"Aren't you going to answer?" Jeanna inquired politely after the fourth ring.
"I thought I'd fix us some toast. With butter?" Marian ignored both the telephone and Jeanna's question.
"How can you stand it? When my phone rings I can't bear not to answer!"
"It's too early for anything important."
Since dawn there had been at least two calls each hour.
Jeanna tried to ignore the ringing. "These homes — they're very convenient, highly recommended," she showed Marian a list, "I talked to people who have parents staying there!"
"I've got the maid's room ready for Mamma, Jeanna."
"Marian, just take a look at the Highland Nursing Home."
Both women were talking loudly, pretending to ignore the phone, but they were both eyeing it as if it were a creature about to spring off the table and attack.
"Oh damn, damn, I can't stand it anymore!" The ringing had become a torture.
"Marian, it's just a phone! Do you want me to answer?"
"No. I'm going to answer it. I'm supposed to be strong, wise and brave, all those stupid things, even if I'm having a nervous breakdown," she was trying to make a joke of it as she picked up the receiver, but her hands and voice were trembling as she managed to say, "Hello?"
"Mrs. Cooper. Mrs. Marian Cooper, please?"
"This is Mrs. Cooper speaking." Marian could feel her heart pounding.
"This is St. Ann's Hospital calling, Mrs. Miller of the Social Services Staff is calling you, Mrs. Cooper, if you'll hold on please."
..
.Who? What? Why? Is it Mamma? Or Ralph? Could it be Aunt Paula or Uncle Milty, or any of the cousins, nieces...?
Mrs. Miller came on the line.
She explained in social workers jargon, that a woman had been brought into the hospital emergency room early that morning. The hospital had not yet been able to make an identification.
A check cashing I.D. for 'L. D-o-r-t-s-z-y-n-s-k-i' had been found. Also an American Express Card for the Foundation Research Exchange. With the help of police, phone company, finally the janitor of the building where the Foundation had its offices, the hospital had managed to get the home number of Mrs. Cooper. The signature on the credit card was for an "E. O-r-t-e-g-a". Mrs. Miller wanted to know if either name seemed familiar.
Marian managed to ask, "Is she — what happened?"
Mrs. Miller said that the woman in the emergency ward appeared to have been severely beaten about the face and head. She was unconscious. There was some question as to whether or not the clothing and other personal items found with the woman were in fact her own personal possessions.
Mrs. Miller wanted to know if Mrs. Cooper would be able to come to St. Ann's Hospital at her earliest convenience, to help the Police and the Hospital make a identification."
Marian said she would be there.
"Marian, you look like it's something terrible. Let me help you — is there anything I can do?"
"Jeanna, it's some woman in emergency. She may have stolen the identification of one of my employees, or it could be... Mrs. Miller couldn't tell me anything except that the woman's unconscious and she's badly injured."
"Can't you call your employee at home and see if she's there?"
"Me? Phone Elena Ortega?"
Letters from the shoe box...the vision of the woman in the hospital bed...the feeling when Ernie had shoved her onto her bed... Marian put her head down on the table for a moment, but the terror and confusion of thoughts was too much.
She sat up and took a deep breath. She started talking.
She started with the day she'd come home from California three days ahead of schedule. She told her neighbor the story in chronological order, censoring nothing, letting it all come out — including the phone calls, the shoe box of love letters and Eddie/Ernie's sucking on her ring, smoothing her Kimono, not raping her, exiting with her ring.
The habit of a life time was broken. Her father's credo and Mother's doctrine were disobeyed. The rigid code of behavior that Marian always maintained as a leader and commander-in-chief was ignored. She could begin to look around and see the sun again and how it was with the rest of the world.
++++++++++
Chapter 41
St.
Ann's
Emergency
was a dismal, crowded, waiting area of benches and folding chairs. In a corner a clerk at a typewriter was filling out forms.
Marian tried to interrupt, "Excuse me, could you tell me — " but the clerk cut her off and said, "Ask the Guard."
The Guard pointed to the second guard. The second guard was concentrating on a racing form as he suggested, "Have a seat Miss, when Mrs. Miller gets back from lunch she can tell you where you have to go."
She sat in a folding chair and rubbed her hands — the feeling of sticky saliva wouldn't go away. And then it hit her — the exquisite, extravagant love-token that Ferris had given her so everyone would know she was his pride and prize — it was gone.
There was a lump in her throat. Her eyes were stinging but the tears wouldn't come.
So many dramas were unfolding all around in every area of the waiting hall. It could hardly be called a room. It was an intersection for screaming children, pregnant women, men with bleeding noses, arms in makeshift slings, people hobbling, staggering, leaning on relatives. They were the main traffic plus wheelchairs and carts with persons under sheets who were attached to rolling chromium trees from which hung intravenous fluids. Occasionally a nurse or intern with white coat flying would scurry by, disappear through one of the partially closed white curtains revealing startling, horrifying glimpses of vomiting, urinating, bleeding, coughing, moaning, gasping, people in agony.
Her visions of letters, her throbbing wrists, her sore finger seemed as insignificant as a sprain, a fever, a burn from a hot stove.
"Mrs. Cooper?" A crisp, not young lady in a crisp pink dress stood over her. "I'm Mrs. Miller, I thought you had to be Mrs. Marian Cooper. Would you come with me please?"
Marian followed. They went through a series of hallways, green curtains, white curtains exposing more unpleasant views of private things, passed guards at a sign-in desk who waved them on into an elevator marked "Authorized Personnel Only," which let them out into a corridor at the end of which was a wire screened gate-door and another guard. After Mrs. Miller had identified herself and signed in, they were allowed to proceed through what looked like a jail gate into one more long hallway of billowing curtains and disturbing glimpses of hospital routine.
