HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (23 page)

“But I don’t behave like a One Percenter,”
said Larry, “and when I’m done handing all this away, I’ll be back
to normal.”

“You’ll always be normal,” said Lori. “Well,
as normal as normal
is
for you.”

“You’re all deluded,” said Ed.

December stood over the platters of food,
with her hands on her hips. “If you make me lose my appetite,
there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Subject change,” said Lori.

“Yeh, anything…,” said Larry.

“Anyone watching, ‘Lonely Island?’ “ asked
Ed.

“Watching what?” asked Lori.

“Lonely Island,” said December. “Reality
show.”

“Oh, I don’t watch that shit,” said Lori,
leaning back, eating a slice of bread and cheese.

“It’s getting good,” said Ed. “There’s a
shark in the lagoon.” Ed piled a heap of meat and cheese onto a
slice of bread and took an enormous bite, consuming almost a third
one bite.

“How can you care about that stuff?” said
Larry. “It’s so obviously fake.”

Ed chewed. “It’s not... fake,” he said
between chewing. “They have to compete and no one knows which one’s
gotta go in the water.” More chewing. “Someone’s gotta swim with
the shark.”

“Hey, hot stuff…, granola girl,” said a
booming voice. Calvin walked alone to the table and grabbed a slice
of bread.

“Where’s Grandma?” said Larry.

“They wanted to keep the cow for a few
days,” said Calvin, setting himself down next to Ed, with a clear
view to December and Lori. Calvin scooped up cheese and veggies for
his slice of bread and then took a bite. Bits of dark rye bread
hung from Calvin’s lips.

“Keep her? What do you mean, keep her? Where
is she?”

“They can have the cow for all I care,” said
Calvin.

“Where is she?” yelled Larry.

“Long Beach Memorial.”

“I thought it was just going to the doctor?
What’d they say is wrong with her?”

Calvin took another bite. “She got dizzy. So
now she is safe from falling. You should fuckin’ thank me, you
sniveling ingrate.”

“We can go to the hospital in my car,
sweetie,” said December, looking to Larry. “Let’s go see your
pa-ma.”

“Not taking visitors,” said Ca1in. “She’s
out, right now.”

“Out?” Larry looked to Lori, to December and
then to Ed, each of whom nodded. The four rose and made their way
to the studio, where December ducked into the changing room and
emerged in a tank top and shorts.

.

“You can’t all be in here,” said a nurse, to
the four gathered around Emma Mathilde’s bed. December, Lori and Ed
looked to Larry, who had not broken his concentration on the tubes,
needles, bandages and medical devices in and on his
grandmother.

“I want to see her doctor,” said Larry.

“Are you all… family?” asked the nurse.

Olive skin, white skin, dark skin; all said
yes.

The nurse shook her head.

“Look,” said Larry, “I’ll buy a new wing for
the hospital, but please just get the doctor.”

The nurse walked out of the room.

Lori sat in one of the chairs near the bed.
“Damn, my foot is killing me.”

“Oh my God! Baby! You’re bleeding
everywhere!” said December, pointing to the floor. One of Lori’s
white high-tops was soaked through with blood, which had then
formed drops that pooled on the floor.

“Oh my God,” said Ed, quickly stepping out
of the room.

“Oh, fuck,” said Lori, pulling her foot up
to her upper thigh. She quickly untied her shoe and loosened the
laces, pulling off the shoe and then her sock. Each was dripping
with blood. As Lori used her fingers to probe and open the source
of the blood, the glinting tip of a piece of green glass protruded
from a jagged rip on her heel.

“Nurse!” yelled December. “Somebody!”

The nurse returned.

“My baby’s hurt!” yelled December. “She’s
bleeding!”

The nurse leaned towards Lori’s foot, looked
without touching, reached to the counter into a jar of gauze pads,
handed a stack to Lori, urged her to apply direct pressure and said
she would return.

“Look,” said Larry, to the nurse, “I’ll pay
out of pocket today for both my grandma and my friend, but please
get someone who can help her now.”

The nurse exited.

December, on her knees, gently rubbed Lori’s
calves and leaned forward to kiss Lori’s knee. “You’ll be okay,
Soldier Girl.”

