Disclaimer: The characters from Station 51 and Rampart General belong to Mark VII. They have been borrowed strictly for fun—and not for fortune.
Bright and early the next morning, Dr. Stafford announced that he felt his pneumonia patient was finally strong enough to try his first breathing treatment.
So John did.
The paramedic then spent the next three and a half hours alternately coughing and spitting—and groaning—in agony. His badly bruised ribs were still unbelievably sore, and all that coughing was killing him!
John’s partner popped in again that afternoon.
The pneumonia patient had just completed another breathing treatment.
In fact, Roy had passed his Respiratory Therapist out in the hall.
DeSoto noticed that his coughing colleague looked a little pale. “Hi!" He also realized that the head of his friend’s hospital bed had finally been raised. "I see they’re letting you sit up a little, huh.”
Since Johnny was coughing too hard to speak, he simply nodded.
“They’re trying to get all that junk out of your lungs, huh.”
John nodded again and just lay there, coughing and gasping. He coughed so hard, and the pain was so intense, that one of the groans he’d been suppressing—since his visitor’s arrival—suddenly escaped. A frown appeared on the patient’s pale, pain-filled face. The paramedic did not want his friend to see him hurting…and he most certainly did not want to be seen spitting!
“I’ll, uh, come back when you can talk…” his partner promised, and began backing towards the exit.
Gage gave his intuitive guest a grateful glance and another nod.
DeSoto waved and disappeared.
John just kept right on coughing and spitting—and groaning.
Roy reappeared in ICU's Room 604 later that evening.
The paramedic approached the now re-leveled hospital bed, and found his partner lying very still and looking even paler. He placed a hand on his friend’s forearm and quietly inquired, “Johnny? You awake?”
Gage gradually opened his eyes and slowly blinked them into focus. He wanted to say ‘Hi, Roy!’ but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. A particularly potent painkiller had been prescribed for him, and he was completely zonked!
“I’ll, uh, come back when you can talk…” Roy re-promised, and began backing towards the exit.
John’s head nodded, ever so slightly. The fireman flashed his considerate company the faintest of smiles. Then his drooping eyelids dropped…and his visitor vanished.
John Gage had had a really rough time with his breathing treatments.
However, after over forty-eight hours of nearly non-stop hacking and spitting—and groaning—the Intensive Care Unit’s pneumonia patient now seemed to be making a rather remarkable recovery.
Dr. Brackett dropped by to tell him so. “You had us pretty worried there for awhile,” his admitting physician informed Gage, following a careful examination of both him and his chart. The doctor finished recording his findings and deposited the metal clipboard onto his patient’s meds’ stand.
The paramedic immediately picked it up and began flipping through its many pages. “I had me pretty worried there for awhile, too…” the doctor’s young friend confessed, and winced at some of the vital signs that had been taken over the course of the past nine days. Nine da-ays? Had he really been cooped up in Rampart’s ICU that lo-ong?
“I imagine by now you’ve developed a healthy respect for pneumonia,” Kel continued.
“Oh, I don’t know…” the patient thoughtfully said and set his chart back down on the stand. “Just having pneumonia isn’t so bad. It’s the getting rid of it part that can kill yah!”
His physician was forced to smile. “Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that your latest chest x-rays show that you are rid of it.”
Gage grinned. “No more breathing treatments?”
“No more breathing treatments.”
“I can leave this floor and have visitors?”
Brackett nodded and his smile broadened.
His former pneumonia patient looked positively ecstatic! “When can I leave here entirely?”
“That depends entirely on you. You keep improving the way you have been for the last day and a half, and you should be able to go home within a week.”
“Another wee-eek?” the paramedic pouted, but then looked hopeful. “And then I can take my vacation?”
“Don’t worry about your vacation,” Brackett urged. “I’ll take care of that. You won’t be fit to go back to work in two weeks, anyways. It’s going to take that long just to get your physical condition back to where it was before all this happened—and that was total exhaustion! No. I’m afraid a simple vacation isn’t going to do you much good. I’m recommending that you take a temporary leave of absence.”
“How temporary?” his impatient patient pondered.
“A month—at the very least.”
“A whole mo-onth?” Gage griped.
“Johnny, you’ve been with the Paramedic Program from its very beginning, right?”
The paramedic nodded. “Six years.”
“Do you want to stay with it?”
“Of course!”
“Well, then listen up. We don’t really know how your work affects your health. There are no records or statistics. Six years ago, there were no paramedics around to make any. So you—and Roy and the others—are creating the statistics as you go along. Statistics like ‘how long can a fireman work as a paramedic before occupational burn-out starts getting to him’.”
The body in the bed looked bewildered. “Occupational burn-out?”
“Your work is pretty darn strenuous. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“A little…I gue-ess.”
“A little?” the ER’s main medicine man repeated in absolute amazement. “You gue-ess? Whenever you over-exert yourself—which, in your case, is most of the time—it places a tremendous strain on your body. When your body responds to this strain, there’s tension.
Now, tension is normal—once in awhile. Tension in muscles, for example, is a preparation for action. And, everybody is under a little stress.
It’s when your work becomes so strenuous that it places you under constant tension and constant stress that the trouble starts.
I’m not saying tension and stress are responsible for every bump and bruise you might get. There are enough occupational hazards in your line of work to account for some degree of bodily injury—or bacterial infection. But this thing with the viral pneumonia is definitely a non-specific disease related to stress. Stress is a killer, Johnny. A very subtle killer. It doesn’t jump up and hit you in the head. It creeps up on you, gradually.”
“Gradually…like over a month?”
“Like over six years! When was your last vacation?”
“About seven months ago.”
“How did you spend it?”
“Uh-uh…back-packing…climbing…mountain biking…”
Brackett grimaced. “How about the vacation before that?”
Gage shrugged. “The same, I guess.”
“Your vacations are as strenuous as your work! You don’t give yourself any real rest! You don’t give your body a chance to store up energy! Where did you go? Did you leave the state?”
“No-o.”
“The county?”
“No-o.”
“That’s another mistake! You should get away from old scenes! Find a complete change of climate!”
“Are you suggesting I go to Alaska and twiddle my thumbs?”
His physician was forced to smile. “I’m suggesting you go anywhere but Los Angeles County—and do anything that isn’t too strenuous. If you want to twiddle your thumbs in Alaska—fine! Now, where was I? Oh, yes…tension! The opposite of tension is relaxation. Relaxation is a natural tranquilizer. It’s also your best defense against stress. Your trouble is, it’s been so long since you’ve really relaxed, you’ve forgotten how to!”
“I relax. On my days off…between calls…”
Brackett looked deeply skeptical. “Are you really relaxing? Let’s say you’re sitting in the Station. The alarm goes off—a stimulus you have learned from years of habit to obey. So you leap—without thinking—from your chair, to answer the alarm. Instead, I want you to force yourself to relax—even though your body wants to respond to the conditioned response. I don’t think you could do it!”
“I know I couldn’t do it! Besides, if I didn’t answer the alarm, I’d lose my job!”
“This is hypothetical,” the doctor reminded his now grinning patient. “Pretend the call isn’t for you! Remember…the opposite of tension is relaxation. As long as you remain tense, you can’t possibly be practicing relaxation. But, even if you couldn’t ignore the response altogether, you could at least try to delay your reaction to it.
Delay breaks up the automatic workings of conditioning. The secret of relaxation is learning to ignore the conditioned response…” the physician halted his lecture to exhale a gasp of frustration and fold his arms across his chest. “The point I’m getting at is this: tension is your conditioned response! It’s like your body’s alarm. It’s a conditioned reflex with you! You don’t even have to think about it—it’s just there! Relaxation is something you’re going to have to work at! It requires mental effort!
I want you to concentrate on relaxing! You’ve got to, Johnny! Because you can’t fight stress when you’re under tension—and you can’t fight tension unless you concentrate on relaxing!
You can’t concentrate on relaxing if you’re concentrating on your work. You need to get away…just as far away as you can possibly get—from tension, responsibilities and stress! You need to rest your body—and your mind!”
“You’re concerned about my mental fitness. Why-y? Because of the personality change?”
