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Then there was Harry. Marsha, the other nurses and I called him Hairy Harry. He did seem to have a lot of body hair. I found it unattractive on any guy. A hairy guy almost seventy was really unattractive.

At the time, Harry was in the hospital I was twenty-five. Marsha came back to the nurses' station after inserting his catheter. "Damn, I don't think I've ever seen a bigger one." The other nurses and I looked up for a minute until we realized that she was talking about Hairy Harry.

For those of you that don't know, no matter how hard we tried, having a catheter inserted is painful. Most of the time, we do it when the patient is sedated. It still has to be checked periodically. Most of the time it was just routine.

However, when there was a patient like Hairy Harry, we all were curious. Most of the nurses I worked with were in their twenties, sexually active and like I said, curious. Even the married ones were intrigued by what Harry had between his legs; as was my dear friend, the divorced Marsha.

Harry got more attention than most. On every shift his catheter was checked. It was just routine, we told ourselves. "The catheter in the patient in room 816 is functioning properly." We reported and we'd briefly make eye contact with the other nurses on duty and smile. "Do you think I should double check?" Marsha asked.

I noticed and the other nurses noticed that Harry was flirting with me. That wasn't unusual. We'd found, although, unscientific, that when male patients flirted with nurses, it meant they were feeling better.

Harry was like that, except it seemed that he was flirting more than the normal patient. I shrugged it off. I was twenty-five. He was seventy. My grandfather was in his seventies.

Once he was discharged, he sent me flowers. That was nice of him. I'm not sure how he got my address, but once a week he sent flowers to my apartment. They weren't addressed to MaryAnn, but to me.

In the hospital, generally speaking we only used our first names. I was Nurse Liz. It was when Harry called me on the phone at home that I got a little concerned. "Liz, I'd like to take you to dinner. You probably know that The Liberty Bell is the finest restaurant in the city. The surf and turf is the best in the city."

"Harry, I couldn't."

"Liz, it's just dinner." He sounded just like Jerry Hanrahan who said it's just a movie. On a nurse's salary we rarely went out to dinner. If we did, it was pizza, or Taco Tuesday, or burger and a beer night. I knew about the Liberty Bell. My mouth was salivating over the thought of the surf and turf.

Hairy Harry was the smoothest guy I'd ever been with. They say there are people who can sell ice to Eskimos. Harry was one of those guys, only with me he could talk a girl out of her panties. He did.

"Liz, are you familiar with the Madison Hotel?" He said this while we were dancing to a band after dinner. It was one of those bands that played stuff from the forties like Glenn Miller. Harry wasn't as tall as me, and I was wearing 3" heels. He was a very smooth dancer. I hardly noticed the difference in our height.

"I've heard of it." What I'd heard was that the Madison was ranked among the finest, most beautiful hotels in the country.

"I've reserved a suite for tonight. My car is waiting."

"Harry, I don't know what you're thinking, but . . ."

"Liz, if you've never been to the Madison, you just have to see it. It's the most beautiful . . ."

Needless to say, if you're reading this, you know that I know that the Madison has the most beautiful ceilings in the western hemisphere. Yes,

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