Fate and Ms. Fortune

by Saralee Rosenberg

  “Absolutely.” I understand that if you fire me, it’s open season on news anchors.

  “This is, of course, embarrassing for me, but actually I’m glad it happened.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. Now Kev and I will have a lookout. Can you be here on Mondays and Wednesdays at three?”

  Chapter 11

  “GLAD IT’S NOT ME” is the universal refrain when you’re whizzing by at sixty mph, while the cars on the other side of the highway are at a standstill. But that’s nothing compared to the pity you feel for the unsuspecting motorists who are approaching and about to start cursing.

  If only there was a way to warn them, like the hurricane trackers that alerted folks to run for higher ground. Come to think of it, why not a sophisticated warning system for life?

  Boss Alert: Call in disillusioned. Management is freaked about third quarter earnings and looking for scapegoats.

  Parent Alert: Don’t go home…unless you really want to help clean out the garage.

  Husband Alert: It’s not your imagination. He’s a fuckup. Bail! Bail! Bail!

  Believe me, I would have appreciated the heads-up that in the span of forty-eight hours I was going to have to contend with so many people riding in the danger zone: a gone-crazy woman battling cancer (my mom), philandering bosses (Gretchen and Kevin), two lost souls (my father and Sierra), and now a broken man (Ken).

  What had I done to end up on this highway to hell? I got the concept of things happening for a reason, but doubted anyone had ever inched along the road in heavy traffic, then said, Wow, that was life changing.

  Come to think of it, what was Ken’s crime, for which the penalty was lying in yet another hospital bed? From the looks of him staring out the window, bandaged and bruised, he had to be wondering himself. But at least his being lost in thought gave me time to scope out the situation before walking in, as hospitals were notorious for exposing visitors to a whole lot of ooeyness.

  I waved to Ken as I tiptoed past the elderly man dozing with the TV on. “How are you?”

  He waved back with zero enthusiasm, already succumbed to the weak, pale, get-me-out-of-here glaze. He’d been here what? An hour?

  “Hey.” I smiled. “What’s the diagnosis?”

  “The top specialists all agree,” he grunted. “I’m a klutz.”

  “And the cure is charm school?”

  “No time. I’ll be too busy juggling between more physical therapy and sitting on my ass.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. I sprained my good ankle and bruised my coccyx.”

  “Oh that’s awful…But wait. Why were you bleeding?”

  “Because I also lost two teeth and put a nice gash in my cheek.”

  “Wow. You are a mess…You know, if you decide to go for a nose job, I know the showrunner on Nip/Tuck.”

  Tough audience. Not even a smile. You’d think he’d appreciate the no cover charge.

  “Good to know,” he finally said. “Must be great to be a comic. Everything is funny.”

  “I’m sorry. I know this has to really suck to be—”

  “Spare me. I’ve had enough of people’s sympathy to last three lifetimes.”

  “I’m just trying to be nice.” I sighed. “It’s not like I bought stock in Hallmark…Anyway, my dad is a dentist if you need someone to—”

  “I’m covered on that front, thanks.”

  “Great! Here’s your stuff. I did the best I could finding everything…Rookie picked at dinner but ate the treats. He peed, he pooped, he sends his best…”

  “Thanks…Look, I’m sorry. You’ve been terrific…”

  “Nope. No apologies necessary. The whole situation blows.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Actually I do. I was talking about me.”

  Was that a chuckle?

  “Well you may be having a bad day, but I raise you,” he said. “I’ve had a bad year.”

  “Never bet a gambler’s ex-wife.” I sighed. “We’re used to high stakes.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I’ll fill you in.” I threw down his bag and pulled the guest chair closer to the bed. How great was this? A captive audience who wasn’t drunk or screaming for a stripper.

  “Can you tap a kidney for us, Mr. Danziger?” A male nurse brushed past me, pulled the blue curtain around us, then reached for a bedpan. “Oh hello. You must be his wife.”

  “His wife?”

