Mr. X (20 page)

22

Thinking of the nights ahead, I ducked into the gift shop and picked up a couple of paperback mystery novels and some candy. The white-haired volunteer behind the cash register
searched the books’ covers for the prices and dowsed a finger over the keys.

Behind me, a childish voice said, “You’re—not—Bill,” and burst into giggles. I turned around to see a familiar pair of dancing blue eyes. He was holding a sneaker in one hand and a new teddy bear in the other.

“I’m not?” I smiled at his mother. Her attractiveness seemed more than ever like a shield behind which she could come to her private conclusions about the responses it evoked.

“We meet again,” she said.

“The way this hospital is designed, sooner or later you see everybody twice.”

“Do you know how to find the intensive care unit? I’ve never been here before.”

“Third floor,” I said. “Follow me.”

The woman behind the counter counted out my change and slid the paperbacks and the candy into a bag. I moved aside, and the boy’s mother came up to the counter. “How much are the teddy bears?”

The woman peered at the child. In high hilarity, the child peered back. “Our ICU patients can’t receive gifts or flowers.”

“It’s for him.” She groped into her bag. “A reward for behaving himself. Or maybe a bribe, I don’t know. Our otherwise completely adorable baby-sitter abandoned us this afternoon.”

The boy pointed at me and said, “You’re—not—not—not—Bill!”

“I am too,” I said.

The boy clapped the sneaker and the teddy bear to his chest and roared with laughter. Ah, appreciation. I tried to remember his name but could not. He fixed his eyes on mine and said, “Bill rides a
lawn mower
!”

“No, you ride a lawn mower,” I said, contradiction being the first principle of four-year-old humor. We left the shop and turned toward the elevators.

“Your new best friend is my son Cobbie, and I’m Laurie Hatch,” she said. “My cleaning woman had an operation yesterday, and I wanted to say hello. You’re seeing someone in intensive care, too?”

“My mother.” We came to the rank of closed doors, and I pushed the button. “Ned Dunstan. Hello.”

“Hello, Ned Dunstan,” she said with a feathery brush of irony,
and then looked at me more thoughtfully, almost impersonally. “I’ve heard that name before. Do you live here in town?”

“No, I’m from New York.” I looked up at the illuminated numbers above the doors.

“I hope your mother is doing all right.”

Cobbie glanced back and forth between us.

“She had a stroke,” I said. For a moment both of us regarded the yellow glow of the
UP
button. “Your cleaning woman must be Mrs. Loome.”

She gave me an astonished smile. “Do you know her?”

“No, but my aunts do,” I said.

People had been trickling in from the lobby as we talked. Everybody watched the number above the elevator on the left change from 3 to 2. When it flashed to 1, the crowd pushed to the left. The doors opened on a dense, compressed mob, which began pouring out as the waiting crowd pushed forward. Laurie Hatch moved back, pulling the stroller with her.

Cobbie said, “What’s your
name?”

“Ned.” I watched the light above the elevator on our right flash 2 and change to 1.

The doors of the laden car closed. A second or two later, the others opened to release a cart pushed by a workman. He stared at Laurie, glanced at Cobbie, and gave me a meaningful smirk as I followed them in. I said, “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“I ain’t concluded, and so far I ain’t jumped,” he said. We both laughed.

Cobbie brandished the teddy bear. “His name is Ned. He’s a bear named Ned.”

“Oh, Cobbie.” Laurie knelt down to wriggle the sneaker onto his foot.

Cobbie leaned over the strap of the stroller and in his deepest voice intoned,
“I ain’t concluded, and so faw I ain’t jumped.”

The car came to a stop, and the doors slid open. Embarrassed, Laurie glanced at me. “I don’t know where he gets it from.” She pushed the stroller into the corridor and turned in the wrong direction. I gestured toward the ICU. “He just picks things up and repeats them.”

I looked down at Cobbie. He fixed me with an expression of comically adult gravity and growled,
“And SOO FAW, I ain’t JUMPED.”

“He must be part tape recorder,” Laurie said.

“He has great ears,” I replied, still grinning. “If he doesn’t make it as a comedian, he could always be a musician.”

“His father would have a heart attack.” She startled me with a look so charged with resentment it felt like the touch of a branding iron. “We’re separated.”

Both of us looked down. Cobbie was holding the teddy bear’s ear to his mouth and whispering that so far he hadn’t jumped. “He’d even hate my bringing Cobbie to St. Ann’s.”

“Doesn’t your husband approve of St. Ann’s?”

“Stewart’s on the board at Lawndale. He thinks you can contract a virus just by looking at this place.”

“He must know Grenville Milton,” I said.

She stopped moving and looked at me in dubious surprise. “Don’t tell me
you
know Grennie Milton!” Chagrin instantly softened her face. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t, except that he never goes anywhere except the University Club and Le Madrigal.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “His wife used to be a friend of my mother’s. About five minutes ago, I called to tell her what was going on, and she mentioned that her husband was on the Lawndale board.”

“Rachel Milton and your mother were friends? Am I likely to run into her in the next five minutes?”

“You’re in the clear,” I said.

“Good. Anyhow, there’s the ICU, dead ahead.”

