Rachel Madison
The prison guard came into the infirmary and closed the door behind him. Rachel smiled at him and he shyly looked away. Rachel knew he had a bit of a crush on her; most of the guards did, if for no other reason than there were few attractive women working at the Western Correctional Center.
He cleared his throat. "I got a patient here to see you," he said. Then his face took on a concerned expression. "He's new at the center, and he has a reputation as a bit of a gangbanger. Do you want me to stay with him while you see him?" he asked a bit eagerly.
Rachel smiled again. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I know how to handle his type."
"Whatever you say, Nurse Madison," he said, and departed. A minute later he was back, this time accompanied by a Latino wearing prison garb and carrying a folder. "Sit down," the guard ordered roughly, "and don't give Nurse Madison any trouble or you'll be dealing with me, comprende?"
The prisoner ignored him, choosing to focus on the nurse in front of him.
After the guard had left, Rachel locked the door, then took the folder from the youth and quickly scanned it. "This says that your name is Hector Hernandez and that you're nineteen years old. Is that correct?"
Hernandez gave her a long slow look. "Si, pretty lady."
Rachel ignored his stare and his impertinence. "I'm Nurse Madison, and I'll be monitoring your health while you're here at Western." She proceeded to ask the young man a series of questions relating to his medical history. Hernandez mumbled his answers, obviously paying more attention to the nurse's figure than her questions.
"This says you have juvenile diabetes and that you take insulin every day. Is that correct, Hector?" When he nodded she continued, "Very well, let's get that taken care of right now." She went to the small refrigerator and returned with a syringe. "Please lift up the bottom of your shirt so I can get to your waist."
"Si, Corazon. Or I could take it off so you could see my whole chest. . ."
"That won't be necessary," she said, and swiftly gave him the insulin injection. When she had disposed of the needle, she turned around and crossed her arms, allowing her face to slip into a stern expression. "Mr. Hernandez, you're going to have to adjust your attitude if you want to get along here at Western. I am not your sweetheart, I'm a registered nurse. You will address me as Nurse Madison and you will show me respect in all ways, do you understand?"
He grinned insolently at her. "You can take care of me, but I could take even better care of you if you'd let me. I am very good at making the chicas happy, you know what I mean?" With that, he stuck his tongue out and licked his lips lasciviously.
To his surprise, the nurse gave him a tight grin. "Mr. Hernandez, I just gave you a shot of insulin. Are you sure it was the correct dosage? Are you sure it was even insulin?"
The smile disappeared from Hector's lips.
"What happens the next time you have a headache and want some aspirin?" Rachel continued. "Or what about when it's time for your flu shot? What if I fail to void all the air out of the hypodermic? Do you know what happens when a large air bubble hits your heart?"
The prisoner's expression had grown sullen, and he took a step back from Rachel.
Now the nurse leaned toward him, her face twisted with anger and something else he couldn't read. "I can fuck up your life so fast and in so many ways you can't imagine. So if you don't want to become just another sad tale about a prisoner who died here at the prison, I suggest you treat me with total respect. Do you understand?"
The youth wouldn't look at her. "Si, Senora" he said.
"In English," she demanded.
"Yes," he said.
"Yes, what?" she pressed.
He looked up at her in confusion, then let his head fall as comprehension came. "Yes, ma'am. Yes, Nurse Madison."
A triumphant smile swept over her face. "Very well then, Mr. Hernandez. Now why don't you ask the guard to escort you back to your cell so I can do my paperwork?"
When the guard came to retrieve the prisoner, he paused to ask, "Did everything go okay, Nurse Madison?"
She smiled sweetly at him. "Oh, yes, he was a perfect gentleman. He did everything I wanted - they always do."
