A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (3 page)

“Hoot.”

“What?”

“You could say: ‘Doesn’t anybody give a
hoot
about that?’ You don’t have to resort to profanity.”

Okay, Satan, take me now!
“Please, Mom, can we stick to the subject?”

“I’m just concerned that you don’t have your priorities straight. Shouldn’t your marriage come first?”

Shouldn’t it? Valerie hadn’t even considered Greg’s reaction. What did that mean?
Later. Think about it later.

“Look, I just wanted to get your opinion about my business idea, not rehash my marital woes. Please.”

Mom shrugged her surrender. “All right.” Then her baby blues softened. “I just want you to be happy, dear. That’s all.”

“I know, Mom. And I appreciate that. But I’ll tell you what, if this new business flies, we may both have something to be happy about.”

Chapter 2

Two months later, as Valerie and Pam sat in a conference room facing a small group of potential investors, Valerie’s dream for the new business seemed like an Etch-a-Sketch drawing being shaken away.

She recalled how Eric, her financial adviser, had briefed her about the people sitting across the table from the three of them.

“These are ‘angel’ investors, which means they’re wealthy people who finance start-ups that the banks and venture capitalists won’t touch. I hand-picked these investors from among my most adventurous clients, and I think they’re gonna eat it up.”

But to Valerie’s chagrin, they were spitting it out.

“I’m not convinced you won’t face sex-discrimination suits,” said the widow of Oscar Van Something, her face lifted so tightly it resembled a drum.

“Our lawyer has studied the Hooters’ litigation, and he’s convinced we can create job categories that will satisfy the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.” Valerie struggled to keep her voice steady.

The old guy with the bolo tie spoke next. “I know you said you expect little need to advertise because of the publicity you’ll get, but that publicity will be short-lived.”

“We realize that.” Pam sat up straighter and unbuttoned her ill-fitting blazer. “So we’ve done a comprehensive market analysis of where it would be most effective to advertise. One important thing we discovered is that using media that only targets seniors would be a huge mistake, since most of the care-buying decisions are actually made by the adult children.”

Oscar’s widow grimaced. “I would hope they’d be made jointly by the children
and
the parents.”

“Well, of course,” Valerie attempted the save. “I think what Pam meant is that the actual purchasing of the services is generally done by the children.”

The guy in the navy suit, whose bald head looked like finely polished mahogany, asked them how two people who’d never worked in health care themselves could possibly run a visiting-nurse service. Pam explained they would hire a nurse manager who could handle all the legalities, education, infection control, and so forth. After she finished, an awkward pause suggested the presentation had ended.

“So!” Eric slapped his hands together and gave the investors an enthusiastic smile. “What do you think?”

“I’ve got to be honest with you,” the widow said. “You’ve got a cute idea, but I’m just not convinced you can make a go of it. I’m going to have to pass.”

The others followed suit, and Valerie felt like she’d been punched in the sternum. Her “brilliant solution” to the dilemma of how to care for Mom now appeared quite dull in the harsh light of reality.

Still, she and Pam mustered the tact to stand and shake the investors’ hands and thank them for coming. After they left, Valerie sank back into her chair. “Now what?”

A tinny version of Pink Floyd’s “Money” rang out from Eric’s cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID. “I’ve gotta take this. Back in a minute.” He left the women alone in the conference room.

Pam crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “We gave it our best shot.”

Valerie brought her fingertips together like a steeple. “I wonder if we have any other options.”

“I thought the angel investors were our last, best hope.”

“Yes, that’s what Eric said.”

Eric burst back into the room looking eager as a puppy. “You won’t believe this.” His pupils were huge.

“What?”

“You know Jack Stenberg? Stenberg Enterprises?”

Valerie nodded. “I’ve heard of him, sure.”

“He just called from China. He’s putting together a big deal over there, and that’s why he couldn’t be here today. Anyway, he read your proposal and he loves it. He’s willing to provide seventy-five percent of the financing if you can come up with the other twenty-five, and he also wants a seat on the board. It’s a great offer. I don’t think you should pass it up.”

