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“Oh my God, Georgie, you are so crazy,” says Veronica, still catching her breath, barely having landed from her cloud.
We’d be quite a sight if someone would venture into the North Wing right now and peep into the waiting room. She’s lying halfway off the couch with her uniform and undergarments down to her ankles and I’m beside her with blood dripping from the bottom half of my face.
“I’m crazy? Look at you.” I’m feeling myself smile—a real smile, one from within. I can’t remember the last time I did that, actually feel a smile. When I deal with people here at work or outside and a situation calls for it, I usually have to remind myself to smile. But here with Veronica it’s different, I’m actually enjoying myself. I’m enjoying the company of the person I am with. The smile just came out. “You think you might want to pull those pants up before somebody comes by here and sees you?”
Veronica naughtily laughs and rises to wiggle her curvy ass back in her pants. Man, we’re actually having a moment.
“Hay Dios mio!” My little undead guy has caught Veronica’s attention. He’s bloodied from where he’s been over the last few minutes but still locked and loaded. “You can’t get enough, can you?”
We’re both satisfied customers and should really get back to work but it looks like Señora Veronica wants a little snuggle time. She nuzzles up and reaches for some napkins on the table next to my half-assed chili. Her attempt to wipe my face clean isn’t working. The blood isn’t coming off. Her solution? Licking the blood off my lips. “You see, baby? I’m a freak, too.”
#
Although we are both single healthy adults (the healthy part applying to her, being dead I wouldn’t exactly call myself healthy), Veronica and I did our best to avoid being seen when we snuck back from the North Wing together. Having a little rendezvous during work hours wouldn’t be something the hospital administrators would smile upon.
Speaking of smiles, the look on Jimmy’s face speaks volumes. “Damn, man, I knew you were hittin’ that. I cover for you on break so you can ride that Mexican wonderland in the North Wing?”
What? My shirt isn’t hanging out, my zipper isn’t open and I maintained a considerable degree of quiet. Did Veronica’s vocal range reach out all the way to the main part of the hospital? “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to deny it. I can smell the pussy on you from here.”
“You heard?” No surprise since Veronica sounded like she was auditioning as a backup singer for J Lo.
“Did I hear? Who didn’t hear? You could hear that shit in Hackensack.”
“Then why didn’t someone come over and stop us.”
“Stop you? You kiddin’? That shit was better than HBO! You got every woman in this hospital wantin’ to fuck you, now. What you packin’ in there, boy?”
#
Thanksgiving at the Rippey house seems a little quieter than usual. Rippey, Davey, Artie and Dominic are talking sports while on the 65” inch plasma, the Eagles are struggling to mount an offense against the Lions. Let’s make that, Rippey, Davey and Dominic are talking sports. Artie appears to have nodded off, which is understandable, the guy after all, is 87 years old. That doesn’t stop him from insisting that he drive, though. Dominic always offers to pick him and Ramona up. But no, “I can drive on my own,” he insists. Aging means never having to admit you’re too old.
In the kitchen, Jessie and Ramona are helping Stefanie prepare the turkey. Noticeably absent is Nemeth, who by now should be somewhere incognito in the caves of Afghanistan.
Accompanying Davey is his latest excuse for a girlfriend. From the tramp stamp and the pink highlighted hair, I’m guessing, recently rehabbed stripper that he met at the clinic. Far as I can tell she’s also not much of a football fan. She looks considerably bored sitting alongside Davey, leaning her head against his shoulder. But then again it’s not much of a game with the Lions up 31-7. That’s probably why Dominic’s taking the floor with his usual rant about the Mets.
“Jesus, bring some fucking bats to the World Series, why don’t you? I’ve never seen anything so fucking pathetic. I’m telling you, as long as those Wilpon’s own the Mets they’re never going anywhere.”
“C’mon Uncle Dom,” gestures Davey towards his lady friend—one that hardly anyone would think would be offended. Davey shakes his head as Dominic reaches for his Budweiser on the snack tray.
Rippey isn’t much of a follower of sports but he gamely tries to get in the conversation. “Well, at least they made it to the World Series, right?”
Dominic shoots him a shut-the-fuck-up look and addresses the stripper. “Sweetheart, what’s your name again?”
“Amber.”
“You like baseball, Bambi?” Either his hearing isn’t what it used to be or Dominic’s just fucking with her. Knowing Dominic, I think it’s the latter. I love that about him.
Amber doesn’t bother to correct him. “No, not really,”
“Well, if you ever decide to root for a team, don’t let it be the Mets. They’ll make you want to shit.”
This conversation’s making me want to shit. And I don’t even shit. I’d rather hang out with the ladies, even though being this close to Stefanie without her knowing of my presence is something I can never get used to.
Rippey rises up from his chair, following me into the kitchen. It’s almost as if he jealously senses me in the area. I even have to move aside so he doesn’t walk right into me.
