Chapter 2
Just like when she was a college student, while in law school, Brenda kept to herself and excelled. A small group of dedicated students invited Brenda to join their study sessions, and without wanting to, she became their core, the human they depended on when the stress got to be overwhelming.
Friday nights were devoted to this group. They took turns drilling each other in preparation for the discussions they’d have in Constitutional Law the following week. They’d have the opportunity to defend their own experiences where an aspect of the law had touched their lives. Sometimes heated, but more of the time fascinating, Brenda lived for these moments where she learned more about her classmates, and allowed them a glimpse into her experience.
The classroom discussion was affirmative action. Somehow, the conversation had evolved from minorities to a privileged few. Defending the position of minorities, Brenda had inadvertently put the focus on her blonde, blue-eyed self.
“I heard your father’s a college professor,” a classmate stated. “When I hear that, I immediately think of privilege.”
Thinking, Ha, you’ve got to be kidding me, Brenda took a deep breath and prepared to debate.
“I’m privileged in many ways,” she responded. “Because of good genes and a wooden spoon, I have always tested at the top of my class.
“I attended university free because of my father’s position. Three of my eight siblings are there now. My mother is a stay at home mom and my dad’s salary is less than you’d think. The kids all work when they’re old enough to have a paper route.”
If they only knew, she thought. Luckily, her past moneymaking schemes had stayed in the past so far. Several fellow pre-law St. Joe students who were at Penn with her didn’t know about the side jobs she’d performed or if they did, kept her confidence and no one got in touch for a get-together.
Three years flew by, and before she knew it, it was time to graduate. Content to complete the program without making any waves, she sat in the back row during commencement, thinking about what the future might hold for her. After the last diploma had been given out, the speeches done, she slowly filed out of the massive auditorium toward her parents when, daydreaming, she tripped and fell down the steps.
“Oh my God, Brenda! Are you okay?”
Stunned, Brenda looked up at the sweet face of Sarah, one of the Friday night study group members.
“I think so,” she said, feeling like a klutz. “I tripped over my own feet.”
“Can you get up?” Sarah said, getting behind her to give her a boost.
“I’m okay,” Brenda said, laughing, but when she tried to put weight on her right foot, the pain shot up her leg. “Oh!”
“Is it your ankle?” Sarah asked. “Put your weight on me.”
“Oh, it’s my foot,” she said, trying not to cry out. “I wonder if I broke something.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Sarah said. “You’d better get an X-ray.”
“I’ve got to say goodbye to my parents,” Brenda said. “Can you help me over there?”
Another classmate, Tom, came to her rescue and between Sarah and Tom, they got her over to the Lipinskis, who expressed concern. As parents of eight children, unless there was a severed artery, they didn’t get too upset about injuries. After saying goodbye, Sarah and Tom dragged Brenda to Tom’s car for the five-minute ride to the emergency room.
The lighted sign over the porte cochere spelled out Emergency Medicine. “This is hardly an emergency,” Brenda said, feeling guilty over making such a big deal out of a trip.
“Hey, a broken bone is a broken bone,” Tom said.
They helped her hobble across the parking lot when she refused to let them drop her off at the entrance. The automatic doors opened and an empty waiting area greeted them. The triage nurse stood at the reception desk, watching the two friends bring Brenda in jumping on one foot.
“Let’s see. You have a stomachache,” she said, mocking. “No, no, not a stomachache. You twisted your ankle.”
“Excellent,” Tom said, looking around. “Are you even open?”
“This is a fluke,” the nurse said, pulling a chair out for Brenda. “We were just saying we can’t remember the last time we didn’t have anyone in here and then you walked through the door.”
The receptionist took Brenda’s insurance information while Tom schmoozed with the nurse. Looking around the area behind the glass partition, Brenda saw a huddle of young, attractive people wearing green scrubs and white lab coats, with stethoscopes around their necks and ID cards hanging from lanyards. She elbowed Sarah and nodded her head toward one handsome doctor, maybe a little older than the others, holding court. He had sandy hair and that unshaven look that was so popular. Sweetly smiling as the others around him chatted, they were looking at him with almost worshipful reverence.
“It seems like only young people work in emergency rooms,” Sarah said, pointing. “That scene right there should be captured in a television series.”
“Some are young; some are older,” the nurse said, turning to look at the group Sarah was referring to. “It takes a lot of energy so definitely it’s the survival of the fittest. Like I said, this is a rare moment of peace. It could change at any second.”
“Who’s that guy?” Sarah said pointing again, this time to the tall, muscular man with the sandy hair Brenda had pointed out. “That smile! He definitely should be on TV.”
