A nurse, her white uniform sharply contrasting with the black of Marty’s tux, opened the door from inside and, while holding off the pushing crowd, pulled first Marty, then Theresa O’Donnell and Robbie into the lobby. By now my elbows had ensured that I was right behind those three, but I knew that, like the other media people, I would have to stand outside, my nose pressed to the glass of the doors, waiting like all the other news-hounds and -hens for crumbs of information.
It was then that I got my lucky break. Literally. The door, pushed violently in, swung back, and bashed me in the nose. And I am an easy and copious bleeder.
Inside the hospital, it was still pandemonium, but the guard saw the blood and waved me in. Nurses and hospital personnel had already converged on Marty, Theresa, and Robbie, guiding them off to a quieter corner. “I’m with their party,” I murmured to the charge nurse, and, checking out the jewelry and the blood in a single appraising glance, she seated me with them. I surreptitiously lowered my head between my legs to make sure the bleeding continued. It had already made dramatic smears on my yellow silk blouse ($316 at Giorgio’s), and I made sure it was all over my face, too. The emergency room is no place for personal vanity.
The charge nurse had already begun ministering to Theresa, who was loudly moaning, clutching the Emmy statuette. Marty sat silent, his hands dangling emptily between his skinny legs. He looked catatonic. And Robbie Lymon was sobbing loudly.
A doctor came out through the double doors of the treatment area and asked for Lila Kyle’s next of kin.
“Right here,” Theresa moaned.
“And I’m her aunt. Uh, uncle,” Robbie corrected himself.
“I’m her fiancé, doctor,” Marty DiGennaro said, standing up.
The doctor looked strangely at Marty. “That patient in there cannot be your fiancée,” he said. To all of us he added, “I need to speak to a blood relative or a legal spouse. Is there anyone here?”
Robbie spoke for Theresa, who was still moaning, held up on one side by the nurse. “This is the mother, doctor. Miss O’Donnell.”
The doctor spoke directly to Theresa. “Miss O’Donnell,” he said, “we don’t know exactly what’s happened, but you needn’t worry. The patient that was brought in is not your daughter. Of that I can assure you.” Theresa went weak in the knees, and her collapsed bulk was beginning to slip out of Robbie’s and the nurse’s grasp, but I noticed she held onto the Emmy. “Nurse,” the doctor barked, “get Miss O’Donnell to one of the examining rooms.” A hospital suit came over and began to lead Theresa and the nurse away, though Robbie trailed after her, down the hall.
Marty, speechless up to now, at last found the words to speak to the doctor. “What are you talking about? Of course that’s my fiancée. I saw her shot. I came with her in the ambulance.”
“That’s a physical impossibility,” the doctor snapped. “It can’t be Lila Kyle.”
“Why?” Marty snapped.
“Because the patient you brought in, the one with a gunshot wound, has a penis.”
14
The sign on the doors said “No Admittance. Hospital Employees Only.” A lone hospital security guard stood in front of those doors, his hands behind his back, his stance military. The woman nodded to him as they passed through; Theresa and Robbie were finally shown into a secretary’s office, then into a larger, tastefully decorated inner office, the nameplate on the door announcing ownership: “Dr. Robert Stern, Chief Administrator.” Robbie didn’t know what the hell was going on. What had the doctor meant, that Lila wasn’t shot? That she had a…It was unthinkable. Robbie had seen her on the stretcher. Theresa seemed to have pulled herself together and had a whispered discussion with the doctor and an officious woman.
“I’m Ms. McElroy,” the woman who had guided them finally said, once they were safely in the office. “Dr. Stern has been advised of the situation, and insists that you be given the privacy of his office for as long as you wish to use it. A doctor from the emergency room will be in to speak with you as soon as the patient’s situation has been completely appraised. Right now all I can report is that the patient is still alive. I’m sorry, Miss O’Donnell. I wish there was more I could tell you. But it won’t be long now.”
