A Small Matter (9 page)

“Here’s the name and number of my wedding
coordinator,” Vickie said, handing Lerner a card.

“Aren’t we rushing things a bit?” Mulroney
said.

“I mean it,” Vickie said. “We can condense
everything. Mulroney, you need to call your priest and have him
meet us here at midnight.”

“Are you sure this is wise?” Mulroney
said.

“What’s wisdom got to do with this? I’ve made
up my mind,” she said. “I love you, Mulroney. I want to be your
wife. I want the pleasure and happiness it will bring. Because
we’re in no position to march down some church aisle doesn’t mean
the timing isn’t right. Doctor Lerner, I swear on my life right
now, by the time you wheel Mulroney into that operating room
tomorrow, he’s going to be married.”

The doctor twiddled with her pen, first
looking at him, then at her. “We don’t want to put too big a strain
on Mulroney--perhaps you’d better hold off on the wedding until
after he recovers.”

“He’s got a tough afternoon ahead,” Lerner
said. “He’s going to be exhausted by midnight.”

“I’ll be okay,” Mulroney said. “Don’t get us
wrong, Doc. We’re working a little bit outside the box, is
all.”

“I have my reservations,” the cardiologist
said. “But I’ll have my head of housekeeping work things out with
your wedding coordinator. If you two want to act like a couple of
moonstruck fools, well, I think that’s great. But
remember--Mulroney can’t eat or drink anything after. And it goes
without saying all the other traditional marriage rituals will have
to wait until he’s recovered from his surgery--do I have to spell
that out?”

“Thank you for understanding, Doctor Lerner,”
Vickie said. “And after all, is it so strange? Just because we’re
at the age where we’re no longer ruled by torrential hormones, we
still have love and passion.”

There was nothing more to say about it, and
nobody had much enthusiasm to keep it going. It was no time for
small talk.

“I’ll be going,” Vickie said. “I’ve got a lot
to do before midnight.”

“You’ll be okay?” Mulroney said.

“Of course I will, you big fool,” she said.
“Walk me to the elevator.”

At the elevator bay, he said, “Are we doing
the right thing?”

“What,” she said, “you want to spend the last
few hours before your surgery analyzing this? Listen to me. Sooner
is better than later.”

“This wasn’t the way I planned to do this,”
he said, “but here.” He handed her a small black velvet box. She
flipped open the hinged lid and was greeted by the eye-popping
rainbow sparkle of a hefty diamond solitaire, easily better than
three carats, it’s depths swept in a storm of blue fire, putting
the thing into the category of the very finest available anywhere,
at any time.

“It’s not the Crown Jewels or anything,” he
said.

“Shut up and put it on my finger,” she said.
He slipped it on her and she felt the power of the rainbow flashes
inside the stone carrying his love deeper and deeper into her
heart. “I have no words,” she said.

“I also thought you might like these,” he
said. Another box, like the first, but bigger. She gasped. A pair
of tiny golden peacock earrings, encrusted with diamonds and
rubies, their flashing tails curving downward. The birds seemed to
move as she turned the box , her eyes captured by the arresting
display of scintillating rays.

“How did you know?” she said.

He stared at her without understanding.

“How did you know to match the peacocks on my
bridal gown?”

Still no understanding in his eyes, the
beginnings of puzzlement forming around his mouth. He knew nothing
of the peacocks on her dress. His choice had been entirely
arbitrary.

“It’s fate,” she said.

“I better get going,” he said.

“Wait,” she said. She entered his arms and
they gave themselves to a kiss, a brief one, as though marking the
spot where they’d return later to complete the job. “I love you,”
she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I better get going,” he said. “Before Lerner
decides to re-classify me as a training dummy for her students.” He
turned and slowly tread down the hall towards his date with the
team of technicians who were planning, in the morning, to stop his
heart in order to rebuild it. She watched him until he rounded the
corner.

“It’s fate, my love,” she said. “it’s
fate.”

