A Star is Born (19 page)

“I don’t know.”

That was the extent of our conversation.

At the airport, Bill used the valet option to park our car, getting us inside the airport as quickly as possible. When VIPs traveled through LAX, they had arrangements made so they could enter the airport through a private entrance, go through security in a different location, and wait away from the masses of humanity upstairs in the main terminal. This was one time when I was pleased with a benefit of Bill’s fame.

When it was time for our flight to board, we were escorted upstairs and onto our plane, taking our two first-class seats after stowing our two small bags. While others wrestled things approaching the size of steamer trunks onto planes, Bill and I both traveled like we lived—very simply.

Before the cabin door was closed, Bill made several additional phone calls. I was aware of him talking to someone, but I couldn’t tell who or what they were talking about. Usually I would have listened out of curiosity, but not today. Today I wasn’t able to think about anything outside of the grief that was flooding my brain.

Bill was, of course, recognized by any number of people as they came on board the plane, but for once he utterly ignored all of them and focused entirely on me. Anyone with half a brain could see that something heavy was happening and that I was in grief, and would leave us alone. Most people did; those who didn’t we simply ignored.

We flew to Chicago, where we changed planes. After an interminable hour-long wait in a crowded O’Hare Airport—really, was there ever a time when this airport wasn’t busy?—we boarded our next flight and flew on to an airport an hour and a half north of where we needed to be. In an attempt to remain somewhat unrecognizable, Bill donned his usual baseball cap and sunglasses. To some degree, it worked, especially because we waited in one of the airline clubs—I don’t know how he got us in there, but somehow Bill did. Flights into a closer airport wouldn’t have gotten us in until four hours later, so Bill had decided on this airport to at least get us closer. Even though it was a drive, it kept us moving.

From there we got a rental car and drove south. We didn’t have a car reserved, but with people immediately recognizing Bill, we had no problem. We used Bill’s celebrity status to help us get into a car and on our way. Bill drove, quickly, but within a safety margin that kept us from getting a ticket.

At the hospital—a hospital I recognized and knew from visiting people there years earlier—Bill grabbed a parking space and walked inside with me. A quick question at the information desk gave us a direction once inside the building.

The ICU was on the third floor and had very limited visiting hours. I didn’t care about visiting hours. I had just flown all the way across the country and was going to see my mother. We stopped at the waiting room, where we found my dad. Immediately upon seeing him, I wrapped my arms around him and we both cried some more. Bill gave us a moment of shared grief.

What Happened?

A
FTER
I’d had a moment with my dad, who looked like day old warmed over dog crap, he asked a simple question. “Do you want to see your mother?”

I couldn’t speak but simply nodded, fresh tears finding their way out. I thought I was all cried out.

“Before we go in,” Bill interrupted, “please tell us what happened? How was she injured? What’s wrong?”

My dad nodded. “She was shot. Several times. At close range. There’s a lot of damage. I can’t give you all the specifics—I’m not a doctor. When one of them comes by, I’ll grab him or her and ask them to run through the whole litany with you. She was in surgery for ten hours while they tried to repair the damage. One of the bullets hit an artery near the heart. Another one went into her stomach area and did a whole bunch of damage. Another one—”

Bill interrupted again, “Okay. We’ve got the picture. Do we know who did this?”

Much to our surprise, my dad laughed. “Yeah. They do. They already arrested the guy.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The husband of one of her rescues. He came back for revenge, and your mom was his sole target. He confessed to the whole thing. He’s proud of what he did. He thinks he got justice. He doesn’t understand that what happened was his own doing and that your mother wasn’t to blame.”

“Where did it happen?” Bill asked.

“Fortunately, here in the city. She was here to do a little shopping at the big grocery store near the mall. He’d apparently been trailing her for a couple of days, looking for the perfect moment to strike. When she came out of the store, he stepped out from between two cars in front of her, pointed his gun at her, and started firing. Thank God someone jumped him and wrestled him to the ground before he could fire again.

“Since that store is so close to the hospital, she was here quickly and had some great care from the instant she was rolled into the ER downstairs. Enough. More talk later. Let’s get you in there.” He stopped again and said, “And I don’t know if this is true or not, but for years I’ve heard that people in a coma can hear, so I’ve been talking to her, telling her I love her, that I want her to get better. Please talk to her, both of you. Tell her whatever, but talk to her—for me.”

“Of course,” Bill said.

We left the small waiting room, entered the Intensive Care Unit—which brought back a whole bunch of memories of when Bill was a patient in one of these—and walked along a row of rooms. Each room had glass walls so that someone in the central work area could see and hear everything.

Someone immediately stood and said, “I’m sorry. Visiting hours don’t start until 4:00 p.m.” She stopped speaking when she saw Bill. He walked up to her and said something which seemed to be agreeable—she nodded. Bill urged us onward, telling us it was okay.

When I stepped inside the room, I was shocked. You tell yourself that you’re ready to see whatever awaits you. You tell yourself that you’re tough and that you can handle it. And then you step inside the room and you come inches away from utterly falling apart. That’s what I did. I held it together, somehow, but the shock of seeing my usually bubbly, vibrant, energetic mother lying in a bed, hooked up to tubes and wires, was overwhelming. On top of that, there was the constant hospital background noise and the beeping of machines.

