by Anna Burke
Despite the trouble with Jessica, Alexis had kept her follow up appointment this morning. Now, over three months later, and still in limbo about what do next, her gynecologist made another suggestion. Perhaps, if she couldn’t wean herself off all the tranqs and pain meds alone, it was time to get some help. Alexis knew what she meant before the woman could say “Betty Ford.” She had been down that road before. Sobriety was a bitch. Given all that was going on in her life at the moment, she hesitated to face it without chemical enhancements. Nor was she in any position to do a stint at Betty Ford, not that she needed that kind of help anyway. She just needed her life to settle down.
“You can’t put this off much longer, Alexis. While the cancer is at an early stage and treatable, it’s still cancer. This isn’t the first time we’ve talked about a hysterectomy. You’ve had problems with fibroids for years and the surgery would give you relief. I don’t want to be too dramatic, but major surgery is never free of risk. With all the drugs you’re on...” Alexis had quit listening at that point.
Pay attention, you wretched girl, her mother’s voice had chided. Alexis had mumbled something signifying acquiescence. All she wanted to do was get out of there, go home and take a few pills. The thought of giving up the pills just made her want to take more while she could. Like binging before going on a diet—she had done that a few times, too, before pills mattered more than food.
When Alexis returned home from her doctor appointment, she checked with Hank and Bernadette who were still waiting for news from the hospital about Jessica’s release. The previous night, when they had returned to the hospital after dinner, it had been a relief to find Jessica much improved. Their spirits had soared at the sight of Jessica, propped up in bed, speaking with a handsome visitor.
Paul Worthington greeted them as he left the hospital room. He shook hands with Hank and chatted for a moment about the projects Hank had underway. Paul was familiar with Hank’s work and had helped to support that gala honoring him. As the two men spoke, Alexis realized why she held Paul in such high regard. Paul was a lot like Hank—amiable, intelligent, direct and hard-working. Perhaps, too hard-working, which might explain how the tall, rich, good-looking blond was still unmarried at forty. A catch for her daughter, but more than that, a real chance at happiness with a man as forthright as Hank.
Jessica was watching the two men, her head cocked to one side, as Alexis sat down beside her. Alexis was glad Jessica didn’t see she had wobbled as she sat, not quite hitting the seat as planned. She chided herself for having that last glass of wine before leaving home and hoped she could keep it together, for Jessica’s sake. Alexis stifled a giggle at the thought of hitting the floor instead of that chair. It wouldn’t be good if another Huntington woman—well, ex-Huntington woman—took a fall. When she looked up, Bernadette was eyeing her.
Oops, Alexis thought. Nabbed, damn it. When she felt like giggling again she knew for sure she should not have had that last glass—number two or three or four. What the hell, it had been a long day and a difficult day. Who wouldn’t drink a little too much wine? She had let Bernadette and Hank take the lead, speaking with Jessica. Animated and more coherent than when they left her at lunch time, she had soon grown tired. They were all still exhausted, too, so they kept the visit brief. The best news was that Jessica would be sent home soon. Perhaps the very next day.
Today they were all busy taking care of errands while awaiting word from the hospital. Hank was trying to keep his business ventures afloat, and Bernadette was catching up on a backlog of tasks related to management of the Rancho Mirage estate. They agreed to drive to the hospital in the late afternoon, even if they had heard nothing. That way they could at least spend a little time with Jessica. Alexis grabbed a bite to eat and then used the headache that was overtaking her as an excuse to take a nap. Bernadette did not pursue the matter, perhaps distracted by chores.
Back in her room, Alexis mulled over that morning meeting with her doctor. She had to do something and she would, too, when things were back to normal—soon, but not now. Not today. Once Jessica was back home and up on her feet again. When Hank moved back to Brentwood, then she could think more about taking care of herself. There was also the little matter of filing for separation from Giovanni. She had been making excuses to account for the delay in her return to the Mediterranean. Twice she had stopped Giovanni from coming to the desert. She wasn’t sure she could resist him, face-to-face. Nor could she stall him much longer.