She offered the usual refreshments, and gave Theresa a telephone number at which to call her directly if they needed anything, or had a question. She also opened the bottom drawer of Dr. Stern’s desk and showed them the private telephone, the number only she and Dr. Stern would have. This was the only phone Theresa should answer. Ms. McElroy unplugged the desk model, and advised Theresa to replug this phone if she needed to make any outgoing calls. Only Dr. Stern’s private phone was to be answered during this emergency.
When Ms. McElroy opened the door to leave, another security guard was standing there. As the door was closing behind her, Theresa could hear the efficient young woman giving him instructions.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Robbie threw himself down onto the leather chair, stunned into silence. Theresa began to walk around the room, opening and closing cabinet doors until she found the one she was looking for. She selected a bottle of excellent brandy from Dr. Stern’s stock, then, with bottle and glasses in hand, flopped onto the leather sofa across from Robbie. She pulled off the bottle top, poured a full glass of brandy for herself, and, still with bottle in hand, drank hungrily from the glass until it was drained. She finally put the glasses and the bottle down on the coffee table, breathing as if she had been holding her breath under water.
“Keep it together, Theresa. And tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Don’t say one fucking word to me, do you understand? I was a good little girl all night, and did exactly what you wanted me to do, right? Well, the party’s over. I deserve a drink, under the circumstances. And I’d advise you to have one. You’re as pale as a ghost. I don’t need you fainting on me now, for chrissakes.”
Theresa poured herself another water tumbler of brandy, and began to sip this one. Her face was set in a grim but distant look. “Well, there’s no hope now.”
“You heard what Ms. McElroy said. Lila is still alive.”
Theresa shook her head, snapping out of her reverie. “I’m not talking about Lila. Can’t you think about me for one minute? What I’m going through? Now what happens to me? To my future?”
Robbie stared at Theresa for a moment, then there was a sudden, insistent knock on the door. Theresa could hear the security guard questioning someone, then the guard opened the door and let in a young doctor.
He was nervous and officious, as well as in a hurry. His white coat was bloodied, and he carried a sheaf of papers in his hands. He walked into the room and spoke directly to Theresa without preamble. “I must talk to you—alone.” His tone was insistent.
“Is she alive?” Robbie asked.
“Yes,” he said to them both. Then, to Theresa, he repeated his demand: “We must talk.”
Theresa let her breathing slow, then said to the doctor, “You can discuss anything in front of Mr. Lymon. He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends. What is it, doctor?” She asked as if she had no idea what was coming.
“Lila Kyle is your child? You are Lila Kyle’s birth mother?”
“Yes,” Theresa answered.
“Then I have to ask you to sign the corrected permission-for-surgery sheet. Like the one you signed before, but this one states the gender correctly.”
The doctor paused again, this time to look at Robbie, then continued: “You are, of course, aware of the genital sex of your child.”
Robbie could hardly believe his ears. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean, Theresa? What’s he talking about?”
Theresa waved her hand to silence Robbie, then answered the doctor’s question. “Yes,” she said curtly.
“So you know that Lila Kyle is, in fact, a male, and not a female.”
“Yes,” she said again.
“What?” Robbie screeched, but they ignored him.
> “Needless to say, that changes nothing in the approach we take to saving her—uh, his—life. But, for obvious legal reasons, we did need this clarified. Please sign the amended form, Miss O’Donnell. We have a lot of additional surgery to perform.”
Theresa scribbled her name at the bottom of the page. “What are her chances?”
“That’s too early to tell. I’m sorry. But we’re doing everything we can. So far, it appears that it was only one bullet wound, but it has nicked the aorta. I have to be honest with you, Miss O’Donnell. It’s touch and go, I’m afraid. I’m not going to offer you false hope, just my promise that we will do everything we can for him.”
“And, doctor, the…other information. How long will that remain confidential?”
He paused at the door. “Any aspect of Miss Kyle’s condition can only be made known by a hospital spokesperson, in this case Ms. McElroy. So, officially, there will be no press conference until we know something more. We will not mention the gender reidentification at this time. And until you have been advised.” He looked at Theresa directly now. “Unofficially is another matter. This is a major piece of information. I can only say that I rely on the integrity of the staff, and hope that you can feel the same way. The mob of reporters and fans outside is overwhelming.” Then he left Robbie and Theresa alone.
