Hidden Jewel

3

A Brave New World

The first official day of summer vacation declared itself with record heat. Temperatures cleared the one hundred and five mark and the humidity was so high, I imagined I could see droplets forming in the air right before my eyes. I had only a few blocks to walk to catch the Saint Charles streetcar, which would take me to Broadmoor General Hospital, where I was to work, but by the time I stepped into the car, my clothes were sopping wet and my hair felt glued to my forehead and scalp. Everyone looked subdued by the heat and humidity and sat with drawn, tired faces, anxious to get into their air-conditioned workplaces. Even the canopy of spreading oak, usually high and regal, appeared weighted down and exhausted, the leaves drooping sadly. The birds that normally flitted about joyfully, looked stuffed and stuck to these branches, not wasting their energy.

But despite the weather, I was bubbling with excitement. Although I didn't expect to do much more than aid the nurses and run errands, I was still looking forward to being around the medical staff and seeing and hearing the business of caring for the sick. For the first time in my life, really, I would be part of that mysterious, magical world in which doctors and nurses, with wisdom, knowledge, and insight, determined the treatments that would heal people and save lives. It wasn't too much of a stretch for me to understand how and why Mommy's Cajun relatives believed in the power of traiteurs. Even though medicine was a science, doctors and nurses were magicians in the minds of most people. They listened to and viewed our insides to discover where our bodies broke down and what tiny enemies had invaded us to do us harm.

Broadmoor General had been constructed on a grassy knoll. Two pairs of tall, full sycamore trees stood out in front, and patches of Queen Anne's lace ran alongside the driveway. The gardens were filled with azaleas, yellow and red roses, and hibiscus. Trumpet vine ran over the lower gallery, and purple wisteria peeked through the scrolled iron fence. Off to the right was-E small pond, the water the color of dark tea.

The original building had been a mansion seized by the Confederate army during the Civil War and converted into an emergency hospital. The facility had been expanded and modernized over the years, but it wasn't one of the city's biggest. However, Daddy thought I would get more out of working in a small hospital because it would be more personal.

The streetcar stopped about a block away, and I walked quickly to the front entrance. The lobby was tiny compared to those of the more modern hospitals in the city. The old chandeliers had been replaced with bright, antiseptic-looking fluorescent lights, and the beige walls had been freshly painted. The tile floor had just been scrubbed; a small sign warned about it being slippery. I paused at the information desk to get directions to the personnel office. An elderly lady in a pink uniform directed me to the short corridor on the right and told me it was the first door on the left.

I found a tall, dark-haired woman slamming file cabinet drawers closed while she kept her eyes on a duplicating machine that was spitting out forms. When she turned to see who had entered the office, I noticed a thin blue ink stain on her chin. She was at least six feet tall with very hard, bony features. Her collarbones were prominent under her dark blue blouse. She had long arms and hands with slender fingers.

Her smile was a quick rubber-band tightening of her lips, a pale red line slashed across her face. She tweaked her slim nose and widened her dull brown eyes, the lids of which had been drooping to the point of shutting completely. She gasped before speaking as if she had to suck in enough air to make speech sounds first.

"Yes?" she asked, not disguising her annoyance at being interrupted.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Morgan," I said.

"I'm Mrs. Morgan."

"Bonjour! I'm Pearl Andreas, I'm reporting to work today," I said. "Mr. Marbella, the hospital administrator, said I should come here as soon as I arrived."

"You have to fill out these papers," she said, gesturing toward a small, narrow table on my right. There were stacks of forms on it.

"All of them?" I asked.

"Start at the left and fill out one form from each of the first three stacks. Be sure to put down your Social Security number. I can't issue a release to the financial office so they can issue your first paycheck unless that's included. And be sure it's correct."

"Yes, ma'am."

"As soon as you have all that completed, go see Mrs. Winthrop on the second floor. She's the head nurse on this shift. You can take the stairway at the end of the hall and make a right. She'll issue you a uniform and explain your duties."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your uniform doesn't belong to you," she lectured. "It belongs to the hospital. You can take it home, if you like, and you are responsible for keeping it clean and in good shape. A ten-dollar deposit will be held against your first week's salary."