"Security is excellent here in our Psychiatric Section, I wish I could say the same for other sections of this hospital," said Mrs. Miller. "Dr. MacGregor's a real stickler. As soon as he's finished with Grand Rounds, I'll take you in, maybe you can identify the patient."
A door opened. A group of Doctors came out. They were clustered around a short Doctor with a beard who was explaining something with a lot of gestures. Mrs. Miller whispered a few words in his ear and he looked over at Marian saying loudly, "I don't care who she is. Don't let her stay more than a minute or two!"
Suddenly, Marian was very tense about who and what she was about to see inside the hospital room.
A Nurse was leaning over the one bed in the corner. Around the bed important looking machines were monitoring the body functions. There was a chorus of bleeps and buzzes. On the two T.V. screens there were patterns of mountain-peaks, dots and dashes.
The Nurse motioned to Marian to stay back. "She's asleep right now," the Nurse whispered. "They found her in an alley. Is she a relative, your sister or a friend?"
"I don't have a sister," Marian came over to the bed reluctantly. It was as if she were being forced to identify the woman Eddie/Ernie had brutalized.
The figure on the bed could have been boy, girl, man or woman. It was hard to connect the body on the bed with the image Marian had of crackling sparkling Elena. The hands were lifeless. The skin was white, bloodless looking, with veins bluish and distended. Except for the two fingers which were splinted on the hand that was bandaged, all the other fingers were curled in as if belonging to an unborn child. The fingernails were transparent grey, like fragile parchment.
"I don't think this is..." Marian stopped. "My friend" was what she was about to say, but she couldn't say it.
"Yes?" The Nurse was waiting.
"The person I'm supposed be identifying always wears nail polish."
"Poor lady's been in surgery since early morning. They would have removed any polish. Did your friend have any other identifying marks on her body?"
The question was very disturbing.
"Would you like to see her clothing?" The Nurse was at the locker, opening it, taking out a plastic bag. "She sure was a wreck when they brought her in, only partially clothed but these articles were nearby so the police brought them along."
The Nurse dumped out things that were in the plastic bag. The smell of sour vomit and human excrement was shocking. There were panties, brassiere, and a rumpled sweater, a devastated skirt. They were stained and spotted, reddish in color. They might have been one of Elena's knit suits, but Marian couldn't bring herself to inspect them more closely.
The woman on the bed stirred, faintly moaning.
"Excuse me." The nurse put a hand on the forehead of the patient. "Are you in pain honey?"
There was another moan.
"I better move her back on her side. She has a bad gash on the back of her head where someone hit her, I think it's hurting her." The Nurse began to pull off the sheet. "Would you mind handing me that pillow?" The Nurse rolled the body over onto its side. The hospital gown was split down the back, the naked buttocks of the woman were rudely exposed. "Shove the pillow against her backside," the Nurse ordered while continuing to support the torso.
Marian placed the pillow where the Nurse indicated. The Nurse pushed and patted so that pillow became a log, bracing the woman's back.
Looking down on the body at close range, Marian could see the stitches that the Doctors had made to sew up an ugly gash on the woman's lip. The head, in its white bandage looked bald and strangely chic. It was if the woman were wearing a cloche hat, the way the adhesive was taped around the ears.
That was when Marian noticed the tiny gold cross, a pierced earring that she recognized immediately.
"Oh no!" Marian gasped. "Oh God!" It was no longer an anonymous body on a bed.
Crisp Mrs. Miller came into the room, with a clip-board. "Have you been able to make an identification, Mrs. Cooper?"
Marian nodded.
"Well, that's fortunate. Doctor Mac wants to keep her in this unit for at least another week, and then, since she's not a 'Jane Doe' we'll be able to move her into the Psychiatric Pavilion.
"Psychiatric? But why?"
"It's standard procedure. Mrs. Cooper, there were a lot of pills in the purse that the police found. She may have been mugged or raped, but she was on something when they found her. There are going to be a lot of questions about this patient before she can be released." Mrs. Miller indicated her folder. "I was hoping you'd be able to help us." She waited, when Marian didn't speak, continued. "Doctor Mac will be grateful for any assistance you can give, Mrs. Cooper."
"Who is this Doctor Mac?"
"Dr. MacGregor — he's the Chief in charge of the Psychiatric Unit — I can assure you, your friend is in very good hands."
"Dr. Mac got a plastic surgeon in right away, to work on those facial injuries," the Nurse said. "The head injury wasn't severe — Mac feels she'll pull through."
"
If
she wants to get well," Mrs. Miller added.
"She's a survivor," Marian said, thinking how often she'd remarked that Elena was a cat with nineteen lives.
"You can talk to Dr. MacGregor later, if you wish, Mrs. Cooper. Could you give me the correct spelling of your friend's name?"
"She's an
employee
."
"Yes, you told me," Mrs. Miller smiled crisply. "Full name please?" Marian spelled out O-r-t-e-g-a. "And the other name — 'L. Dortszynski'?"
Marian shrugged.
"Perhaps it's her husband's name?"
Marian shrugged again.
Mrs. Miller made a check mark on the form she was filling out. "Age?"
"Thirty three."
"Address?"
"I don't know, I told you she's an employee." Marian snapped. "I'm sure the Personnel Department at my office will be able to give you the address."
"Can you give us the name of any next of kin? Any relatives that we might contact?"
"No," Marian said quickly. She couldn't name any relatives; she didn't even know the last name of Dr. Alex, whom Elena had been quoting daily for five years.
"No one we can contact?" Mrs. Miller persisted. "You can't think of anyone? Mrs. Cooper, it's going to be very difficult for Miss Ortega if we turn these questions over to the police to investigate."