Valerie’s mind raced. “I can supply the other twenty-five percent myself.” She didn’t love the idea of having Stenberg on the board, but Eric had warned them that angel investors often liked to play some role in the management of the companies they funded. If that was the only way to get Stenberg’s backing, she preferred the risk of having a nettlesome director over chucking the concept entirely. She stood, squared her shoulders, and looked Eric directly in the eye. “We’ll take it.”

Eric beamed. “Awesome.” He shook her hand. “I’ll get going on the paperwork right away.”

Valerie turned to Pam, who seemed stunned. Valerie’s own heart had gone into overdrive. “We’re really gonna do this, Tonto.” They both started laughing, then did a handshake that turned into a hug.

“Oh, my God.” Valerie shook her head. “I thought we were totally screwed. Let’s go have a three-chocolate-martini lunch to celebrate.”

“Better make it two. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Valerie grinned. “That’s right. We’ve got some hunks to hire!”

Valerie and Pam launched their hunt for hunks right after the investors’ meeting, thinking their offer of higher-than-typical pay and flexible hours would prove irresistible. But after four weeks of advertising, they still were attracting more skunks than hunks.

The young man now seated before them in Valerie’s office typified the candidate pool. Smack-dab in the middle of his shirt, he had a stain that resembled an upside-down SUV and almost certainly originated from something deep-fried. Did he honestly think they wouldn’t notice?

Valerie wrapped up the interview and thanked him for coming in.

After he left, Pam said, “I don’t know why, but I’ve got this incredible craving for fried chicken.”

Valerie groaned. “Did that gross you out as much as it did me?”

“I suppose if we were hiring a chef, it would have been fine. But I have this crazy notion that nurses are supposed to care about cleanliness.”

Valerie sighed as she leaned back in her office chair, rubbing her temples. “I can’t believe some of these losers. I’m not sure I’d let them scoop my litter pan, let alone draw my blood.”

“I know. It’s pretty discouraging.”

Valerie felt a tightening in her chest, but she ordered herself to ignore it. “Well, we found an excellent nurse manager, and we’ll find our Triple-H men, too. We just have to be patient. Who’s next?”

Pam opened the folder on her lap and took out an application. “Thomas Fontana.”

“Another nurse?”

“Yeah. Thomas is an LPN with two years’ experience at Whirley Nursing Home.”

Valerie looked at her watch. “This will be the last one I can sit in on, because my mom’s appointment with Dr. Thaxton is at four.”

“All right.” Pam checked her own watch. “We’ve got a few minutes before he gets here, so this might be a good time to think
inside
the box.”

“Good idea.” Valerie opened the rectangular leather box on her desk and removed two foil-wrapped orbs. They savored their chocolate truffles in silence until Valerie’s administrative assistant called to say Thomas had arrived.

After replacing the phone receiver, Valerie put her hands together in the prayer position and raised her face skyward. “Dear God,
please
give us something we can work with.”

The second Thomas walked into her office, Valerie vowed to put an extra $20 in the collection plate the next time she went to church.

While not hunkaliciously handsome, he did have the kind of well-groomed appearance and polite smile she knew the old ladies would love. The hint of aftershave, wavy brown hair, and cleft chin were just frosting on an already nicely built cake.

Thomas handled himself well throughout the interview, and after he left, Valerie and Pam high-fived.

“We’re on our way, Tonto.” Valerie grabbed her coat and shoulder bag. “Just a few more like him and we’ll be up and running in a couple of months. I’ll call you later to see how the rest of them went.”

“Why don’t we just clone Thomas?” Pam asked.

Valerie laughed as she sailed out the door. Wriggling into her coat, she braced for the wet April chill as she rushed down the hall. Just as she reached the outside door, it swung open.

Her stomach plummeted when she saw the man who stood there. He truly was hunkalicious, but she knew he didn’t want a job. He wanted his wife.

