Shadows, page 19
“I’ve never done that stuff,” Alex said. “I can believe it must have been tough.”
“Unbelievable. But I did it. I have to admit, though, that I didn’t lose my taste for the rest of what he taught me. As you well know.”
“So your daughter saved you.”
“Yes. And to this day I don’t know if she was telling me the truth.”
“You mean about Bill?”
“Right. It occurred to me sometime later that she might have made the whole thing up. She was that smart. But I never had the nerve to ask.”
“Why bother?”
“Exactly.” She moved her hand down to his cock and gently stroked it. “Umm,” she said as it began to get hard.
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “Umm.”
Chapter 40
Richard’s condition abruptly changed. High fever. An unexpected staph infection. Delirium. Richard slept again. He did not open his eyes.
Alex had been there during the delirium. Richard had been crying out words, isolated words with no seeming connection “…Hot…dude…sky…JaMarcus…bastards…” His body had writhed under the covers almost as if he were trying to escape from the hooligans who’d beaten him. Afraid he might disconnect the IV, Alex had tried to calm Richard by wrapping his arms around him. But that hadn’t worked. He looked at Miriam, hoping she might help. No chance. She was frozen at the other side of the bed, her fingers like talons gripping the blanket, her face deformed by grief.
Desperate, he rushed out to the nurse’s desk for help. The sole nurse there had eyes like a raccoon, but when she heard what he had to say, she moved quickly. Once inside the room, she saw what was happening and immediately left to return with a resident. He was young with a straggly beard. He muttered something to the nurse who went out again and came back with a vial and a syringe. After testing the syringe he pushed the needle into Richard’s arm.
“What did you give him?” Alex asked.
“Valium. It will calm him down. He has a high fever. That’s probably the cause of his distress. We’ve been giving him a very strong antibiotic. It takes some time before it works. This should help.”
Thankfully, he was right. It wasn’t long, perhaps only a few minutes before Richard stopped thrashing about and slept peacefully once again.
“Thank God,” Miriam said. “I couldn’t stand that much longer.”
Later, Alex called Dr. Mackay’s office.
“Doctor’s operating this morning. He’ll call you back this afternoon.”
No callback. He had him paged at the hospital, got the same story.
They remained at Richard’s side all day.
Sometime in the evening Dr. Mackay arrived. He assured them that everything that could be done was being done.
“Exactly what is that?” Alex asked.
“The first thing we have to do is fight the infection. We’re giving him an antibiotic that should get it under control.”
“We already know that. But why is this happening? You told us everything was fine,” Alex said.
Dr. McKay frowned. “The infection came out of nowhere. I’m sorry to say we don’t know everything. I wish we did. But we don’t.”
“So you can’t tell us any more than that?”
“Not at this point in time. We’ll just have to watch and wait. But all his vitals are good. I’m sure…hopeful, it will all turn out fine.”
Several days went by. There was no change. Miriam didn’t want to go home. Alex tried to convince her to take a break. She did leave the third day but was back in a few hours. She slept on the couch in the visitor’s lounge at night. She began to look like a feeble impersonation of herself. She was pale. Her clothes hung loose and wrinkled. Her cheeks had hollowed and her eyes were receding into her skull.
Alex felt responsible. He realized he could not have chosen a worse time to walk out on her. He knew he couldn’t let the present situation continue. He would have to do something, make some changes. If Wanda was hurt, so be it. He didn’t feel he had a choice.
Despite Miriam’s understandable contempt for him, he tried speaking to her again. “You’re not doing yourself any good staying here day and night. And what about your business? Have you thought about that?”
“I have to be here. As for my store, I told the girls what happened. They’re running it. I trust it will work out. If they have a problem, they can always call me.”
“You won’t do Richard any good if you get sick.”
“Should I be flattered that you’re thinking about me instead of yourself?”
“Look. I’m trying to help. You know I’m just as concerned about Richard as you are.”
“You’re too late. He’s going to die.”
Chapter 41
Now he spent his nights in the hospital, too. He had left Wanda’s apartment and moved into a cheap hotel on 19th Street near Broadway, a few blocks from the hospital.
His leaving had not been amicable. Wanda said she didn’t want him to go.
“I have to be with my son.”
“Of course you do. But why does that have anything to do with your leaving?”
He couldn’t tell her that for several days he had begun to feel corrupted by his being there. It had actually gotten to the point where he felt that what he’d been doing was so perverted that it might in some way be affecting Richard’s recovery. He knew it was foolish to think that way but he couldn’t help but think it anyway.
“I’m sorry, Wanda,” was all he could bring himself to say. “I just have to go.”
“That’s not good enough. I need a better explanation.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m repeating myself, but I can’t give you one.”
He sat in a club chair in the visitor’s lounge, Miriam across from him on the couch. An aide had given them blankets. He was not able to get much sleep. The chair was fairly comfortable; trying to sleep in it was another story. His mind was filled with memories of Richard growing up.
