- Steele Upon a Mattress - Part
Six
Date: Saturday, March 15, 2003
- Lauryn Poynor <lpoynor@yellowhammer.com>
STEELE UPON A MATTRESS - PART SIX
by
Lauryn Poynor
Rated "R" for sexual situations.
____________________________________
Laura turned the key in the lock. "Mr. Steele?"
He hadn't answered the door buzzer, or her insistent knocking.
Laura's
lips twitched in a fleeting smile. Murphy would have kicked it
in. She
inched her way through the apartment, hanging back with the same
reluctance that sometimes dogged her when she spied on a private
moment
during a stakeout or rifled through a bureau drawer for evidence.
There
was no reason to feel guilty, she told herself. After all, she
had a
key, the agency was paying the rent on the apartment and if the
con man
who had charmed his way into it wasn't answering the door, well
then,
she had every right to be there, to check up on things.
Seeing no sign of him Laura made her way down the hall toward
the
bedroom. She could hear the muffled blare of a movie soundtrack
playing
at low volume.
Feeling her skin pricking on the back of her neck, she called
out his
name again and peered through the doorway. Steele was sprawled
out on
the bed, fully clothed, bedcovers around his legs, a small, neatly
packed overnight case propped open on the floor next to him.
The TV
remote dangled from his right hand and his limbs twitched restively
as
he clung to his pillow.
Laura sat carefully on the edge of the bed. She knew she would
have to
wake him up but she was finding it hard to convince herself it
was for
his own good. Let him enjoy what little sleep he'd gotten lately,
she
thought, though it didn't seem like he was enjoying it much.
Steele
moaned and mumbled something unintelligible, then tried to turn
over but
was hampered by Laura's weight on the bedspread. He sank back
against
the mattress.
"We can't let you go," intoned the preternaturally
calm and
dispassionate voice in Steele's head. "You're dangerous
to us. Don't
fight it, Miles, it's no use. Sooner or later, you'll have to
go to
sleep."
Laura reached out and touched his face, drawing her palm gently
across
his cheekbone. Her fingers traced the arc of his left eyebrow,
causing
Steele's eyelids to flicker briefly in response. Her other hand
slipped
to his chest. She could feel his breathing becoming increasingly
more
shallow and distressed.
". . . they're taking you over cell for cell, atom for atom.
There is no
pain. Suddenly while you're asleep, they'll absorb your minds,
your
memories and you're reborn into an untroubled world . . ."
Steele's blue eyes fluttered open and he stared in shock at Laura
as if
she were some alien creature from another planet. Surprised,
she jerked
her hands back to her sides, and moved back further on the bed.
Steele
struggled to sit up, fighting to get air in his lungs, still
not quite
sure where his mind or body was or where his nightmare stopped
and
reality started.
"Mr. Steele. Are you alright?"
"'Invasion of the Body Snatchers.' Kevin McCarthy, Dana
Wynter, Allied
Artists, 1956." Steele recited the words automatically,
as if he were
under hypnosis.
Laura was tempted to snap her fingers to bring him out of it,
but that
seemed a little theatrical. "Mr. Steele." She shook
him by the
shoulder. "You were dreaming. It's just a silly movie."
Still a little disoriented, Steele peered intently at the woman
on the
bed. It sounded like the same old Laura. He searched her face,
finding
the crinkle in her brow that was always there when she was worried.
"Laura, thank God. I must have dozed off. 'Creature Feature
Matinee' was
on and I - " Steele broke off for a moment and gave her
a sidelong
glance. "You don't have a perfect replica of Laura Holt
hiding in the
cellar, do you, because in 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' the
aliens
-"
"I don't have a cellar, Mr. Steele. And there's only one
of me - last
time I checked."
"One can never be too careful," Steele replied, clicking
off the TV set
with the remote.
"You're the one with the five passports. And which one is
the real you,
I wonder?"
"Truth is sometimes - stranger than cinema, Miss Holt. Or
whoever you
are. " He winked at her.
Laura felt her heart turn over at the sight of him. Why did he
look so
delicious slightly rumpled and half awake? She leaned in and
pressed
warm lips to his. They kissed, experimentally at first, then
with less
restraint, fueled by the spark that never failed to ignite between
them.
"Was that the real Laura?" she gasped, coming up for
air.
Steele was as breathless as she was. "Once more with feeling,
Miss Holt?
Just to be sure?"
She silenced his doubts with a kiss that could melt Martian ice
caps.
***
"Laura, are you sure you've never seen 'Invasion of the
Body Snatchers'?
I could swear that was your pod person who took over and drove
me
here." Steele scribbled sundry bits of information on the
clinic
admissions form.
"I told you we were keeping strictly to the schedule."
Laura glanced at
her watch. "I don't know why you're so jumpy. You've skipped
half of the
questions." She looked up to see Lindstrom rounding the
corner.
"Miss Holt. Long time no see." Lindstrom looked delighted
to find his
favorite doctor making the rounds.
"But who's counting," Steele replied acerbically. "I
think this is
yours." He gave Lindstrom the admissions forms.
Lindstrom handed them over to the nurse on duty with the blithe
condescension patented by medical men over the centuries. "Make
sure
that's in order, would you, nurse?"
"Of course, doctor, "she replied with a hint of irritation.
"Well, Mr. Steele. Are you ready to take a giant step into
twenty-first
century medicine? I know you're just itching to cozy up to the
future
and the SleepSentry 2000."
"Why, the very thought kept me awake for hours, doctor."
"But first there are some slightly more old fashioned diagnostic
procedures to deal with."
Steele stared coolly at his nemesis. "Nothing too old fashioned,
I hope.
No applying leeches, or consulting the entrails of passing pigeons."
