The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (9 page)

Justine came by and slid two cups of coffee on the table. She grabbed a handful of little milk creamers and dumped them on the table between Mike and Vinnie.

Vinnie waited for her to shuffle off again. “I met her at the club. I almost made a complete ass of myself.”

Mike laughed. “Hey, that’s how I met my wife. Hell, I think that’s how all guys meet their wives.”

“Well, she wanted to get out of there so we went to the boardwalk.”

“Smart girl. Those clubs are no good, especially for kids…people your age. The boardwalk’s loads more fun, anyway.”

“We…we had a great night.”

“Did you kiss her goodnight?”

“She kissed me, actually.”

Mike clapped his hands and slapped the table. “Hot damn! It’s about time.”

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. How’d I miss the signs?”

“I think you saw them. I just think you didn’t want to admit it.”

“Yeah, I guess. But you would’ve been proud. I was joking around with her, teasing her, and everything.”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Mike looked like his mind was drifting elsewhere. “Pure magic.”

“I’m going to take her out tonight, too. After work.”

Mike was beaming. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well, now I want some breakfast in me.”

As if on cue, Justine came by and dumped their orders on the table. “You gentlemen need anything else?”

“No, thank you,” said Mike.

Vinnie poured some milk and sugar into his coffee. Both men dug into their meals.

“The parts to the alternator should be arriving today,” said Vinnie, chewing on a mouthful of toast. “Maybe I’ll tackle it this weekend.”

Mike took a sip of his hot coffee. “Let me know if you need a hand.”

“I think I got it, but I’ll keep your number on speed dial.”

“So where are you going to take her tonight? Hopefully not to a bar?”

“No. I was thinking of that Tex-Mex place on the boardwalk.”

“Gaucho’s?”

“Yup.”

“That’s a good place.”

“Yeah,” said Vinnie, wiping his mouth. “They’ve got a live mariachi band tonight.”

“I bet she’ll like that.”

“Mike…”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Did you know about Billy Blake and Chief Holbrook’s wife?”

Mike’s expression became grave. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Nothing. My Dad told me about it this morning.”

“That was a horrible mess. Jim almost lost his job and his marriage over it.”

“Do you think Mrs. Holbrook messed around with Billy?”

“No one but Ellie…um, Mrs. Holbrook and Billy know that for sure. Billy threw it up in Jim’s face to burn his ass, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I shot pool with him last night at the Jolly Roger.”

“You shouldn’t be associating with the likes of him, Vin.”

“That’s exactly what Holbrook said.”

“Chief Holbrook,” Mike corrected.

“Yeah, Chief Holbrook.”

“He’s right, you know, and not just because he doesn’t like Billy.”

“I know. Billy doesn’t bother me at all.” Vinnie took a sip of his coffee and dipped his toast into the yolk of his eggs.

Mike took a bite of his muffin and washed it down with coffee. “Well, knowing what you now know, maybe he should.”

Vinnie swallowed. “Good point.”

***

Tara sat with Dr. Loews in the nursing home’s conference room behind a suite of offices, waiting for the administrator. The air conditioning was powerful and felt exquisite.

“She’s running a bit late,” explained Dr. Loews. “Her secretary said she’s in the middle of a phone conference.”

“No problem,” said Tara, but she knew this woman’s game. She was setting up a power differential from the get-go. The principal of the school she used to work in always did the same thing. Set up a meeting time, sent in the secretary to say she’s running late because she’s doing something more important at the moment, and then waltzed in like you were inconveniencing her.

Tara was sure Dr. Loews was already aware of this. He seemed to have the administrator’s number.

The door opened and a short but fit-looking woman in a pin striped pant suit marched through. She was attractive but severe looking, and her eighties hairstyle with massive bangs was an anachronism given the rest of her appearance.

Both Dr. Loews and Tara stood.

The woman shook Dr. Loews’ hand first. “Hi, Phil. How are you?”

Tara noticed her failure to use Dr. Loews’ title. Another power move.

“Hello, Ms. MacAteer. Fine.”

“And this must be the new candidate?” said Ms. MacAteer, extending her hand to Tara.

Tara shook it. “Dr. Bigelow.” She purposely left out her first name so it wasn’t accessible to MacAteer; she’d have to use Tara’s title. Two could play at this game.

“Formal,” remarked MacAteer. “Please, have a seat.”

They all took a seat. Tara and Loews sat to the right of the head of the table and, quite predictably, MacAteer sat at the head.

“So, does she have a resume?”

She?
She still refused to use Tara’s title.

Loews pulled papers out of his briefcase and slid them across the table to MacAteer.

MacAteer took out a pair of squared oval reading glasses and rested them low on her nose as she processed Tara’s resume, which only made her look even more severe, like one of those draconian librarians from Catholic school, the kind that was always shooshing the children.

Tara was trying to guess her age. Either she was in her mid-forties or she was a well-preserved early fifties.

“So, I see you have no experience working in skilled nursing facilities.”

“That’s correct,” said Tara. She didn’t want to appear defensive. She wouldn’t give this bitch the satisfaction. “But, I’m a cognitive-behavior therapist, and I could easily adapt Rational-Emotive Therapy to the residents here to address their presenting problems.” She dropped the term ‘Rational-Emotive Therapy’ because she knew MacAteer wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

“How would you adapt your treatment from preschool children to adults, some with heavy psychiatric diagnoses? There’s a significant difference between a three-year-old tantrum and a verbally agitated schizophrenic.” Her condescension was apparent.

