Second You Sin (9 page)

9

A Sleeping Bee

I needed to go home to get ready for the party I was attending with Freddy tonight, but first I decided to go by the hospital and see how Randy was doing.

When I got there, I stopped at the gift shop and picked up a smal white teddy bear holding a box of Hershey’s Kisses. I didn’t know if anyone had reached Randy’s family yet, and the thought of him lying in an empty hospital room was too depressing.

Plus, if I knew Randy, he’d wake up hungry.

I went up to the intensive-care ward. The elevator opened to a large desk for visitors. A male nurse sat there making notes in someone’s chart.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The young man nodded. “One sec,” he said. His short brown hair didn’t do much to conceal his large ears, which stuck out like satel ite dishes from his nicely rounded head. I noticed that, unlike most of the staff that works in hospitals, this guy actual y seemed healthy. As he wrote in the chart, wel -defined muscles in his upper back and shoulders did a lively little dance for me. He was slim, but wiry, not skin and bones. His neck looked smooth and strong.

“Sorry,” he said, looking up. “Just had to get that down. Now what can I . . .”

He paused for a moment, and then smiled. I knew what he was thinking.
Hey, cutie.
I was thinking the same thing. He looked like he was about twenty-five years old. Fair skin, nice broad nose, and deep brown eyes. A pencil stuck behind his oversized ear made him look adorably geeky. He had a great smile. His ID card read “Cody Boyd.” It sounded like a porn name.

He shook his head. “Sorry, lost my train of thought.

Let me guess—you’re here to see . . .” He looked at a clipboard on his desk. “Randy Bostivick.” I smiled back. “How’d you know?”

Cody considered his response. “Ummm, let’s just say you look like you’d be a friend of his.” He paused again, and then looked more serious. “Unless you two are, umm, a couple.”

His blush was as appealing as the rest of him.

“Nope,” I said. “Just friends.”

Cody broke into an inappropriately broad grin before dialing it back a little. “That’s great!” he said.

Embarrassed by his overenthusiasm, he added, “It’s great that Randy has another friend.”

I’d have bet money that Cody was glad to hear that Randy wasn’t taken, at least not by me. As snackable as I thought Cody was, he real y wasn’t my type, and I didn’t get the sense he was interested in me, either.

“Another friend?” I asked. I didn’t know who else would be visiting Randy. I remembered Freddy’s suspicion that the car that hit Randy hadn’t been an accident. Now, I wondered if whoever was behind the wheel hadn’t come back to finish the job. I was about to tel Cody to check Randy’s respirator when he continued.

“A Mrs. . . .
Berry?
” he asked.

“Mrs. Cherry,” I corrected him, relieved. “We work for her.”

Cody furrowed his brow. Cutely. “You do?” he asked. “She said she was his aunt.”

“She is,” I answered quickly. “She’s his aunt
and
his boss. But she’s just my boss. I’m not related to her. Them. We’re just friends. Randy and I. And Mrs.

Cherry, too. We’re al friends. See? He works for his aunt.” I was babbling. Had I taken my medication today?

Cody had a look on his face that told me he was trying to decide if I was adorably scattered or actual y deranged. I gave him my best see-I’m-not-crazy smile. Cody decided to go with the first option.

“Got ya,” he said. He pointed to a huge box of Godiva chocolates at the end of the desk. It had to cost over a hundred dol ars. Shit was more expensive than steak. “She brought that. For the nursing staff.” He winked. “Smart woman.” I held up my little white bear. “I brought something, too,” I said, a little defensive comparing my pathetic offering

next

to

Mrs.

Cherry’s

extravagant

indulgence.

“Bears are good,” Cody said. He grinned. “Not as good as a fifty-pound box of chocolate, mind you, but stil good.”

“You can never have too much chocolate,” I agreed.

“Yeah, that Mrs. Cherry real y was a very nice woman,” Cody continued. He stopped and looked at me to see just how honest he could be. “And when I say ‘woman’ . . .” He made air quotes.

