Wonders Never Cease

by Tim Downs

  “Hey,” Kemp called out. “Where is everybody?”

  “What time is it?” Wes called out from behind the sofa.

  “It’s after eight,” Kemp said. “Look at this place. What are you guys, a couple of rock stars?”

  “We were trying to stay focused,” Wes said.

  “Obviously not on neatness. Did you do anything but eat?”

  A toilet flushed and Biederman emerged from the bathroom. “McAvoy—how’d it go last—” He stopped.

  Wes poked his head up from the sofa and looked.

  Standing beside Kemp was an enormous man—a man they had never seen before.

  “This is Tino Gambatti,” Kemp said. “Tino’s from Baltimore—he’s an old friend of mine. Tino, this is Mort Biederman—he’s the talent agent I told you about. That’s Wes Kalamar over there—he’s the publisher.”

  Tino nodded a greeting to each of the men, but neither of them returned it.

  Biederman looked at Kemp. “McAvoy, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “McAvoy,” Tino said. “That’s it—I never can remember that name.”

  “I thought you two were old friends,” Wes said.

  “I’m an old friend of Bobby Foscoe,” Tino said. “Bobby disappeared from Baltimore eight years ago; I’m just getting to know Kemp McAvoy now.”

  “Who’s Bobby Foscoe?”

  Tino pointed with his thumb. “He is.”

  Both men looked at Kemp.

  “I need to explain,” Kemp said.

  “You sure do.”

  “My real name is Bobby Foscoe, okay? I changed it when I moved back to Los Angeles.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Bobby Foscoe got kicked out of medical school,” Tino said. “He had to change his name to get a job.”

  “That’s not true,” Kemp said. “I finished medical school. I just got kicked out of my residency, that’s all—in my last year.”

  “Kicked out why?” Wes asked.

  “It’s personal,” Kemp grumbled.

  “Not if it affects us,” Biederman said.

  “It doesn’t,” Tino said. “I assure you, Bobby knows quite a bit about medicine—more than enough to pull off this little project of ours.”

  Biederman looked at Tino. “Ours? Who invited you?”

  Tino pointed again. “He did. Well, Bobby didn’t actually invite me—you might say I invited myself. He didn’t really have a choice.”

  “I owe him money,” Kemp said, staring at the floor. “A lot of it.”

  “Half a million dollars,” Tino said. “Bobby has no other way to repay his debt, so I was forced to consider alternate repayment options.”

  “You’re a loan shark?” Biederman asked.

  Tino frowned. “I’m an investor—and I’ve decided to invest in this project.”

  “Don’t we have something to say about that?” Wes asked.

  “Bobby doesn’t. He told me about this project of his. It’s really quite ingenious. I think it could be very profitable if it’s handled well—and I want to make sure it is.”

  “Thanks,” Wes said, “but I think we can handle it.”

  “Maybe,” Tino said. “I want to make sure. You might say I already have half a million dollars invested in this project; I want to make sure I get it back. Bobby’s quite capable of pulling off this scheme of his; he’s also capable of screwing it up completely. I want to keep that from happening. Bobby’s really a very bright boy—he just needs adult supervision.”

  “We don’t need someone looking over our shoulders,” Biederman said.

  “Oh, I’m not here as an observer—I plan to participate. How else can I make sure things go the way they should?”

  “Have you ever written anything?” Wes asked.

  “Business plans, mostly.”

  “Business plans—that’ll help a lot.”

  “Why wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what the angel is proposing, really—a new way of doing business in the universe? Your angel is presenting a business plan—a concept, an objective, a market analysis, channels of distribution . . .”

  “Sounds like you’ve already given this some thought,” Wes said.

  “I have—and from what Bobby told me about your first writing session, it sounds like you could use all the help you can get.”

  “We were just getting our momentum going,” Biederman grumbled.

  “Then let’s not lose it,” Tino said. “I suggest we all get to work.”

  Wes turned to Kemp. “How did the first episode go last night?”

  “Just like I told you it would. The system worked like a charm.”

  “What did you say to Hayden—I mean, what did the ‘angel’ say?”

  “You guys didn’t give me much to work with—I had to just make it up as I went along. It was basically just an introduction: ‘I’m an angel, you’re so special, I’ve got a message for you, let me get back to you tomorrow.’ But I’m going to need more than that tonight—the woman’s expecting some details.”

  “I think we might have a concept,” Wes said.

  “Well, it’s about time.” Kemp took a seat on the sofa while Wes and Biederman set up the easel in front of him. Tino sat down right beside Kemp—much to his annoyance.

  “Okay,” Wes said, “here’s what we’ve got so far. Remember when you were a kid, and you thought the whole universe revolved around you? But your folks were always telling you to grow up—that life wasn’t all about you? Well, it turns out they were wrong. It was about you.”

  “Excuse me?” Kemp said.

  “Everything is about you. It was always about you. The whole universe revolves around you, and you must embrace that truth.”

  “It’s about Bobby?” Tino asked.

  “No—for you it’s about you; for me it’s about me.”