“I would employ a functional behavior assessment to determine the antecedents to the problematic behavior and what in the environment is reinforcing it.”
Bring it, bitch.

Dr. Loews observed the exchange quietly. Tara wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but for the moment her focus was on MacAteer.

“Then what? I hope you don’t think you’ll be burdening my nurses with token economies and the like. They already have enough to do and will be expecting you to help alleviate their burden, not add to it.”

“I believe in helping my patients self-advocate,” replied Tara. “So, I would help the resident become more self-aware about their triggers, and how they can properly react to them. I believe that if you build an individual’s skill set, he or she will be less likely to engage in inappropriate behaviors.”

“Speaking of inappropriate behaviors, I hope you’re not easily frightened by a psychiatric population. Some of our residents can be kind of rough. We’ve had nurses who’ve been scratched, punched, groped, and spit at.”

Tara smiled. “I
am
a psychologist. Psychiatric conditions don’t frighten me in the least.”

MacAteer took off her glasses and put them back in her breast pocket. “Well, we haven’t had a great track record with Oceanside psychologists.”

Dr. Loews, ignoring the obvious barb, leaned forward in his seat. “Well, we have a lot of faith in Dr. Bigelow. She comes highly recommended.”

MacAteer sized Tara up with her eyes quite obviously, appraising her and making quite a show of it. “So, why did you leave the preschool?”

Dr. Loews interjected before Tara could respond. “I’d like to remind you, Ms. MacAteer, that you are not hiring Dr. Bigelow, you are simply granting her privileges here. She’s been vetted by Oceanside.”

“It was a simple question,” said MacAteer. “Your reaction, quite frankly, has me concerned.”

“It’s all right,” said Tara. “I feel more than comfortable answering that question.”

Loews nodded his assent.

“It was a simple matter of budget cuts. The school’s pool of students has been constricting over the past few years, and I was newest in the department. It was a simple case of ‘last hired, first fired.’”

“I see,” said MacAteer. “She’s all up to date on the Medicare/Medicaid regulations?”

“She’s going to be oriented and trained this afternoon,” answered Dr. Loews. MacAteer was now talking about Tara as if she wasn’t in the room with them, yet another power tactic.

“Well, I’m okay with her if you are, Phil.”

“We’re ready to go ahead with this.”

“When can she start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Excellent. We need someone to pick up Monroe Hetz’s caseload. He was a disaster.” MacAteer looked at Tara and smiled. “We need more women in healthcare. I like you. You remind me of me when I was your age.”

Tara almost threw up in her mouth.

“Great,” said Loews. “Would it be all right if Dr. Bigelow had a quick tour of the facility?”

MacAteer rose. “I think that could be arranged. I’ll have the director of social work paged. She can show you around.”

“Thank you,” said Loews, standing. Tara followed suit.

“You two can wait in here. I’ll send her in.” MacAteer extended a hand to Tara. “It was nice meeting you.”

Tara shook her hand. Then MacAteer shook Loews’ hand and briskly left the conference room, closing the door behind her.

“You weren’t kidding about her,” said Tara.

“I think you handled her quite skillfully,” said Loews. “Don’t worry. After this, you’ll have very few dealings with her. Just keep her happy and stay out of her way.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They heard a name, Renee Washington, paged over the intercom.

“That’s the social work director,” said Loews. “She’s harmless. Hides in her office most of the time.”

Within ten minutes the door opened, and Renee Washington, a thin forty-something African-American woman, walked into the conference room. There were quick introductions. Renee addressed Tara as ‘Dr. Bigelow.’ Points for her. Dr. Loews excused himself, and Renee crossed the lobby with Tara.

“I would never use the elevators to get around the building,” said Renee.

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’re slow as molasses and you never want to get caught in a closed space with our residents. Last year one of the social workers was assaulted in the elevator. She got cornered by Helen, one of our aggressive residents with a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, who went manic. She had bruises, swelling, and bite marks on her. She walked off the job the next day.”

Renee entered a code into the keypad to the door to the stairwell. “One-two-three-four, for every door in the facility.”

“Got it.”

They stepped into the stairwell and began to climb the steps. Renee’s voice echoed in the small space. “I don’t mind it. I think of it as part of my physical fitness regimen. I walk up and down all day long. There’re eight floors, so it’s quite the workout.”

“I bet.” Tara started to pant a little. The stairwell was not air conditioned, and she was quickly reminded of the relentless heat wave just outside the facility.

They got off on the second floor.

“This is one of our short-term rehab floors,” said Renee. “There are two residents per room. The short-term floors have just finished renovation, so they look nice and new.” They walked over to a high countertop with wheeled shelves of big paper charts behind it. There were two nurses sitting at computers.

“This is the nurses’ station,” said Renee. “Those are the charts where you’ll be entering in your notes. We’re in the process of converting to a computerized database, but for now you’ll stick your notes in the ‘Consults’ section of the chart. You can either hand your notes to the unit clerk or place them in the chart yourself.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Ladies,” said Renee to the two nurses, “This is Dr. Bigelow. She’s a new psychologist who’ll be starting…”

“Tomorrow,” said Tara, finishing Renee’s sentence.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” said once West Indian nurse, smiling, failing to give her name.

The other simply nodded, only looking up from her computer for a brief moment.

Tara saw that the culture of a nursing home was much different than that of a school—less warm and fuzzy. She made a mental note to make an effort to get to know as many nurses as possible.

There were residents in wheelchairs being pushed to and fro, and a middle-aged man walking with a cane waved to Tara. She waved back.