by Pam Richter
When she shifted into reverse and tapped the accelerator, the engine revved loudly, but the car didn't budge an inch. Oh no, she whispered, please go. She put the gear lever into drive, squinted and pressed the gas carefully. Nothing happened.
Julia took a deep breath and sat there a moment. The impound place was blocks away. She would either have to walk or get a taxi, but she didn't think you could just wave and get a cab in this awful place, like you could in Boston or New York. Everyone here drove their own cars until the air turned to a stinky, filthy brown sludge.
She hated Los Angeles.
The irony was that her brother, Brian, had loved this place. He had been beaten unconscious and horribly wounded in this gloriously sunny town.
Julia was startled by the scalding tears on her cheeks, but the last two days had been a nightmare. First, the frantic search for her brother, calling police stations and hospitals. Then the shock of finding Brian in that crowded county hospital.
Julia felt around in her purse for a tissue. She couldn't just leave the car, but she had to get back to the hospital. She didn't know if Brian had been neglected because he was found without identification, money, or any proof of medical insurance. The county of Los Angeles was in financial straits and had laid off many health care workers. They were overburdened by those who could pay. Now the doctors at Cedars were saying he might not survive.
Julia opened her glove compartment and reached for her cell phone. Her fingers didn't feel anything and she leaned over to look inside. It was empty.
Unbelievable, Julia thought, not only had the impound place ruined her car, they'd stolen her cell phone. She checked into the little niche on the dashboard where she kept loose change for toll roads. It, too, was empty.
Julia took her purse and jacket out of the car and locked it, dabbing at her wet cheeks, biting her bottom lip hard to gain control. She noted she was near the corner of Fairfax and Santa Monica Boulevard as she gazed around for a public phone. All she saw were grungy bars and several pawn shops.
Abruptly, there was the sound of squealing breaks and she saw a yellow streak from the corner of her eye, like a big angry bumble bee, hurling toward her through the heavy traffic. It shrieked across several lanes to a jarring stop. It happened so fast she was afraid the truck would leap the curb and hit her.
Startled, she sprang back, almost tripping on the sidewalk.
She recognized the big guy from the towing lot, gazing at her through the front windshield of the ugly yellow truck. Did he think this was a funny situation, or what? An ironical smile, and a shake of his head.
Julia backed up as the man slid across truck's front seat and got out on the passenger side.
"A damsel in distress?"
Julia shook her head. The man was smiling at her and had made a dumb joke. Brian had told her native Californians were friendly, but this was certainly appalling. The guy must be an idiot if he couldn't tell she didn't want his attention or help. He was a bit intimidating up close, towering over her, muscular and fit. He had curly, uncombed dark hair. At least he had his shirt on, she noted.
"I'm Robin," the man said.
Now she understood. "I'm not Maid Marian. And I have mace in my purse."
"Black belt in karate, too, I'll bet?"
Julia almost smiled, but she was uncomfortable about the way he was looking her over, as if she were vulnerable and lying about the mace. She dabbed with the tissue at her eyes, which were undoubtedly red as a rat's.
"Car trouble?" Robin asked, nodding at the car. "I could check it for you."
Maybe he's a mechanic, Julia thought, who had stopped when he saw her wiping her tears. But more likely, a car-jacker searching for an easy mark. Even in Boston she'd heard about the number of cars typically stolen in Los Angeles. At least the guy couldn't be carrying a gun. He had on tight jeans. She doubted he could fit anything in his pockets as he leaned forward and looked into the window of her car.
"It's a beauty. What's wrong with it?" Robin asked.
How should I know? "It won't move."
"You try all the gears?"
Julia nodded. "It seems to be stuck."
"Transmission. They tow it from the front or rear?" He was walking slowly around the small car admiringly.
"The mechanic made a point of saying they towed it from the front end. But I was just complaining about the door."
