HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (39 page)

“Him, too,” I said to a paramedic, while
pointing to Ed. “He took a knife cut across the neck.” The
paramedic quickly examined Ed’s neck.

The three paramedics tending to Larry gently
eased him away from Gina’s hold. One peeled away the towel he held
pressed to his face, now soaked with blood, and cleaned Larry’s
wounds with sterile pads and rubbing alcohol, followed by an
antibiotic ointment. As one worked on Larry, another began
questioning Gina and the third questioned December, each asking
calmly “Are you okay? Do you feel faint? how does your breathing
feel? Do you want someone to hold your hand?” As each question was
posed, the two paramedics looked closely at Gina and December,
checking their faces, ears, eyes. “You’ll be okay. Your friends
will be okay. You did a good job.”

December burst into tears.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Team Lori

The Long Beach Restaurant had only one table
large enough for our group of eight, and space for the camera
equipment that Tres von Sommerberg and Lena Martins had brought to
capture the meal. There probably would have been more room if we
had eaten in Ralphie’s Lincoln, which was parked across three spots
in the narrow lot, right next to a dental office and a
McDonald’s.

The filmmakers sat at the far end of the
table, each switching off with hand-held camera duties – at times
standing, other times seated, always shooting. Ed and Gina sat
across from one another, next to the filmmakers, and December and
Emily next to Larry and me. Despite the director’s repeated verbal
and hand motions that Larry sit at the head of the table, he held
his place, across from me and next to December. Larry seemed to
grow more annoyed each time von Sommerberg would wave his hand to
the head of the table.

“W’ull, okay,” said Larry, “so while we’re
waiting for the soup – which is good, you’ll like it; kind’a hot,
though – and I know, the whole kidnapping thing…, still, this is
about Lori, okay?”

“I’m sorry, but I sort of object,” said
Emily Kashabara.

“A lawyer objecting,” said Ed. “What
next?”

“Can it, Ed,” said Larry.

Ed looked surprised. I looked to him and
back to Larry.

A pair of 20-something Asian servers, who
easily could have been siblings, carried two orders of pad Thai, a
bowl of rice, a platter of wonton and egg rolls and a tray of
beverages to the table.

“I know that you’re paying us as
one-third-time workers and, really, it is closer to a full-time
salary,” said Emily, “which, I, for one, really appreciate,
but….”

“Yes…,” said Larry.

December reached across to the pad Thai and
stabbed a plump shrimp with her fork.

“I don’t particularly want to spend the July
4th holiday in Nebraska,” said Emily.

“Is that because Nebraska is flat and you
can’t go bombing with all the young guys?” asked Ed.

“I beg your pardon,” said Emily. “Look,
Larry, thanks for the job, and I hope I’ve been helpful, but,
really, I didn’t sign on for a trip to Omaha. Maybe talk to me
about London, but I am going to take a pass on the national
swimming thing.”

“Is it because of stuff at home?” asked
Larry.

“I’d prefer not to air personal business at
the dinner table, thank you.”

December’s fork crossed to the wonton.

Lena lifted the pad Thai platter, spooned
noodles, chicken, carrot slivers, egg, peanuts, tofu, sprouts and
shrimp onto her plate and passed the platter to Gina, who was
watching the back-and-forth at the table like a tennis match.

“But your mom sold all her stuff, right?”
asked Larry. “Didn’t you tell me that?”

“Film people bought her out, but I don’t
remember telling you that. Did I?” Emily looked to her right,
towards Tres, with his enormous lens pointed at her face.

Gina, having scooped very little from the
pad Thai to her plate, passed the platter to me, as Emily stared at
Tres and Larry.

“Film people,” she said, quietly. “And, Ed,
if I want to skateboard instead of going to Nebraska, frankly, I
don’t see where that is any business of yours.” Emily turned to
Larry. “So did you have any difficulty stashing all the big
furniture, Larry?”

“Most of it is in the basement of the
mansion,” said Larry, reaching for an egg roll.

Emily looked directly into the camera.
“You’ve made my mom into an even bigger paranoid nut case then she
already was,” she said slowly. “The Hollywood mafia put her out of
business… she says that over and over, all day long.” Emily
sputtered the next words, as she waved her arms about. “Why did you
buy my mom out of business. Her complete inventory? Why? Now, all
she has is money, which she is using to borrow more then she ever
owed before.”