“Oh, that’s Dr. Babula,” the nurse said. “He’ll see your friend as soon as she’s admitted.”
“She’s all set,” the receptionist said, giving the nurse a packet of papers.
Al, the orderly came around with a wheelchair. “Hop on, gorgeous,” he said with a big smile.
Frowning, Brenda and Sarah shook their heads. The orderly’s familiarity was not appropriate, but after the hectic weeks prior to graduation, he was endearing in some way, his banter and self-confidence moving them from the annoyance of an ER visit to laughter at his ridiculous jokes.
“Put Miss Lipinski in cubicle one,” the triage nurse said.
“Lipinski?” Dr. Babula asked, moving into the space just as Al put the brakes on the chair and assisted Brenda to stand up. “Czy ty jesteś Polakiem?”
Brenda looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. There was no mistaking it; this guy was Eastern European with a chiseled jaw and ultra-broad shoulders, his scrub shirt tucked into pants with the drawstring pulled tight, emphasizing a small waist. There was a hint of an accent, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling; it reminded her of Estelle’s father, a dapper man always dressed in a black suit.
‘‘Am I Polish? Yes, I’m Polish,” she answered in English, mesmerized but determined to stay focused; her life had no room for romance.
Offering his hand, the doctor helped her hop up onto the stretcher. “Larry Babula,” he said softly, offering his hand again, but this time to hold.
Dr. Larry Babula was breathtaking. Brenda knew she was staring; it was beyond her control. His muscular arms were evident through the sleeves of a sparkling white lab coat as he flexed them moving around the cubical to examine her. She watched him palpating her ankle, his abs flat, thighs solid, and she didn’t miss the bulge in his scrub pants. A few beads of sweat formed on her upper lip, but she couldn’t wipe them away because he took both her hands in his again. He might have held onto them a little longer than was absolutely necessary, but she was already smitten.
Then for the next several minutes, he questioned her about the accident, all in Polish, and she surrendered, answering him in the same language. She’d never spoken Polish to anyone outside of her family, and it suddenly took on a passion she didn’t think possible. Never taking his eyes off her face, Brenda felt her resolve to stay focused slip away. Larry Babula was sexy, smart, warm and friendly. What was there not to love? Love? she asked herself. Who said anything about love?
He ordered an X-ray, not leaving her side. “Dr. Babula,” the X-ray tech said, pointing to his crotch. “You’d better get away from the machine. No rads to the nads.”
“I’m Superman,” Larry said, purposely emphasizing his accent a little more, making muscles. “A little X-ray won’t hurt me.”
Everyone in the room laughed.
“You’d better do what he says,” Brenda warned, not wanting to imagine his testicles in any dimension, getting radiated or not.
The technician handed him a protective garment and Larry held it across both of them, cuddling close to Brenda while the films were taken and developed, talking to her, asking her questions about what she was going to do with her life that summer.
“I just graduated law school,” she said, the words filling her with pride. “I’ll do a summer associate job until I pass the bar.”
“You’re a lawyer!” he said, impressed.
“Well, not officially until I take the bar, but yes. I am a lawyer. I’m not used to saying those words yet. I was a waitress for seven years. I’m used to saying those words. I’m a waitress.”
“You’re a lawyer,” he said, looking into her eyes.
Once the films determined Brenda hadn’t broken her ankle, he wrapped it with an elastic bandage, holding the back of her calf with each pass, and continued talking to her until they were interrupted. Traffic in the ER had picked up.
“New patient in number six for you, Doctor,” the triage nurse said.
Larry took both of Brenda’s hands in his again. “Would you have dinner with me?”
Her common sense tried to take hold again; the last thing she needed was dinner with anyone, let alone a hot, Polish doctor. This man would be the dream catch her parents had hoped for Brenda.
“When?” she asked, giving in. “I mean, yes, but when?”
“Tonight,” he said. “I’m finished here at seven. Give me your phone number, please.”
He reached around her to a supply cabinet for a pen, repeating the number she gave him. With his body stretching in front of her, she could smell him, and without meaning to, she breathed in his scent, closing her eyes as the fragrance of man traveled through her body. He jotted her number down on the corner of the paper, tearing it off her chart and placing it in his wallet. Then he jotted his down and handed it to her.
“Do you like Polish food?” he asked.
Brenda giggled. “Of course,” she said. “I love Polish food.”
“Can I take you to Eastside Grill?”
“Yes,” Brenda replied. “They have the best potato pancakes.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it all afternoon,” he said. “In the meantime keep your foot elevated.”
