The Alchemy of Noise

by Lorraine Devon Wilke

  Sidonie was too tired to be outraged. There were far worse things to be outraged about than Frank’s decidedly offensive disapproval, and she needed to pace herself. “I get it, Frank. From an objective, professional point of view, I get it. And I’m truly sorry about the mayor—”

  “Luckily there was enough hoopla going on out front that he didn’t notice the circus in the back.”

  “I’m grateful for that.” And she was; after all the work she’d put in, it would have been a humiliating denouement if he had. “But what’s really important to me is that you understand that none of this was our fault. Neither Chris nor I deserved what happened. If you can’t see that, we’ve got way more than club logistics to deal with.”

  “I’m not saying anyone deserved anything—”

  “Secondly, if something happened to someone you loved, your wife, your kids, I’d expect it to impact you and maybe even spill over into your work. That’s human, that’s real. I’ll do my best to limit that, but I don’t want to be judged for it either. As for reverse racism, that’s just complete bullshit. You might not even realize how bullshit it is. And because you haven’t experienced or witnessed any of the things Chris has—or even I have in the short time we’ve been together—I don’t honestly think you can speak on that topic at all. But please be assured that I haven’t magically lost my ability to discern and differentiate. You’ve trusted me for a long time, Frank. Don’t stop when I need your support the most, okay?”

  Frank stood up, grabbed his keys, and tapped the bar a couple of times. “Okay. Deal. Will you be in later today?”

  She was taken aback by his abrupt shift. “I don’t know what’s happening with Chris, so I’ll have to see. Jasper texted earlier and said he can run things. He also said Andrew is booked to do sound—it’s just an acoustic set—so Chris probably won’t be back until Wednesday at the earliest. I’ll keep you posted on my end.”

  Frank squeezed her shoulder as he turned to leave. “By the way, the event was spectacular. You did an amazing job. I’m only sorry it ended the way it did. Go home. Get some sleep. We’ll get it sorted out.”

  As Frank exited, Al gave Sidonie a somber smile and another gimlet. She was grateful for both.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  BY ONE O’CLOCK THAT AFTERNOON, CHRIS HAD BEEN bailed out by his mother and sister, and taken to the emergency room at Rush University Medical Center, well south of Andersonville. He wanted to go to a hospital closer to home, but Vanessa had insisted: the defense attorney she’d hired, Philip K. Lewis, worked near Rush, making it convenient for him to stop by on short notice to photograph and document Chris’s injuries for the brutality lawsuit she was already discussing. Chris was too overwhelmed to put up a fight, so they were now ensconced at Rush, waiting for his various treatments to conclude.

  While all this unfolded, Sidonie had no idea where he was or what, exactly, was happening, and her repeated texts and calls to him, Delores, and Vanessa had all gone unanswered, which left her in a slurry of anxiety. She was just about to contact Karen to see what she might advise when Delores finally rang with an update.

  “The doctor says it would be better if he was admitted. He’s in a lot of pain and they’re worried about latent concussion effects. But Chris is adamant about getting out of here. The truth is, there’s not much they can do except ease his pain and wait for bones and muscles to heal, so they don’t have much leverage to talk him out of it.”

  “Do you want me to try? I might have some influence on him.”

  “I’m sure you would, sweetheart, and Vanessa would probably appreciate that. She thinks it would be better for a brutality suit if Chris spent some time in the hospital, but, of course, the minute she mentioned that he got furious. I’m afraid if you talk to him now he’ll feel like we’re ganging up on him. Like it or not, he’s in charge of his own care and he wants out.”

  “Okay, but let me know if you change your mind. I think it’d be better if he stayed there too.” She was in her car and pulling out of the garage.

  “Also, Sidonie, I’m going to suggest he come down to the house for a while. I’m not trying to circumvent you, but I know how busy you are at the club, and he’ll need substantial hands-on care for at least the first week or so. It seems like it might be the best solution for now.”

