Paul pivoted, proud of his profile for the first time.
“Oh yes. The bump is gone.” Camille studied him the same way the doctor had. “It looks good. What did it cost you? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Paul did mind. “I’d rather not say. I’ve been saving for it for a long time.”
“That’s okay.” She laughed softly. “I can get an approximation in thirty seconds on the net.”
Paul smiled. “It was worth it. I’ve hated my nose for as long as I can remember.”
“It’s going to be cute.” She leaned in. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Little fireworks went off in Paul’s chest. “Of course.”
“I had my eyebrows done three years ago.”
“What do you mean? Your face is perfect.” He realized he’d only been working with Camille for a year and a half.
“My eyebrows were droopy, so I had an arch put in.”
Paul knew she was only thirty-three so all he said was, “You look fantastic.”
“Thanks. My mother gave me a lot of grief about it. She thinks I’m vain.”
“Nonsense. You just want to look your best, so it’s money well spent.” Paul experienced a rush of camaraderie, something he hadn’t had since college. “My foster mother just wants me to be happy. She was very supportive about my surgery.”
Camille squeezed his arm. “I’m happy for you too.”
Paul seized his opportunity. “Would you like to have lunch today? I’ll tell you some of the weird details.”
Only a slight hesitation. “Yes. I’d like that. Let’s meet at Thai Palace again at twelve-thirty.”
At lunch, Camille talked about her previous job as a program host and the pressure she’d been under to look perfect. Her eventual layoff had devastated her. He mentioned getting his teeth capped and she gave him the name of a cosmetic dentist. They walked back to the federal building together, moving quickly to get out of the bitter cold, then Camille hurried off to speak with someone on the first floor. Paul took the elevator up to the third floor and encountered his boss as he stepped off.
“How was your vacation week?” Stacia asked. Her eyes darted over his face, trying to decide what was different.
“Good, thanks. Are we meeting as usual this afternoon?”
“Briefly. But while you were out, a Congressional budget committee ordered another round of pay-grade assessments, so we have a lot to accomplish this month.” Stacia started to move past him, then turned back. “You look good, Paul. Are you working out?”
“I am. Thanks for noticing.”
He had a little bounce in his step as he walked to his small office near the bathrooms. Not only was no one laughing at his nose, women were actually noticing him! He decided to stay after work and scan the replacement database again. If he had another twenty thousand, he could get his teeth capped and a chin implant. A real chin would make the difference he was looking for. Maybe then Camille would become his girlfriend and he’d have sex for only the third time in his life.
Frustrated with his lack of progress, Paul glanced at the time on the corner of his screen: 6:06 p.m. He would need to leave soon if he didn’t want to explain to anyone why he was working so late. Hungry and tired, he took his third diet pill for the day and decided to give the search fifteen more minutes.
He’d spent most of his time searching the replacement database for someone who would be receptive to an offer of advancement. In theory, that could be almost any employee, but Paul wanted to narrow the risk and approach someone with known qualities. He’d come up with a list of seven possibilities, but none seemed ideal. Paul decided to switch tactics and search for someone vulnerable to getting fired. That was the trickier part of the mission anyway.
Moments later, he stared at the file of Robert Morales, who worked for the Department of Energy. The DOE had nearly been eliminated during the great downsizing of 2017, but a civil war in Iran led to even less oil on the market, forcing Congress to shrink the department instead of cutting it. The Department of Education and dozens of others had not fared so well.
As a deputy inspector general, Morales was in charge of audits and inspections. Allegations said he’d been taking bribes in exchange for burying the paperwork of companies that didn’t meet requirements. Without direct testimony, the case would be hard to prove, so Paul expected the DOE was looking for another reason to fire him. Maybe he could provide them with one. Paul was relieved to find someone who deserved to lose his job. He didn’t want to experience any guilt this time.
As he opened Morales’ list of replacements, his iCom beeped. He didn’t recognize the number, but felt an urgent impulse to answer. He touched the tiny receiver in his ear. “Hello.”
“Paul Madsen?”
“Yes.”
“This is George Howard Hospital. We found your number in Isabel Turner’s iCom. She’s had a heart attack, and we’re trying to contact her family.”
“Are you there?”
“Yes. What is her condition? Is she conscious?”
“Off and on, but she’s critical and we think you should come now.”
“I’m on my way.”
Chapter 17
Paul hurried down the hall to the critical care unit. He pushed the access button and waited for a nurse in pink scrubs to open the double metal doors and admit him.
“I’m here to see Isabel Turner.”
“I’m Nina,” said the coffee-skinned woman with tiny doll-like features. “Are you Paul Madsen?”
“Yes. How is she?”
“There’s been no change. But your mother is conscious at the moment.” Paul didn’t correct her. As far as he was concerned, Isabel was his mother, even though he’d never called her that. He was grateful she was old enough to have a med card, but she was enrolled in the new Medicare and her voucher only afforded a skimpy coinsurance policy.
They moved past several rooms, all with elderly patients who looked near death. Paul’s fear deepened. “Will she recover?”
“We don’t know.”
The nurse stepped through the doorway to room 302 and said, “Isabel, your son is here.”
Paul moved to the bed and reached for Isabel’s hand. Her eyes were closed and it scared him. The hospital gown, the tube in her nose, the slack grayish skin-for the first time he saw his foster mother as an old woman. “I came as quickly as I could.”
“Paul.” The word was barely a whisper.
He fought back tears as he struggled for what to say. He wanted to be positive, but not ridiculous. “I love you. I need you in my life. Stay strong.”
She opened her eyes. “I don’t feel strong.”
“You’ll get better.” Paul pulled up a chair. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was walking home from the senior center, then I woke up here.” She seemed to draw strength from his presence, and her voice became clearer.
“Have you been taking your meds?” Isabel was on three maintenance prescriptions for metabolic disease, but now that dementia had started to set in, she sometimes forgot to take them.
“I think so.” She winced.
