Native Affairs Read Free Page B

a cupboard and filled them, shaking her head. “That’s not the point. If you knew Fox better, you would know he’d never buy such a place for himself.”
    Cindy didn’t respond, mulling that over. She accepted her glass from Paula’s hand and drank deeply, pulling her blouse loose from the waistband of her skirt.
    “Do you mind if I take a shower?” she said to Paula. “I’m a little grimy from the trip.”
    “Be my guest. There are towels in the bathroom closet and a robe on the back of the door.”
    Cindy went into the bathroom and started to strip. As she removed her blouse she noticed that there was a crusted scab just below the short sleeve. The blood had congealed into an irregular mass on the inside of her arm.
    She had felt no pain at all. She must have been cut when the window broke.
    Shrugging her shoulders philosophically, she took off the rest of her clothes and got into the shower, turning on the taps and adjusting the flow of water. As she washed the cut it began to bleed again and to sting. Annoyed, she finished her ablutions hurriedly and belted the terry robe around her, wadding up some tissue paper and holding it to the cut. Barefoot and dripping, she padded out to find Paula, who was pressing a white uniform on a portable ironing board set up in the living room.
    “Look at this,” Cindy said, extending her arm. “I didn’t even know the darn thing was there, and now it’s bleeding all over the place.”
    Paula unplugged the iron and moved to take a closer look. “Son of a gun,” she marveled. “That must have happened this afternoon. You mean to tell me you didn’t even feel it?”
    “Nope. I didn’t see it until I took off my blouse.”
    Paula winked. “Too dazzled by Mr. Andrew Fox, no doubt.”
    Cindy sighed. “Do you have a Band-Aid or something?”
    “What, are you kidding? You’re talking to Nurse Nancy here. I’ve got the works on hand at all times for just such emergencies. Have a seat and I’ll be right there. I’ll only charge my evening rates. That’s a reduced fee.”
    “Very comforting,” Cindy said, settling on the edge of the couch and watching warily as Paula produced a zippered bag from the hall closet.
    “First, antiseptic,” Paula announced, kneeling in front of her on the floor. “I love to show off for my friends,” she confided in a lower tone, as she daubed the wound with something from a bottle that looked evil and smelled worse.
    “Ouch,” Cindy exclaimed, pulling her arm back.
    “Still a sissy, I see,” Paula remarked, taping a patch of gauze in place over the cut. “Remember that time in college when you fell from the ledge outside the boys’ dorm? You moaned about your sprained ankle for the rest of the semester.”
    “You’re lucky it wasn’t broken,” Cindy responded sourly. “That’s what I get for going to rescue you when you got stuck up there. I wanted no part of that escapade, if you remember.”
    “Pick, pick, pick,” Paula said cheerfully, recapping the bottle and straightening up. “You have to admit that if not for me your college years would have been far less colorful.”
    “Far more productive, you mean,” Cindy countered, standing and admiring Paula’s neat, professional handiwork.
    “You’re the one who made the dean’s list every marking period,” Paula called from the hall. “I couldn’t have done that much damage.” She walked back into the living room, glancing at her watch. “My turn in the bathroom,” she added. “I’ve got the night shift at the hospital tonight, 7:00 pm to 3:00 am, and I’m running late.” She waved her hand, encompassing the apartment. “Make yourself at home. The refrigerator is full of food; the tv and stereo are self-explanatory. Just make sure you answer the phone because I have to take tenant messages. There’s a pad next to the phone; write down the name and apartment number of anybody who calls and the complaint. The messages are usually complaints.” She grinned,