“Larry, Dee, look up there for tweezers or
something,” said Lori, holding a half-inch pad of gauze with her
bare hand to her foot. Larry rifled through several drawers before
producing a pair of long-stemmed scissor-like grips with a narrow,
tweezer-like tip. “Bullseye, Bix,” said Lori, grabbing the tool.
December brought the jar with gauze pads and pulled out a handful.
Lori leaned forward and instructed December to support her foot
with both hands, with gauze ready to catch falling blood. Lori used
her fingers on one hand to open the ripped skin and the tip of
glinting glass rose slowly from the crevice. Lori opened the
tweezer tip of the tool and clamped down gently. “Got’cha, sucker,”
she said, pulling until a jagged shard of green glass about the
size of a dime came out. December applied the gauze directly to the
wound and Lori held the gauze over the wound.

“Aw, baby, yer so brave,” said December,
again on her knees, kissing Lori’s knees.

“Larry, is there some sort of wipe and
anything like alcohol up there?”

As Larry sifted through the open drawer, the
nurse and a doctor, in a white coat, entered. “Excuse me,” said the
woman in the white coat, “this isn’t self-service.”

Lori, still holding the clamp in her hand,
lifted the tool, offering it to the woman, who took it and examined
the shard dripping with blood. December, still on her knees, with
Lori’s leg pressing into her chest, pointed to the bloody foot.

The doctor leaned forward, pulled away
Lori’s hand, with the already-soaked gauze, and looked at the
broken skin. She reached to a box of latex gloves affixed to the
wall, slid on first one and then a second glove, and probed the
heel, drawing a grimace from Lori when she spread the ripped skin
so she could shine a pen-sized flashlight into the wound. “Good
extraction. No evidence of any remaining foreign object. Have you
been admitted here? Or did this just happen?”

“Earlier today...,” said Larry. “She stepped
on broken glass in a boat. But like I told the nurse, I’ll pay cash
today for her and my grandma.”

The doctor turned to the nurse. “Admit her
and x-ray the foot, after cleaning the wound.” The nurse stepped
out. “You should be fine, miss. You’ll probably just be off that
foot for a couple of weeks.” The nurse returned with a wheelchair,
indicating with hand signals for Lori to take a seat. “Does she not
speak English, too?”

“I speak English,” said Lori.

“Oh, the resemblance was so close and this
patient hasn’t said a word that anyone on staff could make
out.”

Lori climbed into the wheelchair and
December took up position behind, ready to push. The nurse led the
two out of Emma Mathilde’s room, leaving Larry alone with the
doctor and his grandmother.

“You don’t have to promise to build a new
wing to our hospital just to get care here,” said the doctor.
“Things may not work all that well healthcare-wise here in America,
but we haven’t quite reached that point.”

“We’re all Americans,” said Larry. “My
grandmother, me, my friend….”

“Oh,” said the doctor. “I thought you were
visitors. I’m Dr. Bosch. Your grandmother should be fine… when…
when this all clears up.”

“When what clears up?”

“Disorientation, more then anything,” said
the doctor. “She should be fine. She’ll be out today, but when we
bring her back around tonight or tomorrow….”

“Bring her around? What has she got?”

“When her son brought her in a few hours
ago, she was unable to walk, vomiting, displaying signs of what
appears to be vertigo. We are not able to find anything physically
wrong. And vertigo is a virus, so that could prove to be the
cause.” The doctor closed the drawer that Larry had been rifling
through and straightened the items on the counter. “In a couple of
hours, we will perform a CAT-scan to see if your grandmother
suffered a head injury…. So we can rule out what it is not.”

“W’ull,” said Larry, reaching for the chair
Lori had been sitting in, “she has insurance, but I also have a lot
of money, so whatever she needs, okay? Do I have to like sign
papers?”

“The man who brought her in, is he… your
father?”

“My dad? Looks like a pig? Yeh, he’s who
brought her in.”

“Your father signed admission papers for his
mother, so everything is fine.”

.

“Sorry about that, man,” said Ed, as Larry
walked into the ER waiting room. “I don’t do blood.” Ed offered
Larry his opened bag of Skittles. “Taste the rainbow?”

“Naw, it’s okay, thanks,” said Larry,
slumping in a bucket-shaped chair near Ed’s. In the distance, near
the entry to the ER, two teenagers held a third teen by the arms,
walking in short, wobbly steps.

“So yer grandma’s admitted and Lori’s in,”
said Ed. “You wanna hang here or blow this joint?”

“What’ta’ya mean, blow this joint?” said
Larry.

