by Holly Rayner
“Location shoots mean you have to plan for the weather or your production gets delayed. They say that with the hospital being so close, and since the helicopter has been designed to withstand lightning strikes, the trip should be perfectly safe. They anticipate no problems.”
A bolt of lightning ripped through the sky, creating a bright flash behind the curtains, and I let out a deep groan of pain.
“That’s good to know,” I gasped as Kristos rushed to comfort me, “because damn if it doesn’t feel like it’s time to go.”
“I thought that doctor said you were still a few days away?” Kristos said, sounding slightly panicked.
“Yeah, well, guess who has other ideas?” I replied, pointing to my stomach.
TWENTY
With the help of Kristos, Constance, Stanton and Dr. Meadows, I got to the roof in good time. There was a comfortable stretcher in the rear of the helicopter, and they gently laid me on it. The two doctors positioned themselves nearby. Kristos and Stanton rode in the front, and as the doors shut, the engines came roaring to life. The whir of the blades was almost deafening, and the cabin vibrated erratically, but soon we were raising up into the air.
I might have been upset that there was no window and I couldn’t see what must have been a magnificent view, if my body hadn’t been in a state of chaos that I was having trouble believing. I was gritting my teeth against powerful contractions, panting with my efforts, and groaning almost constantly. Abe and Constance were trying their level best to keep me calm and offer words of encouragement, and Kristos was on the radio, frantically warning the hospital that we’d need the helipad in about eight minutes’ time.
The storm and the helicopter seemed to be battling each other over which of the two could make the most noise. Thunder roared all around us, and I was becoming frantic.
“Can’t this damn thing fly any faster?” I growled, as a new wave of pain washed over me. The chopper shook suddenly, and Dr. Meadows jerked forward.
“Not safely,” Constance said calmly, and Stanton shouted back his agreement, “but we only have another three minutes to go.”
I swore loudly at her, but a blast of thunder drowned out my voice. That, and the sheets of rain beating mercilessly against the cabin.
“I can see the hospital!” Kristos cried out, in what were pretty much the most beautiful words in the English language for me in that moment.
I began to feel the craft descend as Constance wiped my burning forehead with a cool towel, and a moment later, I was lifted onto an umbrella-covered gurney and rolled into the elevator. A few moments later, we arrived at the maternity ward. I got my drugs, and everyone got to work. It was finally time for the grand finale.
In what felt like only a few seconds later, a doctor was imploring me to breathe slowly, Kristos was allowing me to crush his hand, and I was whimpering between sudden screams.
“Push,” one of the doctors instructed.
Swearing at the top of my voice, I complied. The painkillers were only designed to lessen the pain I was experiencing, not eliminate it, a distinction I was acutely aware of in that moment. As time passed, I felt my energy waning.
“I..I…can’t…” I breathed at last.
“Yes you can, Emma. Just a little more. You’re doing great. Come on now, honey. Breathe!” Kristos was rubbing my shoulders with the hand I wasn’t trying to break.
“This is your fault!” I yelled at him, and told him to stop rubbing my shoulders. “That’s how all this got started in the first place!”
“He’s crowning!” I heard one of the nurses say.
“You’re beautiful, Emma. You’re doing such a wonderful job,” said Kristos.
“Alright, honey, give me a big push,” from the doctor.
“I am pushing, goddammit!” I said.
“His head is out!”
“Get the rest of him out!” I pleaded, as pain consumed me, dimly aware that I’d already been told that birth was like preventing forest fires: apparently, only I could do it. With the last of my strength, I gave a final huge push. Moments later, I heard the cries of a healthy baby boy.
I was weak, in pain, and more exhausted than I had ever felt, but when they deposited my boy in my arms, every cell in me leaped with joy. As did Kristos, who proclaimed the whole thing a miracle, kissed me more times than I could count, and nearly squeezed the nearest doctor to death. He was so excited that he kissed the next one he ran into, a curly haired man named Dr. Weingold.
“Control yourself, sir!” the doctor demanded good-naturedly.
Kristos apologized sheepishly and returned to my side. I was cooing to my new son, who was snuggled against me. Kristos took one of his tiny hands in his much larger one. For a long time, he said nothing, just stared at each of the five adorable little fingers. He touched one of the tiny, tiny, fingernails, before kissing me yet again.
“You’re amazing, Emma,” he breathed. “Look what you did,” he said, as Jacob took hold of his finger with both hands.
“Well, you helped a little bit,” I replied, looking down at my baby. “Hello, little angel. Welcome to the world.”
TWENTY-ONE
We named him Jacob Kristos Metroupolos. He looked just like me, but he had his father’s eyes. We stayed at the hospital for three days, while I recovered, and the nurses got me started breastfeeding. By the time we were ready to leave, the storm had long petered out, but some of the smaller roads were still strewn with water, fallen trees, and downed power lines, so we opted to fly home. I sat nearer the front this time. As I’d thought, the view was truly breathtaking.
