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how can I help you my dear?”
    The nurse’s face turned red like a sun kissed pepper, and then as if on cue, the anger dissipated, all forgotten. Heather shook her head in disbelief. She watched him for years execute the same routine, everyone believing his bullshit. He pulled a chart from the rack, looked at Heather and leered. His capped teeth were too big for his thin, shriveled lips.
    Heather looked away and refused to acknowledge him. She glanced at the clock instead, then stood and put her patient’s chart away. Show time.
     
    Heather plopped her one stack of photocopied handouts on the table in front of the tri-fold board in the cafeteria. “There I’m done, can I go home now?”
    “Stop,” Catherine said. “This’ll be abso-positive-olutey fun.”
    Heather turned away before she jammed the plastic chicken drumstick down Catherine’s throat.
    “Just have to unpack all of mine now and organize them to be accurate and in order.” Catherine unloaded her six handouts, each a different color of the rainbow, embellished with photographs of fruit baskets, sweet potatoes, beans and a farm stand overflowing with vegetables. On the far end, she laid out recipes for salmon with mango salsa, and quinoa with black beans and cherry tomatoes.
    “Good thing I put my handout down first otherwise there’d be no room for it.” Heather rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and held it.
    Catherine wet her pale lips. “What handout did you prepare?”
    “The myths of fats.”
    “She told you not to do that.”
    “No she didn’t. Actually, she never answered me, so I just threw a new title on it.” Heather held up the top copy, Nutrition Tips for People with Diabetes . “It’s not like she’s going to read it, she never makes it over here to see what we prepared.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “She hides us in the back on purpose so as not to distract everyone from her presentation. All she cares about is that her salad bar is glistening and the berries are carefully placed on the angel food cake and her special decorations are positioned precisely where the CEO of the hospital will see them.”
    “Where did she get the decorations from?” Catherine picked up a vase that resembled a cluster of goiters.
    “Her house. You have to see her salad bowl. It looks like one of those bowls you made in kindergarten art class out of clay, only bigger.”
    Catherine laughed. “Seriously? Where is it?”
    “No idea but I’m not looking for it. If I hide back here all afternoon I’ll be safe.”
    Victoria approached, carrying a dozen red and yellow balloons. The expression on her face was capable of popping them all. “I’ve had it. I don’t get paid to play with helium.”
    “You had to blow up the balloons yourself?” Heather broke into hysterics.
    Victoria shoved the twelve balloons in Heather’s face. “Only after the beast cursed at me for not knowing how. But rest assured, she taught me a whole lesson in balloon filling and ribbon tying. I’m a professional now, can’t wait to tell my family. My father would’ve been proud”
    “So sorry,” Catherine started, “not sure how the two of you put up with her for so long.”
    “Two years of Hell.” Heather’s body stiffened.
    Jean sashayed into the cafeteria, her theater. All traces of evil vanished when in the presence of her audience. She twirled in her handmade yellow smock dress that resembled the yellow balloon Heather just tied to the table leg. Heather fantasized merciless punishments and then pierced the yellow balloon with her thumbnail.
    The boom and whoosh caused several patrons in front of them to jolt. “Oops,” Heather said.
    “You just broke one of the balloons,” Catherine said.
    “No, really? You’re so observant.”
    “Now we don’t have an even amount.”
    “Who the hell cares?”
    Victoria shot Heather a glare, shutting her up. Catherine’s need for perfection tensed Heather’s body into a fevered state, her rigid forearm muscles