The Land of Mango Sunsets (13 page)

“This is all my fault,” I said to Kevin. “Oh God. All my fault.”

“Miriam, Miriam.” Kevin was very upset and I didn’t blame him for being furious with me. He had predicted that something like this could happen.

“This is so terrible! What have I done?”

“It could have been worse. Much worse. I’ll lock up the house and meet you at Lenox Hill.”

It probably wasn’t the most sensitive thing to say but I blurted it out anyway. “You know, Agnes will definitely be there.”

He looked at me with a white-hot fury I would never forget. Maybe it was because he blamed me for Liz’s condition or was appalled that my cowardice toward Agnes Willis would be worthy of mention at a moment like this.

“Good. I’ve been dying to meet her.”

“What if she starts screaming at me?”

Kevin got in close to my face and whispered, “Then scream back, Miriam.”

Minutes later, I crawled in the back of the ambulance with Liz, who by then was bandaged and on an IV. She was still unconscious.

I had never been in an ambulance before. I had never been the cause of this kind of mayhem either. This terrible assault had happened to Liz because of my anger toward Agnes. Liz’s face had a deep gash. She would need a plastic surgeon. She had lost several teeth. She would need an oral surgeon. Her jaw was very swollen and I suspected that Truman had socked her. Because of her uneven breathing, they were concerned that a broken rib had punctured a lung. She would be black-and-blue all over for weeks. How would she go to work? She couldn’t. Obviously. Did she have medical insurance? I doubted it. I would cover her bills even if I had to mortgage the house. I had to make this right. Oh, dear God in heaven, what had I done?

The waiting area in the emergency room was the same as all the others I had ever seen. Depressing. Faded walls, chipped floor tiles, rows of rickety plastic chairs. Racks of plastic pockets on the walls held the requisite brochures explaining flu shots, HIV, pregnancy, and all the assorted joys of living. I was fidgeting, scanning through one called “What to Ask Your Doctor” that outlined patient rights and how to feel empowered during your hospital stay. Empowered? How empowered were any of us when a man who made love to you three times a week could beat you to a bloody pulp and give himself a heart attack in the process? It was horrible.

I took a seat, got up again, and looked around at the others. The police officers were talking to the admissions nurse. To my left, a woman had a crying baby in her arms, whimpering and pulling away from her. Looked like an ear infection to me. A young man was vomiting in a cardboard box—probably flu, I thought, and kept my distance. There was an ancient man with a heavily bandaged foot and an elderly woman who was beautifully dressed, quietly weeping and blowing her nose. There had to have been a dozen people in various stages of distress, but that was a slow night for New York. All I could think was that I wanted to go to Liz and be with her. But they told me no. They said they had to evaluate her before anyone could see her. The doctor would come out and speak with me when the assessment was complete. Besides, there wasn’t room. It was
very overcrowded. I didn’t doubt that but I wanted to be involved in any decision they would make about her care. I would make sure that I was included.

The doors swung open and Kevin appeared. He rushed in, breathless but all business.

“Miriam? What did they say?”

“Nothing. They just took her in behind those doors over there. They’ll let me know when they’re done with whatever it is they do.”

“Does she have health insurance?”

“Couldn’t ask. She’s unconscious. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. I’ll tell you what, though.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s got a pretty ugly gash across her cheek. Do we know a plastic surgeon?”

“Who would sew her up for nothing?”

“I guess so.”

“I’d have to think about that. Oh God, this is some mess, Miriam.”

“All I can do, Kevin, is think about how I caused this. I feel so horrible. I would do
anything
to roll back time.”

“Miriam? Regret won’t do anyone any good at this point. We have to think about how we are going to help Liz. That’s our priority. Later on there will be plenty of time for self-recrimination.”

I heard what he said but my eyes were fixed on the door of the entrance. Agnes Willis had arrived. She spotted me and headed straight in my direction. Her jaw was clenched and she was wild with anger.

“This is your fault, Miriam Swanson! If my husband dies, you’ll only have yourself to blame!”

I gasped. She was loud enough to get the attention of the police officers, who like any well-trained members of New York’s finest, knew how to keep their eyes on everything at the same time.

“This is
not
my fault, Agnes Willis! Was it my responsibility to see that Truman Willis kept his pants on?”

She moved closer and began poking me in the chest with her finger. “This. Is. Your. Fault. Do you hear me? And I will sue you for your last dime if anything happens to my Truman…”

Kevin grabbed her hand and held it close to him.

“Mrs. Willis? Keep your hands to yourself, please?”

