California Angel

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Raymond stood perfectly still, gazing lovingly at her face. "You're exactly the same. You haven't changed at all."

  Toy laughed. "Well, you're certainly not the same. You're about a foot taller and a lot more handsome."

  "That's because I'm mortal."

  "Believe me," Toy said, arching an eyebrow, "I'm mortal, too. So mortal, in fact, that I almost went to jail for the rest of my life. Pretty scary, huh?"

  Raymond shook his head. "Don't you know that you saved my life? You were my savior. I didn't know the outside world existed before you appeared to me that day."

  Toy was embarrassed. She reached over and took his hand, gently caressing it in her own. "I don't know what happened, Raymond, any more than I know what happened in Kansas. I guess as long as there were positive results, we shouldn't worry about the details."

  She led him over to a chair at the small table, and then took a seat herself. Raymond extended his hand and opened it. "Do you remember this ring?"

  "My ring," Toy exclaimed. "I can't believe you have it. I have yours, too, you know, but it's at my house in California."

  "Take it," he said, "it's yours."

  "No," Toy said, closing his fist around the ring, "I don't want it. I gave it to you. I don't give things to people and then take them back. Besides, you gave me something even more precious. You gave me your pumpkin ring. Do you remember?"

  "Yes," Raymond said, dropping his eyes, "but it was nothing more than a worthless trinket."

  Toy reached over the table and lifted his chin, looking him squarely in the eye. "It wasn't worthless to you, was it? You treasured that ring, didn't you?"

  Raymond chuckled, recalling how the plastic ring had been his most prized possession. His parents had never bought him toys, certain he would only break them. He'd found the ring in the bottom of a cereal box when he was eight years old, and had carried it with him everywhere he went. Five years he had clung to a piece of plastic. "It was orange," he said. "I've always liked orange."

  "Well," Toy said, "you were my savior in many ways. There was magic in that orange ring, Raymond. Every time I became depressed or troubled, I would put it on. Almost instantly, I felt better." Toy sighed deeply. "You have no idea how many times I put it on." Then another idea surfaced. "You know, you might run into someone one day who's having problems or confused about their life. If you do, give them the ring and tell them our story. Then what we experienced will pass on to the next person."

  "I have someone now," he said after a moment of silence had passed. "A woman. She's beautiful and good inside like you. She's not like the others."

  "Sarah?" Toy asked. "I met her at the hospital. That's wonderful, Raymond."

  "Yes," Raymond said. "I had to paint, you know."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Because the old paintings are fading away," he said, his voice so

  California Angel 191

  low it was almost inaudible, "and there are no new ones to take their place."

  Toy was lost, but she didn't question him. All she knew was there was something timeless about this man. He understood about questions with no answers. He might not know it, but Toy was certain he understood everything, probably far more than she did.

  Just then the jailer came and told them that the bus had arrived to take Toy back to the jail. Raymond darted to his feet, closed the distance between them, and crushed Toy in his arms. He inhaled the fresh scent of her hair, brought his hand up and softly outlined her face with his fingers. "Don't leave me," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "How do I know I'll ever see you again?"

  Toy pulled away and kissed him on the cheek. "You don't need me anymore, Raymond. You have your work and you have Sarah. What more could you ever want?"

  "We have to go now," the guard said impatiently.

  "Besides," Toy added quickly, "you have all those paintings of me. I saw the one in the courtroom. It was marvelous."

  "I won't have them for long," Raymond shrugged. "Everyone wants to buy them."

  "Hey," Toy said cheerfully, "just paint another one. Or, maybe it's time to paint someone else." Then she smiled at him and stepped through the door.

  Sandy Hawkings stuck her head in the door of the infirmary where Toy was being held while they processed her release. "Congratulations," she said, handing Toy a sack with her belongings in it.

  "Thanks," Toy said. "Isn't it great? I'm going to be free."

  "A newsman by the name of Jeff McDonald called," Hawkings told her. "He says they're sending a limo to pick you up once the papers are processed. Since you're getting out, they want to film the television show live from their station."