Mrs. Cherry’s drag couldn’t fool a blind man, let alone a skil ed medical professional like young Cody here, who, because he was cute, I wanted to imagine was a genius along the lines of Louis Pasteur.

“It’s a hormonal thing,” I offered.

Cody’s “hmmm” indicated a certain degree of disbelief.

“Or it could be her testicles,” I conceded.

“That’l do it,” Cody responded.

At that we both smiled. I could have hung out longer with Cody, but I had to get going.

“So,” I said, “I guess I should go see Randy. How’s he doing?”

“Randy, right.” Cody gave a brisk nod to indicate he was turning back to business. “Randy is . . .” He looked at his chart and grimaced. “Randy’s about the same, I’m sorry to say. Stil not conscious. But holding on.”

I was hoping for better news. “Can I see him?” Cody stepped out from behind the counter. “Come on, I’l take you in.”

He signaled for another nurse to take over for him at the desk and walked me to see my friend.

“Whoa,” I said. Randy’s room was fil ed with flowers, bal oons, and a huge pink stuffed bunny that sat in one of the two visitor’s chairs. “Mrs. Cherry again?”

“She thought the place could use a little cheering up.”

“The Macy’s Christmas Parade isn’t this cheered up,” I said.

I went over to Randy. He lay motionless except for the slight rise and fal of his chest as a machine puffed life into his sleeping lungs. I brushed the hair off his forehead. The skin felt thin and cool.

He could have been sleeping. I wished he were.

Cody made himself busy checking the IV drip.

“He’s taking in a lot of fluids,” he said.

“That good?”

“Yeah, it means things are working.”

“Good,” I agreed. “I never thought I’d see Randy looking so . . . weak.”

“Yeah,” Cody said, “he does have that Incredible Hulk thing going on, doesn’t he?” Cody’s admiring gaze made it clear that Randy’s superhuman musculature worked for him.

“Maybe you should check him for exposure to cosmic rays,” I suggested.

Cody corrected me. “Gamma rays. Cosmic rays are what gave the Fantastic Four their powers. Hulk was gamma rays.”

“Nerd much?”

“I have a mind for useless trivia,” he admitted.

“You like him,” I teased.

“I treat al my patients equal y, with compassion and no preference,” he answered.

“Yeah,” I said, “but you like him.”

“I confess nothing,” Cody said. “Although I may have paid his charge nurse fifty bucks to let me do his sponge bath.”

I laughed. Even in a coma, Randy was the stuff of fantasy.

“I mean, does he live at the gym?” Randy continued.

“Not quite. But he’d appreciate knowing you think so.”

Cody came over to me and looked me in the eyes.

“I’m sorry your friend is hurt. Do you want to sit with him awhile?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Do you think he can hear me?”

“I do. I think he’d real y appreciate a little visit just about now.”

As Cody was leaving I cal ed out, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said cute Cody.

So, I sat with Randy and told him about my visit with Socko the Clown, and asked his advice about how to ask Cody out for coffee without embarrassing the both of us by making it sound like a come-on. It’s weird—hitting up a guy for sex is easy. Putting the move on a potential friend, though, gets awkward.

If Randy had an opinion, he kept it to himself.

“Besides,” I told him, “I think he’s into big boys like you. Tel you what, wake up right now and you can ride him into the night like a Harley.” Even that wasn’t enough incentive to rouse him.

After a while I felt like Sandra Bul ock in
While
You Were Sleeping.
Only Randy was even better-looking than Peter Gal agher, and I wasn’t in love with him.

But it did break my heart to see him like this.

As I was leaving, I asked one more question.

“Listen, Randy, you’re going to think this is crazy, and it probably is, but is it possible someone did this to you on purpose? The thing that has me wondering is, just before that car hit you, you were going to tel me about some trick. Who was that, Randy? What did you want me to know?”

I waited for a minute, but Randy wasn’t tel ing.

As I was leaving Randy’s room, Cody just happened to be walking by. Funny coincidence, huh?

“Hey,” he said. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Wish I could say the same about Randy. Do you think . . .” I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

Cody put a hand on my arm. “I think he’l be fine.

