GETTING IT ALL
by ardavenport
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
"Fire Department!"
The sudden noise jolted Betty out of her daze. She blinked up at the red on the wall, her eyes going up to the splatter on the ceiling. She coughed from the smoke still coming from the wreckage of the television set like a oily black smear in the air of the living room. Burning plastic, wires and electricity. They had forgotten to unplug it the last time Jerry unscrewed the back. She saw the cord hanging from the wall socket just before the flash.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
"Fire Department!"
"WWWwhhhaaaa-aaaaaaa!"
Startled, she leaned toward the back hallway, pushing herself unsteadily up off the sofa, her feet kicking past the telephone receiver on the carpet. The noise had woken little Petey up. Oh no. She looked back, down to where her husband lay on the floor. Bright red blood on his white shirt, on the wall, the ceiling. His face was turned away from her. Petey shouldn't see that.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
"Fire Department!"
"WWwaaa-whhhaaaa-aaaaaaa!"
Hand clutching her stomach, she continued stumbling toward the front door, past a shadow of a head looking in through the curtains. She grabbed the knob and turned, jerking it toward her.
"Oh."
Surprised, she saw firemen there in heavy coats, black helmets, sky blue shirts. The house wasn't on fire, not really, just some smoke. Her hand slipped from the door frame.
"Whoa!" "Oh, hey, hey!" "Ma'am, Ma'am!"
One of them caught her and she was suddenly looking up at the house, tree branches, sky and his face, black hair, brown eyes; his mouth was moving. She pushed herself up, grabbing for his support, her feet scrambling to get under her. They fell back over the threshold, the bodies of the strange men pushing past.
"Holy smokes!" "Oh, man!" "Aaaiii!"
The sounds seemed to catch up to what was happening.
"Ma'am, Ma'am, sit down, just sit down." Resisting, she grabbed the man's arms, but she had no strength at all and he pushed her to sit down on the floor. She sat with the doorframe uncomfortably jabbing her back. The men crowded into the living room, helmets and heavy coats and legs blocking her view while another blue shirt dashed toward where Jerry lay. She could still see one leg - checked pants, black shoe - sticking out.
"WWW-waa-wwhhhhaaa-aaaaaa!"
"Oh, Petey."
The fireman in the blue shirt grabbed he shoulder, keeping her from getting up.
"No, Ma'am, don't get up. We'll have someone check on your baby."
A fireman in a heavy coat, black pants and helmet stomped past them toward Petey's room. Others went out.
"Oh, he'll scare him - - "
"No, no, Ma'am just stay there. He won't scare him, he's very good with children. Let's just take care of you right now. Now are you hurt anywhere?"
There was a pain, sharp and biting on her face, her cheek, by her eye. Her face was wet. She lifted her hand, but he stopped her.
"No, Ma'am, just keep your hands down. My name is John Gage, I'm a paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department. I need to know if you're hurt anywhere else." He touched her sides, her stomach. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
She looked down at his hands on her. On the bright red stains on her shirt. Red on pale, daisy yellow, white buttons spattered down the front of her dress. There was no pain. She lifted her other hand, but didn't touch it. A fireman stomped in with a fan, another with a hose.
"Um, no, no, I'm, I'm not hurt." She looked up at the fireman, at his eyes; he was about her age. "I-I think it's Jerry's."
"Is Jerry you're husband?"
"Yes, yes, he's – he's my husband. He was just trying to fix the television set. He was so mad at it. We just had it fixed and the picture went out again, and it cost so much to get it fixed, he didn't want to take it back again. He was just so mad - - " She raised her hand and he grabbed her arm again.
"Now, please, Ma'am, try to keep still. You've got some cuts on your face; I don't want you to touch them." He kept pressing his hands to her stomach. "Ma'am, are you pregnant?"
She nodded. "Five months." She laid her hand on her stomach, touching his hand. "I just got out the old maternity clothes a couple of weeks ago." She smiled, not really knowing why that could be important.
