Consolidating the contaminated Vietnam plaster casts had greatly simplified the administrative aspects of Skagan’s life. In addition she now had Ike Kaplan who was as compulsive about his work as she was. She pulled his Navy file and couldn’t believe he was a college grad. I have to know more about this man. He’s close to my age, intelligent, has my work ethic and I sense he wants to get to know me better.
It was Friday and she had thrown out her web to Kaplan. She sensed some magnetism between them. She threw one more cupid’s arrow after the scum bag plaster disposal team left with their truck full of the bacteria laden plaster shells. They were alone and Kaplan had just closed and locked the vertical metal accordion gate to the cast room. There was a slight chill from the developing cool night blown in during the loading dock activity. The cast room doors were closed. They were alone.
“We both live off the hospital compound Ike. There are things we need to talk about–alone.” She locked her steel blues onto his agate-jewel browns.
Kaplan didn’t smile or project any negative vibrations. He wrote on a piece of notepad paper three words. Address. Time. Phone.
Skagan received the note pressed into her hand without removing eye contact. She knew her pulse was racing but didn’t know why. She broke the vaporous connection. “I’ll page you before I leave tonight.”
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