  Between Vanessa securing an attorney and Delores’s desire to get him to Hyde Park, familial wagons were circling in ways that set off alarms of exclusion. Sidonie felt the immediate impulse to stake her claim.

  “I understand your thinking, but I can be as flexible with my schedule as needed. Plus, I think he’d be more comfortable at home than back in temporary quarters, don’t you?”

  Delores was suddenly crying. “Oh, I don’t know much right now, sweetheart, but knowing Chris, he’s going to make the decision regardless of what any of us thinks. Let me see what happens and I’ll call you back.”

  Sidonie continued toward the hospital with dread leading the way. She wanted to talk to Karen, wanted both her sisterly support and legal expertise, but didn’t relish opening the floodgates of concern and inquiry until she had more information.

  She felt ghastly. Facial contact with a brick wall had left her scraped and swollen; the right side of her face was slick with cortisone cream and strategic dabs of concealer. Her stomach was empty and awash in acid. There was a major headache to contend with, panic about what lie ahead, and, most painfully, grief and concern about what was happening with and to the man she loved. It was astonishing how much bad could exist in one single moment.

  Then she thought about what Chris was going through and immediately felt pathetic.

  Her phone buzzed again. It was Chris. She burst into immediate tears somewhere between seeing his name and answering, though she did everything possible to rein them in. “Chris . . .” was all she could get out as she pulled over to the curb.

  “Hey, Sid.” He sounded as battered as he was. “Are you coming to get me?”

  Relief flooded. “Yes. Your mom thought you might want to spend the next few days at her place so—”

  “I’m coming home. I should be ready when you get here.”

  By the time Sidonie arrived at the hospital, an exhausted Delores had left in a cab. Vanessa, who looked exactly like a woman who’d been up all night, stood stoic and soldierly. She greeted Sidonie at the entrance of the waiting room, prickling with efficiency.

  “Here’s his attorney’s card. Philip K. Lewis. He’s the best I know. He’s worked with lots of my clients, specializes in brutality and profiling cases. He’s already been here and taken the photographs we’ll need, but you’ll obviously have to talk to him as soon as possible. He’ll want to hear your side of the story while it’s fresh.” She was all business, detailed and detached; clearly this kind of scenario was not new to her as a professional. As a sister, odds were good it was leaving a mark.

  “Thank you for jumping on this so quickly, Vanessa. I was planning to call my sister. She’s worked with a lot of great of defense attorneys over the years and—”

  “It’s handled. She doesn’t need to worry about it.”

  “I’m just saying there are options if need be.”

  “There won’t be a need.” The look she gave Sidonie shut down further discussion. “As for his injuries, they’re not life-threatening, but they’re substantial, meaning I’m not sure how quickly he can get back to work—all of that will go toward the brutality case—but for now you’ll need to replace him at your club. I’ll discuss with him how he wants to handle Sound Alchemy.”

  It was clear Sidonie was being hip-checked from the equation, but she suspected Vanessa had not yet conferred with Chris on any of this. “I understand how you see it, but Chris and I will discuss together how he wants to proceed in either case. Obviously, beyond getting him healed, the priority is handling the criminal charges, so I’d like to be brought up-to-speed on what the police actually have and don’t have. I assume they talked to you about the fingerprints?�
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  Vanessa’s head snapped in her direction. “What fingerprints?”

  Immediate regret. Clearly Mike had told her something that hadn’t been communicated to the family, or maybe even yet attached to the case. Her backtrack was swift and clumsy. “I’m not really sure. One of them was blabbering about fingerprints and other cases, but if they didn’t say anything to you, I assume it was just a scare tactic.”

  “Those motherfuckers. Okay, we’ll see what they pull out of their trick bag as things develop. I’d suggest you get your own attorney in case they try to get you to incriminate him in any way. That’s probably something you could talk to your sister about.”

