Gene, a route salesman for Elrod Pharmaceuticals, had planned to spend the entire day at Orange County General Hospital. Taking the regular orders for the hospital pharmacy usually took only a couple of hours, but today he had appointments with two doctors to discuss new drugs.
However, when he checked in at the desk, he learned that both the doctors would be tied up all day. After taking the orders for the pharmacy, the logical thing to do was to call the main office for further instructions.
Instead, he headed south toward Eastridge.
(“And an off-chance of a peek at Nursie.”)
For years, he’d stopped in Eastridge once a month delivering samples and taking orders at Peebles Clinic and Doc Patterson’s Drug Store.
And the town had such archaic charm! On the one-block business district there was a diminutive town hall and a series of small specialty shops, such things as an old watchmaker’s shop and a shoe repair shop that did work on saddles.
And there was The Clinic, a ten-bed unit that had been hailed as a model for local service a couple of decades ago, operated by Tom and Ed Peebles, two cracker-jack country doctors.
Then there was Doc’s drug store, a real old-time delight, complete with a soda fountain and lunch counter, magazine racks and greeting cards, all under the slight breeze of ancient ceiling fans.
And Doc himself a Norman Rockwell classic.
(“But, what the hell? The main thing was Nursie!”)
She was Doc’s sister, called Nursie because of her childhood obsession of becoming a nurse – older locals remembered her having a white nurse’s uniform and a stethoscope when she was in kindergarten. She did become an RN and she worked for some years with the Drs. Peebles.
Then she married and for about ten years lived on a farm out in the county. When her husband died, Nursie bought a little home in Eastridge proper. Though she was inactive in the field, she had kept up the certification requirements for her RN license.
Doc put her behind the lunch counter in his store. Sandwiches were her stock- in-trade, but she also made a great chef salad, which was what Gene needed in the middle of the day when he was on the road.
But, mainly, he stopped at the lunch counter because it was so refreshing to see Nursie.
Plump, maybe even pudgy, Florence Patterson Weems was a vibrant, rosy, dark-eyed redhead who exuded feminine charm in ways that Gene found unique. The warmth and friendliness, the humor, the earthiness! She could be downright bawdy, with all the suggestive nuances, yet she was as much a lady as her station demanded.
(“And what a bosom! Always in a blouse cut just low enough to set me to imagining how much I couldn’t see!”)
Of course, Gene had never had any idea of getting out of line with this sexy creature, even when he and Marie were not hitting on all cylinders, or when he was hit with the loneliness that comes from so much time on the road.
Moreover, he had heard her once, in a conversation with another visiting salesman, putting the matter straight:
“You know, I might like a little roll in the hay once in a while. But look at the prospects in Eastridge: a dozen horny husbands, but not one who would leave his wife – and I’m not at all convinced I’d want them to. And if we sneaked off to Babb’s Motel, I’d have to be watching for a jealous wife or a detective with a camera. There are no roving widowers at the moment. A couple of young things are around town, but mothers around here all own guns. And then there are jobbers like you, wanting a little something for the road! No, I sleep in my own bed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get urges – like when I see Paul Newman in a late movie I don’t sit there and visualize holding hands with him…”
(“But things change, don’t they?”)
Gene had sadly watched the changes in Eastridge over the years. The local movie house closed; the high school phased out; the five-and-dime became a washerette. A couple of shop owners retired or died, and their shops remained empty (though the watchmaker and the cobbler were hanging on).
But the big blow came when Dr. Tom Peebles died. Dr. Ed was unable to lure a young doctor to assist him at the Clinic, so he decided to sell out to the Orange County Hospital System and to retire.
The Clinic would be maintained, but it would be opened only for special screenings and clinics, and for such things as inoculations.
Doc Patterson’s Drug Store? There would be the lunch counter, notions and gifts, and a varied supply of patent medicines, but no prescription department. Why should Doc continue with prescription service when there was no local doctor?
So, overnight Gene had no reason to make stops in Eastridge as he had done for years.
As he drove down the highway, he could hardly help reliving his last visit to the town. This had been a month after the closing of the Clinic and the changes in the drug store.
There had been a call from the district manager telling Gene to be in Eastridge for a meeting on that Monday morning. He had thought the meeting was just some kind of PR gesture.
But when he walked into the Clinic, there was Sonny Blyer, the company’s legal counsel.
Doctor Ed Peebles was seated in a swivel chair, a pale, wiry, energetic six-footer in his late sixties. In a straight chair by him was his attorney, an athletic looking thirtyish local whose name Gene didn’t catch.
Another attorney was there. He was representing the Orange County Hospital System.
The young local attorney said, “Dr. Peebles was treating a patient, George Gladding, who has as advanced case of Parkinson’s Disease. Dr. Peebles and a number of consulting specialists suggest that this sixty-year-old wealthy retired construction contractor had little hope.”