  He propped the pan, picked up Ken’s gown and exposed him.

  “What are you doing?” Ken covered up.

  “Oh my God.” I jumped so fast the chair screeched across the linoleum. “I’m sorry.” I turned around. “I swear I didn’t see a thing.” I saw everything!

  “Newlyweds?” The nurse adjusted his ponytail while waiting for Ken to pee.

  “Blind date.” He glared.

  “Yeah,” I said. “So could we please have more than five seconds’ notice for an enema?”

  Finally a laugh. I couldn’t believe this is what Ken found funny.

  “Sorry, miss. The file said his wife accompanied him in the ambulance. I just thought…”

  Oh. The ride with the paramedic. Who knew my lies would travel to the nurses’ station?

  “Good story to tell my wife.” The nurse opened the curtain and carried the pan to the bathroom. “She loves the ones where I screw up.”

  You mean she’s not sick of them yet? “I’m sorry,” I said to Ken.

  “Forget it. When hospitals tell you not to bring valuables, that includes your dignity.”

  “Good point.” I sighed. “Anyway, care to tell me how this whole thing happened?”

  “Not really.” He maneuvered in bed. “The whole thing was so stupid. I couldn’t remember where I left my cell phone, so I was calling it from the cordless phone. But just when I heard it ringing on the terrace, you rang the bell. I buzzed you in, ran to the terrace, and I guess tripped on the table leg, crashed into the chair, hit the pavement and blacked out.”

  “At least it wasn’t a wrong number.”

  “No kidding.” His room phone rang. “Hello? Hi Mom…Yes, I’m fine…They’re just keeping me overnight for observation…Yes, I have someone to help me get home…no, not her…no, not her…it’s someone you don’t know…it’s not even someone I know…Yes, she’ll take care of Rookie…Mom…Mom…The doctor just walked in. Can I call you back?”

  “Do you always lie to your mother?”

  “Trust me, if I told her I was back on crutches, my face had to be stitched, and I was shopping for new teeth, she’d jump on the next plane from Florida and I’d never get rid of her.”

  “Gotcha…”

  “Besides, my dad isn’t doing that great right now. He needs her more than I do.”

  “I hear ya.” But Ken’s words hit me hard. What if my dad got sick and my mom wouldn’t help him because she was too busy running around Phoenix in search of her long-lost fiancé?

  “So wait.” I shuddered. “Tomorrow you want me to go back to your place, walk Rookie, come get you, then take you home?”

  “No, to a funeral. Which reminds me. I need a suit and tie when you pick me up.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m tired, but did I recently go to work for you?”

  “You’re right. I should have asked you first.”

  “Or maybe someone you know for more than an hour.”

  “Well, I figured anyone who’s seen my penis knows me well enough.”

  “Does that include Nurse Rambo?”

  “Hell no. He scares me. He reminds me of Bo Bice.”

  “You watch American Idol?” I squealed.

  “Sadly, I not only watch it, I work my whole Tuesday and Wednesday nights around it.”

  “Aren’t you so sick of Paula?” I imitated her penguin clap. “And Randy with his ‘Yo Dog, you’re in the dogpound man’…They could all use some new material.”

  “Agreed…Okay now that we’ve bonded, can you help me out
tomorrow?”

  “Are you sure they’re going to discharge you?”

  “Believe me, my insurance company wants me out of here.”

  “Right…Anyway, not that it really matters, but who died?”

  “My boss at Showtime…A great lady…Breast cancer…Left a husband and two little kids…but she’d been sick for a long time…at least now she’s out of pain.”

  The way he spoke of death as being the better of the two evils saddened me. What if my mother’s breast cancer ended the same way? Now, the idea of going to a funeral in connection with a disease that was possibly eating away at her was freaky. But how could I say no?

  “One problem.” I cleared my throat, “We’re doing ’round-the-clock coverage on the pope’s funeral, so I really have to be at the studio, like, all the time. Could you maybe ask Seth? Or a friend?”