Larry, stirring his iced coffee, lowered his
head. He wore the same look of contrition that he’d have after me
and Lori fought early in our marriage over how long to let him
sleep on our couch. “You don’t have to go to Nebraska, Emily. And
I’m sorry, okay.” He stirred his iced coffee. “I mean, I think
Lori’ll have contract issues right up front, because who wouldn’t
want a piece of Lori Lewis, but, yeh, no, fine. Sorry about your
mom.”

I passed the pad Thai to Emily, who held the
platter, looked at it, and passed it across the table, to
Larry.

.

Four of the fortune cookies on the table sat
in their unopened plastic, as everyone rested in a satiated stupor,
Larry picking at the Thai barbequed chicken with green chili and
garlic and December picking at the last of the pad Thai with
chopsticks.

“Well,” I said, as Larry scooped the last of
the chicken onto his empty plate, “if I am paying for airfare to
Omaha, who is going with us?”

“Me, you, Gina, December, Lori’s folks, Dave
San Jose…,” said Larry.

“Me,” said Ed, holding his arm up.

“Emily?” asked Larry.

“No, really…,” she said.

“That’s okay,” said Larry.

“Me,” Ed repeated, his arm still raised.

“I’m not paying your way, Ed, so if you
wanna go….”

“Not... what?” said Emily.

“No ticket,” said Gina, leaning across me to
tell Emily, who looked to Ed and then to Larry.

“Ed can have my ticket,” said Emily.

“Non-transferable,” said Larry, assuming the
look one might learn in a class dedicated to teaching how to cast
steely glares.

“Thank, Emily, but I don’t think we should
be talking, quote-unquote, tickets,” said Ed. “Myself, I suggest we
have Ralphie drive us, in his shiny Lincoln automobile. Gives us
the freedom to pick up Lori in Colorado and make it in plenty of
time to Omaha, which, I might point out, Barack Obama carried in
the 2008 election.”

“Dat’s a pretty good idea,” said
December.

I watched Larry for clues. He didn’t appear
pleased, but Ed did win the argument. Larry kept his head down, as
he dropped two hundred dollar bills onto the table.

“It would be really great if we could go,”
said Tres.

“No TSA security,” said Ed. “No baggage
claim and Lori gets to drive up in a stinkin’ Lincoln.”

“Yeh, baby,” said December. “I like it.”

“We’ll see,” said Larry, grimly. Larry
grabbed one of the remaining fortune cookies. “Soon,” read the
slip, “someone will make you very proud.”

Looking up, animated, almost as though
another person, Larry cheerfully thanked the two servers, as one
collected the bill and Larry’s hundreds, and the other set down
several empty cartons and began clearing the table. Larry thanked
them for an incredible meal and everyone promptly chimed in,
happily, as Emily and Gina transferred food to take-out
containers.

.

“Farmor!” said Larry, as he entered the
private room where Emma had been a patient earlier, and now it was
she who sat vigil in what was most likely the same chair Larry had
occupied at Long Beach Memorial. “Gina!”

“I could not just play along until you told
me,” Emma answered in Danish. “No matter what is going on between
you and him, Calvin is still my son.”

“Should I stay?” asked Gina, in Swedish.

“Neither of you have to stay,” said Emma.
“You don’t know my son, and Larry here hates him, so why don’t you
two just run off, and research burial plots. Sort of speed things
along.”

“Grandma!” said Larry,

“Wait! A foreign word... just a moment. Oh,
yes… grand-ma,” said Emma. “Stay if you’d like, but I would rather
be here alone with my son.” Emma looked up, squinting at the
cardiac monitor as one would try to read time from a distant clock.
“Just send your driver here after you get home.”

.

“Larry?” said Gina, sitting directly across
from Larry in the Lincoln.

“Yes,” said Larry.

“When I said that I would go to Nebraska
with you, that means I am going to
be
with you.”

“Uh, okay,” said Larry.

“You understand, right?” asked Gina.

“Um... I think so.”

“I’m only there for you.”

Ralphie pulled in front of the mansion and,
a moment later, held the door for Gina, who stepped out first, and
then Larry, who thanked Ralphie, as he closed the door. A gathering
of kids swarmed around the car, and Larry reached into his pocket
and pulled out a handful of one dollar coins, which he handed out,
one to each child.

