Hidden In Paris Part 24

"How is Althea?"

"Althea flipped, apparently," Annie said, in a high-strung tone. "She left the hospital. She looked freaked. I was hoping you had heard from her."

"I haven't. And how's Lucas?"

"Looks like he flipped too. I don't think he felt too comfortable being in the same room with me. Everyone is freaking out right and left."

"How about you?"

"I'm fine, of course," Annie snapped. "Someone has to be."

"You sound tense."

"I'm perfect."

Lola hung up the phone wondering about Annie's choice of word.

Althea let the revolving door of the hospital's windowless lobby sweep her away from muted light and stagnant air and propel her into the street. The heat of the day after the cool hospital temperature shocked her. She recoiled, swirled back inside the revolving door and back to the lobby. She stayed there, panting. Jared did not want her, and he did not love her. Whatever she had done had made him want to run away, and he had taken drugs, suffered an overdose. If he died it would be her fault for not giving him a reason to live. He had given her a reason to live. But if he did not want her anymore, or if he died, then her reason to live was gone. She rushed to the bathroom. In the stall, she heaved but she had nothing in her stomach left to vomit. At the sink, she put both hands on the cold, smooth marble, waiting for the nausea to subside. She faced her image in the mirror, studied her reflection for another unsparing minute and felt such pain in her heart, in her stomach, in her head and in her limbs that she thought she might be dying. Panic grabbed her. She ran out of the bathroom, expelled herself from the hospital through the revolving doors and thrust herself into the street.

In her black coat, her black scarf, her black pants that stuck to her legs, she ran along the boulevard. She ran in small streets, between cars and tall, ornate stone buildings. When her body stopped being able to run, she walked. She knew none of the streets and though she was losing her bearings to the point of toppling down, she continued walking. She was so thirsty. Her body would not go on for much longer without food or water or hope. All she needed now was a place to curl up and wait for death.

When she realized she was completely lost, she began following a single boulevard hoping to cross a river or a railroad where her life would end. But there seemed to be no end to this street, no end to the city. She advanced on wobbly legs toward a horizon that did not exist.

In the distance, she thought she saw something. It was strange. It was far away at the end of this interminable boulevard. From where she was, it looked like what might be the canopy of a circus, a series of white awnings or tents with colorful flags and balloons, red, yellow, pink floating above them. She advanced toward the floating colors, which appeared farther the more she advanced. She thought of her black tea still at the house. It was cold now. She needed it. She needed to get back to the house and drink her black tea. But first she would need to reach the flags and the canopies. But the flags were so far, and her body so weak that she could hardly make any progress toward them. She cried tearless tears and reached with her arm toward the tents.

Suddenly tents and flags expanded and reached toward her, and a moment later, she was swallowed. Wherever she was now was loud, blinding, filled with people and exotic shops. Strong smells of trash and spices emanated from the doors of buildings, the pavement. There were groups of children playing on the sidewalk. Was she in Africa? Maybe this was China, Egypt. There were people everywhere, hustling around, in a hurry. Busy, determined people from no country and from every country.

The sun, straight above, tracked her without mercy. Her heartbeat was loud. It was as loud a sound as Jared's heart monitor. But she realized the pulsating came from outside her body, like the rhythmic throb of a distant drumbeat. As the crowd became more dense and determined, she found herself carried by it. Her movements became easier, she was no longer one but part of a human wave made up of entire families. There were women covered in burkas pushing strollers, and babies with dark hair and skin like golden silk. Everywhere, excited children were running and calling to each other. Men walked in groups, some with turbans, some kippas, all gesticulated, waving their hands, and speaking loudly to each other in strange languages. There were women in saris, women in miniskirts, women who carried young children and large totes.