Dr. Peebles broke in, “George was just a boy, and one of the first patients I saw when I came to work here in the Clinic with my father. Maybe that’s why I am going the extra mile for him because I have known him for so long. Anyway, from a national computer system I learned of an experimental drug…”
Sonny Blyer interrupted. “He’s talking about Maladoppa Chloral Hydrate –MCH. The research, done by the parent company Gene and I represent, is far from complete. We know of some side effects, and we need to explore some other possible dangers…”
Dr. Peebles was not deterred. “We couldn’t see that the side effects could be any worse than the agony George is going through now…”
Sonny became intense. “Look, the Clinic has closed, and Dr. Peebles is retired. There is no doctor in Eastridge to monitor the treatment. Perhaps if the patient were in long-term in-patient care in the county hospital, we could consider this. But I understand the patient refuses this idea out of hand…”
The young lawyer representing Dr. Peebles spoke up. “You mean your company has the right to deny him a possible chance to prolong his active life?”
“No administrating physician, insufficient monitoring. He’d need his blood pressure checked every day, some bloodwork every week. Who can verify that he gets that? No, I just don’t think we can…”
Dr. Peebles interrupted a Sonny who was obviously getting overheated.
“Look here: George is ready to sign a waiver that will protect you against any lawsuits into perpetuity. I’m still his doctor. The Clinic will be opened for a day or two each week. He can come in for blood work on those days. His sister lives just down the street. I can teach her what she doesn’t already know about taking his temperature and blood pressure. She will be glad to do this every day – and we can get a bond to this effect if necessary. And, of course, the man is not destitute: somebody can drive him to County General for any scheduled tests, or emergencies, or whatnots!”
Sonny was scowling at the simplistic portrait painted by the country doctor. “A lot of data suggests that patients taking this drug have spasms during the night. Now, if he were in a hospital something could be done to save his life! But what you’re asking is for us to authorize the drug for a man living alone. How can you say my company will not be culpable?”
Between Sonny and the local lawyer (the hospital’s lawyer was yet to say a word) there were some verbose exchanges.
Dr. Peebles finally interjected, “Look, old fellow, I’ll be looking after George. And I confess we have a trump card: we have a registered nurse, an exemplary one, one who will be with him during the nights…at the times when you said most of these dreaded side effects come calling…one experienced in all the nursing and life-saving skills…”
Gene asked, “Who?”
“Why, Nursie, of course,” he beamed to Gene and then to Sonny, “Nursie Patterson, or is it Weems – you never know about widows! She is a highly qualified RN. She has agreed to spend her nights at George’s bedside until we can see if this MCH is working. George’s sister will be on tap during the day, but Nursie and I will be in control. What about it, Gene? You know Nursie, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. If I were in such a situation, you can bet I would beg to have Nursie on the job!”
An agreement, with the approval of the hospital’s lawyer, was drawn up to allow Gladding to participate in the use of the company’s experimental formula. And Gene was authorized to supply the drug to the county hospital for the treatment program.
That meeting was two years ago. From another salesman, Gene had learned that Nursie had married George Gladding – the business of her spending her nights in a bachelor’s home may have been too sticky.
Gene entered the drug store a few minutes past 11:00 A.M. The place was empty of customers. Another buxom lady was behind the lunch counter, and Doc Patterson was seated at the counter reading the morning paper.
“Well, bless my soul, if it isn’t Gene! Sit down, boy! Betty, get this rover a chef salad. Excuse me, son, but I must make a phone call!”
Doc shouted into the phone, “You’ll never guess who we have here! Gene just showed up!”
Back at the table where he’d stationed Gene, Doc said, “She’ll be here in a few minutes. She’ll be so glad to see you. And I am, too.”
Doc sat as Gene munched the salad for fifteen minutes before the radiant
Nursie arrived.
She may have slimmed down somewhat – this he really could not assess properly because the bosom was still so magnificent – and she was tanned and pert.
But what had Gene agog was her glow. Her smile and her very presence had new dimensions. Indeed, this still buxom lady now radiated an aura of peace and contentment.
“Damn, it’s good to see you, Gene! You know, I always liked it when you came in; you weren’t really on the make, but you still put out a sense of the possible – like saying ‘in another time, another place’ – made me feel like I was a real woman! So here you are, and it’s like a bit of the past showing up! Glad to see you, sweetheart!”
Gene stood and they shared a warm embrace.
“Glad to see you, too. I used to look forward to coming here – mainly just to see you! That smile of yours made the whole trip somehow more…”
“My smile? Hell, you were looking at my boobs! You choked on your salad more than once when I leaned over the counter!”
“Guilty as charged! So, now you’re an old married lady. I’m happy for you.”
“Happy for me? Because you think the old guy made an honest woman of me?”
“No, Nursie, I just wanted to offer my congratulations – to give my blessing!”
“Then I thank you. It did turn out to be just what I wanted. Keeping George happy keeps me happy!”
“Now, tell me: has this MCH helped his Parkinsonism?”
“Gene, I’m a trained nurse, probably a damned good one; but I don’t know if I can answer that one. George has some other problems beside the one MCH was prescribed for. But we go a day at a time, and, really, we have a lot of good days among the bad…”
She stopped talking for a moment and looked off into space.
“About MCH and how it has affected George? I can’t tell, even after two years, that it’s helped his tremors, or that it has helped him in getting around, or helped his speech…”
“You mean you think we should stop his taking it?”
“Oh, heavens no! Please don’t stop it!”
“But if it’s not helping him?”
“I didn’t say that! I just said there doesn’t seem to be all that much improvement on the symptoms of Parkinsonism…”
“Then?”
“Well, Gene, I’ll just be blunt: MCH may never go down as a primary cure for Parkinsonism…but it’s sure one hell of an aphrodisiac!”
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