Splintered Heart (18 page)

"Something's wrong. I know something's wrong," Hannah kept repeating.

"As soon as we hang up, I'll phone the car service. I'll be there in twenty minutes Mamma!"

Marian hurried, but she was still not awake. Stumbling and fumbling around in the semi-darkness for something appropriately crisp and tailored for the trip, it was as if she were still tripping on the hems of the huge pajamas — she kept pulling out things that didn't match, torn stockings, and two left shoes.

Marian looked down at Ferris sleeping so peacefully. "An unimportant episode with a girl — for him it may be over and done with, and in his past, but for me it's not over."

It was only as Hannah and Marian were settling in the limousine, that Marian realized that her mother had actually forgotten to put on jewelry. Jewelry for Hannah was as essential as her hand-embroidered underclothing. Mamma was also wearing too much rouge on one cheek.

Marian didn't say anything. Any remark, no matter how tactfully put, would make Mamma start checking, rubbing, and frantically powdering.

The floppy pajama dream came to mind again. It hadn't been a nightmare, but it was extremely embarrassing — to be so inappropriately dressed with employees popping in and out of her office.

...I'm just like Mamma, fussing over my clothes and my grooming like it's a matter of life and death...

Doctor Benedict was pulling on his earlobe as he read them the consultation reports. He always pulled on an ear when he was worried. "Surgery is what they all are recommending, Mrs. Melnik."

"Take it easy Mamma." Marian said, squeezing her Mother's hand, "Do you agree, Doctor? Is that your recommendation too?"

"If Ralph continues to worsen, well...I don't know...it's not good... we are dealing with a deteriorating heart function. On the other hand, if the surgery succeeds, the heart specialist feels your brother might have many years — "

"What do you mean 'if'?" Mamma's voice went out of control.

"Mamma, please — " The hectic rouge spot on Mamma's cheek made her look older. "Mamma, the Doctor isn't asking us to make a decision today." The look Marian gave Dr. Benedict suggested that the Doctor should agree.

"Perhaps you could telephone me early next week, Miss Melnik, we could decide — "

"I am not going to permit surgery," Hannah said. Her face was red. She continued to shake her head
 
no
 
as Marian helped her out of the Doctor's office into the hallway.

Ralph wasn't in his room. The floor nurse gave them directions to the medical wing. They found Ralph in a large white ward, sitting in a wheelchair, slumped to one side. His mouth was open, the stare he was giving them was without recognition.

"Ralph, you got visitors!" the attendant gave Ralph a gentle poke on the shoulder.

Ralph remained slumped, his arms hanging over the armrests of the wheelchair.

"Hi there! It's your big sister Marian and Mamma, aren't you going to say 'hello'?" Marian's tone of voice was extra energetic — she was feeling her mother's tension as well as her own.

Ralph's eyes seemed to come into focus.

"His face seems flushed, does he have a fever?" Marian asked the attendant.

"His temp is normal. Ralphy's just tired today, aren't you Ralphy?" The attendant started to adjust the back of the chair.

"Move him into the bed, I don't like to see my boy in a wheelchair," Hannah said, in an autocratic tone. She busied herself getting the little surprises from her purse, while the attendant obeyed. "It's so noisy in this awful ward, no one could possibly get a good night's sleep here — that's all it is," Hannah announced emphatically. "Ralph misses having his own private room."

"Maybe so," Marian said, but she knew it was much more than that. "Shall we sit by the bed?" Helping Hannah out of her heavy coat, Marian had a shock — style conscious Mamma was wearing a brown pinstripe jacket with a blue-check skirt.

As Mamma was placing a squeaky mouse toy in Ralph's hand, Marian noticed the blotch on the sheet. At first she thought it was water that had been spilled from his drinking glass. But as she watched, the dark blotch kept spreading. It wasn't water. Ralph had simply let go. There was no hand signal, no sound, not even blinking eyelids to indicate that he was trying to control his bladder.