He was running alongside Richard holding the seat of the little bike to keep it from tipping, saying, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Keep pedaling. You’re doing great.” And Richard, excited-scared, falling when he let go, scraping his knee on the sidewalk, crying at either the pain or the frustration. But the boy persisted. He learned. The training wheels came off.
He took Richard out back to play catch and Richard kept dropping the ball and throwing it back with an ineffectual arm motion, the way most girls did. “Throw it like this,” he yelled, showing him.
Richard couldn’t do it. The boy was trying, but he could not throw the ball the way Alex thought he should.
Alex tried to hide his disappointment. “Okay. Let’s forget about it. I can see you don’t want to play catch anyhow.”
Richard did not answer. The boy went back into the house, Alex following.
They went inside where Miriam, who must have been watching, waited until Richard left the room, then said, “That’s great. Another Max Gunther. You want to do to your son what your father did to you?”
“What did I do?”
“You didn’t give him a chance.”
“Yes, I did. But it’s no use. I know he can’t help it, but he throws like a girl. Besides that, he doesn’t like it. He’d rather be inside with you.”
“And why do you think that is?”
The three of them went to the Central Park Zoo. He, proudly held his little boy’s hand, lifting him up to see the monkeys, buying peanuts and scattering them for the elephants to pick at with their sensitive trunks.
It was a Sunday. He was home. Richard was ten or eleven, thin, delicate. He’d been outside. He came in, clothes dirty, face wet with tears, snot running out of his nose. What happened? “Kids from the next block. They beat me up. Called me Fishy-Richie, the faggot queen.”
He shuddered. Miriam had to be wrong. The boy had to live so that he could explain it all to him. He had to know how much his father really loved him. Richard was not going to die.
Chapter 42
When Miriam first heard about the attack on Richard, she thought she had dealt with it fairly well. Subsequently, his deterioration, along with Alex walking out on her, had caused her own condition to deteriorate as well. She could feel it happening, day by day, a gradual sense of a malaise that seemed to have an inevitability about it that she could only observe at a distance as if it were happening to someone else.
She’d all but stopped eating because even the aroma of food nauseated her. She made do with coffee, tea, and orange juice, or occasionally a slice of dry toast. She no longer bothered with makeup, not even lipstick. Her hair was a mess. When she looked in the mirror she saw an old hag. If it weren’t that her clothes were of good quality, she might have been taken for a bag lady.
The one time she’d gone home since the new turn in Richard’s condition, she’d called her store to check-in and was gratified to hear all was well. She’d also heard from her cancer doctor. She’d been dreading that call, but in the past few days, had not thought about it once.
“This is Doctor Bromley, Miriam. I have good news for you. What we’d originally suspected in the earlier tests, turns out to have been an anomaly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t have cancer.”
She was stunned for a moment. “Are you saying it was all for nothing? The tests, the anxiety? I suffered all for nothing?”
“Miriam, I don’t think you understand. As I just tried to explain, the early tests suggested that you might have cancerous cells in your breast. Without the biopsy, we would never have known. I thought you’d be pleased to know that you are cancer-free.”
“Of course. I don’t know what I’m saying. Of course, I’m happy to hear this. Thank you, doctor. Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone abruptly and began to cry.
It wasn’t that she didn’t feel relief at the news, but it somehow seemed inconsequential in comparison with what was happening to her son. She felt overwhelmed with grief because she was sure he was going to die. And that was something she couldn’t bear to think about.
Chapter 43
Alex felt an obligation to put in an appearance at the office. He’d been talking a lot of time off and was sure Mr. Roth didn’t like it. He knew he would not accomplish much, but he owed them that.
Of course, the women in the office asked dozens of questions. Wanda was silent, but she didn’t have to say anything. Her eyes flashed cold anger.
He told them about Richard’s condition. The one personal thing he told them was about his own feelings, his fears, his anxieties, and his disgust with the medical profession.
He heard agreement: “Those doctors, those hospitals. You put your life in their hands every time you go near them. And what do they know? Do they know anything?”
Roth was solicitous. “I know this is tough. But what did I hear? There was a story in the paper about it. He got hit with a bat? Who does things like that? He wasn’t hanging out with the wrong people, I hope.” The inference hung in the air like virulent dust.
Alex hadn’t known the attack had made the newspapers. When he returned to the hospital only JaMarcus was there with Miriam. Li Ling had gone. She’d landed a gig in a sitcom and had moved to L.A. JaMarcus was dressed casually in a sweatshirt and jeans, but he was so strikingly good looking that he always managed to look like a model for Ralph Lauren.
He and Miriam looked up at him as he entered the room. The man with the curly white hair in the other bed smiled at him. Richard lay still. His breathing was thankfully steady, rhythmic.
