___
Dean swigged from a bottle of water and waited for the lighting guy to finish. Ed Hardy, the director, was standing close and speaking quietly into his left ear. This was a critical scene. In Rolling Thunder Three, Jack Bane, Dean’s alter ego, had finally met the woman of his dreams. In this scene, he was rescuing her from the clutches of the evil “Third Eye Syndicate.” Ed had requested steamy intensity, truthful emotion, and signs of smothered fear.
“Remember Jack; these are the guys that killed your parents. You, who are not afraid of anything, have never been able to get past your fear of the “Third Eye Syndicate.” We need to feel that fear, but you need to make sure it’s not obvious to the syndicate. They would sense your weakness and take you down.”
Dean nodded along to Ed’s direction. Half the time he didn’t understand what the directors were saying. But they always seemed pleased with the result. He high-fived the sweaty stand-in that had been waiting patiently under those burning lights and took his place. The “Third Eye Syndicate” guys swarmed around him, and he steeled himself to be angry, intense and fearful without showing fear.
“Action!” Ed called.
From the corner of his eye, Dean saw the light on the camera in front of him flash red. He’d seen that red flash a million times before and it always gave him a jolt of adrenaline. This time something different happened. He got the jolt of adrenaline all right, but instead of giving him the energy to nail the scene, it gave him a huge jolt of fear. That tiny red light dragged his attention from the scary “Third Eye Syndicate” until he was staring directly into the gaping black hole of the wide lens. He felt his heart stammer as the camera sucked him towards it, toward the infinite emptiness behind the glass.
Dean shook his head to clear the strange vision and opened his mouth to say his first line. Nothing came out. He heard a strangled choking noise (was that him?) and a massive hand came down, reached into his chest and started crushing his lungs; he couldn’t breathe. Panic surged through him. What was happening? He gripped a handful of his shirt, pushing his fist into the blasting pain, and stumbled. He wanted to ask for water, but when he turned toward Ed, the world wavered as though he were swimming underwater in his pool. Where was Ed? The last thing he saw was a frowning, irritated Adam. Then he was gone.
3
Hazel
Hazel felt as though she were in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Samuel was giving her presentation with her designs. The design concepts were nearly identical, and the marketing copy was coming through Samuel’s skinny-lipped mouth! Her words. All her words. Should she say something? How could she say something? She’d sound like an idiot.
She nudged Liz’s arm to get her attention. She would whisper to Liz and ask what she should do. Liz looked over with raised eyebrows and gave her a thumbs up. She was impressed. Of course she was impressed, it was impressive stuff - but didn’t she realize how much this all sounded like her? Didn’t she realize that this was a threat to their carefully laid plans? Of course, she didn’t, because Liz had total faith in her best friend. In Liz’s mind, it didn’t matter what Samuel did up there; Hazel would have something better up her sleeve. But this time she didn’t. Her only option was to get up there and give exactly the same presentation.
Panic started creeping up the back of Hazel’s spine. There was a black hole in this room, and it was rapidly sucking all of her dreams into it. She gave Samuel the death glare, willing him with everything she had to sit down and shut up. No such luck. He was pontificating at the front of the room, striding back and forth like some Roman emperor. He was enjoying himself. Sharon exchanged smiles with her partner, Lynn. They were both nodding along to the pearls of wisdom dropping from Samuel’s mouth as though he were some kind of guru. But he wasn’t the guru… she was! Darn it - this was her project. And not only was it her project, it was her future.
Hazel’s panic increased as she briefly considered her options if she were to lose this project. There were none. Liz had no other projects in the pipeline until September, three months away! How could Hazel win the confidence of the Board when she wasn’t even working on a Blackwell and Crawley project? Even worse, how would Hazel pay her equity buy-in when she had no income? Thanks to Indigo, and it always seemed to come back to Indigo, she had exactly 932.17 cents in her checking account, and her savings account was a big goose egg. This was a nightmare of epic proportions, and Hazel was shocked to discover that her efficient, problem-solving, Type A brain couldn’t come up with a single plan. Should she stand up and announce that these were her ideas? Sharon would think she was crazy. Could she come up with something else to present in the next thirty minutes? Not a chance. Samuel started to waver in front of her eyes, and Hazel realized that she was tearing up. Today was a day of firsts. Hazel Blakemore was never late, and Hazel Blakemore never cried. She felt a sob building in her throat and realized that if she didn’t get out of here, she was about to have a breakdown. In front of everyone. That was a first she couldn’t allow.
