by Nic Tatano
“This doesn’t scare you, Madison?”
“What?”
“Having a relationship with someone who could die at any time? That every goodbye kiss in the morning could be your last?”
“I could walk out of here and get hit by a bus, Marino. We never know when our number’s up. That’s why it’s important to live every day to the fullest. And right now I choose to share this particular day with you.”
Bumper is purring on my lap on Friday night when the phone rings. It’s Steve, Nick’s partner. “Are you free tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Just talked to the doctor.”
“I was there a few minutes ago. Must have missed you. So what did the doctor say?”
“He would like those closest to Nick to be there when he gives him the prognosis.”
My heart sinks. “Uh-oh. You know that can’t be good.”
“I wouldn’t think so. If he was going to tell Nick he’d be completely normal he wouldn’t need us around. Anyway, I’ll pick you up at ten, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. See you then.”
Nick’s face lights up as Steve and I enter his room and move to the sides of the bed. I take his hand and give him a kiss. “How you feelin’ today, Marino?”
“A little better each day. But that may be the painkillers talking.”
“Well, you look better. You’re getting a little color back in your face.”
“Thanks.” He turns to his partner. “Good timing with the two of you here at the same time while I’m awake.”
“I, uh, ran into Madison in the lobby. Guess we’re on the same wavelength.”
A gentle knock on the door announces the arrival of the doctor, who gives me a quick nod as he moves toward the bed. “How are you feeling this morning, Officer?”
“No pain. And a little stronger. Think my friends could smuggle in some real food, Doc?”
He laughs a bit. “Sure. I’ve seen the stuff from the kitchen and don’t blame you. I, uh, wanted to talk to you about your prognosis.”
I study the doctor’s face.
This isn’t good.
I look back at Nick, who seems ready for anything.
And all I can think of is Gary Cooper playing Lou Gehrig in Pride of the Yankees saying, “Give it to me straight, Doc. Is it curtains?”
Nick smiles at me as I take his hand. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
The doctor looks down at the floor. “One bullet did a lot of damage. And it might be permanent. While it’s too early to tell, there is a chance you may never walk again.”
His words are a punch to the soul. I squeeze Nick’s hand as my eyes instantly well up.
He slowly nods, but incredibly shows no emotion. “So, what are my chances?”
“Again, much too early to tell. But I wanted you to be prepared. You may be able to eventually walk normally with a lot of physical therapy. But for right now, you’ll be in a wheelchair when you’re released in about a week.” The doctor’s medical explanation fades into the background as I stare at Nick, who still remains calm. No anger, no depressed look. I’m a wreck over this and he’s not even upset. The guy is a rock. A single tear runs down my cheek. He notices and brushes it off with his thumb, then smiles at me.
He turns back to the doctor. “Okay, doctor. Thanks for being honest with me.”
“Sure. Now, when you are released, do you have family that can attend to you and a place that is wheelchair accessible?”
“I live in a second floor apartment with no elevator. And I don’t have any family. My parents are gone and I’m an only child.”
“Well, I can get you into a special facility, but it’s expensive. I’m not sure if your insurance will cover all of it, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“We’ll raise the money,” says Steve. “Whatever it takes.”
I realize I have to take charge.
“No.” I stand up, still holding his hand. “He can stay with me.”
Nick looks up at me. “Madison, you can’t—”
“You’re not going into some facility. You’re staying with me. End of story. And it is not up for discussion. You’re not going to live with people who don’t even know you for who knows how long and eat more awful hospital food. And you do have family. Your friends are your family.”
“What about your job?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll work something out. I’ll hire a live-in nurse if I have to. I can afford it and I’ve got a big house.”
The doctor turns to me. “It is much better for the patient to be surrounded by friends and family. Can your home handle a wheelchair?”
“By the time he gets out of here it will.”
Nick pulls on my hand. “Madison, you don’t have to do this. What are you gonna do, knock down walls in your house?”
“Steve, please tell your partner to shut the hell up.” I look down at Nick. “All I have to do is widen a couple of doors and build a ramp from the driveway. It’s time for the damsel in distress to say thank you to her hero. So stop arguing with me. You’re moving in and that’s that.”
The doctor chuckles a bit. “You’ve got a tough one in your corner, Officer, which is good. And it sounds like that’s settled.” He heads for the door. “I’ll leave you all to discuss your plans.”
“Very nice of you, Madison,” says Steve.
I’m still looking at Nick. “He’d do it for me.”
“Yeah, he would.”
Nick gives me his usual soulful look. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“I do. And let’s get one thing straight right now. You are going to walk again and dance with me. Meanwhile, I’ve got some remodeling to do.”
