by Amy Cross
"That sounds good," I say, before sitting in awkward silence for a moment.
"I want you to do one thing for me, though," he continues, scribbling some notes on a prescription pad before tearing the top sheet away and passing it to me. "Take these pills. Three a day, one after each meal. They'll help get your liver in shape. Do we have a deal?"
"Sure," I reply. "Is there anything else?"
"Not unless you have any questions".
I shake my head.
"Then I'd suggest that you get on with whatever work you have on your plate," he says, "and make sure you're ready for your treatment to start. As it's the liver we're dealing with, Kate, I need you to avoid alcohol and fatty foods. Try to look after yourself and build up your strength. This is a fight you can win, but it's a fight nonetheless. Give yourself the best possible chance, okay?"
Smiling, I get to my feet and head to the door. "Thank you," I say quietly as I step out into the corridor, pulling the door shut as I go. The woman is still sitting over at the far end of the waiting room, so I quickly make my way around the corner. Once I'm alone, I stop for a moment, close my eyes and take a deep breath. For a moment, I'm overcome by the feeling that I could scream; I could let out my anger and frustration, and really let rip. Just like last time. In fact, this is the exact same corridor where I broke down sobbing when I was originally diagnosed. A little further ahead, there's the same chair where I sat and wept while Mark put his arm around my shoulder and tried to find something reassuring to tell me. Eventually, he led me away and we went home, and I spent three days in bed before I was ready to face the world.
Things are different this time. No Mark, no tears. I open my eyes and find that I'm just standing in the corridor, feeling calmer than I've ever felt in my life. I guess the one thing I've always hated is uncertainty, and now the uncertainty has been lifted away. I do have cancer, and my treatment is already being arranged. Taking a deep breath, I can't help but smile as I head along the corridor, past the chair where I wept and past the reception desk and out into the busy New York street. Carrying my secret little tumors with me in my liver like marbles in a sponge, I make my way through the crowd, heading to the cafe where I'm supposed to meet Bella. I'm not really in the mood to see anyone, but I need to kill a little more time before I head back to my apartment. The photo is waiting for me, and I'm quite certain that the figure will have appeared once again. I have to find a way to get to the bottom of this before the chemotherapy starts and I end up losing my mind again.
Twenty-five years ago
With the pain still throbbing in my body, I turn the camera around and raise it so that the lens is pointing straight at my face. I've had to guess the focal length, but I figure I'll at least get something interesting.
I stare at the lens for a moment. I can just about make out my reflection, and I look awful: tired and sweaty, with pain etched across my face.
I take a deep breath.
Finally, I press the button. I watch as the aperture clicks open for a fraction of a second, and there's a whirring sound as the photo is taken. Placing the camera on my knees, I wince as the pain seems to flare for a moment, and I can't help thinking that maybe this is it; maybe I'm going to die out here.
As I wait, I hold the camera tighter.
Today
There's a knock on the cubicle door. "Hello?" says a woman. "Do you need some help in there?"
"No," I reply, trying my best to sound as if I'm fine. "Just some bad seafood," I add, before leaning back over the toilet bowl and vomiting again. All that comes out is yellow bile.
"Okay," the woman says, sounding a little uncertain. "I just wanted to check".
"Thanks," I splutter, with liquid dripping from my open mouth. I take a series of deep breaths, desperately trying to settle my stomach. After a moment, I hear the woman's high-heels clicking away across the bathroom floor; seconds later, the door opens and closes, and I realize with relief that I'm alone again.
"Fuck," I say quietly, feeling my stomach start to tie itself in another knot. I wait for the next wave of nausea; I know it's coming, so why can't it just hurry up and arrive? Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I bring up another small amount of bile, and this time there's a little blood in the mix. It's bright red blood, though, so it's probably just from a tear in my throat. It's nothing. Nothing to worry about yet. I've still got time.
Twenty-five years ago
Getting to my feet, I run a hand along the side of my torso.
It's gone.
No more pain.
I keep expecting it to come back, but after standing completely still for a couple of minutes, I realize that it seems to have gone. I guess it just passed naturally, or maybe I made it go away by taking a photo of my face. It's a crazy idea, but one that I like: a camera that can destroy pain. I wish the world was that simple, but unfortunately I'm a little too jaded to believe in something quite so convenient.
Still, the pain is definitely gone.
Figuring I should get to the store and turn the roll of film in for development, I start making my way back the way I came. I still have a few more exposures left, but I'm sure I can find something on the way. For now, despite the brief attack of pain, I feel strangely fulfilled. This was my first day as a proper photographer with a proper camera, and I don't think it went too badly. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I'm actually good at something.
Today
"So you don't return calls or emails, you don't reply to text messages, you don't even answer your door when I'm pretty damn sure you're at home". Bella smiles as she sips from her glass of wine. "Don't take this the wrong way, Kate, but I'm struggling to believe that you're really that busy". She pauses for a moment. "Are you okay?"
