by Don Potter
“Odd’s the word. What happens next with this, this mass? What do we do about it?”
“Nothing, other than checking on it again in a few months to make sure it hasn’t grown.”
“And if it does?”
Scanlon’s face seemed to deepen into a profound blankness. “She’ll spend the next couple of days here under observation and after that we’ll just keep an eye on it. Let’s stay in today, and not project, shall we?”
Stay in today? Why? I’d rather go back to yesterday. “Today, Ginger’s condition seems to have deteriorated,” I said.
Scanlon glanced down at his hands and sniffed. “It has and I would like you to keep watch on what she does, or actually what she no longer does. Note the differences.”
I had to ask the question. “Doctor Scanlon, how does it feel, how do you feel when a patient comes here and you have to give them bad news?”
His hands involuntarily tightened. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I think it must be the hardest thing in the world to do and remain unaffected.”
“I am affected,” he said. “And the hardest part is not the patients who have gone before, or those like Ginger who I work with right now. It’s knowing that no matter what I do, there will be new patients coming through that door tomorrow and the day after and they want me to perform miracles, but I cannot. Doe thathat answer your question?”
“Yes. So how do you handle it?”
“I paint soldiers. Little ones, scale models, with single-hair brushes for the fine detail. I’m working on a British 17th Hussar right now. It takes time, takes all my concentration and I forget everything else.”
I stood and put out my hand. “Thank you, doctor Scanlon for looking after my wife.”
“My pleasure, thank you. I’m doing what I can.”
“I know.”
We shook hands and I was almost through the door when he called to me. “Sometimes, when I don’t want to paint little soldiers, I make myself a pitcher of dry martinis, close the door of my study at home and get absolutely shitfaced.”
I liked him now, he was human.
57
Judge Clarence Thomas is confirmed to the US Supreme Court in spite of former aide, Anita Hill, accusing him of sexual harassment. U2 releases Achtung Baby. Kazakhstan declares independence from Russia. And Rob deals with personal issues.
* * *
The house was empty but filled with her presence. This was Ginger’s home, this is where she lived every day and her being was in every part of it. It contained a life that has been altered, suddenly diverted away from an assumed familiar path. On the kitchen counter was a pair of her glasses with another pair on a shelf nearby. She had so many pairs of glasses and no two alike. Eye jewelry she called them. In the living room her slippers lay tumbled one on top of the other where she had kicked them off to take a nap. In the bedroom was a neat stack of books she could no longer read and outside the front door was a flat of impatiens Ginger had not yet planted, and now she never would. My children linger in this home too. They are here: Stevie’s motionless room as he had left it when he moved out for college, and Beth’s room, still active, resonating with her youthful presence.
There was something else there; my absence, a counter-presence to my family. It revealed itself in simple ways. My clothes were neatly hung in the closet or folded away in drawers; my shoes aligned in rows, ready to be chosen. But there was no untidiness, no carelessly placed object, no casual mark that showed I lived here, that this was ever my home. No, I was a traveler, an intruder, just passing through, resting, moving on and leaving no trace I was ever there.
I was uneasy and a little lost. Until just a few months ago, my life was busy and I was needed. Deadlines had to be met, profits made, meetings held, and people expected me to make decisions. It was all glorious sound and fury and now it was not. And I was not who I was. I made coffee in the kitchen. It was a deafening quiet and I watched and heard my actions. “This is how prisoners in solitary go mad,” I heard myself say. “And now I’m talking to myself.”
The phone rang and I gratefully picked it up. The outside world.
“Rob, it’s Vince.”
“Vince, it’s great to hear your voice.”
“What’s going on? You sound sort of weird.”
I cleared my throat. ”That’s because I haven’t spoken to anyone except for yelling at the television this morning. How are you doing?”
“Close to being divorced if I don’t change my evil ways. Margie liked it best when I wasn’t at home so much. Now I’m always underfoot and it’s driving her crazy. How’s Ginger?”
“She’ll be home from the hospital tomorrow.”
“And? Come on, Rob, stop with the tough silent guy persona and tell me what’s going on.”
“She gets very depressed and frightened now. Sudden noises or movements scare her and she’s just about completely non-verbal.”
“And you? How are you?”
The question stunned me. I wasn’t expecting it and had no time to erect a defense. “Shitty, Vince. I am so lost. If this is retirement I don’t want it.”
“You’re doing better than Trip Wilson or the lovely Nancy Gates. I hear money and clients are pouring out the door. I’d be surprised if the Carlson situation lasts very long.”
“Are you surprised?”
“Not really, but happy I cashed out when I did. Maybe Nancy Gates will come knocking on your door soon,” Vince said.
“I certainly hope not.”
“What are you going to do, Rob? There’s a lot of time in front of you.”
“I wish I knew. Ginger’s the most important thing right now.”
“But you can’t look after her if you’re going bananas.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Thought any more about starting your own agency in? You know I’d like to work with you again. In the right creative environment we could do some great stuff.”
“I’ll keep that in mind too.”
“Think hard on that one, Rob Fleming, but not for too long. Remember, a man’s fate is a man’s fate and life is just an illusion.”
