Is This Considered A Cliche?

Chapter Two | Meeting Alphonso Venturi (Part One)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by M-A-COYNE

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Chapter Two

M E E T I N G V E N T U R I

PART ONE

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"Scrubs make me look fat," I said to Nurse Janet Lewis. Janet is one of the younger nurses that work at Golden Heart. She's African American, beautiful, and damn good at giving advice on how to get out of a sticky situation by using femme fatale.

Janet laughed while handing me a file. "You're seventeen, nothing makes you look fat. Now, wait until you're thirty, then you can start complaining. I also think you're anorexic, so..."

I glared and grabbed the file from her hands. "I am getting so sick of the skinny jokes. I eat; I got a blood test, what more do you people want?"

"For you to get some meat on those bones." Janet winked at me and walked away, digging a thermometer out of her pocket.

I sighed and looked down at the list of names I would have to call out. I couldn't stop the smile from forming on my lips. What is in these parents heads when they name their children? Some of the names on the list are worse than what my father had picked wanted to call me.

Last week a man and woman brought their two year old son in, the poor boy suffering not only from the flu, but from the "my parent's gave me a dumb ass name" syndrome. Want to know what his name was? Shithead. Yeah, not even kidding. It's supposed to he pronounced shi-theed.

Two days ago I found Shithead's perfect life mate. Four month old Asshole. Pronounced As-shole-ee.

Oh the creativeness of the human mind. God awful, isn't it?

I stepped down from my stool and blew a loose strand of me curly brown hair out of my face. Why don't hair clips ever work right?

I walked out the automatic sliding glass door that led to the waiting room and looked around. Like always, the room was packed. I think the people of Jacksonville are accident prone. I glanced down at the list and called out the first name. "Laura Earls?" A woman holding an icepack to her eyes stood up and walked toward me. "A doctor will see to you in room 11B." Laura nodded her thanks and walked to where I directed.

"Excuse me," came a loud, authoritative voice. I looked to see a man and woman, looking quite out of place, with a young girl sitting next to them, reading a book.

I raised a brow. The woman's dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She wore black skirt suit with black high heels. I would have thought she was wearing tan nylons but I could tell from the low cut collar of her suit that her skin was naturally that beautiful bronze.

The man had a tall, bulky form and dark features. His high cheek bones and upturned nose gave off the air of a regal aristocrat. He wore his own Armani suit and shiny black shoes.

"Yes?" I asked the lady, the one who had called me.

"We have important things to take care of and we have been waiting here for nearly twenty minutes. Now, I demand that you take a look at our daughter," the woman grabbed the book from the girls hand and made her stand up.