  “To be honest, I’m tapped out on eager beavers,” he said. “I don’t know how much of the story Madeline told you, but I’ve been out of commission for so long, Rookie brings me treats.”

  “Okay, that’s it. I’ll ask for time off. What time is the funeral?”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out.”

  “It’s okay. I’d like to help. So far we’ve done ambulances and hospitals. Tomorrow is a funeral. Maybe next we can attend a cremation.”

  “Hey fella!” The man in the other bed laughed. “Your girl is pretty funny. If you don’t keep her around, maybe I will.”

  “Thankyouverymuch.” I bowed. “I’ll be here all week…What’s your name?”

  “Eddie Fisher. Like the singer…You know, you remind me of my wife. She was funny like you.” He pointed upward. “God gave us forty-seven beautiful years…Veronica could drive me nuts, but she always made me laugh…”

  “Then you were a very lucky man, Eddie.” I sighed. “Give me a minute and you can tell me all about her…So wait. Where’s the funeral?”

  “Not sure yet…Oh. And don’t forget. Won’t Brie and Triscuit need a sitter?”

  “You mean Breanna and Tristan.” I laughed. “They’re babies, not appetizers.”

  “Exactly. Kids’ names should not sound like cheese and crackers.”

  “Oh, but it’s okay to be called the Three Stooges?”

  The color drained from his face. “I’m going to kill my brother.”

  “Nah. Save the jailtime for something good. He didn’t tell me. I already knew.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “I swear.” I reached into my bag for the photo of the three boys. “Because I took this.”

  “Of all the things you could have ripped off from my apartment, that’s what you picked?”

  “I don’t mean I stole it. I mean I’m the one who took the picture.”

  “What?” He studied me. “Who are you?”

  “You go first.” I placed the picture on his lap. “Which one are you?”

  He didn’t have to look. “I’m in the middle.”

  “Oh my God,” I screamed. “It is you. I don’t believe this.”

  “What’s going on?” His eyes teared. “Have we met?”

  “Not officially.”

  “Then how…when…?”

  “I took this my first semester at school…We are…Penn State!” I cheered. “I was living in Bigler, and one Saturday, I think it was the weekend before winter break, I was about to leave when one of you threw a camera at me and said, “Hey chickie. Take our picture.” So I did, and then I asked your names and somebody said Larry, Mo, and Curly.”

  “God. I’ll never forget that day.” Ken looked down. “Were you Robyn Fortune then?”

  “Robyn Holtz.”

  He studied my face. “The name sounds so familiar. Had we ever talked?”

  “No, but I was dying to because I had this major crush on you. Unfortunately, back then, so did everyone else.”

  “Yeah. Those were the days.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Sure you did. But it’s okay. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

  “Sorry, but if I can’t pity you, you can’t either…Anyway, I used to spend every day in the Commons waiting for you to show up to eat. But after I took the picture, it was like you vanished.”

  Ken looked out the window.

  “And since I didn’t know your name, I couldn’t just go up to people and say, ‘Have you seen that tall guy with the brown curly hair who used to sit over there and eat nothing but Froot Loops and bananas?”

  Ken smiled.

  “But that was you? Froot Loop guy?”

  He nodded.

  “This is unbelievable…I always wondered what happened to you.”

  “Long story,” he mumbled. “And I’m pretty wiped out now…I’d like to get some rest.”

  “Sure.” What did I say? “I should be getting home anyway…Way past my bedtime. Oh. Speaking of that. I couldn’t find any pajamas so I threw in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and I put your cell in the outside pocket…”

  “Thanks,” he said. “You’re terrific.”

  “I know.”

  “Wait. Do me one last favor? The way they bandaged my face, I can’t wear my glasses. Can you check my phone for messages?”