“Well, you have to admit, you haven’t been yourself lately. Whatever happened to the radical rebel of Station 51? The crusader against bureaucracy? The John Gage I know wouldn’t have let his vacation be canceled three times in a row. And he sure wouldn’t have quit—without putting up one heck of a fight!”
The radical rebel of Station 51 stared sadly down at the foot of his hospital bed. “Sometimes people just get tired of fighting…” he quietly replied, sounding as sad as he looked. “When my vacation was canceled the first time, I went over to headquarters and screamed my bloody head off. All it got me was a hoarse voice and an appointment to see some Mr. Lenhert.
I was working the day of the appointment, and missed it because we were out on a call. They wouldn’t reschedule it for three days!
So, I tried calling. Do you know what it’s like to be put on hold?”
The ER Administrator gave him a ‘Boy! Do I!’ look and an understanding nod.
The paramedic continued. “I finally got through to him, but then I had to leave on another run!
I tried to reach him later, at his home. His number is unlisted.
Three days later, I made it to the second appointment. Mr. Lenhert’s secretary informed me that he was called unexpectedly out of town and so all his appointments for the day had to be canceled. That’s when I started writing letters! One a day—and very nasty!”
Brackett’s brow formed an arch of extreme skepticism as to the effectiveness of a letter writing campaign.
“Well, it was better than nothin’…” the paramedic proclaimed in his defense. The fireman’s frown deepened and his narrative continued. “Mr. Lenhert stayed out of town on my days off. Before I knew it, the first week had passed, and I had kind a' lost my momentum.
I gradually adjusted to having my vacation canceled. And, since it was rescheduled for the following week, I just gave up and worked those two weeks. The only thing that got me through that last week, was the fact that my vacation was coming up.” John drew in a breath as deep as his frown. “When my vacation was canceled the second time, I went to see Mr. Lenhert—without an appointment!
I, uh, think pretty much everyone in that part of the building probably heard what I had to say to the guy.
He was very understanding, and I left with him promising he’d do his best to get me my vacation back…” The storyteller heaved a heavy sigh. “I called every day—for a week! You wouldn’t believe the hard time I gave that guy’s secretary. Finally, she just put me on hold—and kept me there!” The paramedic paused again, looking thoughtful. “I guess I must’ve been too tired to fight after that, cuz I just worked another week—without giving anybody any hassles.
It was kind a’ scary. It was like I was adjusting myself to just keep working and working—indefinitely! I thought, ‘Why can’t they let me take some time off? Is my work so important that I can’t stop? Am I so important?’ I realized that I liked feeling important. John Gage...VIP!
Yes sir, I was so important that they couldn’t possibly get along without me—for two whole weeks!
Yah know, when my vacation was canceled again, I was actually expecting it!” Gage’s gaze turned from the foot of his bed to his physician. “That’s when I got mad! Mad enough to start fighting again! I called Mr. Lenhert’s secretary and told her I was quitting! She asked me to keep working until they could find a replacement for me. I gave her until the end of the shift.
The rest is—as they say—history!” The paramedic paused again and lay there, looking even sadder. “I almost waited too long to start fighting again, didn’t I, Doc…I almost lost.”
His physician flashed him a sympathetic smile. “You wouldn’t have been the only one who lost, Johnny! The people of this county would have been out, too. Because your work is important! Very important! And, so are you! You’re one of the best paramedics we’ve got! Your training and experience are invaluable!
That’s why we’ve got to get you back into shape—physically. I’m not worried about your mental fitness anymore. I’m sure once the radical rebel of Station 51 gets his strength back, he’ll start crusading again. But you’ve got to cooperate!” Kelly noticed his young friend looked tired. “Now, I’m going to leave—and let you get some rest! And relaxation!”
“Do-oc?” John called after the departing doctor.
Brackett halted and glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, Johnny?”
“Thanks for the compliment. I have a great deal of respect for you—and your opinions. I promise, I’ll try to cooperate. Oh, and before I forget…Thanks for fixing it so Miss Ferrel could come up and visit me…”
“You’re very welcome!” his physician wholeheartedly assured him. “Wanted to send you a little something to let you know that I was thinking of you…” Kel teased, keeping a perfectly straight face. “And...well…flowers aren’t allowed in ICU.” The good doctor’s pursed lips formed a wry grin. Then he winked…and waved…and was gone.
John Gage grinned…snickered softly and then turned his relaxed gaze back towards his beautiful view of the beach.
That evening, Roy DeSoto decided to pay his recuperating partner a quick visit.
He ran into Miss Ferrel in front of the elevator in the ER, and the two of them rode up to the second floor together.
Since John had been moved out of ICU, visitors' restrictions no longer applied.
Roy and Stacey stopped outside the open door to Room 202, and then just stood there, looking absolutely amazed…and listening.
A pretty, young nurse was replacing her patient’s empty IV bag.
The guy the IV was attached to, was sitting up in his hospital bed…singing!
“Me and my IV…Me and my IV…” the room’s sole occupant crooned—to the tune of the RC Cola jingle. “Cuz’ what’s good enough for other folks…Just ain’t good enough for me…Me and my IV…Me and—” the paramedic caught sight of his company and stopped, right in mid stanza. “Well, don’t just stand there! Come in! Come i-in!” he urged.
“Sorry!” DeSoto suddenly declared. “We must have the wrong room. We were looking for a sick friend…” he teased and turned to go.
“Ro-oy!” John anxiously exclaimed, as his partner took Stacey by the arm and started to leave.
His departing guests turned around, and then came strolling into the room and up to his bed.
“You look great, Johnny!” DeSoto determined, with a grin. He was amazed at the drastic change in his friend’s condition—and countenance. “What? Did they give you some new kind of ‘wonder drug’?”
“I’m not on any medication,” the patient proudly replied. “I just get healthy the same way I get sick—overnight! You’re just in time to join me for a little nightcap. My last 500 cc’s!” He turned to his nurse. “Miss? Could you bring us two more of these?” he requested, and tugged on his IV bag. He then redirected his gaze to his grinning guests. “What’ll yah have?”
“What do yah got?” Miss Ferrel inquired, and flashed their hospitable host a beautiful, broad smile.
“D5W.”
“I just remembered…” Stacey suddenly stated, “I’m on a diet." She pointed to his IV. "Can I get that sugar-free?”
“What would D5W be without the five parts dextrose?” John teased.
“Sterile water!” Roy obligingly replied.
Gage rolled his eyes and then promptly finished placing their order. “Make that one D5W and one…Lactated Ringers.”
His pretty nurse nodded and then left the room, suppressing a smile all the while.
Miss Ferrel could no longer contain her amusement.
The sound of the girl’s light laughter made Gage feel even greater than he looked. “I’m on a liquid diet! Tomorrow, I get solid food!” The patient threw both arms up and his head back. “I kin go home in a week! Maybe less!” he joyously proclaimed, and lay there, looking like he was about ready to fly right up off of his hospital bed.
Stacey was astonished by the amazing transformation in both the handsome young firefighter—and his energy level.
Roy turned to her. “If you think this is bad…you should see him when he’s healthy!” he teased. Then, to his partner, he consolingly said, “Cheer up, Johnny! Maybe they’ll have some good news for you tomorrow!”
Gage grinned and turned his attention to his gorgeous guest. Their gazes locked, and he instantly forgot all about stress and hospital stays. ‘Talk about breaking up the automatic workings of conditioning!’ the fireman mused.
The girl’s eyes were like two deep, inviting, emerald-green pools…
“I gotta go…” Miss Ferrel suddenly announced and began backing towards the door. “My friend is waiting for me out in the parking lot. I didn’t know—until I got here—that you’d been moved out of ICU. So I promised her I’d only be a minute. But I’ll be back again, tomorrow!” she vowed. “Goodnight, Johnny!”
“Goodnight, Stacey!” the completely crushed patient called back. “And thanks for stoppin’ by!”
The fireman’s pretty visitor lingered in the doorway for a few more moments. Then, she flashed the handsome young fellow the loveliest of smiles…and promptly vacated the premises.
“What I’d like to know is…whatever happened to your ‘I don’t date cops or firemen’ rule?” Stacey’s friend wondered, as Miss Ferrel climbed into her sporty, little white convertible.