“Anything?”
“His temperature is down,” Miriam answered. “They think they’ve knocked the infection out.”
“So why doesn’t he wake up?”
“Nobody knows,” JaMarcus said.
“They’re hopeful,” Miriam said. “They’ve done all sorts of tests, MRI, cat scan, echocardiogram, God knows what else. There’s no reason they can find for his not waking up.”
“Maybe the bat did more damage than they knew,” Alex said.
“Maybe,” JaMarcus said. “I think it might be a good idea to pray a little.”
Miriam took a tissue out of her handbag and pressed it against each eye.
“You think God is going to help?” Alex asked.
“It can’t hurt to ask,” JaMarcus answered.
“Shema Yisrael,” the man in the next bed intoned, “Adonai Eloheiynu. Adonai Echud. Baruch sheim kevod malchuto leolam vaed.” He smiled at them. “I couldn't help hearing. I hope you don’t mind if I pitched in a little.”
“No,” Alex said. “Thanks for your concern.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Alex went out of the room and walked to the lounge. He sat in a chair and closed his eyes, rubbed them with his fingers.
He opened his eyes to find JaMarcus’s hand on his shoulder and his face close enough to see the red veins in the eyeballs. “You were moaning.”
“Was I? Sorry. I usually try to keep my moaning to myself.”
JaMarcus sat in a chair by his side. “Do you mind if I stay here?”
“Of course not.”
Silence again.
JaMarcus said, “I want to tell you something. I hope you won’t take it the wrong way.” The skin was taut over his cheekbones and had a sheen as if it had been newly waxed.
“Try me.”
“I care about your son.” He paused, then took a breath. “I care about him a lot.”
“I know that.”
“What I mean is, I love him. I don’t mean to shock you, but that’s the simple truth. I care desperately about what’s happening to him. But no matter what the outcome, I am not going to leave him. I want you to know that. I am not going away, even if it means I have to be a nurse the rest of my life.”
Alex recognized how difficult it must have been for JaMarcus to talk to him. “Richard is lucky to have you,” he managed to say, although his voice broke.
After a while, he and JaMarcus went back to the room and found Miriam asleep in her chair. Her head was tilted at a severe angle from her body, her mouth was open, her arms drooped over the arms of the chair. Mewing sounds occasionally came out of her as she breathed. She looked so uncomfortable that he moved closer to see if he could help her somehow, perhaps with a pillow. When he closer to her he saw that in the past few weeks she had aged more than he had realized. Impulsively, he put his hand out to touch her.
Her eyes opened. She sat up. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I thought I saw something.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” Moving back. “Forget it.”
“I fell asleep. Was I snoring?”
“No. But you looked uncomfortable. You probably have a stiff neck.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re so right.”
JaMarcus said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back later.”
“Thanks for being here,” Miriam said. “I’m sure he feels it…your presence.”
When he had gone, she looked at Alex, “Don’t you have somewhere to go, too?”
“No.”
There was no place to go, nothing to do but remain there, in that hospital room, watching, waiting, hoping. He might even try praying.
Chapter 44
Richard’s comatose state remained the same. It had been explained to both him and Miriam that this had come about because of an unexpected staph infection. Now it occurred to Alex that the staph infection could have happened because of negligence. Of course, he couldn’t prove it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have any leverage.
He decided on his own that the least he could do was to get Richard moved into a private room. He called Dr. McKay, who said he had no authority to make that happen and that Alex should get in touch with the administrator of the hospital. He gave him the name, Quincy Boylan.
Alex reached him on the phone, introduced himself, gave the information about Richard’s condition, and told him what he wanted.
The administrator’s response was neutral. “Give me some time to check this out. I’ll get back to you.”
“I expect to hear from you soon. I’m in my office. You can reach me there.” He gave him the number.
A half-hour later, Alex got his return call. “I looked into it, Mr. Gunther. I’m afraid your insurance doesn’t cover a private room.”
“I don’t care about that. I want him moved. If I have to pay I will. But let me point something out to you. I think there’s a question of liability here on the hospital’s part. My son has gone into a coma after a routine operation. That brings up a lot of questions and options. I haven’t talked to a lawyer yet because I haven’t decided whether or not to go that route. But I do think it would be in your best interest to do whatever is necessary to help my son recover.”
There was dead silence for a moment. “Let me look into it,” the administrator said.
Later that day Alex was informed by administrator Boylan’s secretary that Richard had been moved to a private room on a different floor. He felt good but was in no mood to celebrate. It only indicated that he was probably correct there’d been negligence.
Richard’s new room was like a hotel room when compared with where he’d been. It had good-looking furniture, comfortable chairs, even a desk. There were two windows overlooking the street that allowed sunshine to flow in. Richard was still hooked up to the IV and a monitor, its green and yellow lines zigzagging across the screen in a steady rhythm.