Constance had fallen in love with the baby right away. She was beside me right now in the back of the helicopter, gently rocking him, and singing a beautiful lullaby in Ibo, while Kristos and I looked on. She had the kind of singing voice that reminded me of my grandmother at Christmas, and though no one said anything, it was obvious that each of us was deeply affected by a song none of us understood.
Jacob was a nine pound, eight-ounce, ball of energy. He had been on the planet for less than a week, but it was already obvious that Kristos and I were going to have our hands full raising him. I had changed and fed him just before we’d boarded the helicopter; that had been easy enough. It was getting him into his onesie that was a Herculean task, and I only managed it when Kristos distracted him with his newfound collection of funny faces. Watching Kristos entertain Jacob was one of my newest favorite things.
When her lullaby was over, Constance very carefully slipped Jacob into my arms. I kissed the cute, little, bundle, who was fast asleep now, and held him close until we arrived back at the mansion.
In the room directly beside ours, we had commissioned an impressive nursery, with a ceiling that looked like the night sky, decorated with stars and comets that glowed in the dark. There was a plush, neutral carpet, and smaller throw rugs that had cute little pictures of animals, letters, colors and numbers. There was a safety mirror that ran along one wall, and colorful little tunnels for our baby to crawl through once he got bigger. Along one of the walls was a well-stocked changing table. Every single corner had been padded, and all the sockets were capped with plastic. In the middle of everything was a handmade crib that had a mobile attached and Jacob’s name carved into the front. That was where we all went the moment we arrived.
“Shoes off!” I said just before we entered the nursery. I wanted no shoes on the floors Jacob would be crawling on. When everyone had complied, we went inside, and I put Jacob in his crib.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” I said, as Kristos turned on the built-in baby monitor. Ever so quietly, we snuck out again.
***
The next few days were full of people calling, emailing and texting to congratulate us. Margaret was one of the first, and I realized as she spoke that she had never sounded happier, even as she was outright demanding that I email her pictures. Ann called, too, and I took the opportunity to congratulate her on her show, which had wrapped and would start airing soo
n. She wanted pictures too, as did a dozen other people. Remembering Kristos’ mysterious internet-scrubbing powers, I sent them out with impunity.
Speaking of the internet, it was abuzz with the story. To my surprise, most of the stories were nothing but positive. Most people just wanted to be congratulatory, and welcome a new life into the world. Others speculated about how Jacob’s arrival would affect “the as yet unannounced new show Emma and Kristos are rumored to have in development.” A few people were complaining that I was refusing to comment on that, or anything else. Nor was I granting interviews, in person or otherwise. We planned to announce the show when filming began in a little over a month’s time.
Ann asked me about the rumors too, though she did it far more subtly than anyone else did. She was digging for clues, like when the project might wrap, and what time slot we were thinking of for the premier. I knew what she was concerned about: every show Kristos touched seemed to turn to gold, and if our show came out soon after hers, and shared the same timeslot, it might doom all her efforts of the past year. I tried to be reassuring without giving definite answers. After all, nothing was definite, and we were still in the process of working things out.
My mother called me when Jacob was twelve days old, sweeping all thoughts of Ann Montgomery from my mind. She said she had meant to call much sooner, but that there had been complications with her illness.
“I’m perfectly all right now, before you ask. And no, I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I want you to know I’ve never been prouder of you that I am right now. Your father is ecstatic. He can’t wait to see the baby.”
“And we can’t wait to see you either. Do you want to come out and meet him? The sooner the better, really, before the production schedule gets too heavy.”
“You’ve just had a baby and you’re still making television?”
“Yup. Though I mostly approve the scripts, go over new ideas, and maintain the integrity of the concepts. Things I can easily do from home. I’m not quite ready to let anyone else look after Jacob for more than a few minutes at a time yet.”
My mother kept me on the phone for nearly an hour after that, but I didn’t care. I had nowhere else to be, and I was simply happy to hear her voice. She was officially a grandmother, and if her conversation was anything to go by, she planned on leaping into the role with everything she had.
After hanging up with her, I set down my smartphone, planning to finally do what I was supposed to be doing and take a nap, but at that very moment, a loud cry came through the baby monitor.
“I changed him just a little while ago, and he’s just had a nap, so I’m going to assume that means he’s hungry,” I said, heading for the nursery.
Things went on in much the same way for about six weeks after that, and I began to feel settled in my new routine. Nothing of much note happened until the day we announced A Game of Chance to the world. We were midway through filming the second episode, and Kristos felt it was time to call a press conference. A podium had been erected just outside the production studio, and inside, Kristos was drilling his production assistant. He was wearing a dark suit and navy blue tie, looking very much like a would-be presidential candidate, but at that moment, he lacked presidential gravitas, and I could see his old temper beginning to flare.