“I’m not dating the guy!” Stacey adamantly stated in her defense, and buckled her seatbelt. “I’m just visiting him!” She flipped the key over in the ignition and the car’s engine came to life.
The brunette in the bucket seat beside hers managed a scornful laugh. “You wouldn’t be visiting him—if you weren’t interested…” she paused, noting the ‘happy glow’ emanating from her friend’s face. “You’re falling for the guy!”
“I am not! We’re just friends!” she assured her companion and pulled out onto the street. The vehicle’s speed picked up and the wind began whipping their hair.
“Then why do you look like you just stepped on a scale and discovered you’re suddenly 10 pounds lighter?”
“We’re just friends!” the car’s driver adamantly restated.
“I hope he knows that. It wouldn’t be fair to the guy to keep visiting him—and getting his hopes up—if you have no intentions of ever establishing a more meaningful ‘relationship’ with him. You should make it perfectly clear—from the very start—that your interest is only that of friendship. So have you told him yet, that you’re only interested in him as a friend?”
“His name’s Johnny. And no-o…” the car’s driver confessed, “I haven’t told him...yet. But I will!”
“Before or after you break Johnny’s heart?”
‘Hopefully, before…’ Miss Ferrel silently replied.
The next afternoon, Roy dropped by Room 202 for a brief visit between runs. He found his partner sitting up in bed, staring miserably down at a tray of solid hospital food.
“Hi!” the on-duty paramedic cheerily proclaimed. “What’s seems to be the problem?”
Gage smiled—halfheartedly. “Hi, Roy. Nothin’…really. I just realized somethin’, is all. All this time, I’ve been thinking of the doctors and nurses as my enemies. Now, I know that I am my own worst enemy…”
“You’re just findin’ that out no-ow?” DeSoto teased.
John shot him a ‘ha-ha very funny’ look and continued. “For days, I beg them to let me sit up. They tell me no. I keep insisting. They let me sit up—and I almost cough to death!
For days, I beg them to give me some real food. They tell me no. But I keep insisting. Today, they let me have real food—and I just about die barfing!
Next, I’ll be begging them to let me out of bed.
If they tell me no, I’m not gonna press the issue! The way things have been goin’, I’d probably get out of bed…keel over…hit my head on something—and die from a concussion!”
Roy didn’t say anything. He just stood there, marveling at his recuperating partner’s warped—and, in this case, seemingly sound—line of logic.
The following afternoon found the patient once again sitting up in his bed, staring glumly down at yet another tray of unreal real food. The paramedic sat there, poking at the hospital provisions with his fork, and looking very bored.
“Hey, Johnny!” Chet Kelly called through the opened door to his room. “Can I come in?”
“Hey, Chet!” Gage greeted him with a grin, and motioned him in.
He and Kelly shook hands.
Kelly spotted the ten days growth of facial hair on the paramedic’s upper lip. “Hey, Gage, is that the makings of a mustache I see there? You thinking of joining the ranks of the ‘Manly Men’, are you?” he teased and stroked his own mustache a few times.
John just rolled his eyes. “The nasal canula made my upper lip a little sore. I figured I’d hold off with the razor until my sensitive skin is a little less tender…” he paused, suddenly looking a bit devious. “Yah know, Chet…I hate to admit it, but I miss your cooking. I mean, even a bad taste is better than no taste at all!”
“Hospital food is pretty bland, isn’t it,” Kelly quickly came back, taking the teasing in stride.
“Bla-and? I think there was more flavor in the stuff they were putting in my wrist!”
“What you need, is a little incentive!” his visitor determined. “Somethin’ to get your appetite working. So you’ll start eating again and get your strength back!”
“What I nee-eed, is a big bowl of your left-over chili!”
“Well, what d'yah know! That’s exactly what we had in mind, too!” Kelly confessed. Then he crossed back over to the door and called out into the hall, “Okay, you guys!”
Gage stared in disbelief, as his friends from the Station came strolling into his hospital room—carrying boxes and carting folding tables and chairs.
There followed much back-slapping…handshaking…and wisecracking.
“We wanted to invite you to lunch over at the Station,” Stoker went on to explain, when things finally settled down, “but your doctors wouldn’t hear of it!”
“So-o,” Lopez promptly picked up, “we brought the lunch from the Station over to you!”
“We would’ve been over sooner,” his Captain confessed, “but Chester here, wanted the chili to age properly.”
The guys exchanged grins.
Roy looked up from the slice of bread he was buttering. “At least over here—we won’t get an alarm halfway through the meal!”
“And over here,” Hank handed the recuperating patient a steaming bowlful of Chet’s special chili and flashed him a warm smile, “you won’t get stuck with the dishes!”
Gage grinned and then glanced around the room at his fellow firefighters—his friends. He felt pretty damn good…maybe even great!
Chet returned to Rampart that very evening, to feed John Mike Stoker’s fried chicken for supper—among other things…
“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!” the patient proclaimed, between mouth-watering bites. “Stoker must be related to the Colonel! A distant cousin twice removed or something…”
“Hey...John...remember when I told you that Marco suggested that I trade reservations with Newcomb?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I decided to take him up on it. So I talked it over with Phil.”
“Where did he say he was going?”
“To the Upper Midwest. They have five feet of snow up there!”
“Really? Well, different strokes for different folks. Too bad he wasn’t going some place you would’ve liked.”
“But I do like it!” Kelly corrected and pulled a folded slip of paper from his front shirt pocket. “Newcomb gave me this,” he announced. “It’s his vacation itinerary…” he explained, and passed the document on to the pigeon—er, patient.
“Itinerary?” the paramedic proclaimed in a hoity-toity fashion. He wiped some of the grease from his fingers before unfolding the note. “Wednesday the 30th : arrive at airport, rent car, check in at hotel, call Ann and Gary—” he looked up at Kelly. “Yeah, Chet…I can sure see why this appeals to you,” he said, not sounding too sincere.
“Keep reading! Keep reading!” Kelly urged.
Gage exhaled a weary sigh and returned to his reading. “Thursday the 31st : visit Ann and Gary…” he glanced up again. “Who are Ann and Gary?”
Kelly shrugged.
John reluctantly continued. “Skiing at Huron Mountain Lodge…Friday the 1st : Skiing at Silver Creek Lodge…Saturday the 2nd : Skiing at Pine Mountain Lodge...” The impatient patient raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were so in to skiing, Chet! You ski pretty good, do you?”
“Fair,” Kelly modestly confessed and pointed to the paper. “Keep reading!”
“Gee-ee…” Gage exclaimed, his voice oozing sarcasm. “This is so suspenseful and thrilling…I don’t know if I can take any more!”
“C’mon, John!” Kelly urged. “You haven’t gotten to the best part, yet!”
"I'm guessin' that would have to be the end," the reader teased, but then obligingly returned to his boring task. “Sunday the 3rd : Snowmobiling at Ski Brule...” He shot his mustached amigo a look of amazement. "Snowmobiling? You enjoy snowmobiling, do you?"
“Well…actually…I’ve never done it before," Chet honestly admitted. "But I sure would like to give it a try!”
“Cross-country skiing?” John continued, sounding both incredulous and amused. “What? Is that cheaper than flying?”
“I’ve always wanted to try cross-country skiing,” Kelly confessed. “It’s supposed to be a lot safer than downhill.”
John gave Chet an ‘I always suspected you were nuts! But thanks for confirming my suspicions!’ glance, before folding the paper back up and returning to the remains of his chicken dinner.
“You didn’t finish it!” Kelly pouted.
Gage flashed him a sympathetic smile. “Chet, if you must ski, can’t you find any snow closer to home? What about Vale, Colorado? Or Aspen? What about Lake Tahoe? Donner’s Pass…or Sun Valley?”
“Those places didn’t get any snow this year…on account a’ the drought.”
“They must’ve gotten some!”
“Some, maybe…” Kelly reluctantly conceded, “But not five feet!”
“Do you realize that it would take you almost two full days of travel—just to get there and back? If you get back! You could break every bone in your entire body and end up spending six months in traction!” Gage wiped the grease from his fingers again and handed the itinerary back to his certifiably insane friend. “You’re not really—seriously—considering swapping reservations with Newcomb…are you?”
