CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Private Wing
Oh, it was pure radosty heaven, all choodnessy and wonderful like holy joy sent by God or Bog and all his angels.
Janelle's glazzies shut with the bliss of it all as Frank crushed her to him, his protecting rookers around her so tight, her groodies just like rub rub rubbing his manly chest. And oh, the warm softness of his lips on hers!
That was when she slooshied like a snicker, some young and pimply-faced hospital orderly having a bit of a smeck at the older man and the blonde. And then she remembered that they were not alone, oh no. The two of them were standing by a side table in the hospital caff, in full view of like leering smecking orderlies and wheezy drooling patients.
Janelle did not like being viddied in her hospital platties doing private vesches like kissing. It reminded her of how she had like lured rich older men to their doom on the street, with so-called droogs like BillyBoy waiting and watching. The brutal malchicks would tolchock the rich old men and leave them lying senseless in their own red red krovvy, and Janelle would rob them quick and horrorshow while they lay out out out. And of course thinking of all that now made her feel sick.
But what made her sick also was to viddy that dear dear Frank was clueless about who she was. He was so kind and good he did not viddy that inside she was a grazhny criminal. He just viddied her scared litso and big brown glazzies and decided she was like a victim of the modern age, just like his first wife or zhena who had died. So then Janelle thought of pulling away, shoving free, but that was almost like fighting.
And that made her want to be sick most of all!
"Urgh . . . urgh . . . urk!" This was Janelle, backing away from Frank with one rooker like clutching her slim white throat.
"Janelle, what's wrong?" Frank's gray glazzies were so full of sympathy, trust and tenderness, or some such emotional cal. He thought she needed him to make it all better, when really he made it all so much worse. His genuine goodness made her feel sick inside in a way no treatment ever could.
"I can't . . . I can't . . ."
"Those bloody bastards." Frank's low deep goloss was like quiet and deadly. Janelle viddied quite clear that he was angry at the doctor vecks in the treatment mesto. He thought she was unable to make love because of the treatment.
Janelle wanted to explain that it wasn't the treatment, just the opposite in fact. The treatment made her want to fall back in his arms and let him do what men liked to do best. But she would never let the doctors control that part of her, not when she was beginning to have real feelings of her own for the first time in her whole filthy cally criminal jeezny.
And so she ran.
After a minoota or two of running blindly down the hall, with vecks wheeling stretchers creeching "eh eh eh" or else very starry dying vecks looking at her without viddying her at all, Janelle found herself in a different part of the hospital. This was like a private wing, very posh and expensive, with thick plush carpeting on the floors. There were long black sofas and leather upholstered easy chairs in all the like waiting rooms. Even the mags and gazettas were more upscale and sophisticated, not trash like Worldsport, Sinny, and Goal, but more like French Fashion and Investment Weekly.
Janelle grabbed a fashion mag and sat down skorry, burying her litso between the covers. She was a bit poogly of being discovered and sent back to her room. Frank might want to talk, and she was not ready to put her feelings into slovos. It would be different if she could sit down with Sheila and have a real horrorshow chat, just the two of them and no men. But Sheila was lying in another room down the hall in a coma. No veck seemed to know if she would ever wake up again.
"Sssh."
Thinking of Sheila, Janelle had started to boo-hoo a bit, though not too loud. But the slim, high-maintenance looking woman in white sitting across from her seemed to have very keen ookos or ears. The next time Janelle sniffled the sharp made a sharp clicking noise with her red-painted rot, annoyed and like impatient. So then Janelle tried to stifle the flow of tears, but she couldn't choke back a blubbery gasp.
"Tissue?"
"Thanks." Janelle took the tissue, and gave the haughty, fashionable older woman a weak, watery sort of smile. She didn't want to be rude, for rudeness made her feel sick. But she didn't like the curious look on the woman's perfect litso. Or the sudden knowing gleam in her cold blue glazzies.
"I say, my dear. Aren't you Janelle Wilkes? The young woman who was recently in the paper?"
"No," Janelle said rudely. Sour nausea seized her stomach, and her aching Gulliver began to pound and throb nasty. Rude behavior made her sick. Lying made her sick as well.
"There, there." The raven-haired woman in white was all like sympathy now, leaning over to pat Janelle's knee. "I didn't mean to pry, my dear. It's just that my husband was in government for years, and we're still quite active politically. Perhaps we could help you?"
"You're very kind," Janelle said, in her most ladylike goloss. She was rubbing her throbbing Gulliver with her fingertips. Just then the door to the head doctor's inner office opened. There was the shoom of male voices coming out together.
"Sir Humphrey, for a man your age you really are in tip-top condition. But if you really want to follow through on your plans you need to lose some weight, and cut back on the brandy and cigars as well."
"Of course, doctor. Margaret and I are determined to make a go of it this time. Isn't that right, my dear?"
"Oh, I couldn't agree more," purred the woman in white. "Darling, allow me to introduce Miss Janelle Wilkes."
"How do you do, sir?" Janelle had meant to say in a ladylike way that she needed to be ittying back to her own room to lie down. But this Sir Humphrey was not what she expected. He was a big bolshy veck, but not muscular like Frank. He was old and very fat, with twinkling blue glazzies and a round cheerful sort of red litso. He was smiling at her, and then it seemed Janelle was offering her hand and smiling back.