Chapter 3

Helen applied her lipstick the way a pastry chef would decorate petit fours, then assessed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Not bad for an old hag.”

She turned off the bathroom light and ambled into the kitchen, grateful the ankle didn’t bother her nowadays unless a low-pressure system was moving in. “So today’s the big day, Stanley. But don’t you worry. No young whippersnapper could ever take your place.”

Raising the shade above the kitchen sink, she spotted a Baltimore Oriole on the back feeder. “Oh! That’s the first one we’ve had this summer.” She surveyed the backyard. “The grass is growing well. Aren’t you glad you don’t have to mow it anymore? That little Heffernan snot does a decent job, but he charges me—”

The phone rang, and she reached it by the third ring. “Hello?”

“Morning!”

“Hi, Lorraine.”

“Is he there yet?”

“No, I told you he’s not coming until nine.”

“Oh. Aren’t you excited?”

Trying to sound bored, Helen said, “He’s just a home helper, not Prince Charming.”

“How do you know? You haven’t even seen him yet.”

“If he looks like Paul Newman, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Well, call me as soon as he leaves. Oh! I almost forgot the most important reason I called. You know that Charlie fellow who just joined the seniors’ group? With the handlebar mustache? Tall, a little chubby?”

“Oh, yes.” How could she forget? He was the only halfway decent-looking man to join the group in years.

“He was at the lunch yesterday, and he was asking about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes! I think he’s sweet on you.”

“But . . . I barely spoke to him at that Memorial Day barbeque.”

“I told him you used to be an actress, and that you could have made it big if you hadn’t met Stanley.”

“Oh, heavens, Lorraine, that was 60 years ago.”

“So what? How often do you get an opportunity like this? You’ve got to strike while the hormones are hot.”

“Oh, Lorraine,” Helen chuckled. “I hope you didn’t give him my phone number.”

“Of course I did. I’m telling you, single men his age are as rare as grateful children. You’ve got to grab ’em before the next coronary hits.”

The setting June sun hovered just above the treetops as Valerie turned into the restaurant parking lot. Late again. Greg would be royally pissed, even if she did have a good excuse.

Whenever they got together anymore, she braced herself for the possibility he would ask for a divorce. It seemed like every meeting ended with a battle of some sort. Ever since she’d told him about her plans for Triple-H, that subject had become their dinosaur-sized bone of contention. He loved to carp about her “workaholism,” which was the only reason he’d ever given for wanting the separation.

Nonetheless, she kept arranging get-togethers with him. She refused to give up on a marriage that had survived nearly twenty years and four miscarriages. She had her flaws, but she was no quitter.

Before she entered the restaurant, she spotted Greg through the beveled glass of the lobby doors. His dark hair always feathered neatly, and his caramel skin contrasted nicely with his white dress shirt. Her heart still fluttered whenever she saw him, despite everything.

She pulled open the door. “I’m so sorry . . .” Her usual pathetic greeting.

Greg didn’t bother to accept or reject her apology. “The hostess said we can be seated right away if we’re willing to sit in the bar.”

“Works for me.”

The hostess led them to a table in the bar, where a Cubs game blared from one TV and the news from another. The aroma of grilled beef made Valerie crave a steak.

“So how was your day?” she asked.

“Tedious.” His Latin-lover eyes held no trace of good humor.

She tried to be sympathetic, but it never made any difference. “Well, my day was pretty crazy. We—”

“Hey! You’re on TV.” He pointed to the monitor behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to him. “That’s what I was going to tell you—”

“Wait, wait.” He put his hand up while staring at the TV. “I want to hear this.” He got up and walked closer to the TV, so she reluctantly followed.

The reporter asked Valerie how she got the idea to start Home Health Hunks. Valerie’s face filled the screen as she answered, and, watching, Valerie cringed at the parentheses around her mouth.