“Yes, I am!” Chet informed the purveyor of doom and gloom. He returned the itinerary to his pocket and then undauntedly added, “And I will, too!...If I can find someone to go with me…”
A strange look came over the paramedic’s face, as it suddenly dawned on him who that someone was! He threw his hands up and vehemently shook his head. “Oh-oh no, no, no! No way! I may be sick—but I’m not THAT sick!”
“Ahh, c’mon, Gage!”
“Unh-uh! NO WAY! Just cuz’ my body’s messed up—don’t mean there’s anything wrong with my brain! And no one in their right mind would want to spend their vacation—thousands of miles from nowhere—sitting in five feet of snow! Besides, even if I wasn’t just getting over pneumonia, I don’t ski! While you’re out there on the slopes, what am I supposed to be doing? Sitting around, twiddling my thumbs?” he stopped speaking, as Brackett’s words suddenly played back in his brain. Complete change of climate…change of scenery…and unstrenuous activity. ‘Nahhh! Then agai-ain…’
Kelly saw the pigeon—er, patient lost in thought and suddenly looked hopeful. “Have you ever sat around a ski lodge…in front of a big, cozy fireplace…watching all the pretty girls—waxing their skis?”
Gage looked even more thoughtful. Sitting around a cozy fireplace—and watching pretty girls—sounded appealing. Plus it did seem to be just what the doctor had prescribed. “If I were insane enough to go on Newcomb’s vacation with you…how much would it set me back—financially?”
Kelly looked positively radiant! “That’s the best part! Newcomb got a family rate on everything! We can split it 50/50! Roundtrip airfare, hotels, motels, car, snowmobile, and ski rentals—all discounted!”
John looked even more thoughtful. “The biggest drawback is the full day of travel—both ways! I’m not sure I’d be feelin’ up to that, just yet!”
“Today’s only the 26th . You have three days before we’d have to leave…”
“Three da-ays? I don’t even know if I’m gonna be out of here in three days!”
“If you are…and you do feel up to it…will you go?”
“How soon do you have to have an answer?”
“Newcomb’s travel agent has to know by tonight…something to do with her losing her commission and a late cancellation penalty fee on the airline reservations, or somethin’…”
The recuperating pneumonia patient took an extremely long time to answer. At long last, he drew in a deep breath, sighed in surrender and said, “All right, Chet. If I’m out of here in three days, and if I’m feeling up to it…I’ll go on Newcomb’s vacation with you.”
Kelly looked ecstatic. He slapped Gage lightly on the back and then gleefully exclaimed, “Terrific! Now, go to sleep and get all the rest you can. We’ve got to build your strength up!” He latched onto the remains of Mike’s yummy meal and began lowering the head of the patient’s hospital bed. “What’s the matter?” he inquired, seeing John’s unhappy expression. “Having second thoughts?” He pulled the paramedic’s covers up and tucked him in. “Don’t worry! You won’t regret this! We’re gonna have a great time!”
John just lay there, looking extremely annoyed. ‘I wish I had your confidence,’ he silently—and sincerely—admitted.
“It sounds great!” Stacey exclaimed, later that night, as Johnny finished telling her about Newcomb’s vacation. “It sounds like it fills Dr. Brackett’s prescription, for a temporary leave of absence, perfectly! Complete change of climate and scenery…It’s perfect!”
Gage stared up at his guest in absolute amazement. “How do you know about all that?”
“I work in the Personnel Department. Remember? Dr. Brackett is the consulting physician—and Chief Medical Advisor—for the department. I was put in charge of your file.”
“My file?” John repeated, looking and sounding a little nervous. “You’ve looked through my file? What’s in it?”
“Sorry…” she teased, “but that’s classified information.”
“What’s it classified as? Racy?…Or boring?”
“Confidential!” the girl quickly came back, with a beautiful, wry smile.
“That’s not fair!” the firefighter figured. “Do I get to look through your file?”
“Just what is it that you want to know about me?”
“Whatever classified, confidential things you’re willing to tell me.”
“Okay. My name is Stacey Ferrel—”
“—What’s your middle name?”
“I don’t have one. My parents didn’t believe in middle names. I was born at Beaumont General Hospital in San Francisco, California, September 17, 1950. My parents are…deceased. I have two older sisters: Jackie and Bobbie—”
“—Sisters?”
“Jacqueline and Roberta,” she explained. “Let’s see…I’m 26 years old, five feet six and a half inches tall. I weigh 130 lbs. I have blonde hair and green eyes—”
“—Beautiful green eyes,” the paramedic quietly corrected and—once again—locked his brazen gaze upon them.
The look in the handsome young firefighter’s dreamy, dark eyes caused the green-eyed girl’s pulse to quicken. ‘Now would probably be a good time to bring up the 'just friends' subject,’ she realized.
“Sorry…Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized. “Don’t know what came over me,” he wryly admitted and that slightly askew smile of his made a fleeting appearance.
So much for broaching the 'just friends' subject! ‘You are entirely too cute when you smile like that!’ Stacey silently said—instead. Miss Ferrel cleared her throat and quickly continued. “I, uh…graduated from Berkley, majoring in Business Administration. My current address is: 118 La Brea Canyon Road. My friend’s father is a realtor, and he found us the prettiest little place—” she paused, noting his questioning look. “Yes, I live with a friend, Gerry Mills.”
“Jerry Mills?” the crest-fallen paramedic repeated.
“Gervaise Mills,” the little lady elaborated, and laughed lightly at the young man’s look of extreme relief. “I’ve been with the Los Angeles County Fire Department for two months. Before that, I worked for the San Francisco City Fire Department.”
“Why’d you leave San Francisco?”
“My Uncle told me about this job opening up…and I liked the idea of a better position and higher pay.”
“Your uncle works for the Department?”
“Yes! He sure does!”
“What’s his name? Maybe I know him…”
“William Jenner.”
The fireman's jaw fell.
The sound of Stacey’s light laughter filled the room. “I see you know my Uncle Bill,” she teased with a grin, when she finally regained her composure.
Gage swallowed hard, and was a little slower in regaining his. “Uncle Bi-ill?” the paramedic repeated, looking and sounding incredulous. “Chief Jenner is your Uncle Bill?”
The girl nodded and her grin broadened. “When firemen start coming on a little strong, I just mention my Uncle Bill. They don’t act so fresh after that. In fact, they turn into perfect gentlemen!”
“That’s understandable…” the gentleman grumbled, just beneath his breath.
Roy brought his partner some more Firehouse cuisine the following day—a bowl of Lopez’s delicious Irish stew.
John was enjoying his catered meal—immensely! “It sure is great a’ you guys to keep bringin’ me all these little ‘care packages’. I really appreciate it!” he added, and shoveled another spoonful of the stew into his mouth.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Roy warned.
“Why-y?” Gage nervously inquired—right in mid-chew. “What did Marco put in this?”
DeSoto suppressed a smile. “I meant, this thing with Newcomb’s vacation. I hope you’re not going to regret putting your vacation in Chet’s hands.”
“I'm not,” his now relieved partner continued, speaking—as he often did—with his mouth full. "That's the beauty of it. I'm on a temporary leave of absence. My vacation has been put on hold...again. Besides, Dr. Brackett thinks it’s a great idea…as long as I don’t overdo it. Of course, Dr. Stafford thinks it’s a little too soon to be doing so much traveling. But I promised ‘em both that I’d take it real easy. Can you swing by my apartment and pick up my shoes and my keys?”
“Sure! When can you leave?”
“Dr. Stafford’s gonna give me a physical exam tomorrow morning…and—as soon as he checks me out—I’m checking out!”
“Need a ride?”
“It’s, uh, Stacey’s day off. She’s offered to take me home…”
Roy’s right eyebrow arched. “You’ve been here eleven days…she’s been here to visit you—every day—for the last six days. And now…she’s going to drive you home.” He grinned down at his friend. “Know what I think?”
Gage looked extremely uncomfortable. “Wha-at?”
“I think Miss Ferrel would make some lucky guy…a great little four-letter word!” DeSoto teased.
His partner looked positively petrified.