"Totally," I reply, looking down at the spaghetti in my bowl. We're sitting on the terrace of a small cafe, and I'm trying really, really hard to make sure Bella can't tell that I want to throw up. I've been forcing the spaghetti down my throat one mouthful at a time, while praying that my stomach will remain calm long enough for me to give the illusion of health. Still, I know that my body might rebel at any moment. "I'm not busy, exactly. It's more that there's lots of little things that all kind of add up, you know?"
"I guess". She stares at me. "You understand why I worry, don't you?"
"Totally".
"You'd tell me if it came back, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I'd tell you," I reply. "I wouldn't tell anyone else, but I'd definitely tell you".
"You got a job yet?" she asks, eying me suspiciously.
Shaking my head, I take another mouthful of spaghetti. So far, so good.
"You need a job yet?"
I shake my head again. "Savings," I say as I swallow.
"Look at us both," she continues with a grin. "Remember when we were kids, wondering what we'd end up doing with our lives? And now here we are, sitting in the middle of New York, living off compensation money. What a lifestyle, huh?"
"You're not living off compensation money," I point out.
"Yes I am! I'm married to a conniving bastard with a different mistress in each city, and his money is the only compensation". She raises her glass. "Cheers". After taking another sip, she stares at me for a moment. "Sorry, Kate. I didn't mean to make a joke of it. I know it's not the same. How's the scarring?"
"Good," I reply, looking at my glass of wine and wondering whether I can risk even the tiniest drop. "It's pretty much finished healing now. You can still see it, but I think it's set. I don't think it's gonna change anymore".
"I don't want to see it," she says. "You know what I'm like with things like that. But I'm glad to know it's getting better. I know a great plastic surgeon, if you're interested. He did my tits".
"I think I'll be okay for now".
"You sure? He even gave me symmetrical nipples, which I gather can be a little tricky at times. These things look like they're bolted on. Not that I ever use them for anything these days".
Sm
iling, I take another mouthful of food. Bella and I are so completely different, it's hard to believe that we can spend more than a couple of minutes together without trying to tear one another's eyes out; fortunately, we seem to be able to tolerate each other's 'failings' without too much difficulty. I guess it helps that we grew up together in the same dusty little Kansas town, and moved to New York together on the same bus. Hell, we even lived together for the first two years after we got here, before life dragged us off in different directions.
"So do you mind if I ask a personal question?" she continues. "How much longer is that money gonna last? I mean, they only paid out so much, and city living isn't cheap".
"A few months".
"A few months?" She stares at me. "Don't you think you should start looking for a job? Or are you still convinced you're gonna be a professional photographer?"
"I'm working on things," I tell her. "I won't starve".
"Dominic and I can always lend you something," she continues. "Just enough to tide you over in case things ever get desperate. I could also try pulling some strings around town, see if I can maybe get you some work. I have a friend who owns a gallery downtown, he might need someone".
"I'm fine," I say. "Really. Stop worrying about me".
"You need a man," she says. "No, let me correct that. You need a good man. A dependable man. A man who isn't like Mark. You need to find someone before it's too late. Seriously, I can't even begin to explain how a husband just removes all those little worries that haunt your everyday life. Even if he's the Devil incarnate, you just have to learn to look past the horns and the forked tongue, and embrace the positives". She waits for me to say something, but I'm focusing on finishing the late of my meal. I'm also thinking about the photo back in my apartment, and whether it'll have developed the man's image by the time I get home.
"I'm fine," I say eventually, even though I know that such a weak pronouncement is unlikely to ever satisfy Bella completely.
"Are you sure you're not hiding something?" she asks after a moment. "I mean, health-wise. It's just that you seem a little distracted, Kate. I feel like I have a sixth sense when it comes to you, and right now that sixth sense is tingling like a virgin's clit. You'd tell me if something was wrong, right? I mean -" She leans across the table and grabs my hands, holding them tight. "You'd tell me. Promise?"
"Nothing's wrong," I reply, pulling away so that I can take a sip of wine. Damn it, why won't she just believe me? "And yes, I'd tell you. As it happens, I went to see Dr. Martindale today. I have to have a check-up every six months, just so they can make sure it hasn't come back. I get scanned and prodded and all that stuff".
"And they didn't find anything?"
"They didn't find anything".
"Well, that's good," she continues, with obvious relief. "I still remember the day you were first diagnosed. My God, you were a mess. I don't mean that in a bad way, of course, but it was heartbreaking. All the sobbing and the running mascara. I don't want to see you ever go through that again, Kate. I don't want to see anyone go through that again".
"And you won't," I reply, taking another sip.
"Of course, that's when I really started to see that Mark was a bastard," she continues. "I know he was still upset about the accident, but even so... Guys like that are ten-a-penny, Kate. You remember when you had to go for your first chemo session, and we were waiting outside your apartment and Mark didn't arrive to pick you up? And then he turned up at the hospital two hours later, claiming he'd been called out to some meeting at work, but he was quite clearly drunk? I swear to God, from that moment on, I was just counting down the days until you dumped his sorry ass. I don't mind telling you, I opened a bottle of champagne after you called me with the news".
"He wasn't all bad," I say. "Just... mostly".
