Look Again Part 33

"Where am I? I feel funny."

"You're at my house, and you took a Valium."

"I did?" Ellen didn't remember.

"Yes, you were so... upset. I offered one to you, and you said yes. I drug my women only with their consent."

"Why do you have Valium?"

"An old girlfriend. The relationship expired, but the pills didn't." Marcelo smiled, and Ellen sensed from under her pharmaceutical cloud that he was trying to cheer her up. She didn't dare rewind the day's events to remember why she was here. She knew, but she didn't want to know. She had traded in one insulation for another.

"Why did you bring me here and not home?"

"Your house was a crime scene."

Of course.

"Though it's since been released. Also, there was press out front."

"Who did we send?"

"Sal."

Ellen lifted an eyebrow.

"Who better?"

"Make him tell it right, Marcelo. Tell it true, all of it. I'm fine with it."

"Good."

"Just so it's not Sarah." Ellen felt bitterness even through her drug haze. "She's the one who called the Bravermans, you know, for the reward."

"I heard from the police." Marcelo's smile vanished. "Which would probably explain why she quit the other day."

"She did?"

"Walked in and quit, packed up her desk, and left. No notice, nothing."

"Did she say she didn't need it, because she's rich now? She won the lottery."

"No, she said I was the worst editor in the country and I was just"-Marcelo paused a minute, smiling-"a pretty boy."

"She said that?"

"It's not that funny. I am pretty." Marcelo stroked Ellen's cheek, and she started to feel something, which worried her. She didn't welcome any emotions right now, even good ones.

"Do you have another pill?"

"Yes, but I don't think you should take it yet. Your lawyer's here."

"Lawyer?"

"Ron. You asked me to call him, and he came over at the end of the day."

"He's here?" Ellen started to get up, but Marcelo gentled her back down.

"Stay put. I'll have him come up." He rose and left the room, and Ellen lay still, trying to maintain an equilibrium. It wasn't time for emotion, but action. Maybe there was still something that could be done. In the next minute, footsteps scuffed on the stair and Marcelo came back into the room, followed by Ron Halpren, in a dark suit and tie.

"Hi, Ron," Ellen said, to show that she was a functioning human being. "Please don't say anything nice or I'll lose it."

"Fair enough." Ron sat down on the bed, his beard grizzled and his crinkly eyes soft.

"Also don't look at me like that."

Ron chuckled, sadly. "Okay, I'll be the lawyer, not the friend. I heard what happened, I read the papers."

"Papers?"

"The court papers they gave you at the hospital," Marcelo said, standing behind Ron, his arms folded.

Ellen thought back. Whatever. "So is there anything I can do?"

Ron hesitated. "Nothing."

Ellen tried to stay in control. "I mean, just about the timing."

"What about it?"

"It's so... soon. Abrupt. He has clothes at home, and toys, and books, and DVDs, and a cat." Ellen stopped herself. Will would miss Oreo Figaro. Maybe she could get the cat to him. "Why can't we ease the transition? And for his benefit, not mine." She was remembering what they'd said at the hospital.

"It doesn't work that way, at least not with Braverman. I spoke with Mike Cusack, a big gun at Morgan, Lewis. I gather Mr. Braverman has some dough."

"Yes."

"Well, he got out the heavy artillery, and as a legal matter, you can make a transition, as you say, only if they agree, and they're not agreeing. They don't trust you or the situation."

"It's not about me."

"I know that, and you should hold on to that thought. It's not personal." Ron patted her hand. "Braverman has to go home and bury his wife, and his lawyer says that he wants to start over. Pick up the pieces."

Ellen's heart sank. "I can see that, but what if that's not what's best for Will? Sending Will into a funeral, his father a grieving widower, right off the bat? He'll freak."

"You're talking best interests again, and remember, that's not the law. It's a power notion. Braverman has absolute power and he's wielding it." Ron's gaze rested on hers. "I think you need to pick up the pieces, too. You need to understand that Will will be loved and very well cared for. They already contacted a pediatrician and a therapist specializing in young children."

