sipping a beer as she chatted with the other ER nurses. A silver medal for the ER team's closer-than-usual second-place finish behind Father Jimmy clinked against the neck of the bottle.
The so-called wind-up party, well into its fifth hour, had lasted six times longer than the race itself, and a hundred or so others still hadn't gone home. Everyone seemed glad to hang out where they could see one another's faces again. But the reason she'd stuck around stood on the other side of the dance floor among a group of residents, too many of them women.
Thomas Biggs leaned against a picnic table, his arms folded across his chest, laughing easily and listening more than talking.
She felt jealous, and hated herself for it. When he eventually came to the makeshift bar, a long cafeteria table laden with drinks in buckets of ice, she walked over to greet him.
"Hi, Thomas. Want to share a beer?"
"Hey, J.S. Sorry, I said I'd go into ER early, starting a few hours from now. Split a juice with you?"
"Cute!"
"Would you like to dance?"
"Sure."
He swung her out onto the platform, where a dozen other couples snaked around to the strains of "Lady in Red." It blared from speakers suspended in a pair of potted trees, all part of the loaned decor that turned the gravel surface on top of the hospital's west wing into what the program described as the "Roof Garden." Mauve velvet ropes strung between chrome posts to demarcate an area well away from the edge looked as if they'd been borrowed from a movie theater lobby. Behind them stood a veritable jungle of more borrowed large plants. These concealed the ten-foot chain-link fence that, according to hospital lore, had been erected around the perimeter six years earlier after the then chief of psychiatry jumped to his death. Without the greenery as camouflage, the place resembled a prison yard.
She settled comfortably into his arms, once more appreciating his ability as a dancer. She also liked the gentle way he held her, and the feel of his firm chest.
Jane knew he was covering ER tonight. She'd checked the schedule, as she often did, to see if they'd be on together. But her slot started at eleven, the regular nursing shift.
Christ! For a grown woman, sometimes she could act so lame about him, she thought, embarrassed at having looked up when he worked. Then she wondered if he ever did the same for her. She'd like that.
An early evening breeze ruffled her hair, and she relaxed her head dreamily against his shoulder. He shifted his arms ever so slightly, enfolding her. She enjoyed the sensation.
She'd barely noticed him his first rotation through ER at St. Paul's. That had been her own rookie year. Scared to death of making a mistake on duty, then preoccupied with studying possible case scenarios on her days off in order to boost her confidence at work, she'd little time for men and didn't enjoy going out much. But after six months she had gained enough competence to look beyond her job and enjoy life a little- enough to keep an open mind as far as hooking up with someone when the Christmas party rolled around. Big mistake. People decompressed so much that most behaved as if they were at Mardi Gras. Wives left their wedding rings at home, husbands forgot where they lived, and singles swung.
Except for Dr. Thomas Biggs. He not only knew a fox trot from a waltz but also didn't use their time on the dance floor as an opportunity to grope her. Better yet, between numbers he actually seemed to enjoy talking about something besides work.
From then on she'd started checking his schedule against her own. They never ran out of anything to say. Movies, music, medicine- the topic didn't matter. And she particularly liked his easy, soft-spoken manner and barely detectable Tennessee drawl. To her mind, he sounded like someone out of Gone with the Wind- a man who knew how to treat a lady. Of course, she never monopolized him, again to avoid tongues wagging. Even at subsequent ER parties she'd danced
The so-called wind-up party, well into its fifth hour, had lasted six times longer than the race itself, and a hundred or so others still hadn't gone home. Everyone seemed glad to hang out where they could see one another's faces again. But the reason she'd stuck around stood on the other side of the dance floor among a group of residents, too many of them women.
Thomas Biggs leaned against a picnic table, his arms folded across his chest, laughing easily and listening more than talking.
She felt jealous, and hated herself for it. When he eventually came to the makeshift bar, a long cafeteria table laden with drinks in buckets of ice, she walked over to greet him.
"Hi, Thomas. Want to share a beer?"
"Hey, J.S. Sorry, I said I'd go into ER early, starting a few hours from now. Split a juice with you?"
"Cute!"
"Would you like to dance?"
"Sure."
He swung her out onto the platform, where a dozen other couples snaked around to the strains of "Lady in Red." It blared from speakers suspended in a pair of potted trees, all part of the loaned decor that turned the gravel surface on top of the hospital's west wing into what the program described as the "Roof Garden." Mauve velvet ropes strung between chrome posts to demarcate an area well away from the edge looked as if they'd been borrowed from a movie theater lobby. Behind them stood a veritable jungle of more borrowed large plants. These concealed the ten-foot chain-link fence that, according to hospital lore, had been erected around the perimeter six years earlier after the then chief of psychiatry jumped to his death. Without the greenery as camouflage, the place resembled a prison yard.
She settled comfortably into his arms, once more appreciating his ability as a dancer. She also liked the gentle way he held her, and the feel of his firm chest.
Jane knew he was covering ER tonight. She'd checked the schedule, as she often did, to see if they'd be on together. But her slot started at eleven, the regular nursing shift.
Christ! For a grown woman, sometimes she could act so lame about him, she thought, embarrassed at having looked up when he worked. Then she wondered if he ever did the same for her. She'd like that.
An early evening breeze ruffled her hair, and she relaxed her head dreamily against his shoulder. He shifted his arms ever so slightly, enfolding her. She enjoyed the sensation.
She'd barely noticed him his first rotation through ER at St. Paul's. That had been her own rookie year. Scared to death of making a mistake on duty, then preoccupied with studying possible case scenarios on her days off in order to boost her confidence at work, she'd little time for men and didn't enjoy going out much. But after six months she had gained enough competence to look beyond her job and enjoy life a little- enough to keep an open mind as far as hooking up with someone when the Christmas party rolled around. Big mistake. People decompressed so much that most behaved as if they were at Mardi Gras. Wives left their wedding rings at home, husbands forgot where they lived, and singles swung.
Except for Dr. Thomas Biggs. He not only knew a fox trot from a waltz but also didn't use their time on the dance floor as an opportunity to grope her. Better yet, between numbers he actually seemed to enjoy talking about something besides work.
From then on she'd started checking his schedule against her own. They never ran out of anything to say. Movies, music, medicine- the topic didn't matter. And she particularly liked his easy, soft-spoken manner and barely detectable Tennessee drawl. To her mind, he sounded like someone out of Gone with the Wind- a man who knew how to treat a lady. Of course, she never monopolized him, again to avoid tongues wagging. Even at subsequent ER parties she'd danced
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