Lindstrom laughed uneasily. "That's a good one. I like to
see a patient
with a sense of humor. The bulk of your exam, like before, will
be
conducted by Nurse Blackell. She's quite skilled at the more
'hands on'
aspects."
Steele winced. "Those who live to tell the tale have the
bruises to
prove it. I'd hoped you'd convinced her to take off for a brief
vacation. To a small, but not inhospitable yurt in Outer Mongolia,
perhaps."
"She has a bedside manner like a buzz saw but she's a very
good nurse."
Lindstrom stopped short, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. "What's
a
yurt?"
"A collapsible hut used by nomadic -- never mind that. Let's
get this
over with, shall we?"
"I just have a few minor adjustments to make to your state
of the art
sleep station. You have the signal honor, Mr. Steele, of being
the very
first patient to test this equipment. You'll be amazed when you
see what
it can do."
Steele yawned at the prospect. "I feel the urge to nap already."
"We'll be monitoring you on video all the way. Down to the
slightest eye
movement and muscle twitch."
Steele flinched perceptibly. "Well, I hope my performance
is up to par.
I hate to disappoint an audience."
"That's the spirit. One thing you'll find about the Sentry2000
- it
never sleeps on the job." Lindstrom chuckled at his own
joke. "Just a
little sleep clinic humor."
"Charming," Steele said dryly.
"Nurse Blackell will be with you shortly. If you two would
have a seat
in the waiting area I'll make sure she's ready."
"Busy oiling her rack and thumbscrews, no doubt," Steele
replied with a
sour smile. They found two empty chairs and sat down.
Lindstrom's eyes lingered on Laura as he made to leave. "Do
you play
tennis, Miss Holt?"
Laura's frowned in puzzlement at this rather odd segue. "I've
been known
to. Why do you ask?"
"I couldn't help noticing your admirable soleus and gastrocnemius."
"You'll have to translate. I'm not really a doctor, you
know."
"Nice gams."
Laura blushed and looked down at her legs. "Oh, I see."
"Anatomy lessons are on the house," said Lindstrom
with a hopeful smile.
"Anytime you need -"
Steele leapt to his feet, barely resisting the impulse to grab
the other
man by the scruff of the neck. "She's not the one who needs
a lesson,
mate."
The hint of street toughness in Steele's tone put Laura on alert;
only a
hair's breadth of civility was keeping him from swatting Lindstrom
like
an annoying mosquito.
Lindstrom's eyes flickered nervously to Steele as he tried to
backpedal
out of harm's way. "Uh, we doctors tend to notice such things.
Hazard of
the profession."
Steele's eyes narrowed. "Hazardous, indeed, doctor."
Lindstrom took the hint and ran with it. "I'll just go -
get the nurse."
He skittered away like a startled beach crab.
***
Laura let out a breath as the storm clouds receded. The blustery
atmosphere was making her head spin. "Don't start with me.
I'm in no
mood to referee the testosterone Olympics," she snapped
ominously.
"You're warning off the wrong man. Or maybe you don't want
to warn him
off."
Laura swung her heavy purse onto her shoulder. "I know how
to use this -
and I'm inches away from putting the both of you in traction."
"The man's insufferable. Every woman in the world does not
want to sleep
with him."
Laura shrugged noncommittally. "Except maybe the narcoleptics
on the
third floor."
"Good lord. His sense of humor is contagious. I'll ring
the nurse for
some disinfectant."
"Someone we know certainly got up on the wrong side of the
bed."
"I was quite content to stay there until you rousted me
out. Rather
ironic, don't you think? Waking a man up to drive him to a sleep
clinic?"
Laura gritted her teeth. "This negative attitude of yours
is not
helping."
"Easy for you to say. You're not being left to the tender
mercies of
Lindstrom and his metal sidekick, Sleep-3PO."
"I know Lindstrom's annoying but he is a qualified professional
when it
comes to sleep disorders."
"I think I prefer the sleep droid. Perhaps it's been programmed
with a
pleasing personality. Pity we couldn't start Lindstrom's from
scratch."
Steele had inadvertently added the proverbial last straw. Laura
sprang
up like a jack in the box. "That's it. I'm leaving. I haven't
heard
this much whining since I had to spend my niece's allowance."
Steele eyed her askance. "You spent your niece's allowance?
Really,
Laura. Children must have role models."
"We were at the circus, alright?" Laura huffed. "And
I forgot to gas up
the Rabbit."
"So you raided the piggy bank. Tsk. Tsk."
"She shouldn't complain. She got back fifteen percent interest.
Never
mind. You're on your own from now on." Laura picked up Steele's
overnight bag and deposited it decisively in his lap.
"But, Laura -"
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Steele."
"But I'm your most important, most - desperate patient.
You wouldn't
desert me at such a critical time -"
"Try me."
"Love to, but could we go back to my place? Unless you want
to cozy up
to a machine. If you're feeling adventurous we could make it
a threesome
but it might get a bit cramped."
"I'm not cozying up to anything. Or anyone. Two's company,
three's a
crowd. The future's all yours. I'm going home."
"But, Laura, what about my tension relieving massage?"
"I'm sure your sleep droid has the latest attachments."
"Dial 'M' for massage? That's so impersonal. So - clinical."
Laura waved an arm at their surroundings. "When in Rome,
Mr. Steele."
Steele's reply died on his lips as he spied the Gorgon-like visage
of
Nurse Blackell. She was frowning down at her clipboard, heavy
strides
drawing her ever closer to her prey.
"Mister Steele," she barked in a military fashion.
"The head nurse at
admissions was afraid to disturb you. Seems to think you're some
sort of
VIP, but as I've told her before, everyone gets the same treatment
here."
"Rather like the Spanish Inquisition," Steele said
dryly.
"You may think it's amusing to play hide and seek with your
medical
history but we get the last laugh in the end. No one leaves gaps
on a
form 1106-C."