I swung open one of the big doors to let her pass through. Zwick glanced up from her post and prepared for battle. Beneath the window, a notice I had previously overlooked told me why. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Slight change of plans.” I pointed to the notice. CHILDREN ARE NOT PERMITTED ENTRY.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Darn it. They don’t let kids in there, Cobbie. You’ll have to wait for me. I won’t be more than a couple of minutes, I promise.”

He looked up at her with the beginnings of alarm.

“I can put you in front of the window, and you’ll be able to see me the whole time.”

“I’ll stay with Cobbie,” I said. “It’s no problem.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I want to stay with Ned and Ned,” Cobbie announced. “With this Ned and with that Ned.”

“First you’re my guide, then you put up with my complaints, and now you’re my baby-sitter.”

Aunt Nettie surged out and came to a halt with her hand still on the door. “Did I pick a bad time to go to the washroom?”

“Don’t be silly, Aunt Nettie. This is Mrs. Hatch. She’s visiting Mrs. Loome. We met downstairs, and I offered to stay with her son while she goes in. Laurie, my aunt, Mrs. Rutledge.” I could not keep from grinning at the absurdity of having to explain myself.

“Hello, Mrs. Rutledge.” Laurie contained her sense of the ridiculous better than I. “If your nephew hadn’t led me up here, I would never have found the way.”

Cobbie chose this moment to come out with
“I ain’t concluded, and SOO faw I ain’t JUMPED!”
He sounded a little like Kingfish on the old
Amos ’n’ Andy
programs.

Laurie Hatch moaned something that might have been “Oh, Cobbie.” Nettie transferred her indignation to the boy and almost immediately relented. “Out of the mouths of babes. Honey, what’s your name?”

“COBDEN CARPENTER HATCH!” Cobbie shouted. He fell back into the stroller, giggling.

“That’s a mighty important name.” She turned magisterially to Laurie. “I’m sure Mrs. Loome will appreciate your visit.”

Smiling at her cue, Laurie patted her son’s head and left us.

“Mrs. Hatch must be a good-hearted person.” It was her way of apologizing. With a smile at Cobbie, Nettie sailed off.

Through the window, I could see Laurie Hatch approaching Mrs. Loome’s cubicle and Aunt May stumping toward the nurses’ station. I hunkered beside the stroller. Dinosaurs were Cobbie’s favorite animals, and his favorite was
Tyrannosaurus rex
. Aunt Nettie reappeared and went back into the ICU. Aunt May gave the nurses’ station a close inspection, leaned over the counter, and snatched a stapler off a desk. She shoved the stapler into her bag.

“Oh, my God,” I said, realizing what Vince Hardtke had witnessed.

“Oh, my
GAHD
!” Cobbie chanted. “Oh, my
GAHD
, my mommy is coming.”

Aunt May moved down the counter and took a pad of paper and a pencil from another desk.

Laurie came through the doors. “Did you two have a nice time while I was gone?”

“How is Mrs. Loome?”

“She’s recovering well, but very groggy. I’ll come back when they put her in a regular room.” Her eyes sparkled, and she gave a little laugh. “Did your aunt make you feel like you were back in high school?”

Whatever I was going to say disappeared into a sudden whirlwind of physical sensation. A woman’s body was swarming over mine. Hair slid across my face, and teeth nipped the base of my neck. An odor of sweat and perfume swam into my nostrils. Laurie’s smile faded. The hands hanging at my sides kneaded the buttocks of the woman on top of me. A breast offered its nipple to my mouth. My tongue lapped the nipple. The woman above me tilted her hips, and I began moving in and out of her.

“Ned, are you all right?”

I tried to speak. “I’m not …” I clapped my hands to my face, and the woman entwined around me turned to smoke. I lowered my hands.

“I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m all right.” I wiped my handkerchief across my forehead and gave Laurie what I hoped was a reassuring look. “I guess I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“I don’t want to leave if you’re ill.”

I wanted overwhelmingly to be left alone. “I’m restored,” I said. “Honest.” I went to the outer door and opened it for her. Still puzzled, Laurie got behind the stroller, and tendrils of consciousness seemed to extend toward me. I remembered thinking that she looked like a great glowing golden panther.

“The look on your face—it was like you were eating the most delicious ice cream in the world, but it gave you that ache in the middle of your forehead. Pleasure and pain.”

“No wonder you thought I was sick,” I said.

23

Okay, I was stressed out, I told myself. At a time when thinking about anything but Star’s plight made me feel guilty, a good-looking stranger named Laurie Hatch had unknowingly pushed my buttons and induced a ten-second meltdown. On the other hand, maybe I was heading for another bizarre crack-up. Dr. Barnhill’s perfunctory update faded in and out of focus. Over the top of his Martian head I glimpsed the entry into the ICU of a woman who would have been perfectly at home on the corner of Tenth Street and Second Avenue, and the sight of her reddish brown hair bushed out around the kindly, roguish moon-face floating above an opalescent tunic buttoned from waist to neck over loose black trousers made me feel better even before I realized who she was. Suki Teeter looked like a visiting maharanee. Dr. Barnhill scurried up the aisle, and the maharanee rustled forward in a manner that suggested the chiming accompaniment of many little bells.