  "Okay," Toy said, wishing she had never agreed to go on television. "If that car isn't out there, though, I'm not waiting."

  The woman thought of the restless throngs of people lined up out front. They'd have to take her out the back or she'd be ripped to pieces. "They're sending the car right now. Oh, your father is here as well. He wants to tell you good-bye. I guess he's on his way back to Los Angeles. Should I send him in?"

  "Of course," Toy said. She looked around the room. Even though

  there were several beds, none of them were occupied. They could talk privately.

  When her father stepped into the room, Toy just stood there watching him. She was surprised when he walked straight up to her and collected her in his arms, for he had never been very affectionate. "I love you, Daddy," she mumbled into his chest.

  He pulled back and appeared self-conscious. "Toy . . . I . . . I've been thinking a lot since you got sick. I'm afraid I wasn't a very good father to you."

  "That's silly, Dad," Toy said sincerely. "You were a great father."

  "I could never give you that much. I never made enough money."

  Now Toy felt self-conscious. She had never seen her father this way, so sentimental. "You gave me everything I needed, Dad. Here," she said, "let's sit down."

  They sat face to face in two metal chairs, her father leaning down over his knees, patting his shirt pocket, wanting to take out a cigarette. Then his hands fell to his lap. He knew he couldn't smoke in a medical facility. "I remember when you were a little girl and you used to dress up in those costumes. You were some dancer. Prettiest little thing I ever saw."

  "Yeah," Toy said, fond memories swirling around in her mind. "Do you remember the time I fell off my makeshift trapeze and broke my arm? You know, right after you and Mom took me to the circus?"

  "How could I forget," he said. "I drove you to the hospital, remember? Your arm was bent over backward. I didn't think you'd ever be the same."

  "You were always driving me to the hospital, Dad. I was always breaking one bone or the other."

  He chuckled. Then he became serious again. "I know you and Stephen are breaking up," he said. "I just wanted you to know that I never cared for him. He always looked down on your mother and I. Treated us like we were white trash or something. Just because his father was a doctor don't mean he did a better job of bringing up his kid than I did."

  "You're absolutely right, Dad. Don't worry about Stephen, he looks down on everyone. You never told me you didn't like him, though. I thought you and Mother adored him."

  "You never asked."

  They both laughed.

  "Well," he said, pushing himself to a standing position, "guess I

  California Angel 193

  got to get or I'll miss my plane. Your mother is all excited about this television thing. Don't think I've ever seen the woman so worked up."

  Toy walked with him to the door, rang the buzzer, and then waited with him for the guard. "I might stay here in New York," she blurted out. "I might not go back to L.A."

  "Oh," Tom Myers said, "that's fine, honey. Mom and I never saw you that much anyway. Tell you what. We'll just pretend you still live there, and we don't see you so often like before. As long as you think a person is close by and safe, you don't have to see them in the flesh."

  Toy smiled at her father's pr
actical approach to life. Then she touched his hand. "I'll always be close, Dad, no matter where I am."

  "Oh," he said, "I thought I'd tell you. You know that artist that's been painting those pictures of you?"

  "You mean Raymond Gonzales?"

  "Yeah, I think that's his name. Said on the radio just now that he's having a big auction of those paintings next week. A famous art dealer signed him right in the courtroom, and people are coming in from all over the world." Her father paused and rubbed his hand over his chin. "I wouldn't mind having one of those pictures myself, you know," he said with a sly smile. "Think he'd paint me one? Not sure I can afford to buy one. Radio seems to think they're going to go for a lot of money."

  "I'm sure he would, Dad," Toy said softly. "All you have to do is ask him. He's a really nice man."

  The guard knocked on the door. Her father started to turn the knob, but he stopped and stood there, moving his feet around on the floor. "I . . ."

  "What is it, Dad?" Toy said, seeing him struggling for words, an expression on his face she had never seen.

  i love you, Toy. I might not have told you over the years, but it wasn't because I didn't want to. I just thought you knew."

  "Of course I knew," Toy said, fearful she was going to break down and cry.

