got his meds on time, interrogated doctors about their diagnoses, and in general, irritated everyone who worked at New York-Presbyterian into giving him special treatment. It was like an alien had possessed her and forced her into acting like a parent again.
“Here,” she now said, and handed him the heel of some fresh-baked bread while they watched the game. When he dozed sometimes, he woke to find her reading Vanity Fair or Better Homes and Gardens. Until then, he’d never imagined she was capable of entertaining herself. Always at home, she spent her time dining with friends, preparing meals, or on the phone with her daughters, foisting child-rearing advice and inquiring whether their husbands were spending enough time at home.
He took the bread and chewed. The Vicodin waned in the afternoons, and he was usually a little more coherent. “What’s the spice in that? Clove?”
“No spice. It’s Pillsbury Italian Loaf. Easy peasy.”
He nodded. She put her hand on the bar of the bed, which was as close as she’d gotten, so far, to touching him. Even when he’d first arrived, she’d only leaned over the bed and bent her face close to his. Open your eyes: she’d commanded, presumably to make sure he was alive. So he’d opened them.
The landing a week ago had been lucky. If the pilot of the 767 hadn’t caught a patch of cold air at thirty-five hundred feet, they might have crashed. Most people wound up unharmed, but like an idiot, Saraub had unbuckled his seat belt to try to catch the flying parakeet. He got thrown, broke three ribs, a cheekbone, and both arms. On the plus side, he’d managed to save the stupid bird.
He’d stayed overnight at the hospital in Bethesda while they waited for Hurricane Erebus to pass. He’d been badly hurt, but none of the injuries were serious. Instead of waiting at the airport, his cameraman Tom Wilson wandered off, then showed up drunk at the hospital the next morning. “Your movie almost got me killed,” he’d croaked, then pointed at a mosquito-bitesized cut on his forehead. “I’ma sue your ass off!”
Saraub had looked at Wilson’s red-threaded eyes right then and said what he should have said a long time ago. “You’re fired.”
Incoherent and raging, Wilson didn’t leave until security escorted him out.
After he was gone, Saraub was not sad, even though they’d worked together side by side for years. He was relieved.
That afternoon, American Airlines flew him first class to JFK, and checked him into New York-Presbyterian Hospital on their insurance company’s dime. Probably, he should have been discharged by now, but since he’d signed a waiver agreeing not to sue, they were giving him gold-star treatment. His room was private, he had his own nurse, and his dinner came with a sixteen-ounce bottle of gourmet beer.
His cell phone and laptop were destroyed on impact, so aside from his family and agent, he hadn’t talked to anyone in a week. He’d called Audrey every day and left a message from his bedside hospital phone. So far, she hadn’t called back. A lot had happened lately. His girlfriend moved out on him, he’d almost died in a plane accident, he’d fired his assistant, and overnight, his promising film debut had morphed into a lemon. These things had given him a new, no-bullshit lease on life. In keeping with that, Audrey’s silence didn’t hurt his feelings; it pissed him off.
He had one interview left to conduct for Maginot Lines, with the former CEO of Servitus. Unfortunately, he’d missed the appointment because he’d been in the hospital, and the guy was now in Europe on an indefinite holiday. Sunshine Studios wasn’t returning his agent’s calls. Still, as soon as he got out of the hospital, Saraub had decided to finish what he’d started and edit the movie. A recovering idealist, he’d given up high hopes for a wide release, or any release at all, but would instead take one step at a time.
“Lamb?” Sheila asked, then pulled out a Tupperware container from her Metropolitan Museum tote bag. She looked older than he remembered, and smaller, too. She’d stopped dyeing her black hair and let it go white. He admired her more now than he ever had before. She was a strong woman, and on day five of her vigil, while she’d shooed the family out so he could get some rest, it had occurred to him that if he’d acted more like a man from the start, instead of always borrowing money and