The following afternoon, John Gage’s pretty chauffeur pulled up and parked her sporty little—but cramped for legroom—car in front of 2190 West Ridge Street.
“It’s gonna take the Jaws Of Life to get me out of this…thing,” the six foot one firefighter, crammed into the itsy-bitsy bucket seat beside her, figured—right out loud.
The thing’s owner/operator pretended to shoot the grumbler an annoyed glare, but her giggles gave her away. The auto’s highly amused driver got out and stepped around to render its complaining passenger her assistance.
It took some doing, but—finally—her vehicle’s victim was extricated.
“Thanks!” Gage gasped—in relief, and extended his stiff, but no-longer-trapped legs. His freed feet hit the sidewalk and he slowly and carefully stood. Well, half of the way anyhow.
Stacey stiffened and made a frantic grab for the hunched over—and quite obviously hurting—gentleman. “You okay?” she anxiously inquired and quickly latched onto his arms to help steady him.
The grimacing guy nodded and slowly began straightening up.
The girl suddenly found herself face-to-face—and practically nose-to-nose—with the very tall…dark haired…and extremely handsome young fireman.
The two of them just stood there, with their faces pressed closely together…holding onto each other’s arms, and gazing—rather dreamily—into each others eyes.
Miss Ferrel sighed, silently—and went a little weak in the knees herself. ‘Right now would be a really, really, really good time to bring up the ‘just friends’ topic!’ she told herself, but then told him, “I could drive you back to the hospital…” instead.
“I’ll be alright,” the pained paramedic assured his pretty assistant. “Just some...bruised ribs…is all.”
“From when that car crushed you against that rock in the river?” she wondered. “I got to type up—and file—your accident report,” she explained, seeing Johnny’s look of absolute astonishment. “Let’s get you inside,” his helper then suggested, and draped his right arm around her neck.
Gage allowed the girl to assist him up the steps. But, when they reached the entrance to Apartment 3, he pulled his arm free so he could fumble for his key. “They fed me through my wrist for so long, now my hand thinks it’s a mouth. Have you ever tried to turn a doorknob with your mouth?” The fireman finally got his apartment’s front portal unlocked.
“Wo-ow!” Stacey exclaimed as the gentleman opened the door and waved her in—first. “Where did you get all the plants?”
“I got them from friends—instead of purple hearts.” The paramedic pointed to the plants occupying one corner. “I got those for breaking my wrist—four years ago.” He pointed to another corner. “Those were from a burnt leg—last summer…and all the plants on those shelves came from when I got hit by a different car—two years ago. The plants in the kitchen are from a mild concussion—last fall…” The tour guide gave up and flashed the girl his crooked smile. “The guys at the Station call me Tarzan, cuz they claim I live in a bloomin’ jungle! They say, one more accident—an’ I kin open my own greenhouse!” Gage exchanged grins with his gorgeous guest. “Can I get you something to drink? The milk’s probably gone bad, but sodas don’t go sour…”
“No thanks. Didn’t you get any plants this time?” Miss Ferrel wondered, as she roamed around the apartment, admiring the firefighter’s lush, green foliage.
“No! Thank heavens! I don’t have any more room!” The paramedic shoved a palm branch out of his way and plopped into an easy chair.
“Who looks after them all…when you’re not here?”
“My landlady—Mrs. Gereau—feeds and waters them for me.”
Stacey stooped beside a huge, cinnamon bear cactus. “How many do you have?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never counted them. But there's gotta be close to a hundred.”
The girl’s emerald-green eyes widened in amazement. She stood and crossed over to where ‘Tarzan’ had collapsed.
As she came within his reach, he latched onto her hand and pulled her down onto his lap.
Miss Ferrel sat there for a few moments, in stunned silence.
“Yah know,” her captor began, keeping a perfectly straight face, “if I wasn’t so exhausted, I’d be tempted to make a pass at you…”
His pretty captive went from looking absolutely astonished—to highly amused. “Even knowing my Uncle Bill is Chief Jenner?”
“Even knowing your Uncle Bill is Chief Jenner,” John assured her. “Well…maybe not a pass exactly…” the fireman continued, following a few moments of thoughtful silence. “Perhaps just a little innocent flirting…” he re-figured and exchanged wry grins with the gorgeous girl in his lap.
Stacey found herself staring into the fireman’s dreamy, dark eyes—again. Once more, this action had a profound affect on her pulse—and respirations. ‘Better stand while you still can!’ she thought, recalling how close contact with the guy made her feel weak in the knees, as well. “I gotta go!” she suddenly announced, and jumped up from Johnny’s lap, like a jack-in-the-box.
“Why-y?” the paramedic pouted, looking and sounding tremendously disappointed.
“Because you’re supposed to spend the rest of the day in bed!” she lied. “And because you look like you’re going to pass out, if you don’t lie down pretty quick!”
Gage got stiffly to his feet and followed Miss Ferrel over to his front door. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe I could take you on an unstrenuous picnic, or some other relaxing thing…”
“I’ll have to see what Gerry has planned for tomorrow.”
“Do I call you? Or do you call me? I know!” the paramedic suddenly proposed, with a snap of his fingers. “I’ll give you my number…and you give me yours. That way, it doesn’t matter who calls who!”
Stacey watched as the ‘smooth operator’ ripped the top sheet from a note pad on his phone stand and tore it in half. Miss Ferrel reluctantly took the slip of paper he proffered, and even more reluctantly wrote her unlisted number down on it.
Gage recorded his unlisted number, as well…and the two of them exchanged slips.
“Goodbye, Johnny!”
“Goodbye, Stacey! And thanks again for the…lift home!”
The girl with the emerald-green eyes winced slightly—at his pun. Then she grinned…and waved…and was gone.
John stared—triumphantly—down at the little slip of paper in his hand. ‘Roy’s right! She’s gonna make some lucky guy a great little four letter word!’ Only, this time, he didn’t find the thought quite so horrifying.
Gerry Mills hated housework. The only thing that sucked worse than having to clean house, was having to do it on her day off. Thus, Miss Mills was not in the best of moods when the phone interrupted her dreary, backbreaking task. She flicked the vacuum off and reluctantly responded to the annoying ringing. "Hello?" she snapped.
"Uh-uh...Hi," came back a rather timid reply, from some guy. "This is John Gage. Is Stacey there?"
The girl gasped in exasperation. Then, without covering the mouthpiece, she turned and shouted, "Stace? You-our...friend is on the phone!"
Stacey, who’d been battling some stubborn stains in their toilet bowl, exited the bathroom and came hurrying down the hall. She pulled the bright-yellow Playtex gloves from her hands and exchanged them for the telephone. "Hello?"
"Hi, Stacey! It’s John. I was just calling to see if you were gonna be free this afternoon. The weather’s s’posed to be beautiful, and I happen to know the perfect place for a picnic!"
"Well, actually, we’re pretty busy he—" Stacey managed to say, before Gerry snatched the phone away.
"Stacey has just been released from cleaning detail," Miss Mills proclaimed. When her astonished roomy tried to yank the phone back from her, Gerry covered the mouthpiece and announced—in an agitated whisper, "This house isn’t going anywhere! It’ll still be here tomorrow! You-our...friend is leaving for two weeks! And—before he goes—you have something very important to tell him! Remember?"
Stacey’s look of extreme annoyance turned to one of tremendous discomfort. She reluctantly accepted the receiver her smug—pushy—pal passed back to her. "There’s been a sudden change of plans. Looks like I’m gonna be free, after all."
"Grea-eat!" Gage exclaimed with such exuberance, that the girl had to hold the phone away from her ear. "What time shall I pick you up?"
"Uh-uh...How ‘bout I meet you at your apartment around noon? Okay?"
"Sure! But you don’t have to drive all the way over here. I’d be glad to—"
"—It’s no problem!" Stacey assured him. "I have a few errands I can run along the way."
"Well, if you insist. Oh...Do you like peanut butter and jelly?"
The question struck Stacey as most amusing, and she had everything she could do to keep from laughing. " I love peanut butter and jelly!" she somehow managed to get out—with only a grin.
"Good!" the guy on the other end of the line replied, sounding slightly relieved. "Then I guess I’ll see yah around noon."