"Gaps? Really? Must have run short on ink."
Nurse Blackell smiled unpleasantly and handed him a pen. "I
have plenty
of extras." She patted her pocket.
Feeling rather like a prisoner forced to sign a confession, Steele
took
up the clipboard, squinting at the large portions of white space
starting somewhere in the vicinity of question 4-B. Pen poised
above
it, he glanced around the room as if hoping to pull inspiration
out of
his surroundings.
Steele waved frantically at Laura whom he discovered, to his
dismay, was
halfway to the exit. "My trusty associate can assist you
with filling in
these rather unfortunate blanks. She knows every detail of Remington
Steele's medical history. Better than I do, in fact. I have a
mind like
a sieve when it comes to these matters."
"That I can believe," Nurse Blackell replied acidly.
"There are gaps, Miss Holt," Steele cried desperately.
"I need your
assistance. Your rare instincts. Your professional opinion."
Laura beat a hasty retreat. "Take two aspirin, Mr. Steele.
And call me
in the morning."
***
"So, how do I seem this time?"
Nurse Blackell surveyed him with a gimlet eye. "As healthy
as a
Holstein heifer."
"I see your stock of similes hasn't left the barnyard since
our paths
last crossed."
"You want poetry -"
"Go to the library. Yes, I remember. Your gruff and pungent
wit has made
an indelible impression. To match the one in my neck." Steele
winced and
tried to turn his head away but his antagonist held it firmly
in her
fingers.
"Eyes front." She shined a penlight close to each orb.
Steele blinked. "Shouldn't this sort of thing be done by
someone with
the proper credentials? You could hurt someone with that -"
The insertion of eye drops put a temporary end to the discussion.
"This will take effect in about twenty minutes or so. I'll
be back
shortly. Don't go anywhere. The last patient who went exploring
ended up
in the cadaver room."
Steele grimaced. "That's what I call a stiff penalty."
***
Nurse Blackell peered into Steele's dilated pupils with an
ophthalmoscope.
"What a life you must lead. I haven't seen eyes this bloodshot
since I
worked in the methadone clinic downtown."
"I daresay your patients were more rested than I am. I have
this
condition, you see. It's called insomnia. Perhaps you've heard
of it."
Nurse Blackell ignored his sarcasm, squinting into the scope
with a
disapproving head shake. "Not a pretty picture."
"I thought you said I was healthy."
"Healthy. Not perfect. Don't expect me to massage your ego.
This is a
sleep center. Not a sensitivity spa."
"You'll find my ego is quite easily bruised. I'm sure it's
best for all
concerned if we forego any untoward intimacies. I have a very
low pain
threshold."
Steele stifled a yelp as she kneaded his shoulders roughly. "So
I've
noticed. Speaking of massage, I think we're going to get along
famously.
My hands are certified, you know."
"As lethal weapons?"
"I used to work for a doctor who specialized in these kinds
of
'adjustments.'"
"Where is he now? Embroiled in a costly malpractice suit?
Or dodging
extradition in Paraguay?"
"He was my mentor. I learned a lot from him, Mr. Steele."
She pressed
two blunt thumbs solidly against his spine. "But I don't
mind sharing."
Steele's eyes widened in alarm. "I'd sooner share my toothbrush
with
Margaret Thatcher."
"There's a bundle of very receptive nerves just about --"
"Ouch!"
"Bingo. I never miss. I'm going to enjoy strapping you in,
so to speak."
"I beg your pardon?" Steele gulped.
"To your sleep station."
"Ah, yes. The twenty-first century wonder."
"And if you're thinking of switching connections and wandering
off like
you did last time, think again."
"It was a rather daring and unexpected ploy, wasn't it?
Defies
categorization really, but you could call it an homage to the
cinema.
'The Great Escape.' Steve McQueen, James Garner. United Artists,
1963."
"Don't flatter yourself. I've seen the movie."
"You go to movies?" Steele scowled as if the thought
depressed him.
"I watch the late show. You're no James Garner. And no one
would ever
confuse you with Steve McQueen."
"You're not leaving me many options."
"There's always that little bald guy with the glasses."
"Ah. The forger. Colin Blythe. Played by Donald Pleasance.
Not my first
choice but we do have certain skills in common. I'd be happy
to supply
you with a passport on short notice. Even throw in some mosquito
netting and a one way ticket on the 'Patagonian Express.'"
"Nice try, but I have no plans to leave my post. I wouldn't
want to miss
anything."
"What a pity. I was just discussing your vacation with Dr.
Lindstrom.
We could all use some rest and relaxation."
"I didn't know you cared."
"I was thinking of the rest of us."
"There are some things about this place I wouldn't miss."
She glared
pointedly at Steele.
"Nice to have something in common."
The combatants looked up as Lindstrom came through the door of
the
examining room.
The doctor glanced around the room as if expecting to see Laura.
"Mr.
Steele." Still a little wary from their recent encounter,
he tried to
add an extra measure of cheer to his bedside manner. "Still
with us, I
see. And how are we faring?" He picked up Steele's chart
from Nurse
Blackell.
"We," Steele replied testily, "are not at all
amused."
Lindstrom glanced at the chart. "Really? I'd say the vital
signs are
pretty encouraging."
Steele rubbed the back of his neck and winced. "Appearances
can be
deceiving, doctor. A few more minutes alone with your accomplice
and I'd
have been a candidate for reconstructive surgery."
"I'm sure you'll, ah, adjust to our way of doing things.
It's important
for our patients to have a positive outlook."
"I'm painfully aware of my responsibility, doctor."
Nurse Blackell flexed her fingers with a flourish.
"I appreciate that, Mr. Steele," Lindstrom continued.
"And mine is to
see that you receive the finest and most up to date treatment
during
your stay. Why don't we adjourn to your sleep room and get the
ball
rolling, so to speak? I think it's all systems go."