By mid-afternoon I’ve already got the plans underway. A.J. brought her cousin Angelo the contractor who is busy taking measurements so he can widen the door to the guest room and the adjoining bathroom, while Tish and Rory are busy arranging furniture to create pathways for a wheelchair. (Bumper will have to develop new routes, but he’s a resourceful kitten and all the bubble-wrap will keep him from getting hurt.) The sound of a power saw drifts through the open window as Steve has a bunch of off-duty cops already busy building a ramp from the driveway to the back door. We’ve got about a week to get things ready, but it shouldn’t be a problem. It’s really not all that much.
The problem is going to be my job. I’ve got a bunch of vacation time and comp days built up, but I know my boss isn’t going to let me take the time off all at once, especially during an election year. I have a way to do my job and take care of Nick, I’m just not sure he’ll go for it.
But if that’s the case, I do have a trump card.
Chapter Twenty
The trump card is still in my hand, not having been played as I sit in my News Director’s office waiting for him to return from corporate with a decision on my proposal.
I have the card and he knows it. Corporate knows it too.
There’s no way he could fire me if I took all the time off. And if I got a flat out “no” on any parts of my proposal he knows damn well I’d quit and walk out. The backlash against a network not accommodating its most popular on-air person because she’s taking care of a wounded hero would be devastating.
But he also has a good card in that we’re in the middle of a presidential campaign and with our senior reporter on the shelf with a broken ankle, I’m the most experienced political reporter the network has. And the most popular thanks to the kittens and the adoption thing. There’s no way they’ll let me take off a solid month. And to be honest, I wouldn’t do that to the network.
So I’ve asked for some reasonable changes to my schedule that will give me more time at home to take care of Nick until he gets well.
The only unknown factor is how long that will take.
Barry comes back into his office, shuts the door and sits behind his desk. “Okay, I think you’ll agree this works for both of us. And it’s something I ca
n live with. But I will tell you that it’s the best I could do.”
Of course when a News Director says that, it means he’s got one more thing to offer beyond the first offer. “What’s the deal?”
“First, you obviously can’t take all your time off at once with the election so close.”
“I realize that.”
“That said, I can make your life a lot easier. First, as you know Jim Haller left the network two months ago and they never found a replacement for his spot on the Sunday morning political panel. They’ve been using substitutes every week and haven’t found the right person.”
“Barry, I can’t go to Washington every weekend.”
“I’m not asking you to do that. You can do the show from New York. The show’s producer really wants you as a permanent member of the panel and is willing to have you participate that way, even if you never set foot in their studio. So that takes care of one day of your work week. Of course, that means getting up early Sunday morning, and I know how much you love rolling out of bed at the crack of dawn. But the good part is you’re done at nine in the morning and it counts as a full workday.”
Sure, that’s a really fair trade. I nod, liking the idea that never crossed my mind. “Okay, sounds great. What else?”
“Since I already told you I was going to give you one day per week off the street to work the Senator Collier investigation I can let you do that from home since you basically work the phones anyway. So that’s two days you don’t have to be here.”
“So far, so good, Barry.”
“The other three days I need you knocking out your usual stories, so I do need you to be here. But how about this … we set up the portable background, camera and lights in your home and instead of having you do live shots from the field or sitting on the set, you do it from your house. We leave the gear in place and all the photog has to do is show up, turn things on and frame up the shot. This way we keep your presence on the newscast and you can go home as soon as your story is in the can. The photog I’m assigning will love it since the guy lives down the street from you. And since you’re so organized and usually done by four, it would get you home a lot sooner.”
“Can I do my Sunday morning live shot from the house as well?”
“I don’t see why not. We can set up the portable background for that show as well. No reason for you to drive here. So that’s the deal. Three days a week here and you go home early. One day working the Collier story from home and the Sunday morning show from home. Is that acceptable?”
“Yeah, Barry, I think that’s very fair. I really appreciate you going to bat for me and making all these concessions. It will really help.”
He smiles and leans back in his chair. “Okay, it’s settled then.”
“So what else did you have in your pocket?”
“What do you mean?”
“Every negotiation I’ve ever had when the boss says it’s the best I can do always means there’s something else he can offer.”
He laughs a bit. “Now I see why you’re such a good negotiator. And while that is a common tactic when it comes to money and contracts, or so I’ve heard—”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was being totally honest with you. Considering the situation, Madison, there is no way I was going to play games and treat you like you’re in a car dealership.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I think what you’ve offered is terrific.”
“Glad you’re happy. And now I must say how impressed I am with you.”
“For what?”
“Moving your new boyfriend into your house, remodeling it and taking care of him. That’s a big undertaking.”
“I can handle it.”
“Have you ever done anything like this before? Taking care of a person with a physical challenge?”
“Nope. I do have a special needs kitten, though.”
“You must really like this guy, huh?”
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah. He’s really special.”
“What happened to the guy you brought to the office party? I thought you were pretty serious about him.”
“He turned out to be very selfish. Funny, I never would have found out without those kittens.”
“Well, it’s really wonderful what you’re doing for that cop. You’ve changed so much lately.”
“I know. Sometimes I don’t even recognize the person I used to be. It’s almost like that was another life. But to be honest it also feels like I’m getting back to the real me, the person I used to be.”