Robbie, who had remained silent, pushed himself up from the sofa. “What the fuck does he mean, ‘gender reidentification’?”
Theresa gulped from her glass. “I always wanted a girl,” she murmured. She spoke as if to herself. “There was no way I could have raised a boy.”
“Answer me,” Robbie demanded.
Theresa jerked her head erect. “Don’t take that tone with me. I’ve got enough to deal with now without having to deal with an outraged faggot.” Robbie didn’t respond. “The baby had a problem. A testicle hadn’t descended. You know Kerry. He couldn’t cope with being married, never mind playing the father to a son. Jesus, we only got legal for the publicity. The studio forced it You know that better than anyone.”
“And?” Robbie asked.
“And what? We had our drunken nights together, I got pregnant, and Kerry returned to you, or whatever young man he was fucking at the time. When I told him I was pregnant, he laughed so hard I thought he was going to have a brain hemorrhage.” Theresa continued to drink from the glass of brandy, replenishing it even before the glass was empty. “When he got used to the idea—when we got used to the idea—we began to talk about the little girl we were going to have. It was what we both wanted. We didn’t even consider having a boy.”
“But you did,” Robbie said.
“Technically, yes.”
“Technically! Technically? What the hell do you mean? Was there a question?”
“Not actually. But with the testicle…Well, I tied a string around the other. It atrophied. No problem. And I raised Lila as a girl.”
“So how did you…Lila’s birth certificate says ‘girl.’ I’ve seen it. How did you do that?”
“Oh, you remember Dr. Carlton. That old quack. He would do anything you told him to do. He got more people in Hollywood amphetamines or morphine than any drug dealer today could handle. He did abortions, which were illegal in those days, and even repaired bullet wounds that were never reported to the police. Anything. He was the Industry’s very personal physician. He attended me at the Westlake Maternity Home. So, when he told me it was a boy, I simply told him he must be mistaken. I had a girl. And I expected the birth certificate to reflect that fact.”
“And Carlton did that for you? He had Lila registered as a girl?”
“Of course he did, for chrissakes. He tied off the testicle. And gave hormone treatments when the time came. And it cost me a bundle.”
“Jesus Christ! My God, Theresa! What did Kerry say about it?”
Theresa laughed. “You might not know this, but the night Lila was born, Kerry was at one of Ara’s all-night, all-boy sex orgies. He didn’t show up at the hospital to see me or the baby until all this was taken care of.”
“But how could he never have known?”
“Why, would he have found out when he changed her diaper? Or gave her a bath? Don’t be such an ass, Robbie. You knew Kerry better than I did. He wanted no part of me, or the baby, or a happy home life. He didn’t even want any part of you, as I remember, when it looked like you wanted more than the occasional fuck. Kerry didn’t want to be tied down. Not to anyone. So it became our secret. Lila’s and mine.”
“But Estrella?”
“Estrella was bought and paid for. She knew what the deal was from day one. It was either live with it, and with all the comforts my life-style could provide her, or back she would go, to that thatched-roof casa in the desert of Mexico. What would you have chosen?”
The brandy was beginning to have its effects on Theresa. Her eyes filmed over. She sank into a low leather chair. “She was such a pretty little girl. All round and soft, with beautiful eyes, and lovely hair.” Theresa seemed to get lost in the memory for the moment. “We never thought about it again. When it came time, Carlton started her on hormones. He got her a breast implant in Mexico. She has a perfect set of tits. Lila never complained, never questioned any of it. She was happy as a little girl. The penis was tiny. Hardly noticeable. We forgot, most of the time, that she had been born male.”
“She wasn’t very happy the day she moved in with me! Jesus Christ, Theresa, you robbed her of her sex. You neutered her! You crippled her. No wonder she hates you,” Robbie spat.
