One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (24 page)

“Have you been there,
mademoiselle
?”

The accent and the looks sidetracked my mind.
Mademoiselle
? How cute. How European. How
sexy.

Suddenly I hoped this guy wasn't a nutcase. He appeared to be too suave to be a real patient.

“The name's Pauline. You know, Mason, I haven't seen you around here before.”
And you stick out like a swarthy sore thumb.

His eyes darkened. More like anger than sadness. “I only just arrived.”

Hmm. We needed to talk. I looked around and saw Nurse Lawson approaching. Didn't the woman ever have a day of f? She walked to the Doll Lady and checked her pulse. Geez. Had she gone to that big dollhouse in the sky while I sat here?

Evidently not, since Lawson smiled at Mason and went back to the nurses' station, where several nuns worked. Spike was on his perch at the end of the dayroom, glaring at me. I nodded and smiled. No reaction. Good. At least he didn't come slap me upside the head.

“Pauline? I asked you if you'd been to New Orleans.”

“Hmm? Oh, no. But a friend . . . another patient from here has. Well, she lives there. Margaret Seabright. Do you know the New Orleans Seabrights?”

“I've heard the name, but no, not personally.” He looked around the room and shook his head. “How sad.”

I nodded and my gut said Mason Dubois did not belong here.

Spike was coming toward us.

I motioned for Mason to watch the television.

“Everything all right here, Pauline?”

“Why wouldn't it be? We are watching Johnny Depp, for crying out loud.”

Mason chuckled.

Spike glared at me.

I grabbed the arm of the couch in case he got the idea to lift me up and shake me like the Raggedy Ann doll that Doll Lady held and was now twisting its head around and around. Must have had a bad daydream.

“Everything is fine,” Mason reiterated.

Spike turned and over his shoulder said, “Better be. Don't annoy the new patient, Pauline.”

Well! I could have given him a good piece of my mind, but knew my place here and wasn't in a “wet sheet” sort of mood. I turned to Mason. “Don't pay any attention to him. He's a bully.”

Mason looked at me as if I were the Doll Lady. Oh, no! He wouldn't confide in me if he thought I'd flown over the cuckoo's nest.

I had to gain his confidence to investigate more. So I decided to tell him the daily schedule of Ward 200 in case he hadn't heard it. Then he seemed to be paying attention, so I looked around to see Spike embroiled in a conversation with Nurse Lindeman. I made my move.

“Mason, what brings you here?”

He hesitated, but I could tell he was dying to say something. Did it have to do with fraud? For a few seconds he remained silent. Smart man not to trust another psych patient. I gave him extra points.

“Look, I don't belong here,” I said, then followed his gaze up and down my outfit. “Oh. Don't let appearances fool you. The policy is that they take all your stuff around here to keep you safe.” I waved my hand. “Not that I'm not safe with my stuff.”

Now he looked confused. How to convince him?

“Mason, I am . . . not who you think I am.”

His eyebrows rose and I could tell I was losing him, and no wonder. I was beginning to sound as if I not only belonged here, but should put up a shingle naming it my permanent residence.

I took in a breath and let it out slowly.

Then I told him a little about Margaret, her family, where her house was and how she got here.

Mason's interest peaked.

“Did you come here in a white van?”

“I flew from New Orleans, and, yes, a white van picked me up at Bradley International Airport.”

I nodded. “So did Margaret.”

Finally he said, “My ex-wife caused me a great deal of pain. Left me. I was totally unaware, and she did it with a note on the refrigerator. We were going to start a family soon.”

Wow. How cold. “I'm sorry.”

He nodded. “When Francine left, I was very down.

You know, Pauline, it really wasn't from her leaving, but more the prospect of not being able to have a child. I love children.”

My biological clock alarm sounded.

What a guy. Good-looking. Money. Nice. And
wants
kids. I was ready to sign us both out and put a down payment on a house with a white picket fence.

“I have several nieces and nephews.”

He smiled at me, gently. “No children of your own?”

“No husband of my own.” Then I stuck up my hand. “No one else's husband either!”