She leaned over the desk and looked down at my feet. "You can wear those sneakers today, but tomorrow you should wear soft-soled white shoes. You can buy them at Medical Supplies on Canal Street. You have to pay for them yourself."

"I understand," I said.

She sighed again; this time it looked like her body would simply collapse inside her blouse and skirt, the hem of which-was so low it brushed the floor when she walked. "Is this your first job?"

"Well, actually . . ."

"I'll explain all about FICA, withholding, medical, food allowances . . . after you complete the forms," she said and shook her head. "My assistant is out sick again. She usually handles new enrollments. She works in a hospital and she's constantly out sick," she added. "I haven't missed a day's work in twelve years, but people don't have the same attitude about their work anymore. Younger people are very lackadaisical when it comes to responsibilities."

"I'm not," I said. "Actually, I'm very excited about working here this summer. I'm going to become a doctor," I told her.

"Really?" She bit the inside of her cheek and tilted her head. "I myself have never gone to a woman doctor, and probably never will." She snapped her head straight and nodded toward the desk as if someone had poked her to remind her she was at work. She jabbed her long right forefinger toward the stack of forms. "The quicker you fill those out, the quicker you can earn your pay. You have to punch in and punch out every day right over there," she said nodding toward the opposite wall. "I'll have your temporary card for you before the day's over. For today I'll write in when you actually begin. Don't expect to get credit for the time it takes to fill out the forms."

"Yes, ma'am," I said and went to the forms. After I completed them all and handed them to her, she rattled off the information about my pay voucher slip, explaining everything so fast that I barely had time to hear, much less comprehend.

Then she leaned toward me, pursed her lips for a moment, and said, "Do your work and don't put your nose into anyone else's affairs and you'll do fine."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said. She stood back and nodded toward the doorway. I hurried out and up the stairs to the second floor. The nurses' station was located near the center of the corridor. A nurse who looked about fifty with curly gray hair and friendly blue eyes turned my way as I approached. A short, slim black girl with large round eyes stood beside her.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Winthrop," I said. "I'm Pearl Andreas."

"Oh, yes, dear. I'm Mrs. Winthrop. We've been expecting you. Sophie will take you to the linen closet and find you a uniform," she said, nodding at the slim black girl, who looked no more than sixteen. Her hair was cut very short, and she had a tiny but prominent scar on the left side of her jaw. She came around the desk quickly.

"This way," she said. She stared at me hard, dropping her eyes to my feet and raising her gaze to my face. When we were far enough away from the nurses' station, she spun around. "What do you want to be a nurse's aide for?" she demanded. "You look rich."

"I want to work in a hospital during my summer vacation because I hope to study medicine," I told her. "I want to get as much experience on my own as I can."

"You want to be a doctor? How long do you have to go to school to get your degree?" she asked, looking friendlier than before.

"You go to college and medical school for about seven years, and then you do your internship in a hospital. I'll be in my late twenties before I can practice on my own."

"We've got one of those," Sophie said.

"One what?"

"An intern. Dr. Weller. He's not a full doctor, though. He's got years to go yet."

"Well, it does take years and years of hard work. I hope I can stick it out," I said.

She narrowed her eyes again. "You sure you want to be a doctor?"

"I'm sure."

"I've never seen a woman doctor here."

"Well, maybe I’ll be the first," I said and smiled.

She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then narrowed her eyes skeptically. "You ever give someone a bedpan?"

"No."

"You ever cleaned up vomit?"

"Once, when one of my brothers got sick," I replied. She leaned toward me. "You ever seen blood, lots of blood?" she demanded.

"I've seen blood," I assured her.

"And guts?"

"I've dissected animals and I know what's inside a human being," I said.

Sophie stepped back, shocked. "Where did you do that?"

"In school in the lab. Didn't you?"

"I only went to school through the fifth grade," she told me, "and we didn't have a lab, but I clean the lab here, so I've seen blood and guts and smelled it, too. You got to have a stomach made of iron. I do. Nothing makes me throw up anymore," she added proudly.

"I'm glad," I said. "It would be hard for you to come to work every day if you got sick to your stomach all the time."