  “Sure.” I rummaged through his bag. “Okay, yours is nothing like mine. Gimme a sec to figure it out…Is this a TV too…Wow. Mr. Sharper Image over here. I’m happy if my text messages come through…hmmm. This is strange.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t look like there are any voice mails, but there was one missed call at four-twenty, which was about the time I got to your apartment. Thing is, there’s no phone number. It’s just three digits…must be an area code. Where is 827?”

  “I don’t know. Let me see.”

  Ken squinted, but couldn’t make anything out.

  “It’s weird.” I said. “Even on mine, which is like a hundred years old, it shows you the whole phone number.”

  “Oh Christ.” He lay back.

  “What?”

  “He is unbelievable.”

  “Who?”

  “Mo.”

  “Yeah. How did he leave just an area code?”

  “It’s not an area code. It’s his birthday.”

  “You can do that?”

  “You can if you’re dead.”

  “What?” I got a chill.

  “He did this once before…totally freaked me out.”

  What was Ken talking about? Who was dead? Oh wait. Madeline said that his best friend died in the World Trade Center. How devastating to be part of a trio and suddenly be one down.

  “Check your cell phone,” Ken said.

  “What?”

  “Check your cell phone. I want to see if he left you the same message.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Just do it. Please?”

  I was in such a state, I tripped trying to grab my bag, and landed ass first. By the way Ken stared, it was like he was thinking, Oh great, she’s as bad as me, which made me sweat more.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Still good. Still good.” I dusted myself off and searched for my phone. “Floor was slippery.” I coughed.

  “Exactly.”

  I opened my flip phone and did a double take. “What is 1–2-2–2?”

  “Son of a bitch…I don’t know how he does it, but it’s definitely from him.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I got a chill. “I can’t even get service in my apartment. Now I’m getting calls from heaven?”

  “It’s the day he died,” he choked. “December twenty-second.”

  “No, the World Trade Center was on nine eleven.”

  “Not the day Larry died. Mo. The day Mo died.”

  “Oh my God.” I started to weep. “They’re both…?”

  Ken looked at me, one eye bandaged, the other wet with tears. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him how sorry I was, but he had been ever so clear about his feelings about pity. And y
et, what could be worse than to be this young and the last man standing?

  “I don’t know what to say.” I sighed.

  “I do,” Eddie Fisher called out. “It means I need one of them cellular phones. My kids are always telling me, Dad you gotta get one, but I said what for? Who’s gonna call me? The bill collectors? But maybe it’s a way my Veronica can reach me…”

  Ken and I looked at each other. Who here had a decent explanation? Even a wild-ass guess.

  “I frankly don’t know what to say, either.” Ken squeezed my hand. “But obviously there is plenty to think about.” He smiled.

  Chapter 12

  I NEVER UNDERSTOOD the concept of paying to have the crap scared out of you at the movies. Frankly, life was surreal enough. And yet, somehow, without my expressed, written consent, I had inadvertently walked onto the set of a Fellini film, where confusing and improbable scenes were being shot in real time, with me playing the lead role. Please. Somebody yell, “Cut.”

  Think I’m being a drama queen? Not after the day I had. And it wasn’t over. In the cab on the way home from the hospital, Phillip called for a Mom update, and when I said, once again that day, that I had no idea where she was, he went nuts. “Then get her a goddamn cell phone already!”

  “I don’t want to get her a goddamn cell phone. I want her to go home so she can’t read my mail and listen to my messages and hock me every morning about brushing my gums and taking my vitamins and ask me ten times a day where I’m going and when I’m coming home and who I’m going out with and is he from a good family and what do his parents do…I’m not kidding. By next week I’ll be up on murder one.”

  “Then I promise to represent you.”

  “You’re a bankruptcy lawyer!”

  “Exactly. You need to protect your assets during your incarceration.”

  “I have no assets.”

  “Even better. Then you won’t interfere with my paying clients.”

  “I know where you live, Phillip. Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m under a lot of stress right now.”

  “Oh that’s right. You work for a living, unlike me who raises sheep and lives off the land.”

  “You’re just pissed that I didn’t tell you about the cancer.”