by Saks, Tessa
“Not what?” the doctor asked.
Sam pointed to her body. “This … this pathetic body, this horrible skin … these bones.” She pinched the wrinkled flesh. “This … is not my body!” Sam slammed her fist on the hospital tray over her bed, knocking the glass of juice over. “I am not Ellen Horvath. And I don’t care who believes me.”
“I’m sorry. Who are you?” The doctor grabbed her bracelet and checked his chart. “Have the nurses at the front desk been informed of this?”
“Yes,” a nurse called out from behind the curtain. “Yes, Dr. Robinson. Her wrist and file are correct. Her husband confirmed everything. You can check her ID if you like.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” He turned toward Sam. “So you aren’t feeling yourself. Well, you have been through quite a lot these past four weeks. We can never actually know how you feel … I’m sure you will begin to feel more yourself in time. I see we have an assessment next week.”
His reassurances were pathetic. “You are missing the point, damn it.”
“My apologies,” he said, looking at his chart. “I need to check your brain … functioning. I will be sending you down for an MRI to determine if your brain has sustained any … damage.”
“You think I’m crazy? I’m not,” Sam pleaded. “I am not crazy.”
“No. No. This is just standard procedure following a deep coma.” The doctor patted her arm like a good puppy. “We need to determine what regions are active, fully engaged and which respond, well, slower. There can be swelling or hematomas, causing many different—”
“Oh, I’m different all right.” Sam nodded. He wasn’t bad looking, a bit nerdy, but then, he was a brain doctor.
“Right. Okay, Mrs. … .er …” He smiled. “Could you please take a deep breath?” Dr. Robinson placed his cold stethoscope on Sam’s back. “A few more deep breaths … yes … and now the chest …” The doctor undid the ties and dropped her gown in the front. Sam knew she didn’t have a bra on and she smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, as most men would have under the circumstances. He kept his head down, looking away from her, with a solemn doctor look across his face. Men love seeing my breasts, Sam thought. Disappointed when he didn’t at least try to peek, Sam looked down at her chest.
“Oh my God! What the fuck are those! Holy shit!” She touched one of the deflated breasts and screamed, covering herself with her hands. “This can’t be. Those aren’t mine.” She grabbed her gown to cover her humiliation. Tears stung her eyes as she held the gown tight against her chest, fighting the mixture of shame and disgust.
The nurse opened the curtain, her face frozen with alarm. The doctor stood straight, confusion and sorrow etched across his face. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “I will see you down in the MRI room.”
“Dr. Robinson,” Sam whispered as she wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “This isn’t me … this isn’t … this just isn’t me. I have beautiful breasts … these aren’t mine …” The curtain slowly closed around her. She was left holding the gown against herself, and alone.
***
Hours later, Sam was sitting back, studying her reflection in a mirror when Patty entered her room. “Hi gorgeous,” Patty squealed and put her arms around Sam.
“Hey,” Sam mumbled, pulling back the papery skin around her eyes.
“Come on, cheer up. I brought you something.” Patty set a big red Saks bag on the bed.
Sam pulled out the tissue. Inside was a pale yellow, beaded sweater set. “It’s beautiful,” Sam said. She turned it over and held it up to herself.
“Yes, it’s your color, absolutely.”
“Old lady yellow, just perfect.”
“I prefer to call it middle-age meadow.” Patty laughed. “You, my dear, need an emergency shopping spree.” Patty leaned in close. “How is Jonathan?”
Sam shrugged. “He seems concerned, but I hardly get to talk to him.”
“Take advantage of your situation,” Patty said with a sly nod, gently touching Sam’s arm. “I mean it. There is never a better time to get sympathy than now. Play it up and get as much as you can—and …” She leaned in for greater emphasis and squeezed Sam’s arm gently. “Make him squirm. Make him feel bad. The kids too.”
Sam wasn’t sure if Patty believed she was Sam or Ellen—at this point, did it even matter? Did any of it really matter? She picked up the sweater again, touching the soft texture with her fingertips and smiled. “I’ve never had a cashmere sweater before. Thank you.” At least Patty wanted to help, which was more than everyone else.