“We could hit someplace, ya’know, instead of
staying in a hospital, with sick people and blood.” Ed poured the
remaining candies into his mouth, releasing the wrapper, letting it
float to the floor.

Larry looked at Ed and then to the wrapper.
Ed leaned back in his chair and looked towards the TV, which showed
CNN Headline News, with Barack Obama soundlessly addressing a crowd
and then showing the smiling, young president shaking hands with a
grizzled man and a woman, each in an orange reflector vest and
hardhat.

“Pick that up.”

Ed looked casually to Larry. “What?”

“The wrapper,” said Larry, pointing to the
red bag on the floor.

“Oh… man,” said Ed. “Be real.”

“Pick it up,” said Larry, his voice
hardening. “Don’t... litter.”

Ed laughed. “Funny, man.”

“I’m serious. You’re not gonna work for me
if you’re a… a…
litterbug.”

Ed, doing an exaggerated double-take,
demonstrably leaned forward, picked up the wrapper, and placed it
on the table that separated his seat from Larry’s. “Dude,” said Ed,
“priorities.”

“Throw it away,” said Larry, pointing to the
trash can.

Ed stood and walked to a trash can near the
entry, and dropped the wrapper in. He returned to the seat next to
Larry. “So, c’mon, dude, let’s blow this joint.”

“We don’t have a car, and I’m not leaving my
grandmother and Lori here.”

“Dude,” said Ed, “you could order a frickin’
limo and we could be at a titty bar in ten minutes.”

“Hi,” said Lori, from a wheelchair, as
December pushed her into the ER waiting room. The two men watched
December and Lori approach, one in a tank top clinging to her
enormous breasts and the other toned and tanned like a goddess, in
a short tee.

“Of course,” said Ed, watching the pair, “we
don’t
have
to go.”

“You okay?” asked Larry.

“Foot’s okay,” said Lori, “but doctor says
ocean swims won’t work until the wound completely seals. Too much
bacteria.” Lori had one hand on December’s, resting on her
shoulder.

“What about your training?” said Larry.

“I’ve been going to meets for almost three
years,” said Lori, as December’s hands moved from shoulders onto
Lori’s arms and upper chest. “It’s all points and formula and
shit…. Pat’s tracking all that Olympics stuff.”

“Olympics, as in,
the
Olympics?” said
Ed.

“Maybe.”

“Who’s Pat?”

“Mrs. Pat’s Champs,” corrected Larry.

“Pat won back-to-back gold in Fifty-Two and
Fifty-Six; Women’s Diving,” said Lori. “She knows the whole head
thing. That’s where you win or lose it. But ocean swims are my
strength swims and I can’t get what I need in a public pool. I’d
need to be in a training center with this foot; someone watching
it.”

“A training center…,” said Larry, slowly
repeating Lori’s words.

“Doc says it shouldn’t keep me from
re-upping, if I go that direction, so, whatever. Long-term,
short-term; it’s all good.”

“My baby’s so brave,” said December, leaning
forward to kiss Lori’s cheek.

“Tongue kiss ‘er,” yelled one of the
teens.

.

“Bix,” said Lori, from the door of Emma
Mathilde’s room, causing Larry to stir from his sleep. He sat up in
the chair. “December drove me to your place to get clothes and some
basics.” Lori entered, looking over her shoulder back to the door.
“And these two... insisted....”

“Hal-lowww,” said Tres von Sommerberg, from
the doorway. He entered the room and a split second later, Lena,
camera on her shoulder, followed. “I’m really sorry to
hear....”

“Really sorry,’ said Lena, keeping the
camera on Tres, Larry and the unconscious Emma.

Dr. Bosch entered, looking at the film crew
before she sat next to Larry. “More… family?”

“Idiot cousin,” said Larry.

“Would you like privacy for our
conversation?” asked the doctor.

“It’s okay,” said Larry. “They’re fine.”

“Okay,’ said Dr. Bosch, looking at the
camera just a couple feet from her. “The tests on the brain show no
physical abnormalities. Blood work shows nothing unusual. Based on
your account of her recent history, there isn’t anything that would
lead us to suspect any chronic condition. Actually, she is in
remarkable shape for a woman who is almost 90. If you’re going to
stay with her, that will be very helpful… no one was able to
connect with her… the language barrier seems to have stranded her
on an island…. She’s alone among many.”

“Danish,” said Larry.

“What’s that?” said the doctor, absently. “I
don’t know that we have anyone on staff....”