"It took you long enough to break up with him," she replies. "Did the guy have a twelve-foot ribbed cock or something?"
Smiling, I shake my head. "It's just hard when you've been with someone for so long. But it was definitely the right choice".
"And there's been no-one since?"
"I'm not looking".
"You don't have to be looking, Kate. There are plenty of guys out there who are always looking. You must have got cards, or phone numbers, or something?"
I shake my head again.
"Maybe you should smarten up a little. Wear your hair down. Stop going around in that leather jacket. It kind of puts men off. Nice men, anyway. In fact... You know what? I've got the most amazing idea". She leans closer across the table, and I can see that she's almost trembling with excitement as she lowers her sunglasses to let me see the whites of her eyes. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to submit yourself to a complete makeover, would you? Hair, make-up, clothes, the works. Even a little plastic surgery here and there, if you're interested? I'll pay for everything. I'll design everything. Just put yourself in my hands, Kate, and I'll spruce you up like you've never been spruced before. And it'll all be very tasteful, naturally".
"Thanks," I say, "but no thanks".
"Your loss. I gave my niece a makeover once. Before I got to her, she was an angry little virgin living in her mother's attic room. Now she's a married mother of two, with a lovely little house in Sacramento and a proper, dependable husband named Ted".
I take another sip of wine. "I promise, Bella, that if I ever want to be a married mother of two, with a lovely little house in Sacramento and a husband named Ted, I'll seriously consider taking you up on your offer".
"Bullshit," she replies, checking her watch.
"You got to be somewhere?"
She shakes her head. "No. Well, yes. Well, not really. It's just Dominic. He's taking me to the theater later. We're seeing that play, the new one. What's it called? The one about Satan and the apple and all that crap".
I shrug.
Rifling through her purse, she eventually pulls out a leaflet and passes it across the table. I'm immediately struck by the image on the front, which shows a handsome man with dark make-up and a pair of fake horns. He's bare-chested, and he appears to be completely naked; his modesty is only protected by a large logo, in which the title 'The Devil's Touch' is spelled out in broken bones.
"Doesn't it look fabulous?" Bella continues. "If you want, I could try to wrangle a spare ticket for you. Might be fun. Apparently the guy playing Satan is seven feet tall and well-endowed. There's supposed to be a nude scene too, which frankly is the only reason I'm going to stay sober until the curtain goes down. Come on. You want to come and see Satan with his pants off?"
"No," I say. "Thanks, but I've got things to do".
"Like what?" She laughs. "What's better than coming to see the Devil's dong, live on Broadway?"
"Like..." I take a deep breath. There's no way I can tell her that I'm planning to spend my entire evening looking at a bunch of old photos. "I just want to unwind, you know? Have a glass of wine, listen to some music, maybe read a little. I know it doesn't sound too exciting, but after the stuff that's been going on for the past few years, it's kind of nice to just... do nothing, you know? I'm still in that zone where I want to sit back and spend a little time by myself".
"Well," she says, raising her wine glass for a toast. "Here's to the art of doing nothing, as perfected by Kate Logan".
"Cheers," I reply, clinking her glass. There's a part of me that desperately wants to tell Bella about the work I've been doing, just to see the shocked look on her face. I will tell her, one day, but for now I need to keep it to myself. I'd seem like a complete crackpot if I started talking about some of this stuff, so it's better if I just keep working in secret and wait until I have a convincing pile of evidence. If the day comes when I feel that I can prove my point, I'll be ready to start telling people; if that day never comes, however, I'd rather just keep quiet. There are already enough people loudly proclaiming their idiocy to the world; I want to be absolutely certain before I even contemplate opening my mouth.
"Just promise me one more time
that you're okay," Bella continues, eying me suspiciously as she starts gathering her things together. "Promise me that there's nothing wrong, because I know you, Kate. I know when you're lying to me. Maybe you think you can keep things wrapped up inside, and no-one's gonna realize, but don't think for a second that you can slip anything past me". She stares at me. "Promise me that you haven't had any bad news about your health, and that if anything ever materializes again, you'll tell me straight away. You're simply not allowed to go through any more shit by yourself. Understood?"
"Understood," I reply.
"So promise me".
"I promise".
She smiles. "Okay. Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies' room and then settle the bill, and before you complain, I insist on paying. You just sit tight for a moment". She turns and heads over to the counter, leaving me to look out at the slowly darkening sky of the New York evening. Letting out a small sigh, I realize that I've managed to get through another meet-up with Bella without letting slip anything meaningful. She constantly pushes and probes, trying to find out what's going on in my life, but I seem to be getting better at deflecting her attention. Turning and watching as she pays the bill, I try to imagine how Bella would react to some of the things that I've seen and done over the past few days. Frankly, I don't think she could handle it. There are some things that are just so dark, you can only deal with them if you've experienced that kind of darkness before.
Reaching into my bag, I take out one of the pills that Dr. Martindale prescribed for me. I'm reluctant to take anything that might affect my ability to work, but I figure there's no harm in giving the damn things a try, especially if they help my liver. I swallow a pill, before washing it down with a glass of water.