Steele straightened his tie. "Do I look presentable? My
associate, Miss
Holt, dragged me out of bed just moments before we arrived, so
I'm
afraid I'm not at my best for your candid cameras." Steele
hoped that
the casually dropped hint of a mattress testing session with
Laura was
not lost on his rival.
Lindstrom looked more than a little downcast, Steele thought,
but the
doctor pressed on manfully.
"I'm sure you'll do fine, Mr. Steele. The important thing
is to remember
that it's all just part of the treatment."
"Well, one does like to make a good impression."
Lindstrom ushered his patient into the sleep room. Steele strolled
around, seized by an uncomfortable feeling of d_j vu as he stared
at
the daunting array of wires, graphs, recording pens, and rhythmically
pulsing and beeping monitors. He couldn't fathom what was so
remarkable
about this new and improved sleep station; it looked more like
a
glorified, over-fed, calculating machine than an endearing and
amiable
sleep droid.
"As you can see, Mr. Steele, we like to simulate the home
environment as
much as possible. You can wear your own pajamas, bring reading
material,
or even watch television if it helps you drift off to sleep."
Steele raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Do you get the 'Movie
Classics'
channel? It's just begun airing and I find it quite relaxing."
"Err, I don't think so. We don't have cable. Just what's
on the
networks."
"So much for the comforts of home."
"The staff has had your things brought up. You can step
into that
adjoining bathroom and change into your pajamas. Then we'll get
you
wired, as they say in the parlance."
Steele went into the bathroom and emerged several minutes later
wearing
dark blue silk pajamas and carrying his clothes over his arm.
"Nurse, would you hang up Mr. Steele's clothes?"
Nurse Blackell reached out for them causing Steele to step back
in
alarm. "I prefer to do it myself. I'm a creature of habit
when it comes
to these things."
"As you like," agreed Lindstrom.
Nurse Blackell frowned at her watch as Steele took nearly three
minutes
to square the shoulders on his jacket and to drape his trousers
so that
the crease would remain flawless.
"You really should invest in some proper suit hangers,"
Steele
remonstrated. "It would make this much simpler." He
smiled innocently.
"I hope I'm not holding up progress."
"Don't worry," said the nurse tartly. "I get paid
by the hour."
"So. Where do you want me?" Steele asked his medical
team.
"On the bed is -- traditional," replied Lindstrom.
"Of course." Steele stretched out full length on the
bed and shifted
about trying to get comfortable. "Not quite up to the Michelin
Red Guide
Standard, is it?" Steele gave the pillow an experimental
thwack.
"Nurse Blackell, perhaps you should fluff Mr. Steele's pillow."
"I'd be happy to." She yanked the pillow unceremoniously
out from under
Steele's head and proceeded to pound it like a boxer striking
a heavy
bag. She smiled with satisfaction and thrust it back into place.
"There.
Isn't that better?"
"Oh, quite. You've certainly beaten it into submission."
"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch."
"OK, Mr. Steele. Let's get you situated. Nurse, if you would
assist me
in hooking up the patient."
"Of course, doctor."
In short order a series of electrodes was attached to Steele's
scalp,
near his eyes, nose, and chin, and on his chest and shins. Elastic
belts
were secured around his chest and abdomen and a small clip device
was
attached to his index finger.
"The clip on your finger will monitor your blood oxygen
levels and the
elastic belts will measure respiratory effort. The electrodes,
Mr.
Steele, will tell us what you, the subject, are not able to about
your
sleep events. They will be recording your EEG, EOG, EMG, and
so on."
"Is a translation on the house, too, or will it appear on
my bill?"
"Oh. Sorry to sound so technical. It's actually quite simple.
Your brain
waves, eye movements, leg movements, muscle tension data will
all be fed
into your SleepSentry 2000. The attached recording pens will
transfer
the data onto these printouts.
"Yes, I believe I've seen the results before. Charming idea
for a
bedspread. You could sell them in your gift shop."
"Two pages of data equal to about one minute of sleep. A
patient can go
through a thousand pages a night."
Steele was mildly amused. "The sleeper's equivalent of a
Tolstoy novel."
"All in the name of science, Mr. Steele. The high resolution
monitors
we've installed at the central nurses' station will display a
full view
of your sleep environment, and your various sleep positions,
in living
color recorded on videotape.
"I'd have preferred a big screen debut at Grauman's Chinese
Theater,"
Steele replied disdainfully, "Still, my hopes weren't high."
"Nurse Blackell will be checking up on you to see that everything
is
going smoothly."
"If you need anything during the night," Nurse Blackell
said with a thin
smile, "I have a bedpan handy."
"Right. I almost forgot, Mr. Steele. We provide a bathroom
but we prefer
that our patients not unhook themselves from the machine. Nurse
Blackell
will be on call. You can press this remote button here to summon
her
when needed."
Steele made a mental note not to drink any liquids in the next
eight
hours.
"I suppose it's unfair of me to expect a layman to share
my enthusiasm
but I'm awfully excited by the possibilities with our new SleepSentry.
We're at the crossroads of a new era in sleep disorder diagnosis
and
treatment."
"If you don't mind my asking, doctor, is there a massage
attachment on
this thoroughly modern machine?"
Lindstrom's brow furrowed. "No, I'm afraid not. I suppose
that never
occurred to the manufacturer. But it's not a bad idea. Might
be relaxing
for some of our patients."
The intercom crackled with static and a voice announced, "Nurse
Blackell, please report to nurses station two. Nurses station
two."
"I'll finish up here, nurse," reassured Lindstrom.
"Your special expertise is required elsewhere, eh?"
Steele queried
sardonically. "A lorry load of ace bandages arrive? Or perhaps
a
consignment of tongue depressors?"