“Thanks, Mister.”

“Sure,” said Larry.

“Can I have two?”

“No,” said Larry.

Larry handed a coin to each open hand, and
then turned to Gina. They said good night to Ralphie, who waved as
Larry and Gina walked to the front door of the mansion. Larry and
Gina walked in silence through the bottom floor, to the
triple-bolted doorway. Larry pulled out his keys, unbolted each
lock and pushed open the door. He threw on the light switch,
filling the four-story marble stairway with a bright, warm
glow.

“Oh, I have a key,” said Gina, pointing to
the wooden chair at the base of the stairwell.

“I didn’t know it works,” said Larry.

Gina motioned for Larry to sit on the
exquisitely-crafted wooden chair as she bent over him and inserted
a long skeleton key into the mechanism at the base of the chair,
prompting a mechanical hum. Before Larry could get off of the
chair, Gina gingerly sat on Larry’s lap.

“Will it support two?” she asked.

“Guess we will find out.” Larry toggled a
metal lever next to the chair, and the apparatus slowly began to
climb the stairwell. Gina wrapped one arm around Larry’s neck. As
they climbed to the second level, a flaking, brown dry streak
across the Plexiglas came into view. “Gina,” said Larry, prompting
her to turn her head to directly face him. Larry leaned up, just as
the two passed through the Plexiglas and kissed Gina on the lips. A
dull, earthy scent lingered briefly as the chair continued its
ascent, and, once past the Plexiglas, rounding the stairwell to the
third level, Gina had both her hands on Larry’s head, the fingers
of one hand dug deeply into his hair. They broke their kiss once
the chair had reached the landing of the Scandinavian’s suite, with
the sculpture of Venus calling out to be worshipped.

“Come,” said Gina, taking Larry by the hand.
“Let’s listen to the opera.”

.

Gina sat on Larry’s lap, her arm draped on
his shoulder and her hand resting on his chest, as they sat
upright, necking. Enrico Caruso’s voice filled the studio, as
around them, invisible to them, were dozens of reflections of two
people kissing.

.

“I approve,” said Emma van der Bix, standing
in the doorway of the suite with Ralphie, as Gina and Larry sat on
the sofa by the Victrola, kissing. The two quickly disengaged and
awkwardly stood.

“Please,” said Emma, motioning with her hand
to the two, “don’t stop on my account.” Emma walked through the
studio without casting a further glance at Gina and Larry. Ralphie
turned, closed the door and his footsteps on the marble faded to
silence, as had the music.

Gina stood, flipped the disc, cranked the
handle and set the needle onto the record. She sat down gingerly,
looked at Larry, and, without a word, met his advancing lips. The
two melted back into one another’s arms.

.

“Are we flying or driving?” I asked Larry,
who seemed distracted, as we talked on the phone.

“For what again?”

“Omaha, Larry. Remember? Nebraska.”

“I know where Omaha is,” said Larry. “On the
Platte River.”

“Lori?”

“Oh, yeh, right! Car’s fine.”

“Her folks and Dave want to go by plane, so
there should be plenty of space in the Lincoln.”

“That’s great, Lawrence,” said Larry,
quickly. “Look, kind’a busy.”

“What?” I said. “You’re never busy.”

Larry hung up.

.

Larry and Gina sat together, eating
breakfast on the balcony, their chairs close together. Emma,
standing with Ralphie at the French doors leading to the kitchen,
looked out to the two, who ate silently. Emma and Ralphie turned
and walked off. The closing of the main doors could be heard in the
distance, but neither Gina nor Larry gave any sign of having heard
it.

.

Lori Lewis lay on her side, looking at a
small, stuffed pumpkin. She dialed her cell.

“Hey, hunny,” purred December’s voice, over
the speaker.

“Hi, pumpkin.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow in Ralphie’s car, so
you better get ready, cuz yer mine every night, baby,” said
December.

Lori smiled and continued looking at the
pumpkin. A single tear fell to her pillow.

“Baby? You dere?”

.

Emily Kashabara, wearing black and carrying
a tote bag, lowered her foot off her long board and pushed,
continuing her effortless gliding. Ahead, standing idly, were four
male skateboarders. Emily dug the heel of her board into the
sidewalk, stopping a few feet from the group.