  The implication chafed. “Vanessa, let me be very clear,” Sidonie said, seething. “There is absolutely no way I would ever incriminate Chris, nor do I have anything that could incriminate Chris, so take that concern right off the table.”

  Vanessa cut her a look. “Fine. You just best be prepared for how manipulative cops can be when they set their sights on a black defendant. Odds are good this will be a very different battle than anything you’re used to.”

  “I’m not used to any kind of legal problems, so this is all new to me.”

  “Well, you are the lucky one.” Vanessa turned and walked down the hall.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  SIDONIE REMAINED IN THE WAITING ROOM, IRATE AND jumpy. She’d been informed that Chris was going through the discharge procedure with his sister’s help, leaving her annoyed that Vanessa had commandeered that task as well. Still, the woman’s efficiency was impressive, and given how exhausted and disoriented she felt, Sidonie couldn’t deny some grudging appreciation.

  The external door of the ward hissed opened and a tall, darkskinned, exceedingly well-dressed man swept in. Sidonie instinctively knew this was Hermes, Vanessa’s soon-to-be—or perhaps already—exhusband. He looked around, focused and concerned, then turned to Sidonie with marked curiosity.

  Cocking his head: “Sidonie?”

  “Yes. Are you Hermes?”

  “I am!” In a surprising move, he swept her into a hug so intense she almost burst into tears of gratitude. “I’m so sorry that you . . . that Chris . . . that all of us have to deal with this insanity. Unbelievable.”

  After extricating herself, and with little knowledge of how this man operated in life beyond this momentary encounter, she was most struck by the contrast between him and Vanessa. It was not hard to imagine them clashing over issues large and small. “It’s horrible. Chris is battered, the charges are ludicrous, it’s just . . . horrible.”

  He made note of her face. “You look a little battered yourself. Are you okay?”

  He was the first person on Chris’s side of the family to express any concern for her, and it, too, almost set her to tears. She willed herself to hold it together, deciding no one involved knew her well enough to endure her sobbing. “I’ll be fine. I’m just scared about what all this means for Chris.”

  “Clearly it’s a case of mistaken identity that needs to get sorted out. Ness has the best lawyer in that arena all set up—”

  “Yes, she gave me his card.”

  “And she’ll be on top of the legal stuff every step of the way. He couldn’t have a better advocate, that much I know. And he’ll have the rest of us, especially you, for the love and moral support stuff . . . that will definitely be needed.”

  Already she loved this man. She could see why Chris loved him; he was all heart. “Thank you, Hermes. I appreciate you framing it that way. Right now I just want to get him home and comfortable, from there . . . we’ll see.”

  “That’s actually why I’m here. Vanessa said he’ll need some help navigating, so I’m providing the muscle. He’s going back to your place?”

  “Yes. That’s what he said he wanted,” she added almost defensively.

  “Of course. There’s no place like home, especially after you’ve had your ass kicked.”

  She looked him, smiling. “You are just so . . . great. Chris has had nothing but accolades for you, and now I see why.”

  He smiled warmly. “Right back atcha.”

  They heard the bark of a woman’s voice as Vanessa rounded the corner at the other end of the hallway. When her eyes lit on Hermes, her face spun through a kaleidoscope of emotions so stealthily that most observers would have missed the flicker of softening. Sidonie didn’t. It was touching.

  Vanessa reset her face and approached in her usual no-nonsense mode, pushing Chris toward them in the requisite discharge wheelchair. “All right, we’re wrapped here. Sidonie, if you could grab these papers under my arm. They’re care instructions. I’d suggest you go down now and pull your car up to the patient departure area. Hermes, you can help from there.”

  Before Sidonie responded to her assignment, she took the moment to connect with Chris, who she was seeing for the first time since she’d been dragged off in a police car. His swollen, bandaged face was shocking, making her attempt at composure a struggle. His wrist and forearm were both in soft casts, there were cuts and contusions everywhere, and it was clear he was in pain. He looked up at her with a doleful, lopsided smile.

  “It’s okay, Sid, I’m okay.”