Another blue shirt knelt down beside them. This one had slightly lighter hair, thinning at the temples, like Jerry, but with no comb-over, worried pale blue eyes that exchanged one look with the first fireman.
"How's Jerry?"
She glimpsed guilt and sympathy in those blue eyes before the first fireman turned her head toward him to look at her cuts. "Now, let's just take care of you right now. Can you tell me your name?" He reached for something on the ground next to them.
"I'll get an ambulance." The second one left.
"Um, ah, Betty. Betty Osborne."
She didn't ask about Jerry again. Because she knew they wouldn't tell her.
He's dead. He's dead and I'll get everything.
"Oh!" She put her hand to her mouth as if to keep the evil thought from escaping.
"No, Ma'am, please, please. Keep your hands down." He had to tug harder on her arms this time.
"Now, Betty, I just need you to sit still here while I bandage those cuts. We're going to take you to the hospital."
She nodded. He had a black box, like Jerry's fishing tackle box, but instead of slimy, smelly lures and hooks, it was full of white packets, white bandages and white tape. The firemen had opened the windows and put up a big fan to blow away the smoke; it blew her short blond hair around and he gently brushed it away as he taped the bandages on the cuts on her face. She stared forward. At his silver badge on his sky blue shirt, and name tag that said he was a paramedic.
'John Gage.' Black letters on a long horizontal white rectangle. Had he told her his name? She couldn't remember.
He put a blood pressure thing on her arm and pumped it up. She stared at the top of his head, listening to her arm with a stethoscope like a doctor. He had a full head of thick black hair; no bald spots at all.
Not at all like Jerry.
Betty clenched her teeth. She had not really loved her husband, but he deserved better than that from her. She numbly watched John Gage talk on a telephone receiver on some kind of portable radio. Jerry had not been Prince Charming, but he had been a good provider, gave her a nice home and children. Everything an aspiring young cocktail waitress could have wanted.
Taking her wrist, John Gage checked her pulse with a big watch on his other arm. Then he shined a light in her eyes.
A loud, rising siren stopped outside. Betty fearfully turned her head toward door. It was the ambulance; they would take her away to the hospital and that would be the last she would see of Jerry. She looked past John Gage's shoulder to the one foot on the carpet. He'd always been a good provider.
It wasn't the ambulance. Policemen walked in. They huddled with the firemen, the blue-eyed one shaking his head. They stood away from her, but there wasn't much room in the entryway. She still caught a few words.
". . . television set . . . " " . . . hit him right in the neck . . . " " . . . accident . . . " " . . . she's in shock . . ."
John Gage held up a needle. He said it was just a precaution. I.V. fluid. Betty nodded her consent. She looked away as the needle went in with a sharp jab.
I'm the grieving widow now.
Betty just wished she felt more . . . . sorry about it than she did. It was terrible, but . . . her eyes were dry and she couldn't think of anything that would make her really weep over Jerry being gone.
She pressed her lips together from the sudden sting of tears. But it wasn't Jerry's death - - dead, he's really dead - - that she was upset about. She was upset because . . . she wasn't very upset about Jerry.
He really deserves better. He's always been a good provider.
John Gage seemed to be ignoring her tears, dividing his attention between his radio box and looking back over his shoulder at the police and other firemen. One of them dragged the hose out. There were smudges on the beige carpet, and a huge black patch on the ceiling. And the smell of burning plastic hadn't really been blown away. She wondered if she would ever be able to get it out of the house. They said that you could never get smoke out of things.
A policeman came over and crouched by them.
"Ma'am, do you have any relatives that we can call, to take care of your son?"
"Petey . . . . " He hadn't been crying. "Is he all right? It was only in the living room - - "
"He's fine, Ma'am, but is there anyone who can stay with him? While you're in the hospital."
"Um . . . ah?" A baby sitter? Her thoughts had trouble landing on the concept. A baby sitter. Now? It seemed so inappropriate right now.