A shot of Thomas Fontana taking an elderly woman’s blood pressure came next. Then the camera zoomed in on his face as he explained why he worked for Triple-H. “I hate to sound mercenary, but they offered me a lot more money than the nursing home paid. Plus my schedule is much more flexible now.”

The reporter also interviewed the elderly woman, who said, “Growing old is difficult. I think we’re entitled to a little eye candy.”

Valerie glanced at Greg, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face remained impassive.

The reporter wrapped up by saying, “Thanks to Home Health Hunks, Mrs. Naderhoff can satisfy her visual sweet tooth while also getting the services she needs. For WGRW, this is Danielle Douglas reporting.”

“Wow,” Greg said as he turned to Valerie. “Congratulations, Val. You’ve hit the big time.”

She tried to read the truth behind his smile, which appeared forced. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. We’ve only been open for two weeks. It’ll be a while before we know for sure if it’s going to succeed.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will. Because you’ll pour your heart and soul into it. I’ve always admired the way you embrace things with such passion.”

Was he serious? “Thanks.”

“I just wish you could have directed a little more of that passion at me.” His dark eyes pierced her like a laser before he headed for the door.

“Greg, wait!”

He turned and held up a hand to stop her. “Not tonight, Val. Not tonight.” And he walked out.

Valerie entered her office the next morning with her wireless headset glued to her ear. “We do have plans to expand, but not until we’re absolutely sure the business model is successful.” She sat at her desk and started checking e-mails, which poured in at a phenomenal rate. “Sure, my pleasure.”

After ending the call, she pulled the headset off her ear and tossed the device on the desk. She looked up at her administrative assistant, Nicole, and Pam, both of whom had followed her in. “That was
The Wall Street Journal
,” Valerie said. “The reporter called before I even left the house.”

Nicole waved a pile of notes in the air. “You’ve got messages from CNN,
The Chicago Tribune,
and
Yahoo! News, and they all said they’ve got to talk to you today.”

“And I’ve got messages from
Good Morning America
and
The New York Times
,” Pam said.

Valerie’s desk phone rang. The caller ID said CBS. “Oh, my God.” She put her fingertips to her temples. Then she turned the ringer off and did the same to her BlackBerry. “OK, listen. Nicole, I’m going to send all of the interview requests to you, and I want you to schedule one interview every half hour, starting at . . .” She consulted her watch. “9 a.m. That’ll give me about an hour to prepare. But first, I need a double grande non-fat latte.”

Nicole saluted. “Got it, chief.”

After Nicole left, Valerie asked Pam, “Could you close the door? I know you’re swamped, too, but I’ve got to talk to you for a minute about something personal.”

“Sure.” Pam shut the door and sat down.

Valerie noted the concern in Pam’s eyes.
Thank God for Pam
. “I’m afraid Greg is going to ask me for a divorce.”

Pam’s eyebrows drew together. “What happened?”

Staying rooted in her chair, Valerie described the events at the restaurant the night before.

Pam frowned. “He just doesn’t get it, does he?”

“I’ve told him over and over that once we get Triple-H up to speed, I’ll have a lot more time for him. But he says, ‘After that, it’ll just be something else. You didn’t have enough time for me before, so why should I believe you will after?’ You know, the funny thing is, he never used to care how much time I spent at work. I just figured he liked the money, so he tolerated it.”

Pam shook her head and shrugged. “People change. Their needs change.”

Was it really as simple as that? Valerie sighed. “Next Thursday will be our 20
th
wedding anniversary.”

“Holy cow. Maybe you should do something really special. Something that will knock his socks off.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think you want to ask a lesbian how to turn a man on.”

Valerie tapped her fingertips together. “He loves my lasagna, and I haven’t made it for him in years.”

Pam nodded. “The way to a man’s heart . . . Yeah, that’s good.”

“And I could get something really sexy to wear.”

“Now
that
I can help you with.”

“I haven’t shopped for sexy lingerie in years.”

“There hasn’t been a lot of innovation. I’ve always been partial to the merry widow myself.”