“Excuse me!” Hazel stood up so fast that her chair tipped on its rolling wheels and went slamming to the floor behind her. A huge crash echoed through the room like thunder, and everyone jumped half out of their skin. “I’m sorry.” Hands shaking Hazel gathered up her bags, shoving the fallen chair aside with her calf.
“Hazel?” Liz’s eyes were pools of confused concern, but there was no time to stop and explain. She was on the edge.
“You’re leaving?” Sharon asked. “But we are so looking forward to your ideas Hazel. Are you ill?”
“Ill?” Hazel seized the word. “Yes, ill. Terribly ill. I won’t be able to present today. In fact, I might throw up on all of you if I stay.” That’s too much, Hazel, her panicked brain shrieked at her. Slow down. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Perhaps you’ll give me the opportunity to present my ideas later? Tomorrow maybe?”
Behind her, and out of view, Samuel cleared his throat. The sudden rush of disgust at this weasel of an “impresario” made her feel like she really would throw up. She moved quickly toward the conference room door.
“You know Sharon needs to make a decision today, Hazel?” Samuel said. “She told you that earlier, didn’t she?”
She didn’t answer, just rushed down the hall towards Liz’s office. Samuel was right. Sharon had told her that - and here was yet another disappointment. Hazel thought Sharon had told her the decision timeframe in confidence to give her a leg up, but so much for favoritism. Apparently she had given Samuel the same information. Pelican Key Condos was making a decision today. The project would start tomorrow. There would be no time for Hazel to come up with another idea. She was screwed.
_________
When Liz entered her office an hour later, she found Hazel in the same position she’d landed in when she’d thrown herself through Liz’s office door. She was crouched in the corner of the broad couch, head on her bent knees, stiletto heels perched on the luxurious, brown leather cushion, with her bags strewn around her.
“If you make holes in that couch with those heels I’ll have to dock it out of your next paycheck,” Liz said, sitting down gently and pulling Hazel’s hands from her tear-streaked face.
“What paycheck?” Hazel muttered. There was silence. She sniffled and wiped her eyes on her jacket sleeve. That mascara wouldn’t come out.
“What on earth happened in there Hazel? Why didn’t you stay to present? We had this all planned out. I’m not sure how I’m going to get you this equity partnership now you just handed over the most important job of your career to Samuel.” She reached over to her desk and grabbed a box of Kleenex, dropping it into her distraught friend’s lap. “Plus, what’s with the crying? You never cry!”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you, Liz. I can hardly believe it myself.”
“Try me.”
She sniffled, swallowing the surge of panic that now seemed to be her constant companion. “That was my presentation.”
Liz smiled at her as thoug
h she were a child. “No - that was Samuel’s presentation. Yours is right there.” She pointed to Hazel’s portfolio case.
“I know mine’s right there. I put it there last night at 4:00 am when I finally went to bed after spending the prior eight hours polishing it. Open it.”
Liz opened her mouth to say something but then stopped. She hesitated and then, shaking her head, leaned over and opened the portfolio case. As the first design came into view, Liz gasped.
“You have to help me, Liz. We have to take these to Sharon.” Liz went quiet. Hazel waited for her to say something, but Liz just stared at her and scratched her nose; a nervous habit she’d had since they had roomed together at Florida State. “We’re taking them to Sharon, right? I mean, it's clear that Samuel stole my designs!”
“Or you stole his,” Liz said, ducking her head and trying to smooth the puckered dents on the couch that Hazel had left with her shoes.