"Um, the neighbors, on either side. The Burns or the Fleishers. We watch each others children."
That seemed to satisfy the policeman and he got up and left. She heard another siren outside. This time it was the ambulance. They came in. Big strong men in white uniforms with a stretcher between them. They told her to just relax, keep her arm straight. They pulled the strap over her middle and covered it up with the blanket.
Watching the top of the front door pass overhead as they carried her out, she felt a new string of tears.
Good-bye, Jerry. I'm sorry I never loved you.
She stared up at sky and tree branches. The neighbors had to be watching. She heard familiar voices nearby. The whole neighborhood would talk about this for a long time.
John Gage climbed into the ambulance with her, with his fishing tackle box and radio. The metal doors banged shut, cutting off most of the outside light. The siren started up again, not nearly as loud heard from the inside of an ambulance as from the outside. One of the ambulance men sat behind her.
Checking the I.V. bag, hanging on a silver hook, John Gage gave her a little smile. She automatically quirked a smile back. Then looked away.
He was her age. Her type, too, nice and slender, good looking. And he didn't look a bit like Jerry. His face was all angles with a strong chin, nothing rounded or soft at all. He did have brown eyes, but it nicer, softer color than Jerry's. She had dated plenty of men like him before she started seriously thinking about her future. Young, good-looking firemen like him did not make nearly as much money as bank vice-presidents. And a girl - - especially if she was working as a cocktail waitress with an eye toward snagging a marriagable man - - had to think about starting a family. And settle for the not-as-attactive-but-still-okay older single man with a good and reliable income.
But now . . . . Jerry had grudgingly had their lawyer make out a will when Petey was born. She and their children would be comfortable. And their was an insurance policy, of course. A tear ran down the side of her face, all the way down to the pillow.
Oh, Jerry, what a stupid way for you to die. Blown up by the TV set.
Next to her, John Gage was averting his eyes. Betty thought that was sweet of him. She was a widow now and hurt. And he didn't know what to say, because he couldn't say anything that would make things any better, and he didn't want to say anything that would hurt her any more. Betty was quite sure that when someone got hurt, John Gage would never tell them to 'buck up' or 'show some spine' or 'don't get all weepy on me.'
The ambulance slowed. The siren went off. After a couple of turns, it backed up. John Gage and the ambulance attendant got up. When the doors opened, they lifted her stretcher up and carried it out. John Gage led.
The entryway of the emergency room passed over her, followed by a line of harsh, hospital florescent lights. They turned a corner and stopped, John Gage meeting a woman in nurse's white. He spoke low to her, so she couldn't hear above the bustling sounds of the hospital around them. Betty knew he was telling the nurse about her, maybe even about Jerry. The woman's eyes went wide with surprise for a second. Yes, he told her about Jerry.
Finishing his short conference, John Gage gave her a smile and a pat on the arm that did not have the I.V. in it.
"They're going to take good care of you here."
She grabbed his wrist and his eyes went wide with surprise.
"Thank-you. For helping me." Her voice sounded husky and weak, but strong enough to be heard. She kept a firm grip on him as she looked up at his brown eyes. Maybe people didn't thank him enough. Or perhaps he thought she was too much in shock to be coherent. It took him a second to recover and regain his smile.
"Well, that's okay, Ma'am, we're just here to help." He patted her arm again.
She let him go. He had very nice brown eyes. And they weren't anything like Jerry's at all.
oo- - -oo- - -oo- - -oo- - -oo- - -oo
"Oh man." Chet Kelly slouched into a kitchen chair. "It's runs like that, that make me glad I am not a paramedic."
Technically, their last run had been a false alarm where a teenager had pulled a fire alarm at a public pool as a prank. Kelly was talking about the Osborne house. Sitting at the table with him, Marco and Mike agreed.
"Man, I didn't think the human body had that much blood in it." Marco grimaced.