Chapter 13

In the elevator, now alone, descending slowly
to the lobby, Vickie began to cry, the tears rolling down her face.
The doors parted and she stepped out into the main lobby and stood
there beside the elevator without going anywhere, oblivious to the
people around her. In the shadow of Mulroney’s life-threatening
operation, she saw her desire to cling to him for what it
was--dreams and smoke. In spite of this, she felt the fierceness of
her desire to join her soul with Mulroney’s at the altar.

“Are you all right?”

She blinked. The voice belonged to a young
girl who was waiting for the elevator.

“I noticed you were crying,” she said. “I
wondered if you were all right.” The girl was holding a bouquet of
flowers. She was dressed in hospital pastels and was maybe
nineteen.

“Is anybody all right in this place?” Vickie
said. “I left my fiancé up there--I guess you could say that all
the love, protection and loyalty in my life vanished with the push
of an elevator button. I’m afraid he won’t live through his
operation tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” the girl said. “And don’t give
up on life too easily--it’s the persistent soul who finds
healing.”

“You’re very wise for one so young,” Vickie
said.

“You look like you could use these,” the girl
said, handing her the flowers. The elevator opened and the girl
stepped in. The doors glided shut and the girl was gone. A random
act of kindness.

While examining the flowers--center-most of
which was a brilliant golden Dahlia--Vickie took stock of herself.
She wasn’t hungry, but she’d eaten almost nothing the entire day.
She made her way to the cafeteria, where a server tong’d a few
pieces of fried chicken onto her plate. The room was filling up as
the dinner hour approached, but she managed a table by herself next
to one where five doctors were chowing down without utensils or
shame on their chicken, the performance impressively
unselfconscious. She attempted to follow suit and soon found
herself completely nauseated by the chicken, the kind of nausea
which signaled the eater to a full stop. She steeled herself
against the disturbing wave, feeling the sweat begin to run down
the small of her back. The sights and sounds of food were all
around her, making the wave stronger and stronger. If she couldn’t
control it, she was going to heave right in the middle of the
cafeteria.

One of the doctors from the table beside hers
was staring at her, looking her over for what seemed like a long
time before he returned to his plate of chicken, mashed potatoes
and honey cakes.

Oh God, Vickie prayed, don’t let me throw up
on this table.

A wave of darkness passed across her eyes,
obliterating the room. When she tried to shake it off, flashes of
color exploded around the edges of her darkened vision. She fought
to maintain the rising panic and closed her eyes, feeling the
nausea subside against the backdrop of brightly colored spirals
vibrating around the corners of the darkness. A severe pain spread
across her forehead. From what seemed far away, she heard someone
speaking.

“Do you need help?” A voice above her head
and a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes. The doctor from
the table beside her searched her face. She caught the traces of
true compassion shining out from his eyes.

“I’ll be okay,” she said. “But thanks for
asking. It’s been awhile since I’ve eaten. I’ve been under a
strain. Please, finish your dinner. I’m sorry to have interrupted
you.”

“Not at all,” he said, his compassion never
wavering, his eyes boring into hers. The other doctors at his table
were staring as well.

He knows, Vickie thought. They all know. I’m
not fooling anybody here. They’ve all seen my type before. They
know where I’m headed.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he
said.

“I don’t work here, if that’s what you mean,”
she answered. “My fiancé’s in for a bypass.”

He nodded. His silence made her
uncomfortable, and she babbled foolishly on. “We’re getting married
tonight in the chapel before he goes in for his surgery.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

“Since you asked,” Vickie said, “the truth
is, I’ve had a bad episode of nausea, and now I’ve got lights
sparkling in my eyes and a huge throbbing in my forehead. What do
you think’s causing this?”

“Sounds like a migraine,” he said. “Probably
from stress. But it wouldn’t hurt to see somebody before you leave
here.”

“Thanks,” she said.

She felt comforted by the force of the
doctor’s compassion and understood the value of it. Compassion was
the substance which defined the essence of the hospital workers,
which drew them to this place to play the game of life and
death.

The pain in her head signaled for immediate
action. She shook out two more Mulroney Specials from her vial and
took them with a sip from her water glass.