“What? You think I would steal from that little weasel? You think I need to steal from anyone?” Her raised voice sounded slightly hysterical even to her own ears. Maybe she was having a nervous breakdown.
“Calm down, Hazel. Of course I don’t think you stole from him; don’t be ridiculous. But Sharon doesn’t know that. Plus, how can I expose the fact that two of our “partner consultants” could be stealing from each other? You know how nervy our clients are. They only work with the Consultants because we give them no choice, it’s an accepted practice. How accepted do you think it would be if it looked as though our partners were less than honest? We can’t say anything, Hay. I’m sorry.”
Hazel could not process the words coming out of Liz’s mouth. Liz was her best friend. Her only hope. Surely she wouldn’t abandon her now; especially as it was so clear that Samuel was a slime bucket of epic proportions. “So, what am I supposed to do? This was THE project, Liz. You just said I wouldn’t get the equity partnership without it. My whole career is in the balance right now.”
Liz stood up and moved to her desk to grab her planner. “Okay, let’s not panic.” She flipped frantically through the pages. It sure looked like she was panicking. “This won’t be the last equity partnership to open up. In fact, at the last Board meeting, they were discussing another possibility in about eighteen months. Just let me check my calendar here.”
“Eighteen months!?” Hazel stood and felt herself wobble. “I can’t wait eighteen months, Liz! What am I supposed to do for the next three months until you have work again? You know I haven’t been making connections with any other agencies. All of my eggs are in your basket. I’m broke!”
“I know, Hay. I know! But what do you want me to do? My hands are tied.” Liz lowered the planner back to the desk. She looked as if she might cry herself. “I’m sorry, Hay.”
“Great!” Hazel started frantically gathering up all of her mockups and shoving them back in her portfolio. She needed to get out of here and think. “This is just great, Liz. My best friend is leaving me in the lurch. Broke, without a job prospect on the horizon. Just great!”
“Not fair! You’re not broke because of me. You’re broke because of Indigo, and you know it! Listen, you’ve been just as important to me on the job front as I have been to you. You’ve saved me a couple of times, and you make me look really good. I’m sorry that I didn’t encourage you to build freelance relationships with other companies, but the projects I’ve sent your way have been more than enough for you to be comfortable over a lull. You’re a freelancer Hay; you have to expect lulls. Maybe you should go to Indigo and ask for help.”
“Hah!” She threw her laptop bag over her shoulder and headed for Liz’s office door. “Good one Liz. That’s a good one. Don’t call me!”
She made every effort to slam the door behind her, but the heavy glass just swished across the thick carpet. It was a crappy exit to end a crappy day.
4
Dean
Dean’s head was pounding. He must have fallen asleep in his trailer. He’d been so darn tired lately. He reached out for his cell phone, never more than a few inches from his hand and felt something cold and hard instead. When he managed to pry his eyes open (Why was he so damn tired?), his hand was resting on an iron railing. An iron railing on a bed. Where was he? Dean felt the first flutters of concern. There were two, hard pillows under his head, and a white sheet pulled over him. But it was the smell that gave his location away. A sharp stink of antiseptic, a whiff of bleach and an underlying tinny scent he couldn’t identify. But it was definitely a hospital smell. The flutters of concern increased. What the heck am I doing in the hospital? He put his hands to his sides and pushed himself to a seated position, groaning at the effort.
He was in a small room. A television mounted on the wall about three feet from the left side of his bed was blaring out Fox News. It wasn’t his television. He could see another mounted directly in front of him on the wall opposite. He had a roommate. If he reached out his left hand, he would be able to touch the thin curtain separating the two beds. Cozy. It had been pulled closed, but it didn’t hide the view of a windowsill at the foot of his roommate's bed which was crowded with vases of flowers and tons of get-well cards. There was even a balloon floating aimlessly around his neighbor’s side of the room, sometimes directly in front of the TV. Dean glanced at his bedside table. Just his watch and a glass of water. He looked for a note of some kind, maybe a card explaining his presence in a hospital, but there was nothing there. He felt around for the call button and pushed it.