"Yeah. See yah, Johnny..." Miss Ferrel signed off, sounding somewhat melancholy.
"Bye, Stacey..."
'Click'.
"Repeat after me," Gerry coached her glum companion. "We’re just friends. It’s not all that difficult to say," she continued, following a roll of her friend’s green eyes. "I can’t believe you were going to let the guy go off for two weeks, without telling him!"
"I was gonna call him!" Stacey stated adamantly in her defense, but then timidly tacked on, "Later."
"Yeah? Well, now you get to say it to his fa—" Gerry stopped speaking, as something suddenly occurred to her. "You can’t tell him to his face! Oh-oh, girl...if you don’t already got it, you’re definitely coming down with it!"
"With what?"
"The love bug! You’re falling for the guy—and don’t give me none of that ‘we’re just friends’ nonsense!" Gerry warned. "Because, if you really were ‘just friends’, you could tell him that, in person! But you can’t do that, can you. Because close contact causes you to breathe funny...you get all weak in the knees...and your heart goes ‘pitter-patter’! Because being with him is so-o...wonderful! So exciting!"
Stacey stared silently back at her roomy, looking absolutely amazed...and guilty—on all counts.
"I’ve fallen a few times myself," Gerry explained. "I know all the symptoms. What about food?" she wondered. "Can you eat in his presence?"
"G-Guess I’m gonna find out..." Stacey stammered, and stood there, looking like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry.
Gerry gave her smitten associate a huge hug, and her concern immediately shifted from the fireman’s heart being broken, to her friend’s heart being broken. ‘I don’t think you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, girl!’ she sadly—and silently—surmised. "I wish you had let him pick you up! I can’t wait to meet the guy that got you to break your ‘I don’t date cops or firemen’ rule!"
"I can’t wait to meet him, either!" Stacey suddenly realized—right out loud.
The two friends broke into broad grins.
It turned out that Stacey would have to wait.
When the girl arrived at John’s apartment, she was greeted at the door by his landlady, a Mrs. Gereau.
The kindly old woman—who insisted on being called Annie—informed Miss Ferrel that her date would be a few minutes late. Because he was presently out back, fixing a badly-leaking garden hose, so that she could water her wilting flower beds.
While John busied himself in the backyard, Mrs. Gereau—er, Annie took the opportunity to re-pot a few of the paramedic’s root-bound houseplants.
Stacey, who’d been recruited as Annie’s assistant in the messy project, tightened her grip on the uprooted palm tree in her hands, and casually commented, "It sure is nice of you to take care of John’s plants like this."
The dirt-besmudged woman was kneeling at her feet, scooping soil into a large, clay pot. She paused in her work and an amused glint filled her hazel eyes. "Thank you, dear. And it sure is nice of him to have these plants for me to take care of. It’s my hobby, you know. I suspect he never owned a houseplant ‘til he moved in here," she added and glanced up. "Did he ever mention how he came to be my tenant?"
The girl shook her head.
So Annie smiled and continued. "Well, it was shortly after my husband passed away. I had taken up indoor gardening as a hobby...to sort a’ fill in the hours and fight off the loneliness. I just love growing things! I discovered I was quite good at it. So good, in fact, that my apartment was soon wall-to-wall plants!"
The horticulture hobbyist suddenly turned solemn. "Then, one evening, I woke up—barely able to breathe! Somehow, I managed to phone for help. John, and his partner, that nice young man, Mr. DeSoto, arrived within minutes."
Her smile returned. "They were so wonderful! They took such good care of me! Why, even after they brought me to the hospital, they would drop in on me to see how I was feeling. I explained to them how the doctors had found I was allergic to a certain mold which grows in damp soil...and so I was going to have to remove all of my beautiful plants from my apartment." Another frown appeared, fleetingly.
Then she grinned again and continued her narrative. "That’s when John suggested that I build a greenhouse. I told him the backyard wasn’t big enough for one. Then he said that it was too bad that there weren’t any empty apartments in my building. Because I could probably turn one of them into a greenhouse easily enough. I told him that was a terrific idea, and that there was going to be an empty apartment—the first of the month. One of my tenant’s leases was going to be up then, and he had decided to move into an apartment closer to LA. John was so excited to hear that! But then he changed his mood suddenly and left—wishing me green-thumb success with my hobby.
I didn’t know it then, but—at the time—John was desperately searching for an empty apartment himself. He was having trouble with the other tenants in his building. They would barge in on him at all hours of the night—or keep him awake with their constant partying. He couldn’t get any rest on his days off, and it was really beginning to wear him down. That’s how I found out he was apartment hunting. After John left, I mentioned to Mr. DeSoto that his partner appeared to be ‘all pooped out’. He assured me that there was nothing wrong with his friend that a nice, quiet apartment, in a nice, quiet neighborhood, couldn’t fix..."
The dirt reached the desired level and she motioned for her audience/assistant to place her burden down into the pot. Annie adjusted the palm’s roots just so, and began scooping—and de-clumping—the damp soil again. "Well, let me tell you, I had those plants sold before I even left the hospital! Then I had Mr. DeSoto bring John by for a ‘visit’..."
The devious old lady got a far away look in her eyes. "I’ll never forget the expression on his face when I handed him the lease—and the keys to his new apartment. I thought he was going to cry. Then he asked about my plants. I told him there were other hobbies...and he darned near did cry!" She blinked a few times, as her own eyes got a bit misty.
"He had eight with him when he moved in. And, every time he ended up in the hospital, he ended up with more plants!" She stopped speaking suddenly and turned rather sad. "As you can see," she motioned to all the greenery, "his work has caused him to end up there much too often," she finished bitterly, but then forced herself to brighten again. "So-o now I have my greenhouse...and he has his peace and quiet. And we’re both very happy with the arrangement. Especially me! You see, my husband and I couldn’t have any children of our own...and...well, I like to think of John as the son Rob and I might have had."
Annie finished patting the last of the fresh soil in place and glanced up at the girl again. "He’s such a wonderful young man! Don’t you think? So gentle...and caring...and considerate of others. In fact, he has all the qualities necessary for a good husband..." she added, rather slyly.
Stacey was amused to find that plants weren’t the only things being planted in John’s apartment that afternoon.
Speaking of John...
The paramedic came groaning into the room just then, grimacing and shaking his right hand. "Ahhh...Shee-eesh!" he bemoaned. "I just smashed my finger with the wrench!" he explained. "To top it off...I put the new washer in, right? And it still leaks!" he added, looking and sounding extremely flustered.
Stacey grinned. Then she turned to Mrs. Gereau—the matchmaker—and stated, "Yeah. I can see where it’d be real handy to have him around the house, all right!"
Annie was forced to chuckle.
John just stared at them both, looking confused—and like he didn’t appreciate the fact that they were finding his plumbing problems so amusing.
Three plants, twenty minutes, and another new washer later, the pair of picnickers were finally able to depart.
"We’re going in that?" Stacey exclaimed in horror, as John escorted her up to a once-white, but now completely mud-covered vehicle...of some unrecognizable sort.
"Yeah. Why?" the dirty Land Rover’s driver wondered, as he unlocked its doors.
"It’s filthy!"
"Nah-ah...well...I was sort a’ hoping it would rain," the vehicle’s owner/operator nervously confessed. He pulled the back hatch, upon which some passerby had scrawled WASH ME, open and packed their picnic paraphernalia safely inside.
"Annie could pot two plants in the dirt on this...thi-ing!" a frowning Miss Ferrel informed the fireman with the filthy form of transportation.
John had spent most of his morning packing, and the remainder preparing for their picnic. Between the two projects, he’d become so preoccupied, he’d forgotten all about breakfast. "So I’ll wash it," he promised, with a persuasive smile. "Right after we eat," he tacked on and gave his protesting tummy a quick tap. He pulled the passenger door open, and his date reluctantly climbed aboard.
'Flows and flows of angels' hair...and ice cream castles in the air...' John sang to himself, as he watched a lone puffy-white cloud sail across the patch of sunny blue sky directly over his head. He was lying on a blanket, in a secluded little clearing, along the wooded west bank of the San Gabriel River.
