Author’s note: I have been having site difficulties lately, so some issues posting. This said, I am pleased to introduce a new series today, Nurse Gertrude. Allow me to dress the scene for you…we are in a home in Ralph, one of the lesser-known suburbs of Milwaukee, WI. Our characters stand in a living room with a massive fireplace crackling left and a fully stocked bar to the right. Two glasses of brown liquids sit on the bartop. Crystal Carruthers, daughter of toilet mogul Devlin Carruthers, wears a spaghetti strapped pink dress to her knees and her pageboy brunette hair keeps falling into her eyes. Blane May, quarterback for the Milwaukee Pylons, has just put his glass back on the bar and is blinking wildly as if something in his drink didn’t agree with him. His bald head shines brighter than the black, silk ascot at the neck of his purple sweater.
“But Blane, you mock me!” Crystal put her arm to her forehead and let out a loud sigh.
Blane glanced down as he considered this. His first thought was how good his bulging pec muscles looked protruding from beneath the royal purple sweater that Jeeves had laid out for him this morning, but he quickly decided that was not the way to proceed. “I do not mock you, Crystal. I love you.” His last words came out breathy and gasp-like in his too-deep faux-baritone voice.
Pulling her arm down, a stray brunette curl fell in between her eyes. Her right hand pushed it aside three times before giving up as it fell back down to its place of prominence again. “The ascot,” she said gesturing with her right hand attempting to distract from the failed hair styling efforts. “Why the black ascot?”
“You’d have preferred white?”
She huffed at him. “You know I would.” Her eyes ran over him. “If you went with orange and a white sweater, at least you’d look like Fred from Scooby Doo.”
“Damn you, Crystal. I try so hard to understand you.”
“You know cartoon characters turn me on!” Her arms flailed at him and pounded on his purple fabric covered pecs.
His arms rose to grab her wrists and missed when she flinched.
That flinch caused her left hand to go upward and connected her palm solidly with Blane’s nose.
“Oww!” His hands cradled his nose and found evidence of blood already flowing. “You broke my nose!”
“You broke my heart, Blane.” Crossing her arms, she turned away from him.
“By wearing a black ascot?” His voice was now nasal and whiny, two octaves above his false-baritone.
“Only Papa wore black ascots.”
Blane found tissues on the table beside the couch and began applying them to his nose gingerly. “Yes, and he was a nudist. That’s all he wore.”
“That’s not the point! He’s been in a coma since the accident.”
“He was hit in the face with a pillow. Who falls into a coma from that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She turned back to him and cooed. “That looks bad. Maybe we should take you to the hospital and have it checked.”
He blinked. “I’m starting to think you gave me a concussion.”
“Sit down.” She helped him down into the chair and lowered to her knees in front of him. “You know how angry I get when people wear black.”
He blinked a number of times. “I’m feeling dizzy.”
“But Doctor Bradley? A coma?”
Doctor Wallace Bradley lifted the limp wrist of Blane May and looked down at his watch. “Yes, a coma. I’ve no idea if he’ll ever come out again.”
“Just like Papa.” Crystal pushed a strand of brunette hair back over her ear. “Is there anything I can do?”
Wallace dropped Blane’s wrist as his eyes shot across the massive muscles of Blane to meet Crystal’s. “Come to my office.
She followed with high heels clicking along the tiled hospital floor.
Nurses and doctors passed in the halls, each with some chart or tray, hurrying along as if they had the cure for some massive disease outbreak in their possession.
Wallace ushered Crystal into his office and closed the door behind her. He walked behind the desk and looked between the blinds on the room’s lone window. Confirming no one was watching, he closed them.
“You did it,” Crystal hissed as she lowered into the armchair opposite the desk.
Wallace came back around to her. Reaching down, he took her hands tightly. “I did it for us.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “The poisons were easy.”
Rising back out of the chair, Crystal pushed his legs apart and slipped in until her breasts mashed against his chest, causing her ample cleavage to expand further. “We have Papa’s fortune.”
“And the payout on Blane’s football contract.” He nodded.
She kissed him deeply.
Setting: Interior of St. Angelina of the Weeping Moose Institute for the Criminally Insane, where Ralph General Hospital has taken up temporary residence after the fire.
Gertrude’s tired brown eyes looked up from the papers on her desk. Over her glasses, she stared across at the young intern. “Megan? What is it, child?”
“The quarterback, Blane May, he’s waking up.”
Gertrude’s eyes widened. “Really? These comas usually take full seasons of episodes before they come out of it.”
Megan shook her blonde head. “What?”
“Never mind. I keep forgetting you lot think this is real.”
“Should I call Doctor Bradley?”
Cocking an ear towards the closed office door across the hall, Gertrude listened to the female moans emanating from it.
Megan listened as well. “Ummm.”
“Doctor’s busy. Let’s wait until the police arrive to ask him questions. Better for dramatic purposes.”
Gertrude nodded. “Oh yes. Ratings go up when his naked white ass gets dragged out of there in handcuffs.
“Ratings for what?”
“Oh, never mind.”
The moans got louder from the office across the hall.
“At least a blowjob scene wasn’t written into this.” Gertrude picked up the phone handset and pushed the numbers. “Sergeant Giggles, please.”
“You’re calling the police?” Megan put a hand over her mouth.
Gertrude covered the phone mouthpiece and pointed down at the papers on her desk. “The script, right here, says Gertrude calls the police.”
Megan walked over and looked down at the papers. “You have a script?”
Gertrude nodded. “It’s not well written.”
Megan glanced up at her.
“The writer has me calling Sergeant Giggles. Who in their right mind would name a character that?”