She nodded. "The other girl, the one who come here last Friday, she got white as chalk the first day and puked in the bathroom for half an hour before Mrs. Winthrop sent her home. I'm glad you're here because I've been doing twice the work ever since that girl left."

"I won't throw up. I promise," I said.

She looked satisfied and led me to the linen room. There weren't many uniforms. The ones that were there were either way too big or too small. The best fit was so snug I had to leave the top two buttons of the bodice undone. "I guess this will have to do for now," I said.

"What's that around your ankle? Is it a dime?" Sophie asked.

"Yes. It's a good-luck charm."

She eyed me suspiciously for a moment. "Who gave it to you?"

"My mother. Someone special gave it to her a long time ago."

"My mama says people who wear a dime around their ankle be practicing voodoo."

"The dime is good gris-gris, if that's what you mean, but I don't practice voodoo."

"Does your mama?"

"No, not really," I said, but she continued to eye me warily.

"How old are you?" Sophie asked.

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in two months. How old are you?"

"The truth or what I tell people here?"

"The truth."

"I'll be fourteen next August, but they all think I'm going to be seventeen. Don't you tell," she warned.

"I won't."

"Let's go see Mrs. Winthrop."

"Is that the best fit you can find for her, Sophie?" the head nurse asked immediately.

"The others are much smaller or much, much bigger, Mrs. Winthrop," Sophie said. "We tried them all."

"I'm afraid this is the best," I said.

"Well, I'll ask Mr. Marbella to order more uniforms. Now that you're here, Pearl, we'll divide the floor between you and Sophie. You take rooms 200 to 205; Sophie will see to the rest." She checked her watch. "It's time to bring the patients their juice and refill their water pitchers. Sophie will show you where things are."

Sophie took me to the kitchen where we found another, much younger nurse talking with the intern. He was sitting with his back to us, and she was leaning against the counter. They were laughing when we entered.

" 'Scuse me," Sophie said and did a small curtsy. "We got to start on the juice."

The nurse smirked and moved away from the refrigerator. I saw from her name tag that she was Mrs. Crandle. She had light brown hair trimmed at the nape of her neck, hazel eyes and a firm mouth that dipped with annoyance at the corners. She wasn't unattractive, but her nose was a little too sharp and too long. The intern spun around in his chair and smiled widely when he saw me.

"Well now, who have we here?" he asked.

"She's the new nurse's aide," Sophie explained. "Her name's Pearl."

"Well, hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Weller. My mother always thought I should be a doctor because of our name. Get it? I make people weller." He laughed, but Mrs. Crandle grimaced as if it pained her to hear his joke again.

"Hi," I said. He rose to his full five feet eleven inches and extended his hand. He widened his smile to show me his very white and perfect teeth. His dark eyes sparkled wickedly when I put my hand into his. He folded his fingers over it quickly. His skin was as fair as mine, though in contrast to his dark hair, it made him look a little too pale. His strong chin sported a devil's cleft and another dimple in his right cheek flashed in and out apparently at will.

"About time we dressed up this place," he said, still grinning from ear to ear. He shot a look at Mrs. Crandle, who raised her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Just what we needed," she remarked, "another thing to distract you from your work."

"Don't mind her. I'm never distracted from any-thing I put my mind on," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on me. He dropped his eyes slowly and raised them with a look of appreciation. "That's the sexiest nurse's aide uniform I've seen," he added.

"There aren't any that fit me better, but . . ." I began, feeling my face grow warm as my cheeks turned crimson.

"Hey, I didn't say this doesn't fit you." He laughed. He was still holding my hand.

"We've got to start bringing the juice to the patients," I said.

"Sure." He flashed another amused smile and released my hand.

"She gonna be a doctor too," Sophie bragged.

"Is that right?"

"Yes," I said.

"Not a nurse, a doctor?"

I looked at Mrs. Crandle who had turned back to me sharply when he asked the question.

"I think nurses are just as important," I said, "but I'm interested in practicing medicine outside the hospital too."

"Oh? Very ambitious." He frowned, putting ripples in his forehead. In a deeper voice he asked, "How are your grades in school?"

"I was class valedictorian," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive. We better watch our p's and q's, Mrs. Crandle," he joked.