“It’s a good look for you, Madison. And about the best compliment I can give you is that I hope my daughter turns out like you.”
I heard from the doctor that Nick will be released Saturday morning barring any unforeseen setbacks. Thankfully A.J.’s cousin pretty much dropped what he was doing and will have the house ready to accommodate the wheelchair.
Meanwhile, a little will be coming off my plate tomorrow, as the kittens go to their furever homes. So I’ll be going from four cats and no humans to taking care of one cat and one human. But I like the trade. And I really like the human.
I do feel bad about breaking up the litter and often wonder if the little guys will miss their siblings, but at least each one will receive undivided attention instead of the twenty-five percent I’ve been doling out. (Okay, I admit Bumper has been getting a lot more. So sue me. I love the little guy.)
Of course the fact that the kittens will be relocating necessitates another live shot, as the country is desperate to find out how the story turns out. People are also clamoring for cat videos, like I have time for that, but after being bombarded with requests I finally shot a few minutes of the little guys playing and it quickly went viral. As it turns out, their fifteen minutes of fame will not end, as one of the world’s biggest cat food companies contacted me and wanted a photo of all four to put on a bag of their kitten food. Once again, I held the trump card.
Only this time, I played it.
“Hello, Miss Shaw? This is Jim Dwyer, Marketing Director at the Fluffy Cat Food Company.”
“Hi. Jim. What can I do for you?”
“Well, we would love to feature a photo of your kittens on a bag of our cat food. Would you be amenable to that?”
“Certainly. And when can I expect your check for fifty thousand dollars to arrive at my local animal shelter?”
They overnighted the check.
If only contract negotiations with my network were that easy.
I’m beginning to think my fur babies have become so famous they can raise a ton of money for good causes.
Hmmm …
Rory, being camera shy, is very nervous as the hit time for our morning show live shot with the kittens grows near. I’m sitting next to her on the couch holding her hand. We’re still a half hour away but she’s already pale with her jaw and fists clenched, staring straight ahead. “Will you please try to relax?”
“Millions of people are going to see this? What will they think of me if I screw up?”
“How are you going to screw up? You sit there, smile and hold a kitten. I’m gonna ask you why you chose this kitten and you answer. That’s it.”
“I look like shit.”
“Oh, gimme a break. You never look like shit. Men fall all over you because it is impossible for you to look like shit. You can roll out of bed and look cute as hell. Have you forgotten you were prom queen and head cheerleader?”
“That was ages ago. I am way past my expiration date. High def is going to make my face look like an old catcher’s mitt.”
“Actually, right now you look like you’re about to face a firing squad. Sweetie, once this live shot is over I’m going to be deluged with calls and emails from men asking if you’re available.”
The door opens as A.J. and Tish arrive. My eyes widen at A.J.’s attire, as she’s in a gorgeous red cocktail dress. “What’s with the outfit? You got a date at six in the morning?”
“Nah. Coming home from one.”
“Sorry I asked. I assume you had a good time.”
“If I’d had a good time my dress would be on backwards.”
Tish has her usual lawyer garb on, a super conservative suit, hair up, horn-rimmed glasses. But she’s wearing a big smile. “I’ve got a great name for my kitten.”
“And that would be?”
“You’ll have to wait for the big reveal. But it has to do with my office address.”
“You’re gonna name the cat Empire State Building?”
“Nope. Something very clever. You’ll see.”
The photographer cues me as the live shot begins and I hear the anchor’s question in my earpiece. “So, Madison, I guess this is the big day for the country’s most famous kittens as they are moving to their forever homes.”
“Right, Kayla, and I know they’re going to good homes because these are my closest friends in the whole world. Rory, A.J. and Tish.” I wrap one arm around Rory’s shoulders as she wears the classic TV deer in the headlights expression. Actually, the proverbial deer might be more relaxed. “Rory has been my best friend since high school and I want viewers to know she’s been providing kitten day care while I’ve been at work. She lives across the street and has done a terrific job helping to raise the fur babies.” I turn to her. “So, since you did the most work I gave you first choice. Why did you pick this kitten?”
She stares into the camera and answers like an android. “It’s cute.”
“Well, they’re all cute. Do you have a name for it yet?”
“No.”
Interviews like that are known as a “dead fish” because a reporter feels like she’s been handed one. Time to move on because she’s obviously not going to talk. “Sitting next to Rory is A.J., who runs the best delicatessen here on Staten Island and I’d have to say that your kitten turned the tables and chose you since it always jumps in your lap when you visit.”
“I think it smells my usual perfume … eau de cold cuts. It’s a very perceptive kitten and knows it will never starve. And no, I haven’t come up with a name yet.”
“Ah, but I do know our other cat parent has already named her kitten. That’s Tish at the end of the couch, who is a lawyer in Manhattan. Now you wouldn’t tell me the name of your fur baby before, so I’m waiting for the big reveal.”