Mason laughed. “So, I called my travel agent, a new one, mind you. Arnold, my regular agent, had recently retired and moved to his cottage on the Gulf. So, this new agent, whose name I will not mention, suggested I come to a resort in New England. I needed a change of scenery and climate. I could rest, relax, forget my problems and play tennis . . . indoors.”

Mesmerized by Mason, I muttered, “We have Ping Pong on the unit.”

His laughter yanked me out of my cloud.

“So, you didn't know you were coming to a psychiatric hospital?”

He looked insulted. “No,
mademoiselle.”

“Did they . . . do you have very good coverage for mental health? Insurance coverage that is.”

“Excellent.”

“Mason, you don't belong here, and
I
can help you.”

He leaned over and took my hand, bent and kissed it.

When I looked up in a tizzy, behind Mason stood . . . Dr. Dick.

Great. There I was, making . . . er . . . making progress in my case with Mason, and Dr. Dick had to show up.

And he didn't look all that friendly.

“Doctor, this is Mason. He's from New Orleans—”

“It's time for your treatment, Pauline.” Jagger glared at me and ignored Mason.

I started to stand. Jagger took my arm. Behind him I could see Spike starting to get up. Geez. I stood and smiled. “Fine. Fine. I'm all set.” I turned back to see Mason, looking at me as if I would make a perfect nutty snack for any squirrel.

Once inside the examining room, I yanked free of Jagger. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Saving you, Pauline.”

I rubbed my arm where he'd held me, although it didn't hurt a bit. He winced. Good. “Don't call me that.”

“Okay, Mary Louise.”

He didn't even grin.

I pushed past him and sat on the edge of the exam table. “You shouldn't have pulled me away from talking to Mason. I was making progress with him!” I did not need saving.

“More like time,” he muttered.

I had to smile to myself.

“I wasn't flirting with Mason.”

“No, he was flirting with you. French accent, my foot.” He sat on the doctor's rolling stool. It rolled into the wall with a thud.

I think he smacked his head, but ignored it.

“Jagger, Mason Dubois is from New Orleans. Like Margaret—”

“Small world.”

“No it isn't. He's been brought here under false pretenses too. He thought he was coming to a resort, but they took his insurance card, airline ticket, and all his stuff. And he has damn good mental-health coverage.”

Jagger looked at me. “I'll take you back now.”

I smiled. That was enough of an apology from Jagger.

I have to get Margaret and Mason together soon
, I thought as I headed toward the dining room. When Jagger had dragged me away from Mason, he looked as if he thought I was a real patient. We had to convince him otherwise. Hopefully there would be something Margaret could say that would get him to open up to us.

Jackie Dee sat at the table near Mason. Damn. I did not want to cause her to relapse again, and she was just nosy enough to listen to everything we said. Margaret was a few seats down. It would look too suspicious if I asked her to move near Mason and we all started whispering. Darn it all, it'd have to wait.

Since I was late and had spent some time surveying the room as usual, the only seat left was next to the Doll Lady. She was feeding Raggedy Ann a slice of white bread. I only hoped she hadn't buttered it.

So I got my tray of chicken Parmesan and watery Jell-O and sat next to the Doll Lady. That was rude, I told myself. I needed to find out her name. “Hi. I'm Pauline,” I said as I sat and opened my napkin.

She kept feeding the doll then she shoved the chunk of bread into her own mouth.

“She's very cute. What's her name?” I took a bite of my white bread.

The Doll Lady watched in horror. “You stole that! Give it back to my baby!” With that she yanked the bread out of my hand, scratching my wrist in the process and causing me to scream, “Ouch!”

I tried to calm myself, but my wrist hurt, the Doll Lady was now swatting me with Raggedy Ann and the room was focused on us. I grabbed my napkin to use it as a shield. A little stuffed, buttery doll leg ripped through it followed by a splash of milk.

By now Spike was upon us, yanking
me
up. “Now it's off to the funny-farm relaxer for you, Pauline.” He had me by the scruff of my johnny coat as if I were a kitten. Okay, in some circumstances I wouldn't mind being called “kitten” in a sexy connotation, but this was more derogatory.