“What exactly is that?”

“You know, a bustier with garter straps. Black, usually.”

“On me, that might be more scary than merry.”

“What do you mean? You’re in great shape.”

Valerie shook her head. “You haven’t visited my cellulite lately. I’ll look for something satiny that covers my thighs.”

“Candlelight is always good.”

“You’re right. Soft lighting covers a multitude of sins.”

Pam grimaced. “I meant for setting the mood. And since when is cellulite a sin? If it is, I’m going to hell for sure.”

Valerie laughed. “You and me both. Okay, I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you, Pam.” Valerie stood and held her arms out for a hug, and the two women embraced. “As always, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Just doing my job, boss,” Pam said as she released her and put her hands in her front pockets.

“No, helping me save my marriage is definitely going above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Maybe. But I know how much you love him.”

Valerie felt an odd twinge in her gut. Of course she loved Greg. How could she have any doubts about that? And yet . . . She lowered her gaze. “Yeah. Well, back to work.” She headed for her chair. “Say, would you be interested in fielding any of these interviews?”

“No way, Kemo Sabe.” Pam scooted toward the door. “You can have my 15 minutes of fame.”

“Chicken-shit.” Valerie turned her phones’ ringers back on just in time to get a call from her mom. She debated whether to answer, but duty prevailed. “Hi, Mom.”

“Your ‘hunk’ is a piece of junk.”

“Wha-what are you talking about?”

“I fired him.”

When Valerie left work that night, she resisted the urge to go to the mall and went to her mom’s house instead. She had wanted to shop for some revealing
and
concealing lingerie, but she suspected she’d be too tired after going another round with Helen the Hardhead.

She interrupted Mom’s “dinner,” a grilled-cheese sandwich. She joined her at the table in the kitchen, determined to find out what had led her to fire the Triple-H aide Valerie had very deliberately picked for her.

“So what did he do wrong?”

Picking at the crust on her sandwich, Mom said, “It’s not so much what he did, it’s more what he didn’t do.”

“Okay, what
didn’t
he do?”

Mom straightened her posture. “I asked him to dust the living room, and he didn’t dust any of the pictures.”

“You mean the photos on the shelves?”

“No, I mean the paintings. On the walls.”

She can’t be serious
. “Mom, how dusty can a painting get? It’s hanging vertically.”

Mom huffed. “You’d be amazed how much dust settles on those frames, and it sticks to the glass.”

Breathing in deeply, Valerie said, “Did you
ask
him to dust the paintings?”

Mom scowled. “I shouldn’t have to. He should know these things.”

Great. Now she wants a psychic hunk
. “All right, what else?”

After pondering a moment, she said, “Oh, the grocery shopping.” She got up and shuffled to the refrigerator. “I asked him to get three things, just three things, and not a one of them was right.” She opened the fridge. “I asked for extra-large eggs.” She pulled out a carton of eggs and held it up. “He got me jumbo. I asked for skim milk, he got me one percent. I asked for multi-grain bread, he got me whole grain.”

She slammed the fridge door and returned to her seat at the table. “I would think you could weed out the bad ones in the interviewing process.”

Valerie’s jaw tightened. “I checked Jason’s record after you called, and we’ve had no complaints about him.”

“Really? Well, perhaps my standards are just a little higher.”

Like Mount Everest
. “Perhaps you need to have more realistic expectations. You have to work with these guys, give them time to learn how you like things done.”

Mom tapped the edge of her plate and said nothing.

Valerie sighed. “It’s all right, we’ve got plenty of other guys we can try.”

“I don’t want to try any of the other guys. I don’t need them.”

Valerie slapped a palm on the table. “Mom! I started this business so you could have someone appealing to help you. Now you’re going to reject all of them? How is that going to look when my own mother won’t be a customer?”

Mom glowered at her. “All you care about is that silly business. What about what
I
want?”

Grabbing a hold of her own hair at the roots, Valerie grunted. “I was trying to
give
you what you want.”