The peaceful sound of water, trickling over stones, filled his ears, and there was a gentle breeze caressing his face and tugging at his hair.
No doubt about it. The arduous fifteen minutes of hiking had been well worth it. For, the fireman realized with a slight smile, he was completely relaxed.
He heard Stacey calling him, and propped himself up on his elbows to see what she wanted.
The girl waded out of the river and began unrolling her pant legs. "How in the world did you ever find this unbelievably beautiful place?"
"We got called out here a couple a' months ago...to rescue a little boy...and his duck."
"Oh," Stacey simply acknowledged and dropped onto her butt beside him on the blanket.
"Oh-Oh?" Gage stared at the beautiful girl in confusion. "Aren't you curious?"
"Kind a'. But you're not supposed to be thinking about your work. So I'm not gonna let you talk about it. You thirsty?"
"Kind a'," the disappointed paramedic further parroted. It had been a real interesting shift and he was just dying to relate the rescue to someone. "Thanks," he added, as she pulled a soda from their picnic basket and passed it to him. He rolled onto his side and appreciatively eyed his pretty date. 'Speaking of beautiful views...' he mused, and his slight smile reappeared. "I'm gonna hafta call Chet and tell him I can't go tonight."
The girl's pretty face filled with horror. "W-Wha-at?" she shouted and quickly followed up her stammered exclamation with a commanding—and rather demanding, "Why-y?"
"I don't think I can make it through two weeks without being able to look into your eyes."
Stacey groaned and dropped back onto the blanket. "Don't scare me like that! I thought you were serious."
"I am," Gage assured her. "Your eyes have...medicinal qualities."
"So do vacations!" she quickly came back, and then firmly added, "You have to get away for awhile! Doctor's orders!" Stacey studied the handsome young man lying at her side. "Are you serious about my eyes...or are you just being mushy?"
John gently brushed a few stray strands of long, blonde hair back from the girl's pretty face. "The very first thing I noticed about you, were your beautiful, green eyes. And, believe me, eyes aren't usually the first thing I notice on a girl. Not that you don't have any other outstanding qualities..." he quickly added, and his slight smile broadened.
The girl laughed and continued to just gaze across at her dreamy date. Speaking of outstanding qualities, Stacey suddenly realized how much she loved that lopsided grin of his. 'Speaking of missing things...' she further realized. "Oops! Sorry. I forgot you were starving. Guess I should have waited until after we ate to go wading, huh..." she teased and sat bolt upright again, to begin rummaging through their box of provisions. She pulled two plastic-wrapped PB&J's from the basket and passed one on to the famished fireman on the blanket beside her. Well, close contact did cause her to 'breathe funny'...she did get all ‘weak in the knees’...her heart did go ‘pitter-patter’! And being with him really was 'wonderful and exciting'! Stacey opened her sandwich up and stared nervously down at it. 'The moment of truth...' she mentally noted, and hesitated to take that 'telling' first bite.
Seeing the way the girl was eyeing her lunch, the picnic preparer exhaled an exasperated gasp. "I should have fixed us something fancier. But I didn't wanna buy a bunch of groceries when I knew I was gonna be gone for two wee—"
"—The food's fine!" the dallying diner quickly reassured her troubled host. "Honest!" she added, and took a big bite. Stacey had everything she could do to swallow. It seemed her tummy was all a 'twitter'. 'At the moment, I just don't seem to have any appetite...' she realized, solely to herself, and blinked a tear of joy from her eyes. She flashed the guy she'd become 'emotionally involved' with—over the past two weeks—a sweet smile and licked the peanut butter from her lips. "In fact," she continued, when she could, "this is the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich I've ever tasted!"
The fireman exhaled a huge sigh of relief, and his frown turned quickly—and crookedly—upside down.
Upon Stacey's insistence, the pair of returning picnickers had pulled into the first carwash they'd come across.
The fireman was balancing on his front bumper, busily soaping down the vehicle’s hood.
Stacey had been recruited to rinse the suds off.
The soaper suddenly noticed that his assistant was daydreaming and spraying water onto the pavement instead of his car. "Hey! We can’t afford to waste any a’ that stuff. We are in a severe drought situation here."
The rinser snapped back to reality. "Sorry."
"Besides," Gage tacked on with a grin, "the dollar bill changer machine is out of order and I only have one quarter left."
Stacey did her level best to look sympathetic, but a slight smile betrayed her. "When was the last time you washed this thing?...Can’t remember back that far, huh," she added, when the thing’s owner had to stop and think.
The water stopped running.
John dug his last quarter out and flipped it to her. "It was on a Saturday afternoon, the first weekend in March," he smugly replied.
The girl was unimpressed. She set the limp hose down, hurried over to a coin slot and dropped the quarter into it. Then she reluctantly retrieved the nozzle and returned to her rinsing. "I could’ve washed my car three times, by now!" she stated, sounding more than a bit bored.
Gage glanced up and grinned again. "You call that dinky little thing you drive a car?" He snickered. "It looks more like something you’d find at the bottom of a Cracker Jacks' box."
Stacey’s green eyes narrowed. "I’ll have you know that I get over 50 miles to the gallon with that thing!"
It was the paramedic’s turn to be unimpressed. "Oh, yeah? Well, I get over 23 with this!" he countered and gave his vehicle’s sudsy hood a few affectionate pats. "Plus, I have plenty of room to sleep and four-wheel drive for going over rough terrain and getting through the mud. If you drove into a mud puddle with that teeny weenie little thing of yours," he snickered again, "you’d probably disappear!"
The girl grinned deviously and turned the hose on him.
"Ah-ahhh!" John gasped as the icy spray took his breath away. Then he jumped down and went chasing after the now fleeing female.
Stacey sprayed him again. When the hose reached the end of its length, she tossed it and took off running.
The pair raced around the Rover a few times, until the girl began laughing so hard she couldn’t run anymore.
Gage caught her by the waist, dragged her back over to the hose, and picked up the nozzle. But, before he could point it at her, the water stopped running.
The still-giggling girl doubled-up with laughter.
John laughed right along with her.
Gradually, the giggles subsided and Stacey straightened back up.
The two of them just stood there for a few moments, breathing hard...and staring into each other’s mirth-moistened eyes.
Then the paramedic pulled the pretty, panting girl up into his arms and tenderly kissed her.
"If I would’ve known it was going to involve all of this," the pretty, posing miss pouted, "I would never have agreed to let you take my picture!"
It was sunset and the pair of picnickers were now standing—barefoot—on a deserted stretch of ocean beach.
"Quit complaining and just enjoy the view," the photographer advised and kept right on playing with his camera’s aperture.
"If you don’t hurry it up, you’re going to miss your plane!"
"I told you, I’m already packed. Besides, we’re on the Redeye. Our plane’s not leaving for another four hours, yet."
Stacey sighed in surrender and reluctantly changed the subject. "Did you really take all of those incredible silhouette photos in your apartment?"
John nodded. "It’s a hobby a’ mine."
"Well, you’re very good at it."
"Thanks. Now, I’m gonna need you to stand sideways. You see, I’m going for your profile."
The girl sighed again and moved into the requested position.
"Just a little to the left. I want you standing right in the center of the sun."
Stacey grinned. She’d never been asked to stand in the center of the sun before.
"A little more...Perfect!" the picky picture-taker proclaimed. "Okay. Thanks. I got it," he added, following a few 'click's and 'whi-irr's .
The girl gasped in relief and allowed herself to look around. She gasped again. The view was breathtaking! "Oh!...Wo-ow!" she exclaimed.
The fireman finished stowing his photographic equipment in his car, and returned to the water’s edge.
"Beautiful, isn’t it!" Stacey quietly commented and stood there, transfixed by both the beauty of the scenery and the soothing sound of the surf.
Gage was studying the girl’s glowing face. He could see the setting sun’s reflection in her eyes. "Yes...it certainly is!" he softly agreed.
Stacey shot her companion a sideways glance, saw that he wasn’t even looking out at the sunset, and gave him a playful shove.
John lost his balance and went down on all fours. He latched onto to laughing girl’s wrist and pulled her to her knees, as well.
A huge wave came rolling in and swamped them both.