While the nurses and nuns shouted for everyone to settle down, Spike yanked me toward the door, and Mason looked at me with a “yeah, right, you don't belong here” look.

Great. The Doll Lady may have just blown my case.

Thank goodness the wet packs were used for calming so as not to have to medicate the person. Okay. I was tickled that I wouldn't have to fight the Green Demon, but being wrapped in wet sheets was not my idea of relaxation.

Give me Cancun with ninety degrees.

“Please,” I begged Nurse Lawson and Spike. “Don't do this. I'll behave. Though, I really wasn't misbehaving. The Doll Lady started it!”

“She has a name, Pauline,” Spike spat.

“I realize that, but I don't know it. And why don't you like me?”

Nurse Lawson chimed in. “Pauline, Spike does not dislike you, but patients and staff cannot have any interaction . . . you know. Like that.”

As if I were romantically interested in King Kong! Damn. This place was getting to me, and where was Jagger? Surely he wouldn't let me get . . .

As was customary, Sister Liz pressed her finger against the side of my face to take my temporal pulse while I lay wrapped mummy-style in a closet of a room. At first my heart rate had sped up and the feeling of claustrophobia couldn't be ignored. I hated elevators. But pretty soon riding one didn't seem so confining. Finally, I started to relax.

Wet packs are surprisingly calming.

I hated to admit it, but they were. Not that I'd want to be swaddled in them again. Maybe it was just the momentary reprieve from Ward 200 and my case. I shut my eyes and felt her fingers pressing lightly.

“Sister?”

“Yes, my child?”

“I . . . I'm feeling much better.” I could have bitten my tongue over that one. Made it sound as if I really
needed
this treatment—and I didn't! I'm quite sure I could have calmed myself if—

“What is the woman's name? The one with all the dolls?” I asked.

“Joanna. Joanna Hamilton.”

“Oh. Joanna. That's—” I yawned. “—that's nice. I didn't want to hurt her, you know.”

Sister remained silent.

Great. I must have fallen down a few notches in her book, not to mention that I'd probably never be able to get any more info out of Mason.

After drying off and being allowed to put my johnny coat and bottoms back on, I decided I needed something from home. The “comforting” experience had me missing everyone. I asked Sister Liz to call my doctor and ask if my “mother” could bring me my own pajamas.

Because now I felt too vulnerable and too patientlike in the hospital garb.

For several hours, I sat in the dayroom looking for Margaret or Mason, until Sister Liz came up to me and said my mother was there.

Goldie!

I followed Sister Liz down the hallway and passed Margaret walking toward the nurses' station. I smiled at her and gave her a wink.

Seemed Margaret had been medicated too heavily to wink back. Damn. But she did, however, seem to recognize me. I'd have to get to her before the next medication time. Somehow I'd have to find out if she got her meds BID, TID or QID (twice a day, three times a day or four times a day). I needed to plan my days around here to get clear heads from whomever I spoke to—within reason.

Sister Liz unlocked the last door to the lobby. Patients were able to meet visitors there and then were ushered into a private room, which was locked—from the outside.

When I saw Goldie sitting there, dressed all in black, it touched my heart. How fitting. He shrieked and jumped up to grab me. On his chest was a plume of peacock feathers, which tickled my cheek.

It felt wonderful.

Next to him sat Miles, dressed in business-casual navy pinstripe and holding our darling Spanky, who jumped from Miles's grasp and ran toward me.

I started to cry as if I really were a patient, and while wiping my eyes reminded myself I could get out of here any second if I wanted to.

But in reality, I had to stay.

“Well, it is nice to meet Pauline's parents,” Sister Liz said in a very Christian way. I knew she had to be wondering how they could be my folks and look so young.

Or maybe look so . . . different.

“I'm thrilled to see them,” I said and with Spanky tucked under my arm, grabbed Goldie's hand while he held onto Miles with the other.

“Your daughter is a very nice woman,” Sister said.

Miles and Goldie looked confused until Goldie's eyes widened. “Our Suga is a doll. She really is. Smart and beautiful.” He touched my arm.

“Yes. I pray she returns to you soon.”