"I would say you should watch the whole alphabet and not just the p's and q's," she remarked. "I have an I.V. to hook up. Don't you have anything to do, Doctor?"

"Whoa," he said. "Yes, I do. Well, good luck, Pearl. Please don't hesitate to ask me any questions," he said and reluctantly followed Mrs. Crandle.

"He's always making jokes," Sophie said. "Mrs. Crandle says some of his patients will laugh them-selves to death. Can people do that, laugh themselves to death?"

"I don't think so," I said. She looked unconvinced, but nodded and then showed me where everything was located. I loaded my cart and began my rounds. There were two elderly women in my first room, one of whom was on a heart monitor; a man with a broken leg in the second, and a woman in her thirties undergoing tests for a stomach problem in the third. Her name was Sheila, and she was obviously very nervous and concerned. "I have to fast for a day," she told me. "Tomorrow morning I'm having another test."

"What's wrong with your stomach?" I asked.

"I get terrible pains right here whenever I eat," she said, pointing.

"They're looking at your gallbladder?"

"Yes. How did you know? Did the same thing happen to you once?" she asked hopefully.

"No. I just know that's where it is and that's where you would feel pain if it was acting up. But that doesn't have to be the reason," I added quickly.

"I know," she said sadly. "It could be something else. It could be something far more serious."

"Don't get yourself upset. Wait for all the reports. Most of the time, our imaginations make more of it than it is," I told her. I had overheard our doctor say that to Mommy once when Pierre and Jean both came down with a bad case of whooping cough. Sheila smiled, and I fixed her bed and made her more comfortable.

When I turned to go on to my next room, I saw Dr. Weller standing in the doorway, a slow grin forming around his lips. He stepped back into the corridor as I emerged with the juice cart.

"I overheard what you said." He leaned toward me. "If Mrs. Winthrop heard you giving patients medical advice, she would send you right home."

"I didn't give—"

"You let her believe it might be her gallbladder. Uh-uh-uh," he said, wagging his forefinger. Then he laughed. "It's all right. Chances are very good that you're right. Actually," he said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms, "you did a smart thing deciding to work in the hospital during your summer vacation. You'll pick up a lot just hanging around and listening."

"That's what I thought, too," I said.

"You know, I'm studying and learning every day myself. I'm interning here under Dr. Bardot. He's constantly testing me." He smiled. "I bet you can help me," he said, nodding with a thoughtful look.

"Me? How?"

"You can be my study partner. You know, ask questions, test me on stuff. Do you have a heavy social schedule?" he asked.

"Social schedule?"

"Do you punch a clock with a boyfriend, too?"

"Oh. No, not anymore," I said.

"Good. Maybe you'll give me some time, then. I promise you'll learn a lot too," he added. "And I don't mean just medical information. I can fill you in on what to expect, how to prepare your applications, interviews. Ifs getting harder and harder to get into a good medical school in this country, you know. There are a lot of valedictorians out there competing for the same spaces," he warned.

I thought a moment. Learning about all this was why I had wanted to work here.

"Okay," I said. "Do you study during breaks?"

"Oh, no. We'll do it after work. I don't live far from here. It's a small apartment I took near Tulane University. That's where I attended premed and med school. You expect to go there?"

"I might, yes," I said.

"Fine. I'll fill you in on all the nitty-gritty. What's your shift tomorrow? Same as today?"

"Yes."

"I'm free about the same time. We can start right away—if that's all right with you, that is," he said.

I hesitated. I liked the idea of working with an intern, but why had he chosen me and so quickly? "Wouldn't you rather work with someone who is already a medical student?" I asked.

"They want to study only what they need." He smiled again. "Hey, I won't bite you, and even if I did, I'd treat the wound," he added and laughed. "But if you think you'll be uncomfortable or—"

"No, it's all right."

"Great. And don't worry about getting home afterward. I'll see to that. I'll even make you dinner, if you like. Nothing fancy, of course. I'm not living on a doctor's salary yet. Fact is, and you better know it now, interns are medical slaves. But we all gotta pay our dues. See you later." He winked and walked down the corridor.