Robin ended his inspection near where she was standing and peered closely at the door. "A real shame." He shook his head. "I'll bet a week's pay they towed it from the rear, in Park, and ruined the transmission. In the process, it looks like they bashed it against something."
"I'm in a rush," Julia said. "I'll have to leave it here. Call Triple A later."
"We'll put it in a parking place. You won't get a ticket now, but you'll have to move it early in the morning."
Robin stood there for a second, gazing at her and then the BMW. "I'll check for it on the way to work; feed the meter if you can't get here in time. You get in. I'll push."
"I'll pay for your help..." Julia started.
"Never mind." He sounded impatient.
"I'll help push," Julia said, and moved around to the front of the car.
He was studying her again, probably deciding she was too puny to help. She saw his lips twitch, like he was holding back a smile, "You'll need to steer."
Julia unlocked the door and got behind the wheel. Robin called out for her to shift into Neutral and he started pushing from the front end until she was in the street. Then he moved around to the back of the car. She could see him from the rear view mirror. He was straining hard. She had a view only of the bent top of his dark head and his large muscled arms. Then she was busy steering into a vacant parking place right behind his truck.
Robin walked over as Julia got out of the car. "I'm going the same way. Can I drop you someplace?"
"You're very kind. I'll call a taxi," Julia said. She didn't believe he was a kidnapper, but you could never tell. Now that she could see him up close, without tears clouding her vision, she could tell he was older than she had first supposed. There were a few wonderfully placed white streaks at his temples and his eyes had small lines around them, as though he spent a lot of time in the sun.
"You mentioned being in a hurry. It's rush hour. Hard to find a cab, now."
"Thank you for your help," Julia said, backing up slightly. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. She wanted him to leave. "You really have been kind."
"I'd hate to abandon you alone in the street," Robin said, looking around with a slight frown.
He was serious and she found herself believing him. "Are you going by Cedars-Sinai?"
Robin grinned and opened the passenger door. A degenerate with appealing dimples, she thought, as she got in. The truck was astonishingly high off the ground and she hiked up her skirt. She could almost feel him glancing at her legs from behind. There was a queer sense of unreality. Unbelievable she was getting in a monstrous, repulsive truck with a stranger.
"I can see for blocks," Julia remarked appreciatively as the truck moved forward, remembering the misery of driving a small car behind SUVs and buses, craning to see around them and fanning at choking exhaust fumes.
"I've named the truck, 'Make my Day,'" Robin said, patting the wheel with affection.
Julia thought he was rather obnoxiously referring to her presence in the hideous truck, when he explained, "If anyone gets nasty, this is the perfect intimidation vehicle. I'll just say, Go ahead, make my day...and ram them."
He did a pretty good Clint Eastwood, with that softly menacing voice. Julia couldn't help smiling. The truck was so ugly and dented it wouldn't matter at all if he dinged it up a little more.
"If you have a few minutes, we could stop at the service station on Santa Monica," Robin said. "They're the best in Los Angeles for transmissions. Then you'll have to sue the towing company."
"I won't have time to sue. I'm going home." And can't wait, Julia thought. As soon as Br
ian was able to leave the hospital she would take him home to Boston, where he would get world-class care.
Julia sat in the truck at the service station as Robin made arrangements for her car. He greeted the busy mechanics like they were all good buddies. There was excessive back slapping and joking, a sort of silly male bonding, she suspected due to her presence in the unsightly vehicle. She had to hand over her car key and sign a form that said they would give her an estimate before beginning the work.
Robin jumped back inside the truck. "You have a relative at Cedars?" he asked as he turned south on San Vicente toward the hospital.
Julia nodded. She couldn't say anything about her brother. In her emotional condition right now, she might start bawling in front of a stranger. She had to change the subject, "You seem to know all the people at that repair place."
"I work with them a lot."
"You're a mechanic?" Julia asked.
His gaze was piercing, the large eyes seemed impossible to look away from, almost hypnotic in their blue power. Had she made him angry? No, she could see he was smiling.
"How'd you guess?" Robin said.