“You
don’t tell
me
what to do, you—you ridiculous little man!”

Kevin raised his chin to her and I thought in that flash of a second that he might slap her. I pushed her away from him, a little harder than I intended, and she stumbled slightly.

“Don’t you
dare
call him that! Just who do you think you are?”

A police officer stepped over and said, “Is there a problem here?”

“Keep her away from me,” I said. “I’ve had enough of her nastiness and viciousness to last ten lifetimes.”

“Vicious? Me? Well, maybe occasionally, but at least I’m
somebody
in this town! You’re
nobody,
Miriam Swanson, and everyone knows it.”

A week ago I would’ve opened a vein and drowned in a river of my own blood and tears. At that moment I thought that what she said was downright hilarious and completely ridiculous. My fury dissolved and I started to laugh.

“Really? Really? Oh my God! What a joke! Hey! I have an idea! After you go see that philandering thug of yours, why don’t you take your ugly face and your drooping flat ass right on down to hell, Agnes. If you’re the benchmark for
something,
I would
so much prefer
to be
nothing
!” Mellie the Mouth had found her legs.

“What? How dare you speak to me this way?” She raised her hand and the police officer caught it in midair.

“What’s the matter with you, lady?” he said. “I wouldn’t be hitting anyone if I were you.” The officer sized up the she-devil and said, “You know, the man we brought in is in big trouble.” He checked his notes. “I’m assuming he’s your husband, um, Truman Willis?”

“What do you mean?” Agnes said. “And you may call me
Mrs. Willis,
if you please.”

“If I please? Okay. Well,
Mrs. Willis,
when that beautiful young woman in there regains consciousness, she may decide to press charges against your husband for aggravated assault or attempted murder. You’d better get a lawyer.
Mrs. Willis
.”

Agnes stepped back from me with a scowl on her face that was so ugly it was the stuff of nightmares. I had not ever entertained the thought that Agnes could be so downright unattractive. The officer pulled up his pants by his belt and walked back to his partner, who stood against the admissions desk shaking his head.

“And a little anger management therapy wouldn’t hurt,” I said. “For both of you.”

Agnes was glaring at me.

My heart was pounding, I was breathing rapidly, and my ears were ringing from what I was sure was a surge of blood pressure.

Kevin applauded, and then one by one, every single person in the waiting room joined in. Red-faced and lockjawed, a shocked Agnes Willis sniffed loudly and turned on her heel. After a few minutes of conversation and then showing identification, she successfully pushed her weight around with the admissions people enough and disappeared through the swinging door.

When she was completely out of sight, Kevin said, “You could have won an Academy Award for that, Petal. You were
marvelous
.”

“She’s really horrible, isn’t she?”

“Yes, and that neck of hers could use a good moisturizer.”

The elderly but dignified woman tugged at the sleeve of my overcoat and I turned to her.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Wasn’t that Agnes Willis?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I knew her mother. She was a bitch, too.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Kevin said.

An hour passed and then another. Kevin and I talked about Agnes and Truman and how she had become the evil thing she was.

“I can’t believe you were ever friends with Agnes Willis.”

“I wasn’t. Whatever kind of relationship we had was based on my ability to deliver something her project of the moment needed. When Charles closed his wallet I went on her marked-down rack.”

“Bizarre.”

“I used to think that being a member of her inner circle would be the most wonderful thing in the world,” I said.

“Well, Petal, to the outside observer, the glamour is very seductive.”

“Yes, but it’s an unreal world. Do you know what I mean?”

“Inauthentic?”

“Exactly. I mean, think about this. Let’s put aside the fact that every single nonprofit organization in this town serves some very good purpose, because they do.”

“Agreed.”

“And that they could not function without volunteers. The private donations of those same volunteers adds up to a substantial amount of money. So, they need the help and they need the money just to stay alive.”

“No, you’re absolutely right. We’re not pooping on the actual value of volunteers here.”

“Not in a million years,” I said. “But with the really big bigwigs, here’s how it goes in their private lives. The husband earns tons of money—millions—he travels, and even when he’s in town, he’s never home. The wife hires a nanny to raise the kids.”

“Nanny is seen as a status symbol.”

“Not exactly. They are a necessity because how mundane would the mother become if she raised her own children?”

“Ow. That’s some statement.”

“Oh, it’s much worse. The mother now has way, way too much time on
her hands, because she has to be available to serve as Mrs. Gotbucks. How she
can
spend that time is limited to the following: shopping, working out, having an affair, or volunteering for some worthy cause that will make her marriage more interesting. And she’s lonely.”