  “I’m not following you,” Tino said.

  “You are the only one in the universe who actually exists. Everyone else is just a figment of your imagination, and when you die the whole universe will cease to exist—at least as far as you’re concerned.”

  “This is what you guys came up with?” Kemp said. “What was on that pizza?”

  “Actually, Biederman remembered it from an old Twilight Zone—but we think it has definite possibilities. It came to us about four in the morning. We’d been banging our heads on the table for hours and we still weren’t getting anywhere. Suddenly we realized the problem: We were working backwards.”

  “Backwards?”

  “The problem was, we kept asking, ‘What would an angel want to tell people?’ Instead we needed to be asking, ‘What would people want to hear from an angel?’ That’s when it came to us—it was like an epiphany. It’s all about you—that’s the angel’s message.”

  “That’s it?” Tino said. “Sounds like a very short book.”

  “It’s all about you is just the big idea—the whole thing spins out from there.”

  “For example.”

  “Okay—if it’s all about you, then what’s your chief responsibility in life? To make sure you’re happy.”

  “Think about it,” Biederman said. “If everyone would concentrate on making himself happy, it would be a perfect universe. See, everybody says he wants somebody else to be happy, but nobody really cares—at least, not nearly as much as he cares about himself. So why should I waste my time making a halfhearted attempt at pleasing someone else when I would gladly pursue my own happiness with all my heart? If I would just focus on making myself happy—if everybody did that—then everybody would be happy.”

  “And just forget about other people?”

  “Other people are the problem. Don’t you see? We’re always worrying about how other people are doing, how other people are feeling, but we have no control over that. The only thing you can actually control is your own attitude, so your chief responsibility is to make sure you’re happy.”

  “Think of it this way,” Wes explained. “You are like a rock dropped into a pond, and you sen
d ripples out all around you—you affect everyone else. Remember that old saying, ‘If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy’? Well, if that’s true, then what’s the most important thing for Momma to remember? I need to make sure I’m happy—because if I’m happy, I make everyone else happy.”

  “Who’s Momma?” Tino asked.

  “Try to stay with us,” Biederman said. “If you want other people to be happy, you must first be happy yourself—and to be happy, you must love yourself. So the most important thing in the whole universe is for you to love yourself—more than your wife, more than your kids, more than your friends. You might say, since the most important thing is to love yourself, loving someone else more than yourself is actually unfaithfulness to your first love.”

  Kemp and Tino just sat there staring at the easel.

  “That’s what we’ve got so far,” Wes said. “What do you guys think?”

  “What do I think?” Kemp said. “I think it’s an unbelievable pile of crap.”

  “Yes, but does it flow?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” Tino said. “I think it’s a very good thing I got involved when I did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you lack structure—you lack organization.”

  “And a business plan would sound better?”

  “I don’t see how it could sound worse.”

  Kemp got up from the sofa. “There’s no sense arguing about it. What difference does it make? I just need something to say, that’s all. Most people are basically morons anyway, and a moron will buy just about anything—Lattes with God proved that. If you two geniuses think this will make a book—a book that we can sell—then count me in. I’ll go with what you’ve got tonight—I don’t have much choice, do I? But we’re going to need more for tomorrow, so get back to work. Tino’s got a few ideas he wants to throw in; maybe the three of you together can come up with something better. Now help me get some notes together—I can’t do this from memory.”

  Natalie heard Kemp’s key in the lock and she checked the clock: It was 3:30 in the afternoon. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and an open letter in front of her. The door opened with an almost inaudible squeal.

  “Hey babe,” Kemp said with a nod, tossing his keys on the counter.

  “What a surprise,” Natalie said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming home at all.”

  “Don’t start, okay? I need to hit the sack for a couple of hours.”

  “Why so exhausted? Things to do?”

  “I think we’ve been over this.”

  As he passed the table she held up the letter.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s from St. Stephen’s. Read it.”

  Kemp quickly scanned the letter and groaned. “I thought we took care of this.”

  “You mean you thought I took care of it. So did I. I met with Leah’s teacher, then I met with the school counselor—that was a real picnic. I took Leah along on the counselor’s visit. I thought that might discourage her from coming up with any more stories, but apparently it didn’t. Leah says she saw another angel, Kemp. What are we going to do about it?”

  “Take her back to the counselor and leave her there this time. Let him see what he can do with her.”

  “I’m serious. Matt thinks we need to talk.”

  “Matt?”

  She paused. “Leah’s teacher. Mr. Callahan.”

  “So it’s ‘Matt’ now?”

  “Excuse me. I’m not the one who’s been staying out all night.”

  “Well, why don’t you and ‘Matt’ get together and work this out? Let me know how it goes.” He started for the bedroom.

  Natalie followed him. “That’s not good enough. You’re a part of this whether you like it or not.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “The counselor—Mr. Armantrout—he thinks Leah might be coming up with these stories because she doesn’t feel safe.”

  Kemp turned and looked at her. “What kind of a crack is that?”