“Anything to get you to smile. I know you’re in a real state and I can’t imagine … but I hope you’re optimistic about the future and you will start working it.” Patty put her hands on her hips and gyrated in her chair. “Work it girl. Come on!”
Sam laughed. “I’ll try.”
“You better. The door is open and so is the wallet; use it to your advantage. If ever there was a time to profit by being sick—this, my dear, is it.” She patted Sam’s arm. “Get busy.”
“But I feel so lost, so helpless.”
“I’m sure you do. But he doesn’t know that. Play him! Think about what you want and ask for it, demand it.” Patty picked up the mirror from Sam’s lap and gazed at her own reflection.
“But he doesn’t believe me,” Sam said, hoping Patty would look away from the mirror.
“He doesn’t want to.” Patty played with her bangs for a few moments, then smoothed her finger under her eyes and patted her cheeks for color. She set the mirror down and crossed her legs. “Do you blame him? He wants to ignore everything and act like this never happened.”
“I miss everything,” Sam said, unable to hide her sadness. “I mean, I had so much …”
“And that’s why you need to get it back.” Patty leaned in close and placed the mirror on the bed. “Have you thought about any cosmetic surgery? It’s the perfect time.” Patty clapped her hands together. “Trust me. It won’t matter what you do now, as long as he thinks you are doing it to get better—he’ll go along. So go crazy. Spend. Spend. Spend. That’s my remedy.”
Sam smiled. “There is so much I’ve always wanted.”
“So buy it.” Patty put her hands together.
Sam flopped back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I could try and make this work …” She looked at Patty. “I should at least try, huh?”
“That’s the spirit.” Patty grabbed Sam’s wrist and held it. “Now remember, when you see the shrinks, make sure they go along with your strategy.”
“My strategy?”
“Yes. They can be your best ally. Play sick, play sad … then play the ‘I need to do things to be happy’ card. ‘I need to go places with you to be happy. I need to spend to be happy’—and make sure you buy some things, just for you—you know—” Patty winked. “Insurance.”
“You’ve thought of everything.” Sam gave her an appreciative smile.
“I have. You’re in the driver’s seat now, Mrs. Jonathan Horvath II. You’re married to a powerful man who is now, finally, in a very vulnerable position. So enjoy it.”
“What about the children. How do I? What can—?”
“Listen, they love you. They want you better. If they see improvement—that you’re getting happier, even if it’s happening slowly, but that you’re better, that’s all they care about.”
“Won’t they notice … that I’m—?”
“Are you kidding? Your kids are too busy ignoring any responsibility to be concerned with your life. Do you honestly think they will change and pay attention to anything you do?”
“I guess not.” Sam wondered how much they loved their mom, how much they would notice any changes. Truth was, she didn’t care about them anyway, so what did she have to lose?
“Get your age-reversal surgery, a little collagen. They’ll still love you. After a suicide attempt and a coma …” Patty leaned forward. “Trust me, no one will care what you do. No one.”
Sam brightened. “Yes, and suck some of this fat out. Do you think they could do something with these?” She put her hands on her floppy breasts.
“Honey, if they can make an old diva like Megan Crawford sexy, they can do anything.”
Sam held the mirror up to her face and pulled the skin back. “Yes, a little nip and tuck and some smoothing. God, I need it. How could anyone let themselves go so badly?”
“I’m glad you’ve finally joined the rest of us in our fight against gravity, you never—”
“When I get out of here, can I call you sometime?”
“Any time, my friend.” Patty stood and rubbed Sam’s shoulder, her gold bracelets clanking together. “Darling, I’m glad this worked out after all. I couldn’t sleep when you were out—in the coma, I mean. If you hadn’t made it, my God, the guilt might have finished me, too.”
Sam was about to speak, then stopped. She stared at her, unsure what she meant.
“The stuff …” Patty nodded, as if Sam should understand. “You know—remember?”