I wondered if I had agreed too fast to help him. He was already an intern. I probably wouldn't under-stand half the questions. Surely I would just be wasting his time and my own, I thought, but then I thought, He should know that, and yet he still wants me to help him.

"This isn't exactly a place to daydream," I heard someone say. Mrs. Crandle was standing in the door-way of my next room.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said and hurried on.

Sophie wasn't exaggerating about the problems we could encounter as aides. An elderly man in room messed his bed, and I had to clean it up. I must have swallowed a hundred times and held my breath for an hour before I was finished. Mrs. Crandle made me wash down the bed frame and scrub the floor around the bed as well.

Sophie and I had to run down to the laundry and carry up fresh linens. I emptied a half dozen bedpans and cleaned bathrooms. I thought my first day at the hospital would be relatively uneventful and just the sort of work I had expected, but shortly before my shift ended, Mrs. Conti, the elderly woman in room 200, had a heart attack. Mrs. Crandle called for a Code E Blue, and Dr. Weller came running from the other end of the corridor. I watched them wheel in a defibrillator. Another doctor came from the third-floor cardiac care unit. They worked and worked, but Mrs. Conti's heart had stopped dead and didn't start again.

Her roommate, Mrs. Brennen, cried hysterically and had to be sedated. There was a flag of mourning on everyone's face. Mrs. Conti had been dozing when I had delivered her juice and had barely opened her eyes when I returned to freshen her water pitcher and see if she needed anything. I had seen and heard her heart monitor, and Mrs. Brennen had told me that Mrs. Conti had been upstairs in the cardiac care unit for ten days before being brought down to the second floor.

"Why wasn't she still upstairs?" I whispered to Dr. Weller when he emerged after the failed effort to revive her had ended.

"They sent her down two days ago because she had made enough progress and they needed room for another patient." He shrugged. "Can't always predict it," he said and then flashed a challenging smile. "Still want to be a doctor?"

I looked back at the room in which the dead woman still lay. Her family didn't know yet, but I was sure she would soon be mourned and missed. When I envisioned the saddened children and grandchildren, I felt anger boil in the base of my stomach. If I had been her doctor, she wouldn't have been moved out of the cardiac care unit.

"More than ever," I replied.

He tilted his head back and laughed. "Maybe you're the real thing. Something tells me I've found the right study helper." He looked back at the room and sighed. "Gotta go do the paperwork," he said. "That's a part of being a doctor you'll soon learn to hate too."

Maybe I was naive, but I thought there was no part of being a doctor I would hate.

I hadn't done all that much, but when my shift ended, I felt exhausted. Most of it was from the tension of starting the work and the emotional strain that resulted from seeing someone die. I changed back into my street clothing and left the corridor with Sophie. She and I stepped into Mrs. Morgan's office to punch out.

"How did you do?" she asked and looked at Sophie. "She did fine, just fine," Sophie said quickly. "She didn't throw up once."

Mrs. Morgan smiled. "Well, that's an accomplishment. Here is your regular card. Punch in when you begin your shift and punch out when you end, and remember to buy some white shoes," she reminded me.

"Yes, ma'am."

Sophie and I left the hospital. The humidity hadn't diminished a degree, but the sun had gone down enough to lower the temperature.

"My mother says I'm lucky because I work in an air-conditioned hospital," Sophie said as we started down the driveway.

"What does she do?"

"Laundry."

"What about your father?"

"He works in the Quarter. He's a cook. I got two younger sisters still in school and a brother who's in the army. What about you?"

"I have twin brothers, twelve years old. Where do you live, Sophie?"

"On the other side of the Quarter. I take the car to Canal Street."

We waited for the streetcar together.

"How long have you worked in the hospital?" I asked her.

"Little more than a year."

"Don't you want to return to school? There's a lot more for you to learn," I said.

She dropped her eyes quickly. "Can't," she said. "Gotta work."

"Why? Doesn't your father make good money as a cook?" I knew good cooks in the Quarter were valuable.

Sophie shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "We don't know for sure."

"What? Why not?"