A nurse came rushing in. She was flushed, and her eyes glittered with excitement. Dean groaned internally. He’d seen it all before; the classic symptoms of a celebrity encounter.
“Oh, Mr. McLean! I mean, Mr. Smith, you’re awake! I’ll get the doctor.”
She rushed back out again before he had the chance to speak. Something would need to be done about this pressure in his head. It was making him all fuzzy, and he couldn’t get his thoughts straight. He would beg for some ibuprofen once he got some answers to his questions. There was a soft knock at the door, and a young woman entered; at least she looked young to Dean, but she couldn’t be that young because she was wearing a white coat and a badge with “Dr. Reading” printed on it. She smiled sweetly at him and flushed red, “How are you feeling, Mr. Smith?”
“I need something for my pounding head, please? And where am I?”
Dr. Reading moved to his call button and pressed it firmly, then brought her hand to his wrist to check his pulse. Her fingers were tiny and cold. “You’re in Cedars Sinai, Mr. Smith. You had an… episode. Don’t you remember?” She looked from her watch to his face in expectation.
“No, I don’t…” He stopped talking when he realized that the flutters of concern had now mounted a full-on attack against the inside of his chest. What was he so anxious about? He closed his eyes and concentrated. There it was. He remembered the black hole of the camera lens, the crazy feeling that he was going to fall into the lens like it was quicksand that was going to drag him down into the hidden depths until he couldn’t breathe. He remembered the intensity of the fear that had taken a grip on his chest. His chest. “Did I have a heart attack?”
The doctor smiled at him. She did have a sweet smile. “No Mr. McL…, I mean Mr. Smith. You didn’t have a heart attack.”
“Then what happened to me? And why is everyone calling me Mr. Smith?”
The doctor dropped his wrist and leaned closer to him, her voice not much more than a whisper. “You were checked in under a false name. I don’t think your friend wanted your neighbor to know who you were.” She nodded her head gently sideways toward the bed next to his.
So it was Adam, making a mountain out of a molehill. “Well, if my friend had checked me into a private room I wouldn’t have had to worry about that.” Dean tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. It wasn’t this doctor’s fault he was prickly and annoyed. It was unfair to take it out on her. “If I didn’t have a heart attack, what’s wrong with me?”
“A panic
attack! Can you believe it, buddy?” Adam’s voice was as strident as his presence. He made it from the door to the bed in three giant steps. He was a six-foot-five heaping help of confidence and owned every room he walked into.
Dean felt the chest flutters subside. Drama aside, he was glad Adam was here. “Where were you and how come I don’t have a,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “private room?” He didn’t want to insult the guy on the other side of that curtain. He was probably a very nice guy.
“Couldn’t risk anyone finding out that strapping Dean McLean had a panic attack on set and collapsed, could I? The story would be all over the papers! A private room seemed too conspicuous.” Adam hadn’t lowered his voice as he moved toward the chair next to Dean’s bed and folded himself into it. The doctor backed away a little, yielding control. People always “yielded” when his take-charge manager was around. It worked very well in contract negotiations but probably wasn’t appropriate for hospital rooms, especially shared hospital rooms.
Dean waved his hand over to the curtain. Could Adam not see the flaw in his plan? “Except that now someone just did find that out.”
“Oh, that guy?” Adam snorted. “That guy’s like comatose or something. Right, doc?” He looked over at the doctor who stammered a little but didn’t answer. “That’s why we chose this room.”
“Okay, so just tell me what happened then. What’s a panic attack, anyway?”
Adam winked at Dr. Reading and nodded toward Dean. “Tell him, Doc.”
Dr. Reading flushed. “It’s nothing to be overly concerned with, Mr. McLean. Panic attacks are quite common. The technical definition is “the abrupt onset of intense fear or discomfort.” The attack will usually accelerate the heart rate, can cause intense sweating, shortness of breath and a feeling of being smothered. It isn’t dangerous of course, but can be very frightening and can cause fainting - which is what happened to you.” She smiled at him kindly, but it made him feel like an old man.
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