“This has nothing to do with that,” Theresa screamed. “She hates me because I didn’t help her career. But I knew something like this would happen. You can’t have a private life, a secret, and be famous. Not anymore. I knew, somehow or other, she’d be exposed.”
“You mean that you’d be exposed. You’re the author of this little tragedy.” Robbie took a gulp of his own drink. “Theresa, you make Joan Crawford look like Mother Teresa.”
“How dare you! It’s not like I beat her, or tied her to her bed. She had a perfectly wonderful life. Everything a child could want.”
“Except her identity.”
“Her identity? What about mine? What difference did it make to a squalling infant whether it wore a dress or pants? None. But it made all the difference to me, and my career.”
“Your career,” Robbie snarled.
“Yes, my career. Without it, there would be no pretty dresses, no big house, maids, private schools. None of it, without me. Then she had to go out and fuck it all up. With your help, I might add.”
“How did she fuck it all up?”
“She had to go and become an actress. She couldn’t marry the guy I had picked out for her, make her life simple. No, she wanted to be a star. She only did it to compete with me. Since puberty. She’s always wanted to compete. Except look what that has done to me. Now I’ll have nothing. People will laugh. No one will understand. I’ll never work again. I’ll never be able to go to another party.”
“What about Lila? What’s going to happen to her?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. She still has Kerry’s trust fund. And she’s got the millions she’ll made out of this series. And the Emmy. I hope they don’t fuck up the Emmy for her. Isn’t all that enough?”
The phone rang in the bottom drawer. Theresa looked at Robbie, for him to answer it. He just shook his head. Theresa wobbled to her feet and lurched across the room.
“Yes? Certainly. I’ll be waiting.” She turned to Robbie. “That was Ms. McElroy. She just wanted to let me know the doctors are coming to give me a report, that I should let them in.”
The double rap was soft on the door. Theresa finished what was in her glass, then stood in the center of the room. Robbie opened the door, and two doctors in surgical greens walked in.
“Miss O’Donnell,” the older doctor began. He took a step toward Theresa and reached for her hand. “I’m afraid we have very bad news. I’m so sorry. We lost her.”
Theresa stood there silently for a moment. “What do you mean, ‘lost’?”
“Lila Kyle is dead, Miss O’Donnell. He died during surgery.”
Robbie made a choking noise, but started walking toward the door as if to leave. Theresa screamed, “Robbie, don’t leave me. I need you.” But Robbie didn’t even slow his steps.
15
Jahne heard the shot, saw Lila crumple like a puppet with its strings cut, but it was the silence, that moment of eerie, terrible silence, that let her know something was horribly wrong. Then the screaming started.
Afterward, Jahne wondered what she would have done without Brewster. He got her up and out of her seat; then, somehow, in all the screaming, pushing, hysterical crowd, he united her with Sharleen, Dean, and Dobe. “Keep them here,” he told Dobe. “I’m a doctor. I have to see if I can help.”
He made it up to the stage by walking on the seat backs. Dobe kept the three of them together, sheltered by a column. Jahne watched as celebrities tore at one another to get out the exit doors. Then Brewster was back, breathless but calm.
“He’s been apprehended. It’s all right. Some nut with a grudge, apparently. They’ve taken his gun. It’s all right. We’re all safe, as long as some actor doesn’t kill us as he stampedes over us out the door.”
“Is Lila okay?” Sharleen asked.
“I don’t think so. A chest wound. Serious, but maybe not fatal.”
“Oh, God! It could have been either of us!” Jahne shuddered. Sharleen began to cry.
Then, at last, Gerald La Brecque’s staff reached them. There was a lot of talk then about security exits and conspiracies and snipers, but Jahne stopped listening. She had started to shake again, the way she had in the morning, except this time she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t afraid, not exactly, not of some sniper. She suddenly felt afraid of everything, the theater, the stage, the security guards, the crowds, the lights, the noise. Her shaking got worse. She tried to say something, but found that she couldn’t speak.
Flavor of the Month Page 89