"He doesn't live with us," she told me just as the streetcar came around to our station. She hurriedly boarded, I sat beside her, and we both looked out the window as the car rattled down the track. "He doesn't even come to the house anymore," she continued. "He just sends some money around from time to time. If I want to see him, I have to go down to the restaurant, but he never has time to talk much."

"I'm sorry," I said. When the car approached my station and I stood up, Sophie looked very impressed.

"You live in the Garden District?"

"Uh-huh."

"I never even walked down here," she said.

"Maybe one day you can stop off and have dinner with me," I suggested.

"Really?" Her smile faded. "I usually gotta get right home to help Mama."

"Maybe you can work it out," I suggested. "See you tomorrow. Thanks for helping me get started. Bye."

"Bye," she called.

When I got home everyone wanted to hear about my first day at work. The twins made faces and groaned when I described some of the cleanup work I had to do, but when I told them about the death of Mrs. Conti, the twins' eyes lit up with interest.

"You saw a dead woman?" Pierre asked.

"Yes."

"Did you touch her?" Jean said.

"No."

"Did she smell?"

"I think we can change the topic until after dinner," Daddy said. "Don't you, Pearl?"

"Yes, Daddy."

I went on to tell them about Sophie, but the twins weren't interested in anything except Mrs. Conti, When I told Daddy about Dr. Weller, he sat back and looked at Mommy.

"He just met you and he wants to make you dinner?" she asked.

"I guess because we aren't going to study until after work. Why?"

Daddy looked troubled.

"I'm sure he's just impressed with Pearl, and since she's shown an interest in medicine . . ." Mommy said.

Daddy thought for a moment and relaxed. "I suppose you're right, Ruby. You usually are when it comes to people. Your mother's going to have a new exhibition in two weeks," he added proudly. "And your picture is going to be part of it."

"That's wonderful, Mommy."

We talked about Mommy's artwork, and after a dessert of crème brûlée, Daddy took me to buy some soft-soled shoes, and Mommy went to work in her studio.

"Well," Daddy said in the car, "after being on the front lines, what do you think?"

"I think I want to become a doctor even more, Daddy." He nodded. "What really stopped you, Daddy?" I asked again. I knew his family had the money to put him through medical school and that he had been a very good student.

"My family was upset with me, especially after your mother became pregnant. I was very upset with myself for leaving Ruby, and for a while I was self-destructive. I drank heavily while I was in Europe, and I wasted my time and talent. And then . . ."

He paused and I saw how his eyes focused on a memory. "And then I heard that Ruby had married Paul. I soaked myself in self-pity, cut classes, and wasted time. Suddenly one morning there was a knock on my apartment door. When I opened it, I found your aunt Gisselle standing there. For a moment I thought she was Ruby. They had such identical faces. I let myself imagine, and your aunt Gisselle encouraged my illusions. The rest you know. Gisselle and I were married, and I returned to work in the Dumas enterprises.

"That's why I am so happy you are pursuing the career I cast aside," he said, turning to me with tears burning behind his eyelids. "I know you will be a wonderful doctor, Pearl."

"I'll try, Daddy," I said, my heart aching, my throat closing as I swallowed my tears. "I'll try."

After we returned home, the twins pleaded with me to tell them more about Mrs. Conti and what it was like to see a corpse. I finally pulled out some of my books on anatomy and let them look at the pictures. They were fascinated with what was inside their bodies, but Jean was upset about it as well.

"I'm glad we have skin covering everything," he remarked. "So I don't have to look at it."

Pierre laughed, but I closed the books and lectured both of them about how wonderful the human body was. "The human body is. one of the most perfect creations in the universe" I explained.

"If it's so perfect, why do we get sick?" Jean demanded.

"It's perfect but not invulnerable," I said.

He grimaced with confusion.

"She means you can't stop the germs from flying up your nose or into your mouth," Pierre said. "Unless you walk around with your nose plugged up and your mouth taped shut. But then they could get in your ears, right, Pearl?"

"So we'll plug up our ears," Jean said.

"Then you can't hear."

"So we always get sick," Jean concluded sadly.

"But that's why we need doctors, right, Pearl?" Pierre asked.

I smiled. "Yes, Pierre."

"Couldn't the doctors stop Mrs. Conti from dying?" Jean asked.