“Terrence! How are we doing with the lighting situation? There’s a high sun out there, and it’s shining for all it’s worth.”
“I’ve got a team compensating for that,” he replied obsequiously. “And before you ask, yes, I have two guys looking into the teleprompter issue. They say it’ll probably only take a few moments to fix.”
“It better,” Kristos grunted back. “I don’t want to have to delay things due to technical issues. I need Melanie, Constance, and Francis in makeup. They’re our stars. They’re up right after I make the initial announcement. Emma here,” he pointed over his shoulder at me with his thumb, “will take over from me, explaining the concept she developed. Have everything ready to go in ten minutes!”
“Yes, sir,” Terrence replied, before scurrying down a hall.
Kristos turned to me. I was wearing a green dress not unlike the one I had worn for our first date. He gazed at me appreciatively, and I was glad to see it.
Jacob was in my arms, making quiet gurgling noises and wearing a white onesie with crimson, cursive lettering on the front:
This Is What Happens When Two People Love Each Other
Hey, I thought it was cute.
Kristos took his son, and sent me into makeup, though he swore I didn’t need a drop of it.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I quipped, heading toward the myriad of rooms in the back.
When I came out again, it was to hear Jacob giggling and a few of Kristos’ braver employees applauding quietly. Apparently, when he hadn’t been firing off instructions, he’d been telling the baby the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard an English giant voiced by a guy with a slight Greek accent. Ever the showman, he kept up the performance until it was time to head out to the podium. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and asked me to get Kristos to do The Three Little Pigs when the press conference was over.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised, stepping out onto the stage that had been set up for the event.
Below us stood a sea of reporters, their cameras flashing with wild abandon. Kristos must have seen the look on my face because he smiled encouragingly as he handed Jacob back to me.
As he approached the podium, the dull roar of voices began to die down. When everything was silent, Kristos stood straight and addressed our audience. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in deep tones. At that moment, Jacob gave a little hiccup. I was close enough to the microphone that the sound was amplified, and everyone took a moment to laugh. Kristos gently patted his son on the back, before continuing to address the audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began again. “It feels like a long time has passed since my career began as a producer for The Evening News with Diane Lane.” A groundswell of applause met this statement. “After a great deal of hardship I hope you all have forgotten,” here there was more laughter, “I pitched my first reality show, The Team.” More applause. “Since then, Patras Productions has strived to be at the forefront of quality entertainment, and today, I’m here to announce a new chapter in that effort. In four months’ time, we will bring you a new series filled with comedy, drama, romance, and more. We will bring you characters and stories you’ve never seen on television before. This series will challenge you, and help you to fall in love with television all over again. We call this new show A Game of Chance.”
A tarp I hadn’t noticed before was suddenly removed, revealing a huge promotional poster with all of the main actors’ faces on it. I smiled when I saw Constance’s. It was larger than life, and according to the casting director, her performance had been as well. Kristos called all of the stars out to the platform, and I shouted out my congratulations, before Kristos introduced each one of the stars.
“Playing our heroine is Melanie Pond, who is most famous on television for selling shampoo,” he let the mingled laughter and applause die down. “But off Broadway, she’s starred in three stellar theatrical productions.”
Melanie, a tall, olive-skinned woman who wore her hair in a long plait, waved at the crowd with an easy smile. I suddenly realized I had heard the name before. Kristos’ comment about selling shampoo jogged my memory; Melanie had been the girl that replaced me when I arrived too late to audition. So much had changed since then that those days almost felt like another life, and I was happy to see her moving up in the industry.
Then it was Francis Davenport’s turn. He looked just as I’d pictured my character, David, would, and flashed the audience a confident, Midwestern smile.
Kristos introduced Constance next. She looked resplendent in her long, African-print dress. She took the microphone in one hand and spoke into it. “Ndewo. Hello, everyone
!” With that, she left the podium to waves of applause.
Now, it was my turn. I put Jacob in Kristos’ arms and approached the podium. It took me about three minutes to outline the premise of the show, from the struggling book company to Ellen’s secret novel. The more I spoke, the more interested the reporters seemed to become, and when the question and answer portion of the conference came, their questions hit me like an avalanche.
By the time everything wrapped up, I knew we were golden. Tomorrow’s entertainment news would be filled with a slew of praise for the new show. It felt sort of awkward to see an idea I’d written up by myself one night causing an entire studio to work like bees. It was an incredible sort of power, to be able to create a whole universe with nothing but your fingertips and a laptop, but I had long ago decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing exactly that.
Kristos was in an excellent mood, so I was able to persuade him to do The Three Little Pigs before we left. By the time we got back home, I was talking him into a program for parents and young kids called Children’s Story Hour. I told him I knew it was 2016, but I thought we could go old school and use puppets, just like in Lamb Chop’s Play Along.