“Surely, no one expects me to face all of this alone. Everyone relies on others once in a while. Who doesn’t need a crutch, now and then?” Alexis whispered. She wasn’t talking about people, but the pills. People she could do without—pills, maybe not.
Alexis sat on the side of the bed and reached into the drawer of her elegant nightstand. The pill bottles rattled as the drawer opened and she grabbed one, almost at random. Relaxation, mood enhancement, pain reduction, it was all much the same thing. At night there was the extra oomph she needed to sleep. She had a couple of things for that since Ambien didn’t always do the trick.
Popping a lid off the bottle, she glanced at the label. “Good enough,” she said as she put not one, but two pills in her mouth. She tried to count how many pills she had taken that day. Tracking was a difficult problem when using alcohol and pills. Rules about what, when, and how much she would consume worked well for dieting, but not so well for substances that altered memory and resolve.
“Oh what the hell,” Alexis said. Once the pills worked, and she'd had a nap, she'd figure it out. She had skipped the wine Hank opened for lunch, keeping her promise to herself not to drink until dinnertime. Later, she would get up to check on her daughter. Until then, there wasn’t much she could do anyway. Besides, Bernadette could do whatever needed to be done. She and Hank were so much better suited to those tasks and Alexis wouldn’t have to see them watching her. Hank with that vision of her as the woman he imagined her to be, and Bernadette hovering, waiting for Alexis to do the right thing. Both believed Alexis was an adult, a mother, and a woman of substance.
What she was and what she was content to be if the world would leave her alone, was the hollow, empty shell of a person. That's what she had always been. “Just like you, Emma Baldwin. You couldn’t fool me. Not even with all that straight posture, stiff upper-lip and clean living. You were as much a manikin as I am. More so: all form and no substance. You should have worn shades, Mummy, to hide that empty look in your eyes. If you had ever let your hair down, for even a minute, you would have dissolved into thin air.” Alexis spoke the words aloud to the large, empty master bedroom as she drifted toward oblivion.
9 Code Silver
Nurse Andrews bustled about the room. Was this only Jessica’s second day in the hospital? No, technically, it was her third. She remembered little of that first night spent in the ICU. Despite threatening to sic the nurse on Tommy and the guys yesterday, Jessica couldn’t take much more of the well-meaning, but officious, Nurse Andrews. It would be so wonderful to go home—well, the closest thing she had to a home, these days, given she was squatting at her parents’ estate in Rancho Mirage where she had grown up. It still wasn't clear if she would be released today! She was too tired to fight about it, yet.
“Jessica, do you feel up for some company?” Laura Stone popped her head in the door as she spoke and then swept into the room without waiting for an answer. Laura had recently returned to work following the murder of her husband, Roger Stone. An operating room nurse here at the hospital, she wore scrubs. Her sweet, caring face was framed by a shoulder-length bob she had worn since high school.
“Laura, come on in, I am so glad to see you.” Jessica glanced at Nurse Andrews, expecting a signal she and Laura were breaking a rule fraternizing or something like that. Laura hugged Jessica and then sat down in the chair nearest the bed. Nurse Andrews gave Laura an officious nod of acknowledgement as she zipped out of the room. “Where have you been, Laura?” Jessica asked, relaxing as Nurse
Andrews exited.
“I stopped by several times and even sneaked in once while you were in the ICU—just to make sure they were taking proper care of you.” As she spoke those words, she dropped the level of her voice a little, as though she might still be overheard. “You’ve been sleeping a lot girl! A deep sleep, too. I tried to get through to you, but with no luck, even after they moved you out of intensive care yesterday. I ran into Tommy and Jerry who said you were doing great. By the time I got in here you were out cold. I heard you had a visit from Frank, too.” She smiled and then glanced at the door to make sure Nurse Andrews had shut it when she left the room.
“This is for you, Jessica,” Laura said. She handed Jessica a large cup of coffee she had brought into the room with her. “This’ll wake you up, for sure.”
“I love you soooo much! You’re an angel sent from heaven, Laura.” Jessica sipped greedily at the cup, even though the coffee was hot.