No one paid attention to Althea, as always. So she made herself one with the crowd without intention or thought other than to get to water. Suddenly, she was right under the flags and colorful awnings, engulfed in the scents of exotic food, grilled meats, spices, mint. There were perfumes too, musk, patchouli. A market? The drumbeat became more insistent as new instruments joined in the rhythmic melody of Arabic music that grew louder and more exuberant as she approached. There were piles of fruit, huge legs of lamb turning on skewers with blades like swords, their juices oozing out over the flames that licked them, vegetable stews cooking in immense pots. Men and women waited in line to be served. She recognized couscous. Annie had served it once and she had not dared taste it at the time. But today she would. She would wait in line and be served steaming couscous, and maybe one of the thin spicy sausages. But before she could get closer to the food stands the crowd carried her away, toward an area of vibrant color: rugs, gold, jewels, beads, and Indian fabrics, piles of it, caressed by a woman in a sari, so green and vivid it was fluorescent. The woman's wrinkled hands like leather on silk. Everywhere, there were children with cotton candy in their hands darting around their mothers like flashes of lights. An old man was setting up copper pots, pans, and jars, all gleaming in the light, and smiled broadly at her, the porcelain white smile against his dark face. He told her something, something she did not understand. She wanted to stop moving but her body was in motion, her body had someplace to go; her body that wanted water or food but knew only how not to eat and drink. She did not feel in control of her senses. She could smell, and see with such delicious and heartbreaking clarity despite her thirst, hunger and exhaustion. Her senses had expanded in wild surges. Everything she saw and smelled and touched was intensified, magnified. A k.n.o.bby man with slick hair was holding a voluptuous woman, his thin arms around her bare waist. Her skin was made of melted chocolate. Althea loved that beautiful skin, she who had never noticed skin before, hers or anyone else's. But already the couple had disappeared. A small man in a dark suit walked toward her holding a sandwich. As he walked, he bit into the overflowing sandwich, juices dripped onto the ground-a disgusting sight, a fascinating sight. Althea wanted to tear the sandwich out of the man's hand. Food was everywhere again; Kebabs folded in pita bread. A fruit salad a woman cut before her eyes, her wet hands holding peaches and splitting them into chunks. Lemonade, the lemons dancing with ice cubes. Her head spun. This was the throbbing life that had been accessible to the rest of humanity all along. It did exist. It was real. And she did not need to be with Jared to experience it. And she liked it, yes, she wanted it. She wanted to touch it and be touched by it. She wanted to taste and feel. She wanted to bask in the immense sensuality of being alive; she wanted to learn how to make it happen to her every day like it was happening now.

Her heartbeat raced, involuntarily catching up to the rhythm of the drums. The burning sun baked her hair, shoulders, and back. Her tongue felt swollen inside her mouth, and her hair stuck to her face and neck. Under her coat, she sweated the last drop of her body's moisture. The crowd grew denser, more jubilant with every step. She needed to get back to the hospital and Jared. But where was the hospital? She didn't recognize anything in this blinding light, this crushing heat.

And suddenly, shade. She stopped walking and lifted her head. The dense shade under the canopy of giant sycamores poured on her like a liquid blanket. There was a breeze suddenly, a delicious breeze. Althea began spinning in place, looking up at the leaves playing in the breeze. The shade of the tree seemed to be there for her only, like her own private oasis. Soon there would be peaches, lemons floating in iced water, and love. She laughed. But first, she had to strip her body of this armor of a coat that choked her. Her arms had trouble getting out of the sleeves as she slowly whirled and looked up at the canopy. When her coat came off, she let it drop to the pavement.

There were faces, people watching her. Some had surprised faces. Some were laughing. She twirled and removed her turtleneck, the drenched T-shirt that clung to her chest, until she was down to her minuscule bra and the horror of her devastated body. She felt the cool air, the refreshing spin, and the strange well being that came upon her. She stopped, looked down at the ground where her shed clothes lay like fallen black wings. The floor danced. The crowd danced and laughed. There was a bright white cloud before her eyes like gauze, and then darkness.

Chapter 25.

Annie bent cautiously over Jared's bed. Had she really seen his eyelid flicker? She sat on the edge of her chair, kept her eyes on his and held her breath. Jared blinked. She sprang to her feet like a madwoman and pushed on the call b.u.t.ton over and over. Instants later nurses and doctors were hurrying about Jared, checking machines and life signs. A beautiful Algerian nurse whom Annie had spoken to earlier gently took her by the elbow and guided her out of the room. She was made to return to the hallway to wring her hands. She looked around, trying not to jump out of her skin simply from being here. She hated this d.a.m.n hospital, and the hospital hated her right back. The smell of the place alone sickened her. The terrible bright lights and the nauseating pink of the walls were like an ever-present menace. No one knew her here, of course, but she and the walls of this place remembered each other well. Being in the emergency room on this day, of all days, was bitter irony. Thirty minutes after Jared had regained consciousness, Annie was allowed back into the room.

"Heavens thank you! You're alive!" she said.

Jared shook his head feebly and whispered, "Je suis desole."

Sorry? He was sorry? She looked at him, horrified, furious. She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. "I better call Lucas," she said. She turned on her heels and walked out of the room. She asked for a phone and called Lucas on his cell. "Jared will be fine," she said.

There was a long silence, then a longer sigh. "Thank you G.o.d."

"All he could say was 'je suis desole.' You know what that means?"

"What does it mean?"

"It means it was suicide. That's what it means. The a.s.shole tried to kill himself."

"It doesn't have to mean that."

"Then why did he not ask what happened, or why he was in a hospital room?"

Lucas let the thought sink in. "You have a point."