"But you don't work for them?"
He shook his head. "If I'd taken you to a BMW dealer they would have charged twice as much."
Well, that explained how he had known it was her transmission, Julia thought, his being a mechanic.
The big truck turned right on Gracie Allen Street. The street names had been changed and Gracie Allen Street intersected George Burns Drive. Julia thought it was a charming and romantic thing for the city to do. Then she remembered that this same city had towed her car away from the hospital.
They went under the bridge that connected two of the mammoth hospital buildings. Robin stopped at the entrance.
Now all she had to do was leave gracefully, and hope Robin, the mechanic, wouldn't be insistent about wanting to see her while she was in Los Angeles.
Robin got out of the truck, walked around the front of it and opened her door. He steadied her out of the vehicle, holding her arm courteously. She was glad because she might have fallen out. Julia thanked him profusely and waited with dread for him to beg for her number.
Robin told her, with another show of dimples, that it had been his pleasure. He got in the truck and left.
Well, Julia thought as she walked into the lobby of the hospital, that was refreshing. A man who assisted her and asked for nothing in return.
Julia didn't see the huge yellow truck go around the block, pass the entrance to the hospital once again, and then park nearby. She didn't know that the big, blue-eyed mechanic went into the building and stopped at the Information Desk in the lobby. Using an abundance of charm, he requested facts about the beautiful blond who had gone to the west wing of the hospital.
CHAPTER 2
Julia left the mechanic, whom she was now regarding as rather charming, notwithstanding all of his obvious faults; his horrible taste in motor vehicles, his crass manner of dress, and his stupid jokes, because he had been of courteous assistance without obnoxiously coming on to her. Of course, he could be married, Julia thought, as she walked softly down the long linoleum tiled hospital corridor. But she hadn't noticed a ring. Not that she had been looking. She just felt safer with men who had wedding rings on. The fact that he hadn't tried anything seemed rather out of character for one of his type. A bias which she admitted could be wrong. In her experience she had found that attractive men tried their schemes on anything female that moved.
Julia lifted her head and sniffed with distaste. The whole hospital had that terrible medicinal tinge in the air she always associated with hospitals and which could not be mistaken; alcohol, pine disinfectant and sickness. The unnerving quiet.
The nurses at electronic consoles which monitored the patient's vital signs in the Intensive Care Unit were so busy they hardly noticed her. Julia hurried past the nursing station. She didn't want to interrupt their work. She needed to peek in on Brian and have the comfort of seeing his chest still rise and fall with each of his breaths.
Julia's last glance at her brother, when she had left him to go get her car, had been shocking. Maybe the move from the county hospital had injured him further. But Julia felt she didn't have a choice. The county hospital didn't have the facilities or staff to care for him.
The scariest thing she had learned from Brian's new team of doctors was that he had received several cranial blows. The neurologist told her he was in a coma. Now Julia was afraid her baby brother might never wake up.
Julia was sure she had entered the correct room and went outside to check again. She walked back inside slowly. The bed was empty. The whole room was empty. Even the I.V. stand by the side of Brian's bed, which fed him plasma and glucose through tubes attached to his arm was gone. She looked around wildly, as though her eyes were mistaken and she was imagining the empty room, with the unmade bed that looked as though someone had just thrown off the covers.
Julia's eyes flooded with tears. Sparkling lights appeared in front of her eyes, winking like gold dust, and Julia could hear her heart beating madly as darkness clouded her vision. There wasn’t enough air. It had been sucked out of the tiny hospital room, along with Brian.
Julia was afraid she was going to faint for the first time in her life. She reeled back against the wall opposite the bed, taking deep breaths for control, and noiselessly slid her back down the wall until her bottom hit the floor. She put her arms around her knees and rested her head on them, making her body a little ball of pain. Tears coursed down her cheeks, soaking her shirt.
After a while she decided they had probably taken Brian out of the room for tests. It had been the shock of the empty room that caused the faintness. That and the fact that she hadn't eaten anything all day. And she needed to cry because of the terrible harm that someone had done to her brother.