“Not me. I hear that’s your title these days. It’s all over the news, Jessica. Even Diane Sawyer featured a clip of the rescue and said a few words about Jessica Huntington, the ‘angel heiress.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if you have the paparazzi after you.”
“Great, just what I need. With any luck Jim’s beloved will do the right thing and pitch another fit in some highly visible location. That baby has got to be here any minute.”
“She looks like she’s about to pop,” Laura said.
“You are so right.” Cassie-the-worm-hearted-Harper was about twice the size she had been the day Jessica caught her with Jim in flagrante. “Not that impending motherhood has triggered anything maternal. I suppose you caught her latest tantrum.” Jessica winced as she spoke with the recollection of yet another embarrassing and very public meltdown by the new Mrs. James Harper. Laura nodded, in solemn affirmation.
“Wasn’t that hideous?” Jessica leaned her head back on the pillow, closing her eyes. The whole scene ran over in her head, like a bad b-movie. The latest altercation had occurred outside a local luncheon hot spot in Beverly Hills. The flavor-of-the-month film star had stopped on the street to sign an autograph, all bubbles and smiles as she left the restaurant. When a server ran out to return her purse, she thanked the server with air kisses to both cheeks. Then she had turned to her assistant and flown into a rage. Tourists that had already been snapping pics and recording clips of the bloated film star caught the whole scene.
“Margo! You stupid, stupid cow! What the hell do I pay you for? How could you have let me walk out without my bag?” Spit flew as Cassie yelled. The stunned young woman, reportedly, “the fifth personal assistant in as many months,” stood there. Something bovine had overcome her as she endured that loud, mortifying, tongue-lashing. Her placid stance further enraged the engorged star of stage and screen. The newly minted Mrs. Harper pummeled her cowed assistant about the head and shoulders with the purse returned to her by that server.
Horrified onlookers gawked as the young personal assistant, covering her head to ward off the blows, sort of slid down the wall near the entrance to the restaurant. Diners sitting near the windows inside the restaurant stood, craning their necks to see what was happening outside.
“What are you looking at?” the People’s Choice Award nominee wailed. She flashed her middle finger at the diners indoors. Then she lunged at bystanders outside, her long red nails taking swipes at them. “Get the hell out of here! This is between me and my so-called assistant.”
“But that’s assault. You can’t hit someone like that. I’m calling 911,” a bystander sputtered.
“I can’t? Who says I can’t? You will not call anyone.” Cassie was shrieking at the top of her lungs and took a couple steps toward the man using his cell phone. He turned sideways just in time to avoid being hit by the Gucci bag she was wielding like a medieval flail.
Another onlooker, closest to the dazed personal assistant, took advantage of the momentary distraction to swoop down and yank the assistant to her feet. The irate actress spotted them as they bolted, and took off in pursuit, belly-first, buttons and zippers popping. She had advanced a few paces when she realized the futility of her actions. Stopping, she kicked off her shoes, picked one up and hurled it at the fleeing women. When she reached down for the second shoe her pants split. In that moment, her fans got to see way more of the real deal than they might ever have expected to see, given that a body double had been used in her films of dubious acclaim. A “Hollywood diva moons Beverly Hills fans” headline went viral, along with photos sent out on Instagram.
The media circus, never far from the she-beast, had caught up with her by then. Most of the debacle was recorded on video in hi-def. The good news for Jim, if there was any, was that he was not there to get caught on film, too. Nor did cameras catch him bailing the banshee out of jail. After she was taken into custody, the family lawyer, not Jim, secured her release. However, when the media replayed the incident, ad nauseam, an older image of Jim was plastered on the TV screen, alongside his beloved.
“I bet she’s not at all happy that the ex-Mrs. Harper is getting more attention than the current one. You’re stealing her limelight, you know. Some entertainment news show has connected the two of you. So she’s been getting exposure out of this too.”
“Oh no, please, not that. All I need is to be linked to that ding-dong in some kind of tabloid love triangle. Is that what they’re doing?” Jessica was almost afraid to ask.