On the far wall, her gaze was captured by a
Picaso print--The Three Musicians. The unreal three
figures--composed of hard-edged contours and flat planes of
color--seemed to be having a great time playing their instruments.
They were supreme in their ugliness--yet that ugliness didn’t stop
them from living their lives to the fullest.

The Specials kicked in and the migraine
vanished. She was glad for this and found herself enjoying the
sensation of being fully present once again in the light and noise
of the cafeteria. The doctors at the next table were rising to
leave. She caught the eye of the compassionate one.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded and
smiled.

She arose from her seat, picked up her
flowers and found her way to the main entrance where her limo
driver waited.

“Do you have anybody in your life?” she
said.

“Everybody’s got somebody,” he said.

Vickie handed him the bouquet. “These are for
that somebody,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I realized something,” she said. “I realized
that compassion is what holds everything together. That’s why I
gave you the flowers.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “Anyplace special you
want to go?”

“Simonson Mercedes,” she said. “And step on
it. I want to see the colors before the last of the light is
gone.”

“You got it,” he said. The driver wasn’t
phased. He was used to the foibles of people who traveled in
limousines, people who were in a hurry and wanted to see the colors
before it was too late.

Chapter 14

“You’ll never believe this,” Dalk said, “but
I just got a major career boost. The Department’s bringing me on
board permanently at the pay grade of Sergeant. I left
Personnel--they’re putting through the paperwork as we speak. I’m
actually going to be a cop--not the normal kind, that drives around
in a radio unit, but a cop nonetheless. Wait’ll you see my
badge--it’s the real thing, with the image of Parker Center and
everything. I’m going to keep it clipped on my belt from now on.
Now I can drive as fast as I want, like you.”

Vickie was putting in some quality phone time
with Dalk while her limo slowly worked its way through the nearly
impenetrable Wilshire Boulevard traffic. Why anybody called it rush
hour, she’d never know.

“I knew you had it in you,” Vickie said. “I
guess the Department shares my views. I hope you’ll let me buy you
a drink tonight at The Lamplighter.”

“I can’t wait to tell Mulroney,” he said.

She didn’t bother to fill him in on the
details of the past eight hours, nor mention that Mulroney’s fix
with the Department on Dalk’s behalf had apparently been handled
with incredible speed. That would be her little secret. “I’ve got a
lot of news for you, but I can’t talk now,” she said. “I called
because I need you to drop everything and meet me at Simonson
Mercedes--they’re on the corner of Wilshire and 17th.”

“I know the place,” he said. “I’ve drooled on
their sidewalk a few times. A little too steep for me, even with a
sergeant’s pay.”

“How fast can you meet me there?” she
said.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” he said.

Her next call caught Dee, her wedding
coordinator. “Don’t faint,” Vickie said. “But there’s been a change
of plans. The wedding’s at midnight tonight at the UCLA Medical
Center chapel. You’ll be getting a call from housekeeping to help
you set it up.”

“Okay,” Dee said. “I’m in shock, but I’m
still here. It’s 5 o’clock now, that gives me seven hours to pull
it off.”

“Can you do it?” Vickie said. In vain she
tried to imagine the problems inherent in a request to completely
plan a wedding in seven hours involving a dress which cost
two-hundred-twenty-five thousand dollars.

“I can do it,” Dee said. “I don’t know the
meaning of the word can’t--but we’ll have to improvise on a few
things. Listen to me carefully. I’m going to set up a trailer in
the parking lot of the Medical Center--the employee lot off Circle
Drive south. For this thing to work, I’ll need you there at 10 p.m.
sharp along with your best man and maid of honor.”

“Is this a crazy idea?” Vickie said.

“If you can define crazy, then you tell me,”
Dee said. “Crazy or not, get ready--you’re getting married.”

The limo pulled into Simonson Mercedes.
Vickie stepped out and was greeted by a young woman.

“I’m Kasha,” she said. “You must be Vickie.
Your accountant called--we’ve been expecting you.”

“I pictured myself working with an old German
guy,” Vickie said. “I’m pleasantly surprised to find a woman
working here.”