Tom Maddux
There was a noise outside his cubicle, and Tom automatically tensed as Harry Williams came barging in. Tom hated noise, he hated interruptions, and most of all he hated Harry, who was everything Tom wasn't. Where Tom was quiet and thoughtful, Harry was an extrovert who reminded Tom of the proverbial bull in the china shop. Where Tom was a team player who strove for consensus, Harry was a natural leader whom others seemed to follow instinctively. Worst of all, where Harry's career seemed to be on the rise, Tom feared that his own had stalled and topped out.
As Harry rattled on good-naturedly about the latest office gossip, Tom felt as though he were under siege, yet there seemed no way to get the big loudmouth out of his office without being rude, something Tom was loathe to do.
Just then, Harry reached across the desk and grabbed Tom's framed picture of Cecilia and himself at their wedding reception. "Is that your wife?" Harry boomed. "She's a knockout. You sure were punching above your weight when you landed her!" he exclaimed.
"Give that back!" Tom yelled and snatched the frame from Harry's hands. "Leave that alone!" Harry was so shocked at Tom's reaction that he backpedaled out the door, mumbling something about an appointment.
Tom slumped back down in his chair, still holding the wedding photo in his hands. He felt ashamed at his outburst, and he felt even worse about the stab of jealousy that had shot through him, causing him to lose control. The truth was that in his heart of hearts Tom felt Harry was right: Cece was indeed out of his league. When he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had never expected her to accept his proposal. But she'd surprised him, and he'd thought himself the luckiest man in the world at the time. He'd never considered that the price for having such an attractive wife was the constant gnawing fear that filled him every time another man looked at her. He believed his wife was faithful, but that didn't turn off the pangs of jealousy. Sometimes he thought it would drive him crazy.
Vincent Madison
Vince liked to think of his workday as having two halves: outside and inside. In the morning he roamed the halls of John F. Kennedy Junior High School, greeting students at the door as they straggled in, dropping by classrooms to see and be seen, roaming the halls between classes to help ensure order and even helping out in the cafeteria. He spent the afternoons mostly working in his office. There he reviewed his mail, attended to the ever-present paperwork, met with parents and held conferences with any teachers or students as needed.
He'd been following this routine ever since he came to JFK Junior High and it suited him like a glove. It also seemed to suit the faculty and parents: they consistently gave Vince high ratings in his evaluations. In fact, his ratings were so good that the word on the street suggested that Vince's next position might be a significant step up in the educational administration.
In the middle of the Friday afternoon before Spring Break, he stepped out from behind the massive desk in his office and stuck his head out the doorway. Spying his secretary at her desk, he asked, "What else have we got on the schedule this afternoon, Mary?" The older woman had to move her paperwork aside to check her desktop calendar; she refused to keep appointments on the computer.
"The rest of the afternoon is pretty clear. Your only appointment is with Mrs. Maddux - you asked her to see you before she left for the day," his secretary reminded him.
"Sounds good," he said casually. "Listen, Mary, if you want to knock off a little early to get started on Spring Break, its fine by me."
"Thank you, Mr. Madison, I think I'll take you up on that. I've been wanting to get started on my garden."
Cece Maddux
Cece loved teaching sixth grade. The boys and girls were rapidly advancing toward their teenage years but they were still youngsters in so many ways. Most had not yet begun to adopt that sullen demeanor that characterizes teenaged relations with adults; instead, they were eager to learn, still eager to please their teacher.
Of course, she thought, some of the girls were developing physically more quickly than others, and some of the boys were beginning to notice. She had already sent notes home to some parents to suggest purchasing bras for their daughters, and she had had to speak with one her students in private about sitting at her desk a bit more modestly while wearing a skirt.
As usual, the boys in her class lagged behind the girls, particularly in their emotional development. But it always intrigued Cece to watch their attitudes toward their female classmates begin to change as the year went on. She bet that quite a few of them would actually ask one of the girls to go to the Spring dance rather than go stag and stand against the walls all evening.
As she hurried down the hall to Principal Madison's office, she felt a twinge of excitement, and she observed to herself that sixth graders weren't the only ones feeling new and unexpected emotions.