She knew Mamma had seen it too — the spreading wetness — they were both acutely aware of the years, the patient teaching that had been involved to get Ralph toilet-trained. For just the briefest instant, Mother and daughter exchanged a look that bespoke the terrible sorrow they shared.

If, in fact, Ralph had forgotten his training, what was in store for them? And for Ralph, in the future?

When it was time to leave, Marian watched her mother brush back Ralph's hair, kiss him on the forehead, then smooth down the top sheet, fold the blanket so that the border was precisely four inches, edge to edge. Patting out the wrinkles on Ralph's pillow case, there was a faint small smile on her lips, as if Mamma were thinking happy good thoughts, not goodbye thoughts. It reminded Marian of her father's funeral, before they'd closed the coffin — Hannah had kept them all waiting as she straightened Anatol's tie, smoothed the white satin lining, re-arranged the folds in her husband's shroud.

* * *

The phone call came around ten-thirty.

The Coopers were in their bedroom — "to read" — that's what they'd said, but each knew that perhaps later they would be laughing and teasing and renewing the loving that they'd begun the previous night.

It was Aunt Paula.

"I'm at your Mother's apartment. I phoned her to say goodnight but she didn't sound right. She sounded awful! So Milt and I came over. When we got here, she didn't answer her door. I had to get the elevator man let me in." Paula choked up, couldn't talk, started to weep.

Marian reached for Ferris hand. He was looking at her. He'd guessed that something was wrong. She felt like a little lost Gretel in the forest, holding on tight to Hansel's hand, trusting, hoping he would be able to guide them to safety.

"And Hannah was lying on the bathroom floor — you better get over here right away — she didn't have something to drink did she? She's talking strange — all scrambled — " Aunt Paula was sobbing hysterically. "What should I do?"

"Don't do anything. I'm coming right over!"

The ambulance was speeding. The screaming siren and blinking red light were warning traffic, pedestrians, and passenger inside — "Get out of the way! Life and death emergency!"

It was no time to be the lost little girl afraid of dark places, or the woman-wife concerned with intangible things. There wasn't time to phone Ferris and let him know what was happening. She had to ignore the immodest rip in her own dress, the freezing cold oxygen tank that was banging her shoulder with every bump on the city streets.

Marian wanted to ask "Will she live, will my Mamma be O.K.?" but the interns had urgent questions and she had to shout back to tell him, "There's no history of diabetes or a heart condition. She's never had a stroke!"

They were cutting away the front of Mamma's blouse to attach fibrillators, brutally shoving a tube into her Mother's nose and ramming it down her Mother's throat.

She had to grit her teeth and take it.

++++++++++

Chapter 24

London was rainy.

"Oh gawd, I'm dying!" Myra moaned into the hotel starched pillow.

Andrea made a go-away gesture to Shelley. Like conspirators they mouthed words, Andrea pointing, Shelley nodding, and tip-toed into the other room of their suite.

Slipping her foot into Aunt Andrea's patent leather pumps, Shelley heard Aunt Andrea say "Now Myra, have some tea, you'll feel better."

"Have some tea, Barbra dahling," said Shelley, as Britishly as possible, beginning the new game. She took the bottle of Sherry from the dresser and unscrewed the cap.

She could hear Mommy shrieking, "Measles! Shit, imagine getting measles in London — it's costing us sixty-five pounds a day for me to be lying on my fucking back — that's — that's..." Mommy was figuring out the exchange.

"One hundred dollars and fifty cents!" Shelley said to Barbra as she was taking Aunt Andrea's brassiere off the hanger which was hooked to the shade pull of the big front window.

"Practically a hundred goddamn bucks for me to lay around with goddamn red spots all over," Mommy whined.

"We can move to a cheaper hotel," said Andrea calmly.

"I will not. I'm going to stay right here — Sinatra's here and we're going to meet him, even if I have to sleep with the hotel manager — I'm going to see Frank!"

"Myra, you can't go out, you're contagious."