“Forget her lonely libido for the moment. Let me extrapolate here. The higher the visibility of the organization, the more likely the wife is to keep her husband in line and not in his secretary’s bloomers because he’s obliged to support the cause and to show up for the fetes she organizes.”

“Right! And the importance of her position is reflected by her assignments. It’s not just the money she wheedles out of her husband’s
personal
bank account, it’s the money and in-kind services from his firm, their contacts—”

“It’s about power.”

“That is
precisely
what it is about—not for all of them, but gals like Agnes Willis? That’s all she’s got.”

“It ain’t much.”

“You can say that again because look at her. She’s cranky for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is because she’s starving herself to death, and no matter how much plastic surgery she gets, she’s still going to be the age she is. She’s angry because she doesn’t understand why she’s not satisfied with her life.”

“Petal? Sounds a little bit like someone I know and love.”

“Yeah, but you know what?”

“What?”

“I’m getting over it. I don’t miss her company one bit.”

“Well, hallelujah! But in that whole bowl of mixed nuts, weren’t there some other gals that were
really
your friends?”

“Oh, sure! There were plenty! But you drift apart, you know? This one moves to Florida. Or they decide to volunteer for something else and you become irrelevant in each other’s lives. So-and-so gets divorced and moves home to Nebraska with the kids. New York is such a transient place.”

“But, come on, Petal, not all of them. I mean, I always thought it was odd that someone as fun and smart as you didn’t have more girlfriends.”

“Honey, there is no greater social pariah than a single woman. Inviting a divorced woman to your dinner party is just like bringing home a naked leper. At least to the other women in shaky marriages. Eventually I just became a loner, I guess.”

“Well, you have me.”

“Yep, and you I love. But, boy, I would give everything I own to turn back
this
clock. I am so worried.”

“Me, too. I know you would. So would I.”

We waited, reading every inch of a tabloid newspaper left on a chair by someone. Each time we inquired we were told that Liz was being treated and we would just have to wait. They were sorry but there was no news. Finally, I heard my name called.

“Mrs. Swanson?”

It was a nurse from the examining rooms calling me from the forbidden doorway.

“Yes?” I hurried over to her. Kevin was at my heels.

“Are you Liz Harper’s next of kin?”

“Yes, I am.” This lying business was going to catch up with me someday.

“Mm-hmm. Follow me, please. The doctor would like to speak with you. We are going to admit Ms. Harper, and as you can guess there are a few forms to fill out.”

“No problem. Is she conscious yet? Do we know the extent of her injuries? I mean, I watch
ER
all the time and…what?”

The nurse, whose name tag read
Chantell Williams, RN,
was grinning and shaking her head. She was a large woman, to say the least, a kind of cool grandmother with dreadlocks and good humor.

“Did you say
ER
? Mercy, I wish real life was as easy as television. Follow me.” She directed us to a doctor, who appeared to be younger than my boys.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Miller. I understand you are related to Ms. Harper?”

“Yes, I’m Miriam Swanson, her aunt, and this is our close friend Mr. Dolan.”

“Well, let me tell you. Ms. Harper is a very lucky young lady. Her injuries could have been a lot worse.”

Dr. Miller explained that Liz had a concussion but should be awake shortly. X-rays revealed that she had two broken ribs, indeed her lung had been punctured, and she had a cracked collarbone. He proceeded to explain that the slash on her cheek was quite deep but they had closed the wound.

“We stitched it up. But if I were her, I’d see a plastic surgeon,” Dr. Miller said.

Kevin and I thanked him and breathed a sigh of relief, although neither one of us truly felt relief. Only the first hurdle had been cleared. I went with the nurse to complete the paperwork.

Nurse Williams and I sat at a desk in a little cubicle. I gave her Liz’s full name, our home address, and her cell-phone number. That was all I could tell her. When it got to the question of medical insurance, allergies, and so on, I had to admit that I had no earthly idea about those things.

“I thought you said you were her aunt.”

“Yes, but she only recently came into my life. She’s my sister’s child and we were never close.” For a moment I closed my eyes and put my hand to my chest for emphasis and sighed. My acting seemed to be a natural talent.

“Uh-huh. You gonna call your sister?”

“Unfortunately she passed away last year.”

“And her father?”

“Gone off with some woman. Haven’t seen him in years.”

“Uh-huh. Ms. Harper is single?”

“Yes. Can I see her?”

I knew Chantell Williams, RN, knew I was making up the details and
I knew also that she did not really care. She just wanted her paperwork filled out.