  “Leah’s life has changed a lot. Her home, her—family.”

  “You mean me.”

  “Like I said—you’re a part of it.”

  “You’re saying Leah doesn’t feel safe around me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’ve got the perfect solution,” Kemp said. “If Leah doesn’t feel safe around me, just keep her away from me. Problem solved.”

  “I want you to go with me tomorrow to talk with Matt and the counselor. Maybe if they met you—”

  “Not this week. I’m busy this week—I told you that.”

  “It has to be this week. This can’t wait.”

  “Then go by yourself.”

  “What’s so special about this week? What have you got going on?”

  “I can’t tell you—not yet. It’s sort of a surprise.”

  “Surprise me by going to the school with me. That’s what I need from you right now—that’s what we need.”

  “That’s not all we need,” Kemp said. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get some sleep.”

  19

  Liv Hayden lay mesmerized by the angelic face hovering above her . . .

  “It’s all about you, Liv,” Kemp said. “Perhaps you’ve always suspected it—from the time you were only two years old. Maybe you were on the playground one day, and another child had a beautiful ball. You wanted that ball, so you shouted ‘It’s mine’ and took it—but your parents made you give it back. They were wrong to do that, Liv. That ball was yours—that ball and all the other balls in the universe. They all belong to you.”

  Kemp took a quick look at his notes. Not bad for no rehearsals. Sure, he was embellishing a little, but he was managing to cover the main points.

  “You may wonder, ‘If everything belongs to me, then why don’t I own everything?’ You do, Liv—you just haven’t realized it yet. All the seashells in the sea belong to one ocean, but the ocean keeps them scattered on the beaches of the world. In the same way, all the world’s possessions really belong to you—they’re just scattered in the lives of other people. They’ve been saving them for you, Liv—they just don’t know it yet.”

  Cross that one off. What’s next on the outline? Okay, here we go . . .

  “That leads me to the next principle,” he said in his most beatific tone. “There’s not enough to go around, so get yours first. Some believe the universe is so abundant that everyone can have what they want; try believing that the next time you’re waiting in line for a new iPhone. There’s not enough to go around, Liv; that’s the hard reality of life—not enough iPhones, not enough condos in Pacific Palisades, not enough love. Remember, the most important thing in the world is for you to be happy. If you let others go ahead of you, you postpone your own happiness—but if you’re not happy, they’re not happy. So if you postpone your own happiness, you postpone their happiness as well. Do you grasp the wisdom of this principle? Get yours first. Open your mind to this truth; embrace it. It might seem difficult at first, but hey, if it was easy you wouldn’t have needed an angel to explain it to you.”

  Kemp checked his watch; it was three a.m. An hour had already passed and he was overdue for his break. He never missed a break—the other nurses all knew it. He needed to wrap things up before anybody got suspicious.

  “We’ve got time for one more: You must forgive yourself. How can you forgive others if you’ve never even forgiven yourself? We’re all human, Liv—well, I’m not, of course, but other people are. You humans all do things to offend one another from time to time—it’s only human. What should you do when you offend your brother? Do this: Look into your brother’s eyes and say to him, ‘I forgive myself.’ When he sees your willingness to forgive even yourself, it will open the floodgates of his own forgiveness.”

  Somehow that didn’t sound quite right. He glanced at his notes again—Biederman’s handwriting looked like left-handed chicken scratchings. Oh, well, it didn’t matter
—he got the basic point across. It was all nonsense anyway.

  “Don’t forget, Liv: Love yourself—that’s the most important thing of all. If everyone concentrated on loving himself, there’d be a lot less bickering in the universe. You must love yourself more than anyone else; you must love yourself first. Others are waiting to love you, Liv; free them to love you by showing them that you love yourself. By loving yourself you prove to them that you are lovable, and thus you open the doors to their love. Don’t make them wait, Liv—let them know the doors are open. Pick up the phone—give them a call—tell them, ‘Feel free to love me.’”

  He checked the reading on Hayden’s BIS monitor. She remained semiconscious, but he knew it was best not to keep her there too long—she was a lot less stable in this in-between state. That was enough for one night anyway. Kemp wasn’t really sure how much her mind could retain—no sense pushing her too far.

  “Well, I should go and let you get some sleep. It’s a busy day in the universe, and I’ve still got other stops to make. Oh, yes, I’m an adviser to many worlds—didn’t I tell you? This wisdom I’m imparting to you spans all times and places—even other planets. Yes, many intelligent beings from distant galaxies know that—”

  Kemp heard the door suddenly open behind him. He whirled around and looked.

  Emmet was standing in the doorway with an empty trash can in his hand. He looked at Kemp; he looked at the white lab coat he was wearing; he looked at the examination light positioned above the bed; he looked at Liv Hayden lying on the bed with half-open eyes.

  Kemp stood frozen, waiting . . .

  Emmet backed out without a word and closed the door behind him.

  20

  How did the child seem to you at the time?”

  Armantrout asked.

  Matt shrugged. “What do you mean?” seem agitated? Distracted?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that.”