"Roy said that the guy got hit right in the jugular, probably passed out from the blood loss right away. Probably didn't feel much pain."
"Yeah, and Roy had to touch him to find that out." Chet Kelly shuddered, pressing his lips together under his long mustache. "As if you couldn't tell he was already dead just from looking."
"I don't know what you're complaining about." Marco Lopez looked a little annoyed at his fellow fireman. "You spent most of the time in the back watching that kid."
"Hey, somebody had to keep an eye on the little guy. Couldn't let him try to climb out of his crib and wander out there."
They heard the garage door opening and then the low rumble of the squad engine as it backed up into the station. After another moment Gage and DeSoto strolled in.
"How's the Osborne woman?" Kelly pushed a chair out for Gage.
"Oh, she'll be okay. Still pretty shook up."
"They'll probably keep her in Rampart overnight, given the circumstances." Roy wearily leaned forward on the kitchen table.
"Yeah. Y'know she's pregnant with a second kid?" Johnny shook his head. "I sure hope that husband of hers thought to provide for his family."
"Well, it was a pretty nice house. She'll probably get a bundle." Kelly gave them a mildly upbeat shrug.
"For her sake, I hope so." Roy slouched a little lower. "It's just . . . " He didn't finish. He was the married man in the room.
"Hey!" They all turned to Captain Stanley in the doorway. "I hope you've all had a nice rest. We've still got some chores to do around the station."
Chairs scraping on the floor as they all pushed them back and got up. The paramedics headed for the dormitory. The others headed for the engine. DeSoto had to clean the latrines. Gage had to change the beds.
"She'll be okay, Roy. Dixie was in with her and after Brackett finishes with her, there probably won't even be a scar." Johnny tapped his face, the same place where he'd bandaged her cuts.
Utility closet open, he turned back to his partner. "Yeah I know." Roy got out the bucket, mop and scrubbing brush. "It's just . . . if anything ever happens . . . I sure don't want Joanne to be there to see it." He added the bottle of cleaner to the bucket.
"Yeah, I know how you feel." Johnny patted him on the shoulder. "She'll be fine."
oo- - -oo- - -oo- - -oo- - -oo- - -oo
Betty kept still, her eyes generally aimed upward. There was a cloth on her face, but she could see over the edge and she had a wonderful view. And she wasn't even really staring; where else could she look?
The doctor - - his name was Brackett - - pulled another stitch tight. She saw the silver metal instrument move in her side vision. There was no pain, but she could feel the thread tugging on her face.
Looking about Jerry's age, Brackett was otherwise everything she had fantasized about meeting in her cocktail waitress days. Slim, full head of dark and trimmed sideburns, very blue eyes with a wonderful, manly baritone voice.
I can look at other men now . . . . well, not now. It's too soon. And there's the baby coming.
She wondered why good looking doctors didn't visit the club when she was working there? Doctors made good money But Brackett was probably already married anyway; she certainly wasn't going to ask. Some woman must have snapped him up by now. Her thoughts moved on to what she would need to do. Talk to Jerry's family; they would help with the funeral, the house, the house and Petey. Her parents would probably come down from Idaho; Petey was their only grandchild. There would be so much to do when she got out of the hospital.
"There." The silver metal instrument clattered on a tray. "All fixed up." The nurse handed something white to Brackett and he started bandaging her face. She was still going to be all bandaged up for the funeral, but that couldn't be helped. She already knew what she was going to do, be silent and stoic in a black veil, like Jackie Kennedy. No one would fault her for not crying.
"There." Brackett finished. "Those cuts should heal just fine; I don't think you'll notice any scars. I do very good work." He smiled. He was very handsome when he smiled and he radiated confidence. She had no doubt that he was a very good doctor. "You're going to be just fine, Mrs. Osborne."
"Thank-you, Doctor." She smiled back, just a little bit; her face was still numb. "I know I will be."
oo- - -oo- - -oo END oo- - -oo- - -oo
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.