"Those could come in handy," snapped his nemesis. "We
have no shortage
of bedpans. I'll be keeping in touch. I can't wait for next morning's
rounds."
"What happens tomorrow morning?" asked Steele apprehensively.
"Your sponge bath." Nurse Blackell's lips pulled back
in a semblance of
a smile. "I have just the perfect sponge for the job."
Steele was struck speechless for a moment but he quickly recovered.
"Some variant of industrial grade sandpaper? I must warn
you I have very
sensitive skin. In fact, a sponge bath could be hazardous to
my health.
I only use a specially imported soap from Hong Kong. Or is it
Marrakesh?
I doubt you have it in stock."
Nurse Blackell curled her lip in disapproval and marched out
to answer
her summons.
"All of our soaps are hypoallergenic, Mr. Steele,"
said Lindstrom
soothingly.
"Best not to take any chances, don't you think? I could
break out in a
terrible rash. Be unable to sleep a wink for weeks."
"I wouldn't worry needlessly, Mr. Steele. None of our patients
have
complained of this before."
"Well, the narcoleptics wouldn't, would they? They could
sleep through
anything. We insomniacs are more sensitive."
"I'm beginning to think so."
Steele fidgeted on the bed, trying to shake off the feeling that
he was
inescapably trapped; at the mercy of the Lindstroms and the Nurse
Blackells of the world, and there wasn't much he could do about
it.
"I don't see that a sponge bath is necessary. I thought
I was only
staying overnight."
"You'll probably be released before lunch. We want to determine
your
sleep phase syndrome based on your wakefulness in the morning
and note
any EDS deficits."
"EDS?"
"It's an acronym for excessive daytime sleepiness."
"How prosaic. I thought you physicians preferred Latin and
Greek."
Steele's eyes darted around the room restlessly. He noticed a
device
wired to the sleep station that looked like a downsized version
of a
blood pressure cuff. It was practically the only thing he wasn't
tethered to. He held it up by two fingers.
"What's this, doctor? Something you forgot to attach?"
Lindstrom was taken aback. "Well, ah, perhaps, but we don't
use it in
all cases."
"I like to know my agency is getting its money's worth.
What's it used
for?"
"It's an NPT, um, nocturnal penile tumescence device. We
give it to our
male patients to wrap around their penis during sleep. You see,
some of
them are referred to us due to erectile dysfunction; this cuff
device
measures blood flow, duration and intensity of the subject's
nocturnal -
"
Steele held up both hands in a restraining gesture. "That's
quite enough
translation, doctor. You've no further need to, ah, expand on
the
subject."
"Of course, I had no indication it was needed but if you're
having any
dysfunction -"
Such a suggestion from Lindstrom was more than he could stomach.
"Hardly," Steele hastened to assure his rival. "I
wake up with a smile
on my face every morning, doctor. And several times a night,
in fact."
"Really?" Lindstrom winked broadly. "I have the
same problem."
Steele highly doubted it.
"Seriously, though, Mr. Steele. That could actually be contributing
to
your sleeplessness. If you have episodes of unusual frequency
or
intensity, well, we might want to record them for further study."
Steele flushed with embarrassment. "Err, I'd rather not,
if you don't
mind. I don't think there's any connection. It's all quite usual,
really." That wasn't exactly the whole truth, Steele mused.
Ever since
he had been trying to bed a certain petite, chestnut haired,
maddeningly
elusive private eye the frequency, duration, and intensity of
his
"episodes" had reached fever pitch.
"I should have asked during your initial interview, "
Lindstrom
continued. "Many male patients are rather reluctant to broach
the
subject on their own."
"Yes, well, I think the matter has been discussed at length,
ah, I mean,
quite enough, doctor."
"Well, if you're sure there's no need."
"Quite sure." Steele wondered if Lindstrom was dense
or just goading
him.
"Well, I'll leave you to your session. There's no need to
inform us of
when you plan to go to sleep. The system is ready and waiting
for its
cue. Whenever you feel the urge just let it happen. We'll know
the
precise moment you drift off to dreamland."
Steele made a face. "What a comforting thought. If I skip
a number when
I'm counting sheep I'll be sure to check the printout."
***
Laura nibbled the edge of a Hershey bar and cranked up the ignition.
This was the third gas station she'd stopped at since she left
the
clinic. She'd gotten off the highway twice before, with every
intention
of turning around and heading back to check on her patient but
she'd
managed to talk herself out of it with a combination of unassailable
logic, residual anger, and primal fear. Decision final despite
the sharp
pricking of her conscience, she pulled onto the highway and headed
for
the relative safety of home.
Her admirably balanced, mathematical brain told her that as long
as she
was on the scene there would be friction between Steele and Lindstrom,
and that was hardly the ideal scenario to speed the patient on
the way
to recovery. That particular m_nage a trois equaled disaster;
Steele
needed to see his doctor as an authority figure, not a rival.
Also on the debit side, her partner's crankiness was not making
him easy
to live with. Disinclination to do what he was told had always
been his
stock in trade, not to mention that he had some odd notion that
medical
science was hugely overrated and she could fix what ailed him
with a
head to toe body massage, a sponge bath, and her -- what did
he call it
again? Oh, yes. Her lilting voice. His moods and flare-ups she
could
handle; it wasn't as if she'd never seen him lose his temper
before, but
the job description for his private duty nurse was not what Florence
Nightingale had in mind.
It wasn't just the physical therapy side of the ledger that had
her
running for cover. She'd begun to suspect that underneath the
flirting
and the frustration was something that, reduced to its simplest
terms,
jolted her equilibrium even more. He needed her. Not just her
voice or
her touch, but her continual presence, her reassurance, her
companionship. But how could she really help a man whose depths
were so
shrouded in mystery? What she knew about him barely scratched
the
surface. The pre-insomniac Remington Steele hadn't seemed to
need
anyone, least of all Laura Holt. He desired her without equivocation,
had readily admitted he was challenged by her - but he had never
needed
her. Until now. It was a sobering, thrilling, scary, spine tingling
thought.
