Page 7 of Keeping It Professional

“Is that a duck or a car horn?”

Brian just shrugged. He slurped some more lager. “How about you? How’s the new partner?”

I drained half my ale and closed my eyes as my head spun. “Don’t ask.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“She. And she is. I’d put her right up with… remember Dr. Baby?”

We both groaned at that, and Brian crossed himself.

“What do they say, speak of the devil? I swear, if you’ve summoned her?—”

“Didn’t she move to Chicago?”

“She could’ve moved to the moon, and it’d still be too close.” Brian shuddered. “That high, creepy voice…”

I grabbed for some chips to soak up the ale. Dr. Baby had been the bane of Brian’s residency. Her real name had been Kowalski, or something like that, but she’d had a penchant for baby talk, deployed to talk down to folks. To talk down to Brian, when she felt he’d screwed up. Which, according to him, she did all the time.

“She can’t bethatbad,” said Brian. “Can oo hand me that scawpel? Or is that too much to ask?”

“She’s not mean or arrogant. And she talks normal. It’s just, she— she…” I ate a chip, trying to think how to put it. “She’s bouncy.”

Brian choked on his drink. “What, like the opening credits onBaywatch?”

“No. Not like that. I mean she’s all… ugh. She’s all rainbows and unicorns. This total creampuff. Like, okay, we get called out for this frequent flyer, this lifelong drunk past hope or help. This guy doesn’twanthelp. He just wants to drink. Which, fine, it’s his life. What can you do? So he’s lost a boot and passed out in the park, four toes gone black before it’s called in. And Miss Sunshine’s fine all through the call. Points his puke-hole away from her without me having to tell her. But the second we’re done, she’s practically crying — isn’t there anything else we can do? Can’t we get him in rehab? A shelter somewhere? And I’m all… what are we? Social workers?” I let out a ragged breath and reached for my ale. My stomach felt sour. “Shit, I just heard myself.”

Brian’s lip curled. “No, I hear what you’re saying. I get certain patients, they’ve waited so long that it’s too late to help them, and I’m cutting into them just to stave off the end. Sometimes I get in, and I can’t even do that. All I can do is sigh and close up. I hate them sometimes, for putting me through that.”

We sat for a minute staring into our drinks. Had I been like Sophie, first starting out? Convinced I could save them all, however far gone? I pinched my lips together. No, I hadnot. I’d gone in eyes open, as far as anyone did.

“She’s too soft,” I said. “This job’ll destroy her.”

“It’s her first day. She’ll toughen up.”

“Like that intern you had, got sick in a patient?”

“He wasn’t my intern. And, no. Not like him. He washed out because he was an idiot, not because he got sick. She’s not an idiot, is she?”

She wasn’t, that I could see, but I wasn’t ready to drop it. “Jury’s still out on that. She wears sparkly shoes.”

Brian laughed. “On the job?”

“No, of course not. But I saw her bag in the change room, and her shoes sticking out. They were sparkly and pink, like a little kid’s shoes.”

Brian finished his drink and waved for another. I’d slowed down on mine. I had an early shift.

“She’s too happy,” I said. “Too… I don’t know. She’s never been through anything. She’s too naïve. The shit we see in this job, no way she can take it. No way she lasts even three months. I feel bad for her, more than anything else.”

We sat sipping slowly and watching the game, and every so often, I’d remember some little tidbit, some further proof of Sophie’s unfitness. She was nervous, a fidgeter. She hummed while she worked. She wore strawberry lip balm like a fifth-grader. The whole bus smelled like strawberries by the end of our shift.

“Oh, and I think her mom packed her lunch.”

Brian laughed. “What?”

“She drew a heart on the bag, and XOXO.”

“Maybe she has a boyfriend. You think of that?”

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