Shelley could hear the tea cup clicking, knew her Mommy was taking a sip. "Come dahling," she whispered to Barbra, after tying the brassiere under her shoulder blades. Let's have our tea!" She poured Barbra's tea into the bottle cap.

"Andrea, did you go up to Sinatra's floor and ask to see the secretary like I told you?"

"Myra, they won't let anyone out on twelve. The guards stopped me when I tried to get out of the elevator."

"Did you explain?"

"I did. I said you were Sinatra's personal friend and I waved a ten pound note like you said. The guard said you should write a note to Sinatra's secretary."

"I've written two goddamn notes. Did you tell the idiot we're Americans? Goddammit, if I don't get to do something glamorous while we're here, I swear, I absolutely swear I'll kill myself!"

"Oh I swear, I absolutely swear, I'll kill myself, Barbra dahling," said Shelley, taking another sip of their tea.

"Andrea, I swear, I'm going up there and make a scene they'll never forget. If those fucking guards won't let me off on his floor, I'll take Shelley up to twelve and say she's Frank Sinatra's kid!"

Shelley froze.

"Myra, I wouldn't do that," said Aunt Andrea.

"Why the hell not?" Mommy said.

"Well it wouldn't be good for Shell, for one thing," said Aunt Andrea.

"If she takes me up there, I'll kill myself," Shelley whispered to her playmate.

"Jesus, what about me? Doesn't anyone every think of me? When do I have fun? What kind of life do I have?"

"The whole hotel can hear you Myra. The more excited you are, the more pimples you'll get."

"They're not pimples, they're fucking measles!"

Picking up Aunt Andrea's lipstick, Shelley made a big red dot on the tip of her nose. The more Mommy yelled the more red dots she was going to make. Shelley took more sips. The game was making her hot all over.

"Who stands by you when you're down? Who's been picking up the tab for dinners, for booze, for movies to keep you from going out of your mind with heartbreak — "

"Myra, that's not true!"

"Shell — ee!" Myra bellowed, "Where the fuck is my fucking daughter?"

With great effort Shelley shoved open the big window.

"Shelley is in the other room," Andrea said.

"What the hell is she doing in there!"

To Barbra, Shelley whispered, "If Mommy comes in here I'll jump, I swear!" Shelley imagined how cool it would feel. Maybe whirling around on the way down would unwind the dizziness in her head.

"Myra, Shell's in my room because we don't want her to catch the measles!"

"I want my daughter to get dressed right this instant. We're going up to the twelfth floor!"

Shelley climbed onto the window ledge. Looked down onto the street. The people looked liked little brown bugs. The noises in the other room meant Mommy was getting out of bed.

"Myra, you're not really going to go up there with Shelley?"

"Goddamn right I am. Where'd I put my garter belt? See if it's in your room!"

Andrea saw Shelley poised on the window sill.

"Bring me your pancake makeup!" Myra yelled, from the other room.

In a long horrifying moment, Andrea noted the open window, the precariousness of the child's grip on the molding, the drab unpressed little-girl dress with the lace brassiere hanging foolishly from the little girl's shoulders.

"Andrea, the garter belt — look on your towel rack," bellowed Myra.

Suddenly Andrea moved. She moved quickly, faster than thought, than time, to grab, hang on and drag the child down. Toppling over the bench, the two of them spilled onto the floor, along with the bottle of sherry and the window shade. Shelley giggled. They both began to laugh.

"What the fuck is so goddamn funny in there!" came Myra's voice.

Andrea was too full of laughter to answer. She was laughing at the child covered with lipstick dots, sherry on her unpressed little-girl dress, sherry on her sticky dirty little girl hands. Laughing because it was had been a very real, close call and she was relieved that she'd grabbed Shelley in time.

"For godsake, here I am, sick as a dog," said Myra clumping in, "And in the worst crisis of my life, and you two are flopping on the floor laughing! For godsake, what the hell is so goddamn funny?" Then she noticed Shelley's face.