SHIVER: 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror (22 page)

Sandy’s grin gave away the fact that the theme for the Paradise Springs’ Halloween party had been decided in her favor. The small living room erupted into shouts as other residents clamored to be heard. As the head of the party planning committee, it was my job to make sure these meetings ran smoothly.

“I don’t think a murder mystery party will be fun for everyone,” a resident shouted.

“What’s wrong with doing the Hawaiian Halloween party again?” someone else yelled from the back. “Why does Sandy always get the final say in these things?”

I was standing at the front of the room, surrounded by drapes that hadn’t been updated since the 1950s and couches that always had a certain stench to them. I tried to get everyone’s attention, but it was no use.

I thought being a nurse would be glamorous. While I studied on nights and weekends in nursing school, I’d picture myself walking through the halls of a hospital in perfectly fitted scrubs. There’d always been an imaginary fan blowing my hair back, and I’d point to someone and wink as I walked by them in slow motion.

Sadly, reality hadn’t worked out that way. I’d graduated from nursing school during a year where the job market was flooded with new applications. As a mediocre human being with average grades and of average height, I’d wound up as a nurse at Paradise Springs, a premiere retirement community,
or so it was described on the information packet
.

“Everyone, calm down!” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the group.

There was no use in even trying. It was the start of October, and we’d just voted on what the theme would be for Paradise Springs’ Annual Halloween Party. And no, apparently “Halloween” isn’t a theme in and of itself. I’d had my head chewed off for suggesting such a ludicrous idea when I first started my job two years ago.

Last year’s theme was “Christmas in October”, and our Jewish residents had protested outside of the party with signs and tastefully done sugar cookies that involved decapitated Santa Clauses. For dramatic effect, they separated the heads and the bodies onto two plates. The year before that, it was a “Hawaiian” Halloween. They’d tried to stuff a live pig, but it escaped and ran around the community for two days before Animal Services had finally come in to catch it.

So you can imagine my surprise when the residents voted on a theme for this year’s party and it actually made sense.

This year we would do a Murder Mystery Halloween Party.

“How much does it even cost to hire one of those fancy party crews?” one of our residents asked. “You know, the ones who come in and set up the murder mystery for you.”

I glanced down at my clipboard where I’d circled the party’s total budget in red pen three times. I wouldn’t let them sweet-talk me into breaking it again this year. Last time it ended up coming out of my paycheck.

“Guys, we have $100 to spend on the entire party. That includes food, drinks, and decorations. I don’t think we can hire a party crew to come in and host the event.”

“What about having George write a script for us?” Anne asked from the front row. I smiled down at her, glad to have an ally during these monthly resident meetings.

“Oh please,” Sandy responded haughtily.

“What? I think he could do a great job,” Anne insisted, swiveling around in her chair to turn her green eyes on Sandy. The two did not get along very well, but I was team Anne all the way.
You would have been too
. She looked like a cooler version of Queen Elizabeth, and she was my best friend.

George, who had remained silent until that moment, stood up and straightened his black-framed glasses on the tip of his nose.

“I accept the role and will gladly write a murder mystery! The likes of which could grace the Broadway stage,” he said, holding his chin up high and exiting the room while we all watched him, confused as to why he was leaving considering the meeting wasn’t over yet.

“Are you kidding me?
Him
?” Sandy asked, pointing to the doorway that George had just exited.

“He’s worked in theater his whole life, and it’s not like we have any other options,” Anne protested.

I glanced around the room, toward the other silent residents, but no one seemed to want to volunteer to argue with Anne or Sandy.

“Okay,” I sighed. “It’s decided. We’ll have a murder mystery Halloween Party,” I said, setting the clipboard down on the table behind me. “I’ll talk to George about the script and make sure it’s ready in time.”

“Now, let’s talk about the food,” Sandy said, rubbing her hands together like she was planning something diabolical.

That was the point where I pretty much tuned out. It’s strange that nowhere in my nursing training had they discussed proper party planning techniques.
Oh yeah
, because they’d assumed I’d actually be a nurse. I mean, I did do
some
nursing duties, but when I first started at Paradise Springs, they’d been majorly understaffed. Management had asked me to help coordinate a few things, and I agreed without a second thought. As the months passed, and they continued to be understaffed, I fell even more into my “jack of all trades” role.

“No! No! I said Halloween Chic, do you think marshmallows made to look like spiders is chic, Mary Joe?” Sandy’s harsh words pulled me out of my daydream.

“Okay, alright.” I held my hands up in the air like an orchestra conductor. “Let’s settle down, everyone.”

Thirty minutes, one pair of missing dentures, and one hysterical Mary Joe later, I finally walked out of the meeting with Anne by my side.

“Boy, I tell you, that Sandy is a piece of work,” Anne said, taking her glasses off so that they hung limply from the lanyard around her neck.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, though. The party will be a hit, and George will make a good script,” I said as we rounded the corner toward Anne’s room.

“I hope so. My grandson will probably be attending the party,” she said, sliding her gaze to me from beneath her lashes. I knew what she was doing, and still, I was helpless to stop the blush that always crept onto my cheeks whenever she mentioned her grandson, Sawyer. A vision of his handsome appearance popped into my head before I could tamp it out.

“Yeah, well, I’ll probably have a date, so we can introduce them,” I said, flailing for a response and landing on one that had no basis in reality.

***

October 31
st
arrived
much faster than I had hoped it would. My plan had been to transform into a cooler, sexier version of myself before the Halloween party so that I could impress Sawyer, but as I stared at the mirror inside the employee bathroom of Paradise Springs, I decided I hadn’t even come close.