John scrambled to his feet and dragged his date further up the beach.
They stood there, laughing at themselves for getting caught off-guard.
The paramedic pulled the pretty girl back into his arms, held her close and kissed her—again. Just like the first time, his head began to spin. He could feel his heart start throwing PVCs.
‘Wo-ow!’ Stacey mentally repeated and melted into his embrace. "Let’s build a sandcastle!" she suddenly suggested, when the couple, at last, came up for air.
The fireman was tremendously disappointed. Building a sandcastle could never hold a candle to kissing her! "I’d rather hold you..."
"Plea-ease?" the pretty miss pleaded and gave him a persuasive smile.
"A sandcastle, huh?" Gage grumbled. Then he reluctantly released his hold on her and began heading towards the water’s edge again. He walked into the surf, right up to his knees, and let another cool wave wash over him.
Stacey struggled desperately not to laugh. "Now where are you going?" she wondered, as he dripped past her.
"To my car," he called back. "To get some matches and some wood...to start a fire! It’ll be dark soon and we’ll be needing some light...So we can see to build our...sandcastle," he finished explaining, failing miserably to hide the extreme disappointment he was still experiencing.
"You carry your own wood around with you?"
"Yup!" the paramedic proudly confessed. "I believe in being prepared."
Stacey shook her pretty, blonde head a few times and then flashed her Boy Scout an appreciative smile.
A little while later, Gage and the girl were kneeling in front of an enormous mountain of sculpted sand, putting the finishing touches on their sandcastle...by flickering firelight.
John kept stopping to stare at Stacey. He loved the way the flames’ reflections lit up the girl’s lovely face, and caused her long strands of blonde hair to shine, like fine-spun gold.
The girl saw him piling sand into a giant mound with no apparent purpose. "What are you making?"
Gage glanced down. "Uhhh...The dragon."
"The dragon?"
"Yeah. Every castle has to have a dragon. Preferably fire-breathing. That way, when the dragon attacks the castle, the princess will be sure to call the fire department." He grinned and crawled even closer. "And, that way, I’ll get to rescue her!" He took her hand in his and kissed it...and her wrist...and her arm...and her shoulder...and her neck. "What?" he wondered when the girl began backing off a bit. "Don’t you want me to rescue you?"
"That depends...on what you’d do with me once you’d rescued me." Stacey stopped to stare off across the water. "You see, my mother told me that guys like popular girls. She said what they liked about them was that they liked to take them to bed..." she turned back to witness John’s reaction to her soft-spoken words.
The guy looked thoughtful.
Stacey continued. "The unpopular girls, the ones with morals and values, she said that guys liked to take them home to meet mom and dad. So-o I decided—long ago—that there was more to life than just being popular. This princess wants her story to end: And they lived happily ever after. Can you understand?"
"I didn’t think there were any old-fashioned princesses left in this world," John answered, sounding genuinely amazed.
"You think that I’m a fool..."
"He-ey, no way! In fact, I respect and admire you. It takes a great deal of courage to be old-fashioned, these days."
Stacey blinked her watering eyes. The tears streamed silently down her cheeks.
Gage saw the girl’s tears glistening in the fire’s light. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a reassuring hug.
"I have your respect and admiration. But can an old-fashioned princess ever find true love in a modern world?" the woman wondered, sounding a bit bitter.
John just knelt there for a while, holding her and gazing into the fire. "A guy could very easily fall in love with you, princess," he whispered finally. "Very easily..." he quietly repeated. Then he closed his eyes and held her even tighter.
The old-fashioned girl smiled and snuggled cozily up in his arms.
The two held onto each other for a long time.
Eventually, the paramedic pulled back from their embrace and kissed her softly on the forehead...then on her nose...then their lips met.
Stacey started to melt down again.
Realizing that the girl was surrendering to his...advances, John suddenly pulled free. "I shall protect your...honor with my life, my Lady," he vowed and then stood.
"What are you doing?" his lady demanded, as she was suddenly swooped up in his arms. "Put me down!" she pleaded and rapped him on the shoulders. "Put me down!" she screamed again, seeing that he was heading for the water. "What are you doing?" the panicked girl repeated.
Gage ignored her and walked right into the cold surf. "I am protecting your honor...from a very dragon-like fireman."
Stacey laughed and then gasped as they both got completely drenched by a cool incoming wave. She pulled a long strand of soggy seaweed from her protector’s sopping wet head. "We’d better get you back to your place and dried off. You have a plane to catch! Remember?"
John just stood there for a few more moments, holding her in his arms. He grinned as he realized he was feeling pretty relaxed...all things considered.
Stacey had borrowed her rich roomy’s roomy black BMW to take the two travelers to their plane. That way, neither of them would have to pay the Airport Parking fee.
John was standing in front of LAX’s main terminal, holding their lovely volunteers’ hands in his. "I’m gonna miss you, Stacey Ferrel."
"So call."
"I can’t see your eyes over the phone."
"Call anyways. I’ll pick you guys up when you get back."
Kelly pulled the last of their luggage from the car’s spacious trunk. "Thanks for the lift," he said and gave the girl a wave. He gave his dallying companion an impatient gasp and pointed to his watch. "C’mon, John! If we miss this flight, we miss them all!"
Gage kissed the girl softly on the forehead. "See yah in two weeks..." He gave her hands a final squeeze and forced himself to pull away. "I must be out of my mind," he mumbled to himself and reluctantly picked up his suitcases.
"Goodbye!" the girl called after him. "I hope you have a really great time!"
John glanced back over his shoulder, saw the sad look on Stacey’s face and started to set his suitcases back down.
Chet shoved him in the door’s direction.
Gage groaned and begrudgingly followed Kelly into the terminal. ‘I gotta be certifiably insane!’
The two tardy travelers hurried over to the airline desk and checked their luggage in.
Then they turned and went trotting off across the terminal in search of a people mover.
Owing to the late hour, they were able to continue running down the handy device’s already-in-forward-motion conveyor belt.
The now panting pair made it to their departure gate—just as their flight’s final boarding call was being announced.
The firemen quickly found their seats and collapsed into them with audible sighs of relief.
"Hey!...Cool!" Kelly breathlessly exclaimed. "I’ve never flown...on a 747 before....Have you?"
Gage, who was still breathing too hard to speak, just shook his head.
"Say," his chatty chum continued, "isn’t this...the airlines Julie works for?"
John nodded. "But this is a domestic flight....She’s strictly...international."
"Oh...Right." Chet studied his fatigued friend’s face for a few moments. "Yah know, in a couple a’ more weeks, you’re gonna have yourself a fairly decent cookie duster."
"No I’m not. Because I’m shaving it off the moment we arrive."
"Why-y?"
"Because my upper lip is no longer so sore. And because having all that hair above your mouth is high maintenance. Talk about your milk mustaches. And the crumbs! Man! I don’t know how you can stand it. I was supposed to get rid of it before we left, but I kind a’ ran out of time."
"You’re makin’ a big mistake," his mustached amigo informed him. "I’m tellin’ yah, Gage, the chicks love ‘em!"
"Yeah...Ri-ight."
"No-o. Really! If you let it grow out, I’ll bet yah five bucks that Stacey will absolutely love it!"
Gage thought the wager over for a few moments before, begrudgingly, accepting his companion’s proffered palm.
Chet grinned. The bet was now a done deal. After all, they’d just shook on it. "Speakin’ a’ Stacey..." the Irishman’s eyes narrowed deviously. "She and this Jerry fellah must be pretty good friends for him to let her borrow his car like that..."
John’s eyes suddenly sparkled with a bit of mischief, as well. "Oh...They’re more than just good friends. They’re roommates."
Kelly’s look of amusement quickly turned to one of amazement. "Na-ah!"
"It’s true. In fact, they’ve been living together—off and on—for years!"
"And you’re okay with that?"
"Hey, if it doesn’t bother Gerry, it doesn’t bother me."
Chet’s face scrunched up in disgust. "Man! You are totally twisted!"
His totally twisted traveling companion chuckled, inwardly. Then he turned and beamed a broad smile of satisfaction out the plane’s darkened window. ‘Well, well, well. This just might be fun, after all...’