  He bent over and kissed her on the cheek. Then he stepped through the door, and the guard locked it behind him. Toy just stood there, awash in pleasure. It was the first time in her life that her father had ever told her he loved her.

  Toy showered, washed her hair, and shaved her legs with the disposable razor they had issued her. She would have liked to put on some makeup, but she didn't have any in her property bag. The television station had requested that she come dressed in her navy blue Angels T-shirt. Finding it in the bottom of the sack, Toy pulled it on over her blouse. One of these days, she thought, she was going to have to wash it.

  Now that she was dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Suddenly she felt a wave of dizziness and nausea. Black spots flashed in front of her eyes, and she was certain she was going to pass out. She started to call the nurse and then thought of the ramifications. Another trip to the hospital. No way. Toy put her hand over her heart, the place where the little machine kept it ticking and ticking. Just calm down, she told herself. It had to be stage fright. A few minutes later, the sensation passed and Toy was relieved.

  "Your car's here and the paperwork is ready," Sandy Hawkings said when she came in the door. "Hey, lady, bet you're ready to get out of this joint."

  "Amen to that one," Toy said. Then she stopped. "They told me you were the one who gave me CPR that day. I never even thanked you."

  "Say no more," Sandy said, looking away in embarrassment. "That's my job."

  "You're good at your job, Sandy."

  "Well, you're not so bad yourself." Sandy put her hand behind Toy's back and they headed out the door.

  They walked down a long corridor, heading to the back of the facility. On one side of the building was a row of windows. Sandy walked over and Toy followed. "See all those people out there?" she told Toy. "They're all waiting for you. That's your job, I guess. Making all these people feel better, making them all dream the dream, so to speak."

  Toy just shook her head in amazement. Then she followed Sandy to the back door, waiting to be buzzed through. The next thing she knew she was climbing into the backseat of the limousine. A lot of the prisoners had pressed their faces against the windows and were waving at her. Toy rolled down the car window, stuck her head out, and waved back.

  The limo didn't pull up in front of the television station. There was another mob scene, people several rows deep, pressing against the

  California Angel 195

  police barricades. Toy watched the people through the tinted windows as the driver pulled in an enclosed parking lot in the back of the station. He got out to open the car door and Toy stepped out. Her heart was racing now and her hands were perspiring. Could she really do this? Really go on national television?

  A pert brunette in a short black dress met her at the back door and escorted her down a corridor. "You'll have to go in for makeup in a few minutes." She glanced down at what Toy was wearing and then looked away, pleased that she was wearing the T-shirt as they had requested. "I'm going to put you in the green room right now. There's a television monitor in there, some coffee, juice. Help yourself."

  "My mother?" Toy said. "I told them I had to have my mother on the show. She isn't here."

  "I think she's in makeup," the girl said. "I'll go check on her for you."

  Toy took a seat on a red vinyl sofa and reached for a magazine. She had no idea why they called the room the green room. There wasn't one thing in it that was green. Just as she flipped open the pages of the magazine, Joey Kramer appeared in the doorway. "Joey?" Toy yelled, thrilled to see him. "How did you get in here?"

  "Oh," he said, "Joey can get in any place he wants. How you doing, kiddo?"

  "Great," Toy said, but she didn't feel great. When she tried to focus on Joey's face, she saw black spots again. "I think I'm having a bad case of stage fright. Boy, I thought this would be easy. It's not."

  "Nothing's easy," Joey tossed out. Then he changed his mind. "Well, there's some things that are pretty easy. You don't gotta do this, you know."

  "I know," Toy said, "but I told them I would. I never like to go back on my word."

  "Things are different now," Joey said, taking a seat on the sofa next to her. "You don't need to prove anything. The people that believe in you will believe in you. The people that don't won't. Why don't you just let Joey here take you for a nice cup of coffee?" He flicked his wrist. "Hey, what you need this TV stuff for?"

  "But I can't simply walk out," Toy said. "Even my mother is here."

