smell what she’s got for you every night,” says Jimmy with a whisper. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout what she’s got in that Shoprite bag. I’m talkin’ ‘bout what she’s got inside her—”
“Stop Jimmy, she’ll hear you.” My smile as she approaches won’t exactly make a great Facebook profile pic, but it’s the warmest smile a guy who’s been dead for twenty-seven years can give.
Unintentionally turning Jimmy into an awkward third wheel, Veronica continues to tease. “Ah, you do know what’s in this bag, don’t you?”
Now Jimmy wants to play. “Hey Veronica, any chance you can maybe one night bring what you got in that bag for me?”
“Of course, Jimmy. I didn’t know you like chili. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I’m saying it now. But listen, I want that good chili. The same kind of chili you give Georgie.” Very funny, Jimmy.
“Oh, you want the special chili I make just for Georgie?” Her little wink at me suggests that she’s in on the joke. “What do you think, Georgie? Should I make it for Jimmy the same way I make it for you?”
This is getting uncomfortable. “Hey Jimmy, shouldn’t you be patrolling around the ER right now?”
“Uh, okay, so it’s like that,” says Jimmy, ever-so-slightly backing away. “I guess I’ll, uh, leave you two alone.” It would have happened anyway. Veronica always finds a way to get me to spend some alone time with her. The chili is her usual bait.
During the night shift, the hospital cafeteria is closed, except for the dining area where the employees take their breaks. I would happily enjoy her chili there amongst the other workers but Veronica likes things to be a little cozier so instead we go to the private waiting area near the Intensive Care Unit. There we can close the door and be solito, assuming Dr. Rothstein isn’t in there doggie-styling Sabrina from radiology. And while that’s what’s probably on Veronica’s radar for the near future, so far all we’ve been doing is eating and talking about her problems, primarily raising two boys on her own and the jealousy of Roberto, her trombone-playing boyfriend.
It’s actually quite laughable that Veronica can’t seem to comprehend Roberto’s insecurities, considering that she’s been trying to lure me into the sack since the first day I worked here. Not that she’s been waiting inactively, during that time I can count at least four or five men she’s probably slept with—two of them during the time she’s been dating Roberto, which is about a year and a half. And then there’s her sons. Each have different last names and neither of them are the same as hers.
Yes, we’re talking about a woman with the libido of a major league baseball player on a road trip. It makes her both unpredictable and ridiculously desirable, but definitely not my type; even in my prior existence. If you’re a half-way decent-looking guy at the Los Chicos lounge in downtown Newark, you would stand a shot by getting a couple of drinks in her and playing a little salsa or merengue on the jukebox. Call me old-fashioned but I, like Roberto, prefer a little more exclusivity.
I also keep my distance from Veronica for the same reasons I do with Jimmy. A nighttime predator that makes friends only creates problems for himself. Friends want to socialize. They want to see you in the daytime. Then what? How many excuses can you come up with before they realize there’s something off about you?
The undead slurping of Veronica’s fabulous chili resonates through our little private waiting area. I’d enjoy it a little more if she weren’t waving her wrist in front of my face.
“¡Mira lo me que hizo ese hijo de puta!” She holds it out, waiting for a reaction.
Being that I’m devouring her chili the very least I could do is pretend that I give a shit. “Que pasó?”
“Look what he did to me, Georgie!” It appears that Seňor Roberto got a little rough and took an extra firm grip of Veronica’s wrist—another heated showdown about her weekend activities while he’s out somewhere gigging. “What am I supposed to do?” she says. “Sit at home doing nothing? We’re not married! I’m not his wife!”
I mumble through a mouthful of chili. “When did this happen?”
She rubs her wrist, pouting. “This morning, when I got home.”
I know what she wants me to do but I really don’t want to get involved. But then again, I am eating her chili. “You want me to talk to him?”
“No baby, thank you. I told him it was over. I don’t want to see him no more.”
Good, can I now finish my chili?