"She was old. Her body was tired."

"She was worn out, like our tricycles," Pierre explained.

Jean nodded, and then he suddenly burst into a flashbulb smile. "We'll need a doctor living with us and keeping us from getting too sick all the time. We'll have Pearl!"

I laughed. "It will be a while yet, Jean."

"And she won't be living with us. She'll be grown up and married with her own children," Pierre explained.

Jean's smile faded.

"But I promise. I'll always look after you two," I said, which restored the brightness to Jean's face. "Now go up and get ready for bed. Everyone, especially a young person growing a foot a day, needs rest."

"Or else those organs in your body will shrivel up," Pierre threatened. Jean's eyes widened and he turned to me.

"No, they won't," I assured him. "But go on." They jumped to their feet.

"Good night, Pearl," Pierre said.

"Good night, Pearl." Jean smiled impishly. "I hope you don't have a nightmare about Mrs. Conti."

Pierre pulled him out, and they scurried up the stairs, laughing.

It wasn't too much longer before I followed them to bed myself. I had just crawled under my covers when the phone rang. It was Catherine. We hadn't spoken since graduation night. I sensed a formality in her voice. There wasn't any of the warmth and excitement of our former relationship.

"Did you start working in the hospital?" she asked. "Today."

"How did it go?" she asked with little real interest. "I think I’ll learn a lot," I said. "An intern asked me to help him study."

"Oh? What's he look like?"

"It's nothing like that. He just wanted someone to help him keep sharp. An intern's really still a student. It's a great opportunity for me, too."

"Good for you." After a moment she said, "Everyone's still mad at you for not going to Lester's. They think you're a snob."

"I'm not running for political office," I said dryly.

"You shouldn't forget who your real friends are," she said. "Even if you are the smartest girl in the school."

"I never forgot them, but as I told you, real friends protect and look after each other."

"Everyone is the butt of a joke sometimes, Pearl. Don't you think you overreacted?"

She was silent a moment and then decided to fire with both guns. "Claude had a good time with Diane. They went into one of the guest rooms and didn't come out until morning. They're seeing each other regularly now."

"Then maybe that was meant to be," I said.

Catherine sighed with frustration. "I swear you are the hardest person to be friends with," she concluded.

I was speechless for a moment. Was she right? Things that interested most girls my age didn't seem to be as important to me. Was that a curse or a blessing?

"Anyway, we're going away for our summer holiday. I won't see you for three weeks. I suppose you don't care."

"I said I was disappointed about what happened and what you did, Catherine, but I hope you will see my point and we'll still be friends."

"And I hope the lifeguard I met last year is working at the beach again. He thought I was too young for him, but maybe he'll change his mind this year."

"How old was he?"

"Twenty-three. I know. You think he's too old for me," she said quickly.

"No. That's not too old for you."

"Really? I don't think so either." She lowered her voice. "But my parents wouldn't be happy. How would your parents feel about it?"

"I don't know," I said. "I suppose if we really cared for each other, they wouldn't complain."

"Your mother's so understanding. Well, maybe I'll drop you a postcard."

"Do that, Catherine."

"Don't give anyone the wrong pills," she warned. "I'm not permitted to dispense medication. I'm just an aide."

"Well don't give anyone the wrong aid," she said and laughed. "Look. I'm sorry. Maybe you're right. Maybe the girls went too far and I should have told you right away, but I didn't want everyone to hate me, too."

"Too?"

"You know what I mean. Anyway, I said I was sorry."

"Okay. Thanks. Have fun."

"I will," she promised and we hung up. I sat there for a moment thinking. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the voice of a little girl trying to hold on, trying to keep me from being so serious. But it was a voice that was dwindling and barely audible anymore.

Whether I liked it or not, I was rushing headfirst into adulthood now. And there was nothing to do about it but sit back and enjoy the ride.

I fell asleep quickly after Catherine and I spoke, but I did have a nightmare about Mrs. Conti. I saw her eyes pop open when I returned to her room, and they were glassy and milky white. Then I thought about Dr. Weller and his impish smile. "Still want to be a doctor?" he had challenged.

"More than ever."

I mumbled it in my sleep.

"More than ever."