Park Clinic on 7th.”
“Iffy neighborhood. Don’t park your new car on the street.”
“Great part of town. The art deco architecture and old buildings are magnificent,” Nick said.
“With drug dealers, addicts, pimps, gangs, and prostitutes in the doorways.”
“Old friends, Dave?” I said.
“Some of them.”
Chapter Seven
G etting out of Nick’s red SUV without flashing the crowded Park Clinic lot was a challenge. No problem when I wore slacks or jeans. Big problem in my short sundress and heels. Nick lent me a hand before the guys loitering near the sidewalk caught a show.
We strolled between the rows of cars in the L-shaped mini-mall. A Chinese-Mexican-American deli, a convenience store, and a cell phone outlet occupied the south end, off the street. The green opaque windows of the clinic spanned the entire west end.
Nick held open the front door with the “PARK CLINIC” logo stenciled in white. I walked inside to the scent of pine and rubbing alcohol. Ivory walls trimmed in sage green displayed declarations from associations lauding the dedication of Carmen and/or Victor, Tony Torrico, and the staff of Park Clinic. Spotless gray and white linoleum flooring covered the reception area and the hall leading to the offices and exam rooms in back.
Miguel the security guard greeted me by name with a polite smile. Nick dropped into a plastic chair by the window, a polite distance from a young Latina mother nursing her newborn. I stopped at the reception desk laden with photos of teenagers in graduation gowns, each with the same round face and broad nose of the full-figured woman in violet, smiling up at me over her nameplate: Tonia Letitia Jackson, Receptionist.
“Hi, Jackson,” I said. “I have an appointment for my staff physical and a TB shot.”
The corners of her mauve lips drooped as she tapped her neon yellow nails on her keyboard, clicked the computer mouse, and squinted at the screen. “Uh-uh. Huh. Uh-huh.” She looked up at me. “Dr. Morales and Dr. Perez aren’t here. Does it have to be today, hon?”
“I promised Dr. Perez I would. What about Dr. Torrico? You know how Carmen is about rules.”
“Don’t I.” Jackson clicked her mouse and scanned her computer screen. “Sit tight. I’ll try to squeeze you in to see Dr. Torrico between patients.”
She dialed her phone. “Liz Cooper is here for her physical and TB shot. Can you fit her in?” After a long string of “uh-huhs,” she hung up and handed me a clipboard. “Fill this out and bring it back to me.”
I crossed the waiting room and dropped into the chair beside Nick. “Victor isn’t here. I wonder if he heard from Carmen and went to the hospital.”
“Or he doesn’t know about Carmen and he’s still with Lucia or home asleep. He was up for four nights in a row with her. I hope she’s better today,” Nick said.
“You can wait for me at Lucia’s if you want. I’ll meet you there after I see Dr. Torrico.”
“I’ll wait.” Nick folded his arms and stretched out his legs while I filled out three pages of standard medical history.
When I returned the clipboard, Jackson peeked over my shoulder. “That your husband?”
I glanced at Nick, slouching in his chair, and said, “My boyfriend. Cute, right?”
“Not bad for a skinny white man,” she said. “He good to you?”
I grinned. “He’s a keeper.”
Helen Leonard, the clinic’s efficient head nurse, came into the waiting room. “We’re ready for you, Liz.” I followed her into the hallway past the children’s playroom, turning left at the open Dutch door to the dispensary, then to the row of exam rooms and offices. She put me inside the last exam room and said, “Everything off except for your panties. Gown opens in front.”
Every examination room in every doctor’s office looked the same to me: beige walls and cabinets, steel instruments, cupboards, exam table, stool, hook to hang my clothes and purse, and magazines so ancient that Brad
“Iffy neighborhood. Don’t park your new car on the street.”
“Great part of town. The art deco architecture and old buildings are magnificent,” Nick said.
“With drug dealers, addicts, pimps, gangs, and prostitutes in the doorways.”
“Old friends, Dave?” I said.
“Some of them.”
Chapter Seven
G etting out of Nick’s red SUV without flashing the crowded Park Clinic lot was a challenge. No problem when I wore slacks or jeans. Big problem in my short sundress and heels. Nick lent me a hand before the guys loitering near the sidewalk caught a show.
We strolled between the rows of cars in the L-shaped mini-mall. A Chinese-Mexican-American deli, a convenience store, and a cell phone outlet occupied the south end, off the street. The green opaque windows of the clinic spanned the entire west end.
Nick held open the front door with the “PARK CLINIC” logo stenciled in white. I walked inside to the scent of pine and rubbing alcohol. Ivory walls trimmed in sage green displayed declarations from associations lauding the dedication of Carmen and/or Victor, Tony Torrico, and the staff of Park Clinic. Spotless gray and white linoleum flooring covered the reception area and the hall leading to the offices and exam rooms in back.
Miguel the security guard greeted me by name with a polite smile. Nick dropped into a plastic chair by the window, a polite distance from a young Latina mother nursing her newborn. I stopped at the reception desk laden with photos of teenagers in graduation gowns, each with the same round face and broad nose of the full-figured woman in violet, smiling up at me over her nameplate: Tonia Letitia Jackson, Receptionist.
“Hi, Jackson,” I said. “I have an appointment for my staff physical and a TB shot.”
The corners of her mauve lips drooped as she tapped her neon yellow nails on her keyboard, clicked the computer mouse, and squinted at the screen. “Uh-uh. Huh. Uh-huh.” She looked up at me. “Dr. Morales and Dr. Perez aren’t here. Does it have to be today, hon?”
“I promised Dr. Perez I would. What about Dr. Torrico? You know how Carmen is about rules.”
“Don’t I.” Jackson clicked her mouse and scanned her computer screen. “Sit tight. I’ll try to squeeze you in to see Dr. Torrico between patients.”
She dialed her phone. “Liz Cooper is here for her physical and TB shot. Can you fit her in?” After a long string of “uh-huhs,” she hung up and handed me a clipboard. “Fill this out and bring it back to me.”
I crossed the waiting room and dropped into the chair beside Nick. “Victor isn’t here. I wonder if he heard from Carmen and went to the hospital.”
“Or he doesn’t know about Carmen and he’s still with Lucia or home asleep. He was up for four nights in a row with her. I hope she’s better today,” Nick said.
“You can wait for me at Lucia’s if you want. I’ll meet you there after I see Dr. Torrico.”
“I’ll wait.” Nick folded his arms and stretched out his legs while I filled out three pages of standard medical history.
When I returned the clipboard, Jackson peeked over my shoulder. “That your husband?”
I glanced at Nick, slouching in his chair, and said, “My boyfriend. Cute, right?”
“Not bad for a skinny white man,” she said. “He good to you?”
I grinned. “He’s a keeper.”
Helen Leonard, the clinic’s efficient head nurse, came into the waiting room. “We’re ready for you, Liz.” I followed her into the hallway past the children’s playroom, turning left at the open Dutch door to the dispensary, then to the row of exam rooms and offices. She put me inside the last exam room and said, “Everything off except for your panties. Gown opens in front.”
Every examination room in every doctor’s office looked the same to me: beige walls and cabinets, steel instruments, cupboards, exam table, stool, hook to hang my clothes and purse, and magazines so ancient that Brad
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