He nudges up behind Stefanie, putting his arms around her and kissing her on the back of her neck. Go ahead. Put my heart through the meat grinder, you prick.
“How are you feeling, honey?”
Stefanie nods her head without turning.
There’s a somberness in the air. I don’t know what it is but it is definitely here, and no one is saying anything that would indicate why.
Still feisty at 86, Ramona appears to be irked at Rippey’s presence in the kitchen. Like Patti, Dominic’s ex, Rippey has always been an outsider. The difference is that Patti was a bitch. Rippey, as much as I hate to admit it, is a good guy. He actually deserves to be treated better.
Dominic ambles into the kitchen over to his mother. “Mami, why don’t you go sit down? The girls got it.”
“You sit down and watch your football,” answers Ramona.
Dominic persists by taking his mom by the shoulders and turning her around towards the living room. “Come on, Ma. Go sit next to Pop. Food will be ready soon.” Dominic turns to Stefanie. “Ain’t that right, sis?”
Stefanie forces a smile. “Right! Are you good and hungry?”
“Oh yeah, sis, bring it on!”
Yeah, there’s something wrong. It definitely doesn’t feel right in here. The mood is forced, not celebratory at all.
Reluctantly, Ramona heeds her son and slowly paces back to the living room, taking a seat next to her snoring hubby.
In the kitchen, Jessie tears up.
Dominic quickly notices and strokes his niece’s hair “How you doing, baby? You alright?”
She wants to reply but she looks afraid to.
Rippey answers for her. “She’s still a little shaken up by everything.”
Dominic nods and puts his arm around Jessie’s shoulder. “Hey, forget about that asshole,”
Stefanie scolds her brother. “Dominic!”
“It’s not that, Uncle Dom,” says Jessie.
Dominic nods his head and rubs Jessie’s shoulders. “I know, honey. But look, we’re all together. We’re gonna have a nice turkey...” Jessie shakes her head. Her uncle is barking up the wrong tree. Dominic turns to Stefanie and Rippey, looking for a clue. “Well, what is it then?”
Dead silence. The only sound is from the TV where the Ford Field fans are cheering another Detroit touchdown.
A film of tears coats Jessie’s eyes. “He seemed so real.” A blink of her eyelid pushes a tear down her face. Stefanie puts down the salad and hugs her daughter who weeps on her mother’s shoulder. Rippey looks over sympathetically.
“Honey, you’ve been through a lot,” whispers Stefanie.
“You’ve been under a lot of stress,” adds Dominic.
“I know what I saw,” responds Jessie, quietly, but with emphasis.
Dominic, Stefanie and Rippey exchange sullen glances. They think Jessie’s wheels are coming off the tracks.
Rippey gently tries to reel her back in. “Jessie, you know that’s not possible.”
“I saw his face,” says Jessie. “I know what my father looked like.”
Davey comes in from the living room, leaving his little sex pet staring blankly at the television. “Hey, dinner almost ready?” His sister is in her mother’s arms, crying. Davey nods for Dominic to follow him back into the living room.
Davey whispers. He doesn’t really need to. With the Ford Field crowd cheering the extra point on the TV, no one could hear anyway. “You know about that drug dealer that got killed in Brooklyn?”
Dominic’s troubled by the oddly timed question. “Yeah...”
“I was there.”
“Pero que carajo! What do you mean, you were there?”
“I was there outside his apartment. I got into a fight with him.”
“What!” Dominic struggles to keep his tone down. “What the hell were you doing there? Did you—”
“No, no listen, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Listen.”
“Pero mira, Jesus Crísto!”
“Uncle Dom, please listen. That thing that happened to him, I don’t know anything about that. I was there trying to help a family find their daughter. But when I asked him about her, he pulled a gun out on me.”
“A gun!” Dominic’s eyebrows meet at the center of his forehead.
Davey nods. “I went after it and tried to take it from him, but when I reached for it, the guy just flew back like someone grabbed him and threw him against the wall.” Great! Now my son too, is questioning his sanity. On the other hand, what if I wasn’t there? Davey could have been the one dead instead of that Darryl. “When he hit the wall, he dropped his gun,” says Davey. “I wasn’t sure whether I should go for it or not. But then he did go for it. And when he did,” Davey can’t believe what he’s about to say. “His head snapped back. It snapped back like he got kicked in the face.” Dominic’s eyes narrow, making Davey feel the need to assert his clear-headedness. “Uncle Dom, I’m not crazy. It felt like someone else was there.”
“What? Someone like who?”
“Look, I don’t know how to explain it other than, have you ever been in a room by yourself and felt like there was someone else in there watching you?”
Dominic’s eyes open into widened glare. His breathing
intensifies. He’s practically blowing smoke out of his nostrils but he doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.