  A sob finally escaped her lips and she bent in front of the chair, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle, tentative embrace. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what they would do to you,” she whispered in his ear.

  “I know. I didn’t either. But I’m okay. How about you?” He gingerly leaned his head against hers.

  “I’m okay. Better now, seeing you.”

  Vanessa cleared her throat, a cue to move the party along, and as they stepped through the doors toward the elevator, Chris reached out with his uninjured arm and took Sidonie’s hand.

  FIFTY-SIX

  ALICE AND MARK FROM NEXT DOOR, WHO’D ARRANGED TO be at Sidonie’s to supervise delivery of the medical lift chair, were in the kitchen getting coffee made and snacks put out as Sidonie bound up the stairs from the garage. Shaking off the chill of the raw October afternoon, she quickly cleared the path of small tables and magazine baskets, anything that would make Chris’s progress more difficult. Vanessa swooped up and past her, positioning herself to help the maneuver in any way she could.

  The process of getting Chris up the stairs to the main floor made Sidonie wish she lived in a ranch home. The multilevel design that once seemed so artful and clever now loomed as an obstacle course. Even the hallways felt too sharp and narrow, the stairs too tight, with hardwood floors too slick and slippery. As she watched Chris make his slow, painful way, Sidonie kept reaching out helplessly, as if to avert threat of further injury.

  Beyond wrist, arm, facial, and head injuries, it turned out Chris had three broken ribs, a torn latissimus dorsi in the left back area, and a severe hip contusion, all of which made navigation a challenge. Hermes half carried him up, stopping to lean against the wall and bannister as needed to catch his breath and get stabilized. The lift chair had been set up in the first-floor guestroom, alleviating need for further ascension. Until he could comfortably lie flat, that room would be his refuge.

  Once Chris was safely ensconced, and the chair set to the desired recline for sleep, Hermes and Vanessa moved out to the kitchen. Sidonie stayed behind, arranging water, meds, and various snacks at his side table, carefully tucking the blanket around his legs.

  “Are you comfortable?” she asked.

  “As much as I can be.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I think you’ve got it covered.”

  “Do you want to talk about it, or ask any questions about anything? Of course you don’t have to—”

  “I need to sleep,” he said bluntly. When she pulled away ever-soslightly, he glanced up, chagrined. “Sorry. I’m . . . just fried.”

  “It’s okay, I understand.” She kissed him on the forehead, his mouth too wounded for contact.

  After she slipped out, closing the door behind her, he lay staring up at the ceiling, tr
ying to organize the swarming internal chatter. Whether it was the painkillers or the pounding in his head, the task was beyond his abilities. His only prevailing thought was: “This is not my life. This is not her life.” But apparently it was.

  Too much to take in, he drifted off to sleep.

  WHEN SIDONIE ENTERED the kitchen, she noticed Hermes and Vanessa out on the deck with the sliding glass door closed, engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation. Alice and Mark were still sorting through the various food items they’d brought over. There was a frozen Costco lasagna, roast chicken, several platters of sandwiches, and an enormous bag of spinach. Sidonie slumped to the counter and shook her head. “I appreciate you guys doing all this. I won’t have to cook for a week.”

  “That’s the idea, Sid. You’ve got enough going on.” Alice smiled dolefully.

  Mark grabbed his coat, then handed Alice hers. “We’re going to give you guys some privacy now. Just holler if you need anything else. We’re right next door . . . anything you need.”

  “You two are the best. Getting that chair in here was a lifesaver. I don’t know how long it’ll be before he can manage a bed, so thank you. For everything.”

  “We’re just real sorry you’re going through this,” Mark said. “Have you talked to your sister yet, gotten her take on everything?”

  “She knows the broad strokes. I’ll talk more with her later.”

  “Just take care of yourselves,” Alice said. “The rest will work itself out, I have faith.”

  Sidonie was grateful for Alice’s faith; she was currently bereft of any.