Sam nodded in reply, but had no idea what she was referring to, what the heck all this stuff was. Patty put her hand to her lips and motioned holding a key and turning it in a lock. Sam obliged by nodding again. Then Patty said goodbye and left.
Sam sat and wondered whether Patty actually believed her. Her head ached and as she rubbed her temples. Whatever Patty was saying, one thing was for sure; spending lots of money was a good idea. In fact, considering the outrageous circumstance she now found herself in, it was the only optimistic outcome she could think of.
***
“Hi love. I’m back and I’m missing you. Come see me in my office tomorrow at noon.”
Ellen replayed the message again, savoring the tenderness in his voice. How much longer would it take before she would become used to his loving words? She walked to the stairwell that led to his office, located two floors above hers—the private executive wing. As his wife, she had the luxury of entering anytime. As his employee, she had to wait for an invitation, and after three weeks of waiting to see him, it seemed strange to race to see your own husband, to sneak into work on a Saturday, like a mistress. Well, she was one now, wasn’t she?
She entered the walnut-paneled reception area. His new secretary, very pretty and perhaps forty, smiled at her. “Hello Sam, he’s on the phone, but you may go in and wait.”
Ellen stood in front of his office door. She was as nervous as a teenager. “Hi, it’s … uh, Samantha,” she said, opening the door.
“Sam!” He swung around in his leather chair, replacing the receiver on the hook. “This is a nice surprise.” He stood and walked over to her, brushing against her as he closed the door. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
“You have? How much?”
“More than you could imagine.” He reached over and put his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her neck. Her heart beat strong as his kisses caressed her skin. She wanted to melt into him, to let all the years of hurt dissolve as he tightened his grip around her. He smelled of woods, deep, dark and mysterious with a hint of amber—his French cologne. “I wish all this business with Ellen could be over …”
Her hand touched his thigh and a charge surged within her as he touched her face. He stroked her cheek, staring into her eyes with a genuine longing, a love long forgotten. Ellen felt that love … love like she hadn’t felt in years. He kissed her on the lips. A deep, sensuous kiss. He held her in his arms, pressing her tight, for several moments, his hand rubbing her back in a way that made her quiver with pleasure, and then he let go, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, love. I feel bad, I feel so much guilt … I feel like she and everyone else still blame me, like I caused all of this.”
Ah, but you actually did, Ellen thought. “And me, do they blame me?”
“Yes, and you, unfortunately.”
“The kids, still?” Ellen thought of how hard it must be for her children.
“Yes. This craziness doesn’t help. The psychologist will do an assessment on Friday.”
“What will that mean?” Ellen asked, unsure what answer she hoped for.
“Hell if I know.” He sat in the chair beside her, pulling her onto his lap. “I can’t do anything that could set her off, yet it seems everything sets her off. She’s so unbalanced. The fear is that she shouldn’t be left alone, in case … well, if she tries that again.”
Ellen put her arms around his shoulders. “She wouldn’t—would she?”
“Who the hell knows?” he barked. “I’m sorry.” His voice softened and he rubbed her thigh, a reassuring, gentle stroke. “You shouldn’t be a part of this.”
“She called me,” Ellen said, enjoying another inhale of his familiar scent.
“What? What the devil for?” His hand ran over his hair, smoothing it. A nervous habit.
Ellen reached up to fix it back into place. “She tried to tell me—this sounds crazy—”
“That you aren’t you and she’s you?”
Ellen stopped her fussing and looked at him. “Yes. How did you know? It’s insane.”
Jonathan sighed, picking a cigar out of the engraved silver case and trimming it with his Havana punch cutter. “She’s telling everyone that. I’m sorry she did it to you.”
“She’s … well, a bit disturbed, isn’t she?” Ellen asked, taking the cigar out of his hand.
“I’ll say. You should hear what comes out. I—honestly, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. She’s acting crazy, too crazy—it’s just so damn hard when she’s completely unreasonable. The doctors say this can happen after a coma—confusion and irrational behavior. I don’t want to be a total ass. What can I do? I mean after what she did—”
“You’re not, Jonathan. You’re not.” Ellen tossed the cigar onto the desk.