“Okay, I will,” she said.
***
Sarah and Tom dropped Brenda off at her apartment when she decided to bypass the post-graduation festivities. The excitement of the day finally got to her, the ceremony, the trip and fall, meeting Larry Babula. Hobbling to her bed, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and thought about him and what she’d learned. He’d graduated from college in Poland, and then came to the US for medical school. The way he’d looked at her with those eyes had sent shivers down her spine.
There was something else about him that was different than any other guy she’d ever dated. There was an old-fashioned kindness about him, no sarcasm or teasing, yet she could plainly see that he was interested in her. Larry Babula was a gentleman. Starting a new relationship on the day of graduation was not the distraction she needed. Passing the bar and focusing on her job, those were the two most important things in her life. Instinct told her he was not a guy to pass up, however.
With flaxen hair and turquoise eyes, Brenda was a catch, too, and Larry knew it the moment he saw her. Lonely, although rarely alone, he had a specific type of woman in mind for a wife. Not a deep thinker, Larry looked more at the superficial and the first requirement was that she be Polish. When he’d heard her last name spoken out loud, it immediately got his attention. He wanted someone who could talk to his parents so he didn’t have to, who knew the food - the only kind he really liked to eat - and she had to be diminutive. Although not exactly tiny, Brenda was small, with tiny hands and fine bones. He noticed right away that she was flat-chested, a flaw that was easily corrected in this day and age, but she had a big round rear end that might cause a problem later in life if she got fat or stopped working out. Her long, shapely legs revealed that Brenda exercised and when he’d felt her ankle and the muscles in her calves, blood surged to his penis and he had to think of his grandmother quickly before an erection gave him away.
That she was an attorney surprised and concerned him, certainly not imagining wanting a woman who was smarter than he was. But after a few minutes in her presence, Larry’s superficial wishes fell away, and he could only see Brenda, the whole woman. He’d never asked a patient for a date and worried for a second that he might be breaking a hospital rule.
Later, his co-worker and friend, Arvin Amir confirmed that he could ask anyone he wanted for a date.
“What do you think they’ll do to you? We already make less than any other trauma center physician in town. They’re not going to fire you because no one else will work here. I think we’ve got it made.”
Larry laughed. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “You make it sound like we’re the dregs of society.”
“We almost are,” Arvin said. “But you notice the TV crews are always outside our door. I don’t see them at the other places.”
“We get all the important clients, that’s for sure,” Larry said, smiling at his friend.
“So tell me about the new babe,” Arvin demanded. “I’m curious about the woman who has this power over you.”
“She’s Polish,” he replied. “And beautiful.”
“Okay, the important points covered. What else?” Arvin asked.
“She just graduated from Penn Law.”
“Why the smirk?” Arvin asked, picking up on Larry’s concern. “I mean I know you like them dumb and blonde, but that might get old after a while. There won’t be anything to talk about.”
“But a lawyer? She might be a know-it-all,” Larry worried.
“You already made the date, right? You don’t have to get married tonight. See how it goes.”
At seven sharp, freshly showered, in a pressed white polo shirt and navy trousers, his wet hair combed back but the curls starting to break loose, and the hint of a beard he was trying on for size, Larry looked good. The car stopped in front of a newer apartment building, and Larry hopped out, looking down at the address Brenda had given him when they had spoken on the phone earlier.
Dressed for dinner out, Brenda looked so cute, Larry couldn’t help himself and he chuckled. “What?” she asked, worried a dress might be overkill for Eastside Grill.
“I like a woman in a dress,” he said. “Did you read my mind?”
She looked down at the full skirt and back up at his face, hoping he wasn’t teasing her, but he was sincere. Short sleeved, boat necked; it was a remake of a classic pattern from the 1950s, available all over the place now.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, leaning on him as they walked to the curb. “Oh? You hired a car?”
“I don’t drive,” he said. “Are you okay with that?”
At a loss for a moment, she nodded her head. “Of course.” She wondered why he didn’t drive, but didn’t ask.
Getting into the car, she slid over to make room for him. Their knees touched, and he moved his away, but in the same motion, took her hand. Larry was like that, proper but romantic.
They arrived at the restaurant, and there was a crowd hanging around the door. “I made a reservation for eight,” he said. “We can wait at the bar so you don’t have to stand on that foot.”
“That’s fine,” she said, hoping a drink would help her relax, anxiety mounting in his presence.
He helped her out of the car, and she was suddenly self-conscious about her wrapped ankle. “I should have worn pants,” she said, looking down at her foot.