He seems like a strong guy. Hel , he seems like a friggin’ gladiator.”

I laughed. “He is pretty hunkalicious, isn’t he?”

“You sure you two aren’t . . .”

“No,” I assured him, “we’re just friends. I’m kind of involved with someone else these days.”

“Good!” Cody’s hand dropped off my arm. “Sorry, I just meant I was happy for you.”

“What about you?” I said. “You seeing someone?”

“Me?” Cody frowned and shook his head. “I have bad luck with men.”

I scrunched up my face. “You? A boy like you should be beating the guys off with sticks. And not just the ones who are into that kind of thing.” I meant it, too. He was smart, he seemed sweet, and you could just tel he’d be a snack and a half in bed. Plus, did I mention he was adorable in that lives-in-a-library way?

“I’d tel you about it if I wasn’t afraid of boring you to death.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” I promised him. “Tel me everything.”

Cody looked at the big clock on the wal . “I could take a break. You brave enough to eat cafeteria food?”

“Told you I’m tough,” I answered.

Cody and I found a quiet table in the cafeteria. He sipped a coffee and tore into a tuna fish sandwich. I got a bottle of water and a croissant.

Cody was tel ing me about his man troubles. “Me, I’m kind of like that girl from
Twilight.
Bookish, pale, a little too thin. But a guy like Randy is al cheekbones and muscles and perfect blond hair.

Guys like that don’t notice guys like me.” The fact that Cody didn’t know how hot he was only made him more attractive. “You’re, like, total y luscious,” I assured him.

“Oh please.” He stuck out his tongue. “I’m just a regular guy. The only thing that makes me even a little special is . . .” He stopped and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Strike that last part,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. I’m embarrassed. Just forget I said anything.”

I swatted him on the head. “Come on, spil .”

“It’s embarrassing,” he moaned.

I lowered my head and gave him my most threatening glare.

“OK,” he said, “it’s just that, some guys, they like me because . . . look, I’m don’t want to sound like I’m bragging on myself. Can we just drop it?” I pointed my croissant at him. “I have a baked good, Cody, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“OK, it’s just that some guys like me because, at the gym and al , guys notice . . .” Cody blushed again.

“What? A third arm? Webbed feet? You’re real y a girl?”

“No, no, no.” Cody took a deep breath. “I’m, wel , let’s just say my ears aren’t the only part of me that’s big.”

“You mean you’re embarrassed because you’ve got a big dick?”

“Wel , not ‘big’ so much as ‘huge.’ It’s kind of freakish.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “What’s ‘huge’?” Cody put a finger down on the table and, about 10

inches away, laid down another.

“No,”
I whispered.

“It’s true. It’s nice and al , but sometimes I think it’s the only thing guys like about me.”

I smacked him on the head again. “You idiot. I thought you were adorable way before I knew you had the Verrazano Bridge hiding in your shorts.”

“Real y?”

“I promise,” I said. “Cross my heart, slap my thighs, stick a needle in my eyes.”

Cody laughed.

“And if a guy can’t see beyond that to notice what a real y great guy you are, you’re better off without him.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Cody looked genuinely touched.

Then, because I was, at heart, a brat, I had to spoil the moment. “Of course, in their defense, it may be hard to see much beyond that. It must, I don’t know, block the view. Being so big and al .” It was Cody’s turn to smack me.

“And I thought you were a nice guy,” he teased back. “But I see you’re just rude, like that other friend of yours.”

“What other friend? Mrs. Cherry?”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. Another guy came by to visit Randy while you were in with him.”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“No, when I told him that Randy already had a visitor, he turned around and left.”

I thought it might be one of our mutual friends. “Did you catch his name?”

“He didn’t throw it. Just heard you were in there and hightailed it away. Didn’t say ‘good-bye,’ or

‘thank you’ or anything. Like I said, rude.”

“What did he look like?”

“Gosh, I hardly noticed. He seemed al right, average height and build. Middle-aged. The only thing that caught my attention was his eye patch.”

“Eye patch?”

“Yeah, on his . . . um . . . right eye.” Something about this bothered me. “What else?”