  "Yeah, so what? She's your mother, she'll understand. Let her go on the show and tell them all about you. You know, a big star like you needs an advance person. Then if you decide to do it later, after you're rested and everything dies down, you can come back."

  Toy was leaning close to Joey now, and she whispered, "You mean, I could just walk out the door and that's it?"

  Joey laughed. "Yeah, you want to?"

  "Really?" Toy whispered. She was feeling sicker by the minute. She didn't want to do this, go on" television, make a spectacle of herself.

  "Hey, we going or what?" Joey said, standing and smiling down at her. Then he took a pen out of his pocket and handed it to her, along with one of the magazines. "Tear off a page and write a note to your mom. Then we'll split."

  All Toy wrote was, "Mom, sorry, but you've got to carry the ball for me. Enjoy. Left with Joey. I love you. See you later." She started to sign it and then added something else before scrawling her name at the bottom.

  "Whadya add?" Joey asked. He'd been looking over her shoulder.

  "Break a leg," Toy said. "Mom always wanted to be an actress. No one knew but me. Not even my dad."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, dreams come true."

  Toy leaned into Joey's body as they headed down the hall. "What if someone sees us?"

  "No one's gonna see us. You worry too much. Just let Joey handle it, okay? I got the plan, see. Joey's always got the plan."

  He yanked on the heavy steel door at the back of the station and they crept out like two thieves, giggling and making silly faces at each other. Joey didn't want to go anywhere near the crowds so they headed up a back street. "My car's up here," he told Toy. "Sorry. There was nowhere to park. Too many people around."

  Toy looked ahead and suddenly saw he was pointing at a steep hill, like the kind of hills they have in San Francisco. "We have to walk up there?"

  "Afraid so," Joey said, shrugging. "I don't got a limousine, Toy. It's just an ordinary car and I have to park in an ordinary parking lot. I'm not really even on duty today. I just wore my uniform so I could sneak in to see you."

  "I'm sorry," she answered, catching up to him, huffing and puffing as they climbed the steep hill, perspi
ration streaming down her face, her neck, between her breasts. "I was acting spoiled. I just don't feel very good."

  "It's not that far now," Joey said. "Can you make it just a little farther?"

  California Angel 197

  Toy stopped, leaning over at the waist. She was so short of breath. Then she felt the pain and grimaced. "I can't, Joey."

  "Hey, want me to carry you?"

  Toy looked at him. "No," she said finally, "but if I didn't have that pacemaker, I would swear I'm having a heart attack."

  He laughed. "You ain't having no heart attack. You're just out of shape. You've been sitting around too much. You need to get back to work."

  Now Toy could see the crest of the hill. "Is your car right at the top of the hill?"

  "Yeah," Joey said. "I told you it was."

  "If you are lying to me, Joey Kramer," Toy said firmly, "I'm going to kick you right in the pants."

  "What? Me lie?" he said, really laughing now. "Just a few more steps. Come on. You can do it. Don't wimp out on me now."

  A few more steps, Toy told herself, panting and holding her chest. Just a few more steps and she could sit down and relax, catch her breath. She paused and looked back down the hill. No wonder she was out of breath. It looked like she was standing on top of Mt. Everest. Far down below, she saw throngs of people, still standing there waiting. Was it really right for her to be up here and for them to be down there? They had supported her and believed in her, and she had simply walked away. Oh, well, Toy said, turning back to Joey.

  One last step would put her over the crest. Joey was already there, beckoning to her, a big silly grin on his face. "There," she said, standing right beside him, turning her head to look into his face. She felt like a marathon runner who had just passed the wall. The pain was gone and she felt weightless and free.

  "Look," Joey exclaimed.

  Toy turned her face slowly into a fragrant, gentle breeze. She felt the sun on her face, warming it, as the wind picked her hair up off the nape of her neck. Then the sun passed right over her head, and Toy was filled with awe. Beneath her was an incredible landscape. It was like she was in an airplane. The houses and buildings looked so small. Then she saw what looked like backyard swimming pools and suddenly came to the realization that she was looking at lakes, streams, oceans.