My father walked over to his wife’s side and took her hand, talking with her. “Babe, guess who’s here? I’ve got a surprise visitor for you.” He motioned me to step over. What I really wanted to do was to turn and run in the opposite direction. This wasn’t my mother. No. It couldn’t be. My mother wasn’t any of the things I saw lying on the bed in front of me.

But Bill placed his hands on my shoulders and gently squeezed, telling me that he was there, that I wasn’t going to have to go through this experience by myself. He said all of that without opening his mouth or saying a single word.

With the added energy and resolve that Bill loaned to me, I stepped forward to the other side of my mother’s bed and picked up her other hand. I started to stroke it, but stopped when I noticed that there were blood stains still on her hand. I nearly lost it all over again, but with Bill’s help, I pulled it together yet again and leaned over, kissing her forehead.

“Hi, Mom. It’s Mark.” I wanted to say more, but I was at an absolute loss for words. I was speechless. What were you supposed to say to a woman as she lay dying in front of you? I didn’t have a clue, so I just stood there like an idiot.

Bill leaned forward, kissed her forehead as I had done, and said, “Hey, Mrs. M. It’s Bill. Are you gonna be getting up soon? I hope so. I could really use your help with something. I need you. Mark needs you. Mr. M. needs you. We all need you. We all love you. You fight and come back to us. Do you hear me? There were times in the past where you’ve held my feet to the fire. Well, guess what? The tables are turned; now I get to hold your feet to the fire. Get your lazy butt up out of that bed. Do you know what time of day it is? There’s work to do, people to see, people to save. You better get well quick, because we all need you.” He leaned over once again and kissed her forehead, whispering, “I love you,” into her ear. Then he stepped back and left the room to wait just outside.

When I stepped out of the room a moment later I found him with his back to the wall and tears in his eyes. We hugged each other briefly and then followed my dad to the nurses’ station in the middle of the large, brightly lit area. Spotting a doctor he knew, he asked if she had a moment. After introducing us, he asked if she could give me a quick update on my mom’s condition.

“Nice to meet you, Mark, Bill. I wish it was under better circumstances. I won’t sugarcoat it for you. Your mother is in very serious condition. The bullets did major damage. Is it possible that she can heal and recover? Yes. Is it a sure thing that she will recover and walk out of here? No. I’m sorry, but she’s a very sick woman at the moment. As much as it pains me, this could go either way, and neither would really surprise me.”

“What kind of time frame are we talking about?” Bill asked, stepping into the conversation. I could tell from the expression on her face that she recognized Bill, but she maintained her professional composure and answered his question. “Minutes? Hours? Days?”

“That’s a very hard question to answer. I would say that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical. If we can get through that with her still alive, I’ll feel a little more optimistic.”

“Is there anything you need that you don’t have here? Any equipment? Any additional help? Any consultations? I don’t care about the cost. Money is no object. If you need it, tell me, and we’ll get whatever you need.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I can’t think of anything we need that we don’t already have. This is a great hospital, and we have top-notch people on staff. If I knew of something or someone, have no fear, I would tell you about them or it. But at the moment I don’t know what I could say.” She added one more thing. “Come and go as you need to. Don’t worry about visiting hours. As long as you don’t get in the way of us doing our job, please sit with her, talk with her, do whatever you need to do. If something happens and we tell you to move, then do so.”

We thanked her for the information and adjourned to the small waiting room just outside the ICU. Since visiting hours were about to start, the room that had been empty and quiet was now filling up with people. There were no longer even three chairs together for us to sit in, so we ended up standing in the hallway.

One fortunate thing, if there is such a thing as something “fortunate” in such a circumstance—everyone who was there had someone important to them in the ICU, which meant that, while people recognized Bill, he wasn’t high enough on the emotional totem pole to register.

“When was the last time you got out of here, Mr. M.?” he asked my dad.

“I don’t even know what day of the week it is,” he answered honestly.

“Let’s all go to the cafeteria, get some food, and talk about what we have to do.”

We both agreed by not disagreeing with his proposal. Five minutes later, following directions and signs, we ended up in the hospital cafeteria. Both Bill and I were hungry, since we were suffering the usual trauma of time change. Our bodies hadn’t decided yet what time they were on, so they opted to feel hungry. Even my dad ate something, which surprised me.

After we’d all eaten something, Bill said, “Mr. M. You look exhausted. You should go home and get some sleep. I’ll stay here with her tonight.”

“No. There’s a motel right across the street. I’m not going home, but with you guys here I will go over there, get a room, and get some sleep. I am exhausted. I can’t argue that point. But I want to stay close.”

“Good,” Bill said. When we were finished, we all walked across the street, where Bill got two rooms, one for my dad and one for us, paying for both. We checked out the rooms and got my dad settled into one. He insisted on walking back to the hospital to check on Mom for a minute before going back to his room to sleep.

Unexpected Visitors