"Please get your a.s.s over here before I rekill him."

"You're upset."

"You let me open my house to a drug addict who also happens to be suicidal. How do you expect my mood to be?"

"Who are we speaking of here?"

"Jared of course"

"I've known Jared most of his life, but only when that bizarre young woman enters his life does Jared get into trouble with drugs."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that she is the one who got him into trouble. She's the drug addict."

Annie let it sink in. Althea's erratic behavior, the strange moods, the physical clues that something was off. Could Lucas be right? If he was right, then she was the one who had opened her house to a drug addict.

"I'm already in a taxi on my way." Lucas said.

Annie walked back to Jared's room with the sense that she was forgetting something. Walking through the halls she held her breath and tried not to look at all these terribly sick people. All morning the doors of the emergency room had swung open to the clamor of ambulances and an endless flow of human beings on stretchers. She went to the emergency room desk and demanded to speak to the triage nurse.

"He's awake. Here, do you see?"

"Yes."

"So, he doesn't belong here. He's no longer an emergency."

The nurse raised a bored eyebrow. "The doctors decide who is an emergency, and who isn't."

"But isn't he using up important time and resources?"

"We have the s.p.a.ce and we have the staff."

"In my country..."

"I know my job, Madame, now please sit down or leave."

Annie left the desk grumbling, then came back and found the beautiful Algerian nurse, the one with the nice smile.

"Look," she said. "I don't mean to be difficult here, but I know this emergency room. I know how this place works. This is where I showed up in the middle of the night three years ago to find out that my husband was dead."

Jared was promptly transferred to the recovery floor. She followed Jared's rolling bed toward the elevator and up to the fourth floor. She glanced toward the hallway where they had taken her that night. At the end of the hallway was a very cold room. There, in that cold room she had identified Johnny's body. She had shaken so much in that room, shaken so violently, that they had to hold her. There she had wept and she had hollered like a wounded beast. She had wept with grief and with murderous rage. Mostly she had wept for herself. It was in that room that she did the first and the last of her crying. She had left the morgue resolute to pull herself together, to focus on the boys and what she was going to tell them and how.

In Jared's new room, the walls were white and there was a window. In the next bed a small black man with a large bandage across his head was sound asleep. She sat beside Jared, not sure what to say or what not to say. Lucas needed to be here soon. She wondered where Althea was. Jared's eyes were shut, and she took it to mean that he didn't want her to be there. She was conscious of how difficult it was for her to speak to certain people. She let words storm out of her mouth to fill voids, and she amused some, but with Jared, her words did not feel welcome or amusing. It was a familiar theme. She had often sensed in Johnny's friends a hint of indifference to her. Maybe worse than indifference: dislike. Maybe she lacked glamour. Maybe she did not know how to behave in Parisian society. Of course she could have simply been insecure and imagined the whole thing. Those daunting parties... Johnny glowing with that peac.o.c.k certainty, and the women looking at him, and Johnny, not paying attention to her a single instant. Why was bitterness coming in through the back door simply because Jared's eyes were closed?

"Do you need anything?" she asked abruptly, ignoring the fact that Jared might be sleeping.

"I'm starving," Jared answered, his eyes still shut.

"I'll go ask the nurses," she said.

She asked the hospital staff if Jared could be fed, then realized that she had forgotten to call Lola. She pa.s.sed the nurse's station on her way to the pay phone when she heard her name.

"Madame Roland?"

She approached the nurse's station. "That's me," she said, figuring Lola had tracked her down. As a joke, she put both elbows on the counter like she was ordering at a cafe. "Un Croque-Monsieur s'il vous plait."

"They're asking for you in the emergency room," the nurse said.

"We were just there," Annie said cheerfully, determined to make friends with the staff of this floor. "He's been transferred here, to room 402."

The nurse spoke slowly to make it sink in. "This," she said, "is for someone who just came in. A new emergency."

Annie saw it, the image as crystal clear as anything she had ever imagined. She distinctly saw one of her boys, any one of her boys, it didn't matter, the head crushed, the left side of the face a pulpy ma.s.s of crushed bones and burned flesh, dead on arrival, like Johnny. "Is it my child?" she screamed.

The nurse jumped to her feet, widening her eyes and speaking fast. "They did not say." She pointed to the elevator. "Three floors down and to your right."

Annie sprinted across the hall, pushed the b.u.t.ton on the elevator, changed her mind and ran down three sets of metal stairs. Her heart was like a stone in her chest and her whole body tingled with panic. Visions of Maxence, dead, Paul, dead, Laurent, dead. All three of them, dead.

Once on the ground floor she ran to the emergency desk and practically screamed.

"Someone called for me. Annie, Annie Roland."