“No you shouldn’t have,” he said, winking at her.
Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms to carry her. Brenda yelped, then giggled, putting her arms around his neck.
The crowd at the door parted, murmuring concern, her bandaged foot in the air dressed in black flats. The maître d’ led them to their table even though it was early.
“I never ate in the dining room here,” she said, looking around at the white tablecloths and candles. “This is beautiful.”
“A beautiful room for a beautiful woman,” Larry said, sitting down across from her.
Lifting his water glass, he held it up to make a toast. “To us. To the start of a beautiful romance.”
It was so corny, but so endearing. Even though she had a glimmer of concern that he might be pulling her leg, she didn’t think so. Lifting her water glass, she tapped his. “To us,” she said. “To a wonderful meal. I’m glad my dress has a tight belt so I won’t make a pig of myself.”
“We’ll take a doggie bag,” he said. “I never leave here empty-handed.”
His statement implied that they’d be together later, that this wasn’t going to be a meal and then a rush to get her home. Hopefully, all would go well and she wouldn’t be home in bed, alone by ten.
By midnight, they were naked with a sheet wrapped around them, sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, eating Polish takeout.
“No one knows how good cold fried pierogis are,” she said.
“They have to be eaten like this,” he answered. “Naked, in bed.”
His deep, accented voice went straight to her heart, and she knew she was in trouble. If this was a one-night stand, she’d get over it quickly and readjust her early conviction that the bar exam and a job were her priority. But if it wasn’t, she’d have to level with him, hoping he’d be willing to take a backseat to her goals, at least for a while. It was too early to bring up that conversation.
For the moment anyway, she’d enjoy what was happening - the best sex she’d ever had, with a man, not a college boy, who was interested in satisfying her more than his own satisfaction.
She hadn’t intended on sleeping with him and didn’t have her diaphragm in place. It had just happened naturally, impossible chemistry right away - an accidental touch of his knee, or his knuckles grazing her arm sent a charge through her body, so by the time they were at his apartment, she was wet and ready.
The apartment was close to the hospital. Sterile like a hotel room, she had been relieved that it was neat, like he’d counted on bringing her back there. “Are you always so neat?” she’d asked, looking around.
“Yes, usually, but I hoped you’d come over after dinner. I even cleaned the tub and changed the sheets.”
He seemed unaware that the admission of the clean sheets might be more than a suggestion that they’d be getting into bed together, so she decided to tease him.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she said, smiling.
“No, just hopeful,” he replied, taking her hand again. “You’re extremely desirable.”
“So are you,” she said, deciding to let honesty lead.
He placed the doggie bag on the counter and reached for her, holding her and nuzzling her neck, smelling her hair, kissing her face until he reached her lips. Kissing came naturally, like they’d kissed before. It surprised them, and they looked at each other questioningly.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“It was meant to be,” she answered.
Running his hand up under her skirt, Larry discovered Brenda wore a garter belt.
“What is this?” he asked, fingering the garter and not going a millimeter above it.
Taking a step back, she lifted her skirt just enough to expose the garter. “It’s a garter belt. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one.”
“Only in magazines,” he said truthfully, holding her skirt and peeking under it. “Will you model for me?”
“With my messed-up ankle? If you want me to, I can,” she said. “I’m not sure how provocative it will be.”
She walked back and forth in front of him, lifting her skirt just enough so he could see the tops of her nylon stockings.
Clapping for her, Brenda saw a glimmer of Larry’s sense of humor that he rarely exposed. When she finished her little parade, he led her to the couch.
“When your foot is better, we’ll dance,” he said, getting up to turn the record player on.
“What kind of music do you like?” Brenda asked.
“Music from the eighties,” he said, and she waited to grimace until his back was turned. “I was born in ninety-two,” she said, concerned.
He straightened up with a cardboard album cover in one hand, and the record in the other. “I’m fifteen years older than you are,” he said, frowning. “Do you even know what this is?”
“Silly,” she said. “Of course. It’s vinyl.”
“Well, it’s a vinyl record,” he said, turning back to the turntable.
He flipped the switch and put the needle on the record.
He sang along with Spandau Ballet, just off-key enough that Brenda could differentiate his voice from the album.
He was so handsome, and the expression on his face so sweet with his eyebrows all wrinkled up like he was really singing to her. He dropped to his knees in front of her and put his hands on her waist, looking into her eyes while he sang, and she knew that moment that he was going to be hers. Priorities shifted, goals realigned, Larry was going to be Brenda’s from that night forward.