“I’ll tell her not to call you, I’ll tell the doctor to tell her as well, but if she does, just ignore her. Hang up. Okay?” He held her tight.
“I’ll try. Poor thing, I feel sorry for her.” Ellen tried her best to sound sincere. “She sounds so confused. I hope she sorts it all out.”
“So do I. God damn it, so do I. This throws a wrench into everything. I can’t see you in the office like this, just in case she shows up here once she’s released. Or out in public, it’s too risky. Can you wait, darling? Can you wait a little longer?”
“Of course,” Ellen said with a kiss.
“I’m just so damned angry about everything … this delays all our plans.”
Our plans! Ellen leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “Yes … our plans,” she said with a smile. “Our plans.”
***
The ride from the hospital seemed to take forever. Sam felt eagerness—what future lay before her? A big house. A mansion and piles of money. All of it now hers, complete with servants and designer clothes and fancy parties. She may be stuck in a decrepit old body, but she was determined to make the best of it. Patty was right—none of this was her fault, but for now, she should take advantage of the situation.
She stared at the massive houses passing before her—more like giant palaces. They were enormous and behind every one of these huge gates—rich people! And now, she was going to be part of it. Shopping would be first on her list, after all the plastic surgery, of course. New shoes and clothes, lots of clothes. “Yes, Mrs. Horvath!” “Put this on your husband’s account?”
The car pulled up to a long stone fence, and tall metal gates with a curly scroll design and an intercom panel, which the driver ignored as the gates opened. Sam had driven past the house several times with Sienna, spying inside the gates and dreaming of one day becoming the lady of the house. And now her dream was about to come true, sort of. Sam looked down at her ugly hands and wished she was entering as a beautiful young Mrs. Horvath instead.
They slowly drove up the long drive to the stately monster house covered in tangled vines and stone. As she started to get out of the car, the driver raced around and held her hand while she exited. �
��Why, thank you, sir,” Sam said, her voice filled with faux southern charm. “Hey, what do I call you?”
“Weston.” He took his hat off and held it to his chest.
“The chicken has a certain … Wessonality.” Sam sang, but he stood, unaware of her joke.
“Mrs. Brady?” No response. He looked at her with a blank expression.
She shrugged. He would need some work to lighten up. She glanced up toward the house and saw the servants lined up outside the front door, just like in the movies. This was going to be fun, having tons of money and power. “Hello,” she called out to them. “Hello, my servants. I’m back. I’m better.” She smiled and waved. They looked at her with frozen smiles.
The older woman at the head of the line stepped forward. “Madame,” she said as she curtsied.
My god, Sam thought, they really do stuff like this. She curtsied back, uncertain what to do next. Everyone stood waiting so she walked toward the stairs.
The front door slowly opened as she walked up the stairs and a gentleman in a dark suit stepped aside. Once inside, the front entrance glowed with light streaming in from the beveled glass windows, located high overhead, and tall windows rose up toward a high ceiling painted in soft colors and covered in swirly, fairytale trim. Marble floors covered in an old-fashioned floral pattern seemed to go on endlessly. A huge table with an enormous bouquet of lilies and white roses sat in the center. She turned, holding out her hands. “It’s so beautiful. It’s just beautiful,” she said as she spun around a few times. She stopped and turned to the gentleman, holding the heavy door open. “Will you show me around?”
He closed his mouth. Hesitating briefly, he nodded. “Certainly Madame,” he said, and closed the door. She linked arms with him as he adjusted his jacket and cleared his throat.
“What do I call you?”
“Carlos, Madame.”
“Well, Carlos, I want to see every room.”
“Yes, Madame,” Carlos said, staring straight ahead.
“And starting with this big one here.” He cleared his throat again and followed her lead into the main living room. “I just can’t believe this is all mine now,” she said spinning around the room and flopping on the chaise lounge. “Carlos, can you believe it?”