“Well, I didn’t actually see it. You should ask Bernadette. I’m sure she has all the details. What I heard is, since you’re dubbed the ‘angel heiress,’ they have set her up as the ‘devil temptress’ or something like that—a halo on you and horns on her,” Laura giggled.
“I have to admit, that is kind of funny,” Jessica said and laughed. “Maybe she’ll go into labor and have that baby at Tiffany’s or another favorite spot on her stomping grounds. And I mean stomping. You just have to hope you’re not the one on the ground being stomped.” Jessica had trouble getting the words out she was laughing so hard. “Oh ouch, that hurts,” she said grabbing her side as her laughter jarred her ribs.
“If that happens I bet they put little devil horns on that poor baby, too.” The momentary look of pity on Laura’s face was more than Jessica could bear and set off more laughter. “I can see the headline now, ‘Succubus gives birth to Satan’s baby on Rodeo Drive’. Jim should ask for a paternity test to make sure Satan’s not Daddy, you think?”
“Stop, Laura, mercy, please. Ow, ow, ow!” Jessica got another jolt of pain from her ribs. Tears were streaming from her eyes.
“At least you’ll be back behind the gates in Mission Hills soon. You can hide out until the media circus moves on.”
“That’s true, but it will be stranger than ever going home, now. Not only is Mom back, but Dad’s there, too. Mom is being so weird, Laura. This breakup with Giovanni is harder on her than I ever dreamed it would be. She’s usually so cavalier about things like that. At least that’s what I’ve always thought.”
“We both know that it’s not so easy losing a husband, Jessica.”
“That’s true, but she’s had more practice at it than we have,” Jessica said, pausing for another sip of coffee.
“What is she doing that's so weird?”
“I don’t know, Laura. She’s distant, evasive—hides out in her room a lot. If she was in there buying things, online, I’d get that, but she doesn’t even own a computer. No binge shopping trips or spa days anymore, either. There were a few of those when she first got to the desert back in July. I have these déjà vu moments about her disappearing act—like what went on when she was divorcing Dad. It was almost like I lost her too when Dad moved out. I’ve tried to get her to talk about it, but she brushes me off and runs away. It strikes me as odd, but then, I’ve never thought of her as normal. Isn’t that awful?”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by normal. I’ve never thought of her as weird. Over the top, definitely! I thought it was how all rich moms behaved
, you know? She seems a lot like those women on that Beverly Hills Housewives show.”
“Yeah, well some of them are plenty weird, in my book. They have so many problems—terminal shallowness being one of them. Then, who doesn’t, huh? Here before you sits a woman who just told you she could understand it if her mother was running away to her bedroom to jump on a computer and shop! I’m griping about Mom after she sat up all night with me while I was in the ICU, speaking to me. It was comforting even though I couldn’t make out most of what she was saying. I love her even if I don’t get her, you know?”
“Sure, Jessica, maybe with some people that’s the best you can hope for—to love them no questions asked.” She and Laura looked at each other. They both must have been thinking about their lost husbands, unknown and unknowable even before they disappeared from their lives. Then, they cleared their throats, almost in sync.
“No, forget that. I will keep asking questions—even if it turns me into a nag.”
“I agree, Jessica. Ask all the questions you can while you can. You never know when someone will slip away.” Laura’s voice was almost prayerful as she uttered those last few words.
Jessica sipped more coffee, wondering how much of the headache dogging her for the past couple days was caffeine withdrawal. The orderly had brought her a dark brown watery substance that morning. She had downed the six ounce cup in a couple of gulps. The cup in her hand was still not her usual “high-test,” brewed in a French press, but it was good. The coffee, the laughter, or maybe Laura’s companionship had eased the headache. Jessica stopped sucking at the coffee long enough to inspect her friend.
“How are you doing, Laura? You look wonderful.”
“I’m okay. It’s still hard to be back at work. I don’t have my working woman mojo in high gear, yet.”
“Tell me about it.” Jessica said. “Things were taking on the semblance of a routine, and then I have to fall off a frigging mountain. It’s always something, I suppose.” That struck Laura as funny and she snorted.