***
Steele sat propped up in bed, a free agent no longer, yoked and
tied
like a helpless lab rat into the nerve center of Sleep Central.
He
stared disconsolately into space. Being here was far worse than
he'd
imagined, even more disheartening because the day had shown such
promise. Laura had put him through his paces at the gym in more
ways
than one but he'd rarely had a more stimulating or more enjoyable
two
hours. His limbs were beginning to feel the after effects of
his
exertions but it was a relatively benign ache at this particular
moment.
He wondered what he would feel like in the morning.
Why hadn't Laura stayed with him at the clinic? And what on earth
had
set her off like that? He thought he'd been more than civil throughout
this entire ordeal. Certainly far more accommodating than Lindstrom
deserved. It all seemed so trivial now. And so pointless. Having
his
angel of mercy on call was what really mattered. Didn't Laura
know how
he would miss her?
Trying to fortify himself for the hours ahead, Steele summoned
up a
detailed memory of Laura by the pool that, as it progressed,
became
nearly unbearable in its eroticism. His body, starved for any
form of
excitation reacted visibly and quite measurably in a manner guaranteed
to stretch the limits of any NPT device had one been attached
to his
designated appendage. Steele shut his eyes tightly for a moment
and
surrendered himself body and soul to the feeling. The spell was
abruptly
broken when an involuntary twitch of his leg disconnected an
electrode
and sent a monitor beeping like mad, sharply reminding him that
he was
still the main attraction onscreen at the nurses' station. He
let out a
moan of frustration and rolled over on his stomach, burying his
face in
the pillow. It was going to be a very long night.
1:15 am.
Steele stared at the neon green lights of his sleep monitors
and
calculated his chances. The bathroom and blessed relief were
only a few
feet away but the action entailed a rapid and total disengagement
which
would in all likelihood send out the SleepSentry version of an
all
points bulletin. If only there were some other warm body he could
attach
his electrodes to, but none was convenient. There was nothing
for it but
to slip away as quietly and expeditiously as possible.
Steele quickly began removing his tethers. First one sensor,
then
another began to beep and blink frantically. All that was needed
to
complete the picture was a guard tower, a searchlight, and a
barking
Alsatian. "Traitor," Steele muttered darkly to the
machine as he sprang
toward the bathroom door.
"Oh, what a relief it is," he said aloud as, bladder
finally eased, he
exited the bathroom shortly after. Steele began to weigh the
considerable odds of a complete getaway. Perhaps he could tell
Laura
that he sleepwalked during the night and managed to make it back
to his
flat by hitchhiking with some compassionate passing motorist.
A familiar gruff voice spoke from out of the near darkness. "Like
I
said, no one would ever confuse you with Steve McQueen. And even
he
couldn't clear that barbed wire fence."
"Next time remind me to get script approval."
"Try it again. Please. I haven't had to strap anyone to
the bed in a
long time."
"I warn you, nurse. One phone call to Amnesty International
-"
"Don't push it."
4:10 am.
Steele surfaced, clammy with sweat, from a claustrophobic and
uneasy
slumber. He felt dull, yet unsettled, like a car stuck fast in
the mud
spinning its wheels. His right eardrum reverberated with the
muffled
whine of the SleepSentry's paper feed and he could discern the
faint
scratching of the recording pens as they dutifully noted each
brain wave
and tiny movement his half awake body was sending.
A line from a poem popped into his head from nowhere: "the
moving finger
writes; and, having writ, moves on--"
He had no idea what it meant but it made him wonder if all this
machinery he'd set in motion was capable of answering the one
question
that had haunted him for five days and five nights: why couldn't
he go
to sleep?
***
"Good morning, Mr. Steele." Laura smiled down at him.
Steele pulled himself up on his elbows and stared at the vision
that had
materialized before him, still unsure if his sleep deprived brain
was
playing a few more tricks.
"You look awful."
He decided it wasn't. "You're rather cheeky for a mirage."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's just that you seem rather prone to sudden disappearances
and
re-appearances these days. Not that I'm complaining," Steele
hastened to
add. At that moment there was nothing he wanted more than to
gather her
securely in his arms.
"Stay right where you are, Laura."
"What for?"
He solemnly attached a spare set of electrodes one by one to
his
surprised partner. When he placed one just above her right breast
she
convulsed with laughter.
"That tickles."
"You wear them well, Miss Holt. Oh, I forgot this."
He removed his
elastic chest strap and fastened it tightly around her waist.
"I know you're capable of anything when it comes to getting
me helpless
and horizontal, but I never thought you'd go this far."
"Desperate times, desperate measures."
"I don't think that's a medically accepted use for this
equipment."
"Anytime you'd like to test my, ah, equipment, Miss Holt,
I'm more than
willing to show you how it works."
In an impressive display of agility for someone who was half
asleep a
minute before, Steele pulled her fully on top of him. His pulse
began to
race when he noticed she hardly resisted.
"Mr. Steele." She could feel his heart pounding hard
and fast. She
slipped her palm just inside his pajama top, fingers tentatively
exploring the dark hair of his chest.
"Mmm?" He nibbled her earlobe.
"Don't look now but that printout is going a mile a minute."
"So it is." His lips skimmed her jawline and trailed
warm, breathless
kisses down her neck and right shoulder.
"What would Dr. Lindstrom say?"
"He's the expert observer. I'd guess something along the
lines of 'Mr.
Steele, for a man who can't sleep, you're in a very enviable
position.'"
"I don't think he'd say that, Mr. Steele."
"You're probably right. I'm sure he knows some anatomical
term for it."