The triage nurse recognized her and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Not her!" she said to the beautiful nurse.

"Are we having a busy morning?" the nurse said with a smile, and Annie understood instantly from the nurse's casual att.i.tude that whatever it was, her boys were not in any danger. She was flooded with instant relief. Tears ran down her cheeks that she did not even bother to wipe. Her relief was complete when she was told that a 'demoiselle' had arrived on a stretcher a few minutes before and had woken up, realized where she was and asked for her. The demoiselle, was Althea. Althea who had pa.s.sed out only a block away from the hospital after having, the report said, taken off most of her clothes in the middle of a street fair, of all things.

Annie entered the room still high on adrenalin. But the sight of Althea took her aback. She lay on the hospital cot looking as frail and vulnerable as a newly hatched chick. A bag filled with clear fluid was hooked into her arm via an IV. Annie had wondered before why she had never seen Althea without a sweater or a jacket on, and now she knew why. The barely there, sleeveless hospital gown revealed it all and she was struck to the point of nausea by the impossible thinness of Althea's arms, the large k.n.o.b of an elbow above the bandage that kept the needle of the IV in place. In the room, a nurse as tall and wide as a lumberjack was scribbling on a pad. Maybe Annie should have felt compa.s.sion, and maybe she did, but mostly she felt cheated, furious. It must have been the adrenaline let down, but she felt ready to bludgeon Althea to death. Lucas' theory that Althea had introduced Jared to drugs now made perfect sense. Jared and Althea, two young people with so much going for them both calling for negative attention like nine-year-olds. She had let them into her life, tried to take care of them, and this was what she got in return? Both acted like she was difficult, like she was the pain in the a.s.s.

"Why in the h.e.l.l are you here?" she said coldly.

The ma.s.sive nurse advanced toward Annie, her arms crossed over her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Doucement," she growled.

"It's been a hard morning," she told the nurse between clenched teeth, but the nurse continued standing in front of her, unconvinced. "I'll be fine," she had to say before the nurse finally stepped aside. She walked around the nurse, sat on Althea's bed, and willed her tone into cooperation. "What happened to you?"

Althea's gaze was absent. "Jared?"

"Jared's up and running," she told her. Althea's eyes brightened, and Annie felt sorry for her suddenly. "He's fine," she added, "the coma didn't last. Lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d. What a scare." She forced herself to laugh. "He is devouring his hospital lunch as we speak, food, tray and all."

Althea did not speak but began sobbing tearless sobs. Annie reluctantly patted her bony hand. "There, there, everyone's fine," she said, but Althea was not fine, that much was clear. Althea's arms, her shoulders, her chest looked awful. This was what drugs did to bodies, it was all so clear now. Something about the way Althea had looked from the start was so dreadful, so different and wrong but then again she had not known, or she had preferred not to see. "Jared's doctors want to run tests, keep him for a while, and then off to rehab if I have a say in this," she said. She searched Althea's forearms for a sign that she had used drug needles. How could one tell? Not all drugs came in a syringe. Were there drugs hidden somewhere in her home, a drawer away from her boys? A part of her brain was quickly thinking up schemes to get Althea and Jared out of her house by any means necessary.

But another part of her brain was screaming something too. Something she could not hear, and there was this terrible hollowness in the pit of her stomach. "This is a warning sign for both of you," she said. "You both need to go to rehab."

"I didn't take drugs," Althea whispered.

Annie smirked. "Yeah, right!"

"No drugs," said the sergeant nurse. She read from her pad, "dehydration, and exhaustion, but mostly starvation. Looks like a concentration camp victim."

Annie turned toward the nurse, flashed her best death stare, and turned back to Althea. She took a deep breath, "no drugs," she echoed, and then, stuttered in anguish. "My home's... hardly a concentration camp!" Her voice broke, and she tried to hold those burning tears, but they squirted out of her eyes irrepressibly.

"Weighing in at 90 lbs," the nurse added. "A clear case of anorexia nervosa. And a bad one. Very sick that girl. Been going on for quite a while."

"I thought you were on a diet. I didn't mean..." Annie said. She was bawling now and there was nothing she could do to stop herself.

Althea's exhausted voice tried to appease her. "It's not your fault."

"But I knew you were not eating. I knew it."

"It's all my own fault."

"I saw," Annie sobbed. "I saw and I didn't make you eat."

"It's not like that."

"I don't... understand," Annie sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

"Me neither," Althea said, shaking her head, "me neither."

"But did you know?"

Althea hesitated. "Kind of."

The two of them became silent. Annie grabbed Althea's hand. "I'm so sorry."

"But Jared is going to be fine?"

Annie blew her nose. "As it turns out, it's only drugs. He's probably the healthier of the two of you."