My pale blonde hair was styled in a pixie cut, and my brown eyes were rimmed by lightly mascaraed lashes. I mostly looked like a grown-up version of Tinker Bell, which I knew from experience, was not every adult male’s fantasy. On a scale of one to Kim Kardashian, my curves and sex appeal fell at about a one.

I sighed and exited the bathroom, knowing I was already ten minutes late starting my rounds. I had a few residents who were assigned to me as patients. Most of them didn’t need constant supervision, but it was still policy that at the start of my nursing shift I was supposed to check-in with all of the residents on my watch.

First up was always Sandy. I made it a point to get her over with at the very beginning.

“Sandy, are you done getting ready for the Halloween party?” I asked, knocking gently on the cheap chipboard doors that dotted the hallways of Paradise Springs. I didn’t want to knock. Given the choice, I would have walked right on by Sandy’s door, but I had no choice.

Let me warn you. Sandy is the opposite of a fine wine. Instead of getting better with age, she’s only become crabbier. And don’t you dare pity her. She wasn’t like some of the patients here who were irritable because they were experiencing chronic pain or some other serious illness. No, Sandy was fit as a whistle and was the resident ringleader at Paradise Springs. She ruled that nursing home cafeteria with an iron fist, and she even scared me a little bit.

“Oh yes, I’m ready,” she sang with her shrill voice.

I wish I could go back in time and throw bleach on my eyes before opening that door, but alas, time travel hasn’t yet been invented. So instead, I opened the door to see Sandy standing in a head-to-toe black spandex jumpsuit that was only half zipped in the front.

You know who shouldn’t wear spandex? 80-year-old women.

“AHHHHhhhhhh.” I couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from me, but midway through I felt bad so I tried to turn it down a notch.

“I know! Have you seen a cat woman this sexy before?” she asked, staring at herself in the mirror.

I couldn’t answer that question because my eyes were trying to retract into my brain. She spun around in a circle for emphasis, and I just stood there, too shocked to comment.

“Sandy, are you going to zip it the rest of the way?” I asked, trying to sound gentle and not judgmental, but, I mean, her left boob was just hanging there, flapping in the wind. And while I see a lot of body parts in this job, usually they aren’t just
out there
for anyone to see.

She glanced down. “Damnit, the left one keeps popping out.”

Andddd, my life is now complete.

“Alright, well you tuck that back in there… and I’ll see… go… the party starts in thirty minutes!” I dashed out of that room like my life depended on it, not bothering to form a complete sentence prior to my departure.

I know what you’re thinking and, yes, my job as a nurse in a “retirement community” is pretty glamorous. What twenty-three-year-old wouldn’t want to spend their Halloween night supervising a bunch of crazy old people? I didn’t need friends or a boyfriend when I had these guys to keep me company.

I kept walking down the hallway in pursuit of my next resident, trying to scrape the image of Sandy’s boob out of my mind. Before I could turn the corner toward Anne’s room, I saw Gertie— one of Sandy’s side-kicks— walking straight toward me with a friend. She was a small woman, seemingly even tinier every time I saw her. Her back hunched over at a chirp angle, but she wore bright colored muumuus and always had her hair styled into cute, white curls.

“Oh Ruby, you look like a prostitute in that outfit,” Gertie hissed as she passed me in the hallway with her walker.

I glanced down at my navy blue scrubs and Nikes. “Gertie, these are my work clothes… I’m not even dressed up for Halloween.”

Gertie’s friend, who was walking beside her with a walker of her own, patted her on the back. “If she wants to dress up like a slutty nurse, let her. She’s young. These kids are so reckless these days.”

They kept walking off in a tizzy, shaking their heads at how deplorable I was dressed.

“I’m literally in my normal work scrubs!” I yelled after them, only then realizing that they couldn’t even hear me anymore.

I pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, repeating the phrase “
I love this job, I love this job,
” over and over again in my mind.

This was going to be a long shift. I had actually been looking forward to a quiet night at home in my apartment. I was going to make some popcorn and talk myself into buying Halloween candy for kids, but then eat it all myself since no one trick-or-treats in an apartment complex. It would have been perfect.

Instead, I’d picked the short straw at the beginning of October and had landed Halloween duty. But, I’d come prepared this time. I had two years of Paradise Springs under my belt, which is why I had the following items inside the pockets of my scrubs:

- Band-aids

- a roll of butterscotch Lifesavers

- a pair of small latex gloves

- two condoms

- a small bottle of disinfectant

One couldn’t be too prepared during the Halloween shift at Paradise Springs. I was running through the possible outcomes of the night in my head when I knocked on Anne’s door. Anne was always my favorite stop during my rounds. I’d camp out in her room during my shifts, explaining that she needed some extra TLC. In reality, we would sit on her bed flipping through rag magazines and gossiping together.

When I knocked and entered her room that day, she was sitting at her small vanity getting ready for the party. I breathed a sigh of relief as I pushed through the door and closed it behind me. Her vanity was small and old, a relic from her house. It didn’t seem to belong in the sterile room when she’d first moved in, but we’d decorated her room for months, making it feel homey and comfortable. Now there were a series of framed photos that hung on the wall beside her vanity: her and her late husband, her and her grandchildren, and even one of her and me together.

“Hot mama alert!” I said as her gaze met mine in the mirror.

“I thought you said you were going to dress up,” she frowned.

I reached to grab the pair of ears out of the back pocket of my scrubs. The moment I positioned them on top of my short pixie cut, Anne smiled.

“There, much better. Those mouse ears really suit you,” she said, adding a bit of blush to her cheeks. If I had any say in how I aged, I hoped I would look like Anne. She was beautiful with emerald green eyes (just like her grandson), white hair that she always spun into artfully done up-dos, and just enough wrinkles to give her a wise appearance.