"Is there any way to turn that thing off?"
"Not from here, apparently. And the nurse's station still
has the video
- ah, never mind about that." Steele mentally kicked himself
for his
verbal slip.
"Video? You never said anything about video!"
"You never asked."
"Well, how would I know? And besides, you -- distracted
me." Laura tried
to wriggle out of his grasp but he held her fast.
Steele grinned in triumph. "I must truly be irresistible."
"Ha! I'd rather kiss a narcoleptic."
"You don't say, " Steele murmured against her lips.
"An instant cure, no
doubt. You certainly keep me awake at night."
"You're not blaming all of this on me!"
"Why not? Ironic that wanting to sleep with you has me up
at all hours."
"Uh-uh. No fair. I'm not taking this lying down, Mr. Steele."
"Pity. That sounded like a good start. What say we give
the gang at
nurses station two something to talk about, eh?"
Laura quirked an eyebrow at him. When she had passed by the station
the
one and only topic of conversation had been the impossibly good
looking
and semi-famous patient in room 203.
"Those nurses talk quite enough, Mr. Steele. It wouldn't
surprise me if
they spend their lunch hour phoning in hot tips about the clientele
to
the local news." Laura wondered how many of them were taking
notes. She
kissed Steele's forehead chastely and slid off him to one side,
looking
around for the video camera.
Not willing to surrender his prize so easily, Steele sidled closer,
slender fingers of one hand teasing the exposed bare skin under
the hem
of her blouse.
"Would you stop!" Her hand closed on his, arresting
further
developments.
Steele's eyes wandered freely over the areas of her body where
his hands
were denied permission. He studied her, clearly enjoying the
view.
"While you look perfectly ravishing as always, Miss Holt,
perhaps a
charmingly backless hospital gown would be apropos."
Confounded by the man who reclined mere inches away, Laura wondered
how
many women he'd charmed into just this position. The word "ravishing",
Laura was sure, had never sounded as exquisitely sensual as it
did
coming from his lips. Still, she felt compelled to put up more
than a
token resistance.
Laura pushed away from him and sat up on the bed. "I think
I'll pass. I
don't want my naked tush to end up on 'Spotlight News.'"
"I believe I caught a glimpse of it last night."
"In your dreams!" Laura scoffed at his bold assertion.
Steele sighed fervently. "At least twice nightly - but I
was referring
to 'Spotlight News'. Tell me, Laura, just to satisfy my idle
curiosity.
Are all American female newsreaders blonde and braless?"
"On 'Spotlight News'? Try brainless."
"You know, Laura, if you'd move just a shade to the left
our audience
would have a clearer view of my profile."
Laura's brow furrowed as something else occurred to her. "Speaking
of
our audience -- what's an NPT device?"
Steele did a double take. "Ah, why do you ask?"
"Just curious. One of the nurses was saying she'd like to
hook you up to
one."
"Really?" Steele's eyes widened. He grinned roguishly
and ran his
fingers through his hair. "An attractive bonde, green eyes,
lovely
cheekbones?"
"No. A brunette with a very big perm and a very big -"
Laura's hands
motioned expansively near her chest.
Steele raised an eyebrow. "Stethoscope? Ah, I think I know
the one."
He paused, lost in thought. "Nurses. That reminds me. Promise
me
something, Laura."
"Not without seeing the fine print," Laura said warily.
"I don't think you quite understand. This promise isn't
negotiable. It's
a matter of life and death."
Laura detected the rising note of panic in his voice. "I
almost believe
you."
"Promise me that if Nurse Blackell appears you'll tell her
that I've
just received an urgent communique from Interpol. Must dash to
Lyon on
the Concorde without delay."
"Interpol? Aren't we taking our official bio a bit too seriously?"
"Any port in a storm."
"Coward," Laura teased, straightening the collar of
his pajamas. "Why
drag me into it? As I recall you used the same approach on Emory
Arnoch.
Flight from Bogota, wasn't it?"
"Laura, I wouldn't approach that woman without a loaded
pistol. She's
armed with a deadly sponge."
"A sponge?"
"Would you be averse to changing the subject? Ask me how
I slept last
night."
"OK. I'll bite. How did you sleep last night?"
"Terribly. The surveillance techniques they practice here
put Remington
Steele Investigations in the shade."
"I thought you enjoyed the spotlight, Mr. Steele."
"There are times, Miss Holt, when even the most public private
eye
yearns for anonymity. The allure of the camera has its limits."
Laura slid closer, half reclining, and kissed him lightly on
the lips.
"How disappointing for your fan club at the nurses station.
That blonde
will be devastated."
"She'll get over it. In time." Steele abruptly sat
up and began digging
through the toiletries in his overnight bag. He unearthed a bottle
of
shaving cream.
"You're going to shave? Now?" Laura's eyebrows shot
up in surprise. She
ran her fingers across the dark shadow on his chin. "Actually,
Mr.
Steele, I rather like this look for you."
"Hold that thought, Miss Holt." Steele held up one
finger in a "time
out" gesture. Managing to stand up on the mattress without
disturbing
his tethers, he coated the lens of the overhead video camera
with thick,
white foam, then tossed the can of shaving cream back into the
bag.
In a flash Steele had resumed his original position on the bed.
"That's
better. Now. Where were we?"
Between slow, searching kisses Steele lowered Laura the rest
of the way
to the mattress. She hadn't intended things to end up this way
but what
he was doing with his lips was enflaming her senses as instantaneously
as a match put to dry paper. Laura reached around his neck, eager
fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair. Not content with that
tactile
sensation, she ached to feel more. Her hands wandered feverishly
over
his half buttoned pajama top, sliding across silk, tangling in
electrode
wires; Steele's own restraint was equally affected; his growing
arousal
brushed her thigh.