She thought about Brian's letters and phone calls to Boston. He had been living on the estate of Aaron Quijada in Beverly Hills, to help ghost-write a memoir of the famous movie producer. Brian had hinted that the renowned mogul was working on the book in anticipation of running for public office in California. Brian sounded happy and optimistic. He had urged Julia to come to Aaron Quijada's estate to take photographs and put together a center pictorial for the book, showing off Quijada's present home and comparing it with the pitiful background he had come from. There were childhood pictures of Aaron Quijada and his family in a virtual shack, when Los Angeles really did have orange groves and they had come from Mexico as migrant workers each year, starting in Florida for the citrus crops, then Maine for the potatoes, and moving in a pattern from South to North, finally ending up in California for the harvesting of lettuce, oranges, lemons, almonds, peaches and sugar beets.
When Julia had arrived in Los Angeles and called the Quijada residence, she was shocked to learn that they hadn't seen Brian for several days. He hadn't kept the writing appointments he had made with Aaron Quijada. The man she spoke to sounded aggrieved that Brian had left without notice. He said Mr. Quijada was now sending out feelers for someone to complete the work. He complained that Brian hadn't even cleared out his personal belongings from the guest house.
Julia knew that Brian would not have left an assignment. Besides, he had been expecting her. He would never just leave. She began the horrible task of calling police stations and hospitals.
Julia didn't know how long she sat curled up against the hospital room wall, painfully remembering Brian as a young boy. Both of their parents had died in a boating accident on Lake Michigan. Julia had been seven, and Brian, four. He had retreated into himself, a sad, lonely little boy who would not give up the teddy bear he clutched to his chest, night and day, and his thumb found permanent residence inside his mouth.
Julia had mothered him during her own grief, stomping her foot and screaming if anyone tried to take Brian's teddy bear from him. She read him stories for hours and moved into his room in case he cried in the night. The nurturing had been Julia's way o
f dealing with her own terrible sense of loss, and her concern for her little brother helped her deal with the pain. Both children were sadly strengthened by the ordeal they passed through, and grew as close as is possible for siblings.
They were raised by an indomitable maternal grandmother, Charlotte, in Boston. Both had gone off to college in creative subjects; Brian in Journalism, and Julia, who had majored in Art, had ended up a free-lance photographer.
Julia was startled out of her reverie by the sound of the door opening. There was a clatter as something metal hit the door frame. She brushed the tears out of her eyes and saw the I.V. stand being pushed into the room, first, by a hospital orderly. Then came another man pulling a gurney. Brian was on it.
Julia's enormous relief was quickly countered by the fact that he still appeared to be at death's door. She was amazed that the vital body could be so small under the covers. Brian was a little taller than she was, not tall for a man, but he usually radiated so much energy that his presence could light a room.
The orderlies seemed oblivious to the small figure sitting on the floor, but the nurse supervising the movement of Brian from the stretcher to the bed, noticed her as soon as she entered the room. She came over as Julia stood up.
"Where was he?" Julia asked.
"The doctor had an MRI done. Magnetic Resonance Imaging. It's a picture of the brain." The nurse looked at her again. "You didn't think...?"
Julia nodded. "For a moment."
The nurse shook her head. "I'm so sorry. A radiologist will be in later to tell you about the test."
Julia sat at Brian's bedside for several hours. He didn't move or respond when she spoke to him. She kept up a monologue, nonstop, until her mouth felt like cotton, sure he could hear her on some deep, primitive level. She would sit there forever if it would help him.
She was finally shooed out of the room when they had to take blood and do more tests. The doctor had not come to give her the MRI results. Julia wandered the corridor. She dreaded calling grandmother Charlotte, but couldn't put it off much longer. To delay the painful phone call, she dialed her friend, Alexander, a doctor at Boston Memorial Hospital, at a pay phone near the nursing station.