Ellen felt tears fighting to surface, but held them back. Will would have medical experts, but no mother. She couldn't even say the words.

"In time, he'll be fine."

"He's not property, to be delivered. He's a child, with feelings."

"Kids are resilient."

"I hate when people say that," Ellen shot back, more harshly than she intended. "It's like we'll all pretend that the kid's feelings don't matter, because they get in the way. But you know what happens, Ron? Kids swallow the hurt, and sooner or later, it comes out. One way or the other, the hurt comes out. And you know who gets hurt then? Not the adults. The kid. Will Will. Someday he'll be hurting and he won't even know why." Ellen gave a little hiccup and covered her mouth, holding back a sob. "He lost a mother at a year old. Now he's losing another. Can't we be a little sensitive? Is it so much to ask?"

"We have no choice, and he will be fine, in the end." Ron patted her hand, then squeezed it, as Marcelo left the bedroom for a minute, then came back with a gla.s.s of water.

"Have another pill," he said, offering her the tablet in his open palm, and Ellen raised herself, popped the Valium, and drank the water like she lived on the Sahara.

"Ron, can I call Will? Can I talk to him at least?"

"No."

"You're kidding."

"No." Ron shook his head. "They think a clean break is best."

"For who? Them or him? They accused me of being selfish, but they're the ones who're selfish."

"I hear you, but there's nothing we can do."

Ellen hoped the pill worked fast. "Where is he now, do you think?"

"Will? In the city, still. They'll be in town until the coroner releases Carol Braverman's body."

Ellen felt a pang. "When will that be?"

"A couple of days."

"So knowing Bill, they're at the Ritz or the Four Seasons. I say the Ritz."

"I say the Four Seasons," Marcelo said, but Ron frowned.

"Don't even think about it, either of you. Cusack told me if you try to see Will, they'll take out a restraining order."

Marcelo frowned. "These people, they're cruel beyond belief."

"There it is." Ron shrugged. "Cusack said, and I believe him, that this guy is just trying to protect his kid."

"From me?"

"Yes."

Ellen tried to process it. "I really can't call Will?"

"No. Their child therapist said it would be confusing for him and prevent his bonding with his father again."

"An expert said that?"

"You can find an expert to say anything."

"Then we should find our own expert."

Ron shook his head. "No, there's no trial here, and no judge. They won. They win. On the good-news front, I asked if they'd give you an update on his condition, physical and emotional, next week, and they agreed."

"Big of them." Ellen felt anger flare up, muted by the drug.

"We'll take what we can get and go from there."

"They need to know his medical history. They didn't even know that. I have his records."

"I'm sure we can send it to them or his pediatrician."

Ellen slumped back into the pillow, trying not to hit somebody. Or cry. Or scream. Or turn back time, to the day she read that awful white card in the mail.

"Try to rest, Ellen. You know what Shakespeare says. 'Sleep knits up the ravell'd sleave of care.' "

"Shakespeare was never a mother."

Ron rose. "Call me if you have any questions. Hang in there. I'll be thinking of you. So will Louisa."

"Thanks." Ellen watched Ron go to the door, followed by Marcelo, and she called out after them, "Ron, thanks for not saying, I told you so."

Ron didn't answer and they walked down the steps, the footsteps scuffling again, and in time, Marcelo came back upstairs with another drink.

"Please tell me that's whiskey."

"c.o.ke."

"Or not." Ellen raised herself and took a sip, tasting the sweetness.

"Are you hungry?"

"No." Ellen gave him the gla.s.s and lay back down, her head mercifully fuzzy again. Thoughts of Connie and her father popped through the oncoming clouds. "I have to tell the babysitter what happened."

"She probably knows. It's all over the TV."

"She'll be so upset." Ellen felt a deep twinge. "She shouldn't have to find out that way."

"I'll take care of everything." Marcelo put the gla.s.s on the night table. "I don't want you to worry about it. What's her phone number?"

"It's in my phone, in my purse. Her name is Connie. Also my father needs to know. He's in Italy. Getting married."

Marcelo frowned. "When does he get home?"

"I forget."

"It'll wait, then."