A loud knock on the door sent Laura springing away as if she'd
been
fired from a gun. Frantically, she straightened her clothing
and tried
to untangle herself from the electrodes. The door opened and
Lindstrom
entered, clipboard in hand.
"Good morning," he greeted cheerfully. His mildly confused
gaze took in
the scene. "Can I help you with something, Miss Holt?"
Laura pulled the last connection from her chest and let it fall
to the
floor. "I was just, um, checking Mr. Steele's, um - apparatus."
She got
up from the bed and slunk to a nearby chair.
"Any problems?"
"On the contrary. Everything is in perfect working order,"
Steele
replied smugly, covering himself below the waist with a pillow.
"What
are your findings, Doctor Holt?"
Laura could feel a ripe blush creeping over every square inch
of her
skin. "Everything seems --- to be, um, ah, functioning -"
"At peak capacity, wouldn't you agree?" finished Steele,
drumming his
fingers lightly on the bedsheet.
Laura glared a warning at him. "I didn't inspect that closely,
Mr.
Steele."
"That's easily remedied. I've no doubt my equipment can
perform to the
most rigid standards."
The inference passed unnoticed by Lindstrom as he busied himself
with
removing Steele's electrodes. "I think we have all the data
we need for
now." He perused the top pages of the sleep printouts. "There
seems to
be some unusual spiking activity in the last few minutes."
He scratched
his forehead. "Fascinating."
Steele glanced behind Lindstrom, feeling the skin prick suddenly
on the
back of his neck. "Where's your gruff and ready accomplice
this
morning?"
"Pardon?"
"Nurse Blackell. Has she flown away on her broomstick to
parts unknown?"
"Nurse B? Oh, terrible accident. Glass everywhere."
"On the freeway?" Laura asked with concern.
"Not exactly. One of the narcoleptics fell asleep in the
hallway when
she was carrying some specimen bottles. Tipped her right over."
"Alas. How unfortunate."
"Don't worry, Mr. Steele. She's fine. Just a bit of a mess
to clean up.
It was Ivan Turbell, actually, who was the roadblock. You remember
Ivan."
"Of course. Dear God. How is he? None the worse for wear,
I trust."
"As well as expected. Over the years he's gotten used to
being stumbled
upon."
"All in the line of duty. Good show, Ivan old boy."
Steele grinned
delightedly.
"Speaking of the line of duty, Mr. Steele, I have a simple
task for you
to complete."
Steele rolled his shoulders, wincing a little. "Does it
involve heavy
lifting? I think we covered that yesterday."
"Just a simple alertness test. To measure your EDS levels."
"Daytime sleepiness, yes." Steele repressed a yawn.
"Don't worry,
doctor, I'm ready for anything."
Lindstrom handed him the clipboard and pencil and waved adieu.
"See you
in half an hour."
Steele looked down at it and felt his stomach turn over. "Crossword
puzzles?"
"They're a great mental exercise."
"So they tell me. I'm beginning to think that being an insomniac
requires an infinite capacity for filling in blanks."
"It's a little unorthodox, Mr. Steele. Not our usual method,
but I
thought you might enjoy it."
"I'd like to express my gratitude, but frankly, words fail
me."
"I hope not. We require at least a seventy percent completion
rate."
Lindstrom chuckled at his own cleverness.
"Well then, doctor. I'll try to eke out a gentleman's 'C.'"
Lindstrom tucked Steele's sleep printouts under his arm. "I'll
be in
touch with you in a day or so with your results. We'll be doing
our
part, the SleepSentry and I, playing detective with the clues
from your
sleep record."
"Playing detective? Was it Colonel Mustard in the conservatory
with a
candlestick? Or Professor Plum?" Laura intoned mock dramatically.
Steele and Lindstrom stared at her with blank incomprehension.
Laura shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. You've
never heard
of 'Clue'?"
The pair shook their heads slowly as if humoring someone shy
a few
marbles. "Refresh my memory, Miss Holt," Steele recovered
enough to ask.
"Who starred in it?"
"It isn't a movie, Mr. Steele. It's a game."
When he looked even blanker she tried to explain. "When
things got a
little slow at Havenhurst, we used to sit around, spread out
the board
and - well, it was kind of a role playing thing." She gestured
aimlessly. "I guess you had to be there."
"Happy hunting doctor. I think my associate should lie down.
She's
obviously unwell."
Laura glanced over at the bed. "You never give up, do you?"
Lindstrom cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you to your
pencil and
paper, Mr. Steele. I'll be back to check up on you shortly."
"If my, ah, alertness this morning is any indication, I'm
sure I'll make
excellent progress," replied Steele with a meaningful glance
at Laura.
"Good man," said Lindstrom, on his way out the door.
"Ready to continue your inspection, Miss Holt?" Steele
waggled his
eyebrows salaciously.
"I don't think your schedule will allow it, Mr. Steele."
"You may be right. There isn't a moment to lose."
"I'll say. Crosswords aren't your strong suit."
"Point taken, but that wasn't what I meant." Steele
glanced up at the
video camera which was beginning to drip shaving cream. "I'd
be
delighted to continue what we started earlier but I'm not sure
how much
longer we can avoid the roving eye of Sleep Central."
The sight of a deliciously rumpled Steele reclining a few feet
away was
almost irresistible. "It's a tempting offer," Laura
conceded, "but what
about your crossword?"
"As it happens I know the answers practically by heart."
Laura crossed her arms skeptically. "That sounds suspiciously
like a
bluff."
"Not at all. I worked out this very same puzzle days ago.
Odd
coincidence, but there it is."
"Too odd." Laura walked over to the bed and handed
him the clipboard and
pencil. "Put it in writing, Mr. Steele."
Steele sighed audibly. "Trust is such a rare commodity these
days."
***
- TBC
- To Part
7
- BACK