“Where the hell did that come from?”
“Shogun, James Clavell. I’ve been reading a lot. What else is there to do? See ya.”
I hung up and the house closed in and grew silent around me. Vince’s remark filtered through the silence: a man’s fate is a man’s fate and life is just an illusion. Life is only a dream. And, until now, I’ve been living the dream.
58
Markie Mark releases Good Vibrations. Tom Foley, Speaker of the US House of Representatives, threatens to close the House Bank due to members writing bad checks. George Hennard kills twenty-five in Texas then commits suicide. And Rob wrestles with his problems.
* * *
When I brought Ginger home from the hospital she entered the house like a wary animal approaching a waterhole.
“You’re home, sweetheart. Nothing to be afraid of,” I said as I took her hand and led her upstairs to our bedroom. She recoiled when I switched on the lights. I opened the door to her walk-in closet. “It’s all right. Look, your clothes, your shoes. Everything’s here.”
She ran her fingers over her hanging clothes and relaxed a little, as though she had gained familiarity and security through osmosis.
“And these are yours, remember?” I opened a drawer on her bedside table to reveal neat rows of eyeglasses. “Ready and waiting.”
Ginger sat on the bed, took out all the glasses and arranged them in a line. She tried on a pair, and another, and another. I watched her become completely absorbed in her eyeglasses. Life could be a dream, or a nightmare.
“Mister Fleming?” Maria’s voice came from downstairs.
“We’re up here, in the bedroom,” I called back and a few moments later Maria entered. She grinned when she saw Ginger.
“Miss Ginger is home,” she s
aid with her usual warm smile.
“Yes,” I answered. “I have to go out for a couple of hours.”
“We’ll be fine,” Maria said and sat next to Ginger as she held a pair of glasses up to her face.
I soon found myself in the Palisades driving along Sunset Boulevard and turned right on Pacific Coast Highway, heading toward Malibu. I wanted to be alone and away from the city but not too far away from home. The Pacific glittered on my left as I pulled into Malibu Seafood, an outdoor restaurant packed with tourists, on the right. While eating my fish and chips, I took in the view. Over the bay was Catalina, a long blue smudge on the horizon, where Ginger and I sometimes sailed with friends. Sailed, past tense, not anymore, not ever again.
I inhaled a deep, calming breath. Vince’s question surfaced and would not go away. “What are going to do, Rob? There’s a lot of time in front of you.”
There was, I hoped. And what was I going to do, other than go crazy pretending to be in retirement, and enjoying it? The sound-proof glass walls encasing Ginger were sadly getting taller and thicker by the day. Soon we would only be able to stare at each other in silence, and soon after that she would not remember who she was staring at. This is all part of the long goodbye that faces those with Alzheimer’s and their families. Knowing what to do long-term about Ginger’s care was sad but easy to understand - she would be in a facility that would take care of all her needs. Until then, Ginger stays at home. The unanswered and frightening question was what am I going to do with my life?
My life has been a dream. Maybe so, but I can’t exist on memories. I must live it, day by day, for it to be real. Then the answer flashed in my mind. It was clear what to do. Sh-Boom.
59
Hong Kong begins repatriation of the Vietnamese boat people. The Cold War ends when Soviet Union President Mikhail Gorbachev resigns and the Soviet Union dissolves. I’ll Fly Away begins on television. And Rob makes several big decisions.
* * *
I was standing in an empty suite of offices in Hollywood with the phone to my ear as I stared out at the Hollywood sign. Vince went quiet and for a moment I thought we had been disconnected. “Vince, Vince?”
“I’m here.”
“Well?”
“Do you really think Sh-Boom is a good name for an advertising agency?”
“It’s more than good. It’s great!”
“It certainly is different. I’ll give you that.”
“Sh-Boom is distinct, promises good things will happen, and gives the agency character.”
“If you say so.”
“Would you have preferred I call it Rob Fleming’s Magnificent Advertising Agency Machine?”
“Hell no.”
“We’re going to be a new kind of agency; lean and mean, fast and furious, dedicated and exciting. The kind of agency most clients want to work with because we deliver what we promise: Sh-Boom, Making Dreams Come True.”
“How long have you been rehearsing that pitch?”
“It came to me, just like the name.”
“Bullshit, you’ve been chewing on it for days. Write it down, though, because it’s your new elevator pitch.”
“So, you’re sold?”
“Yeah, I’m sold.”
“I’m hoping at Sh-Boom Advertising that life will be a dream. I want to have fun making ads again.”
“How far along are you, Rob?”
“Name registration and all the other paperwork is done and I rented office space in Hollywood, which I am standing in as we speak. It’s more than I need, but I’m not planning to be alone here for long. Grand it ain’t, available it was. Furniture, also rented, will be delivered on Monday; after hiring someone to answer the phone, Sh-Boom will be up and running by the end of next week.”
“When are you going to build out the office space?”
“There’ll be no building out. To be the kind of agency I envision to produce the kind of advertising that makes us truly different we need to work as a close knit unit. No private offices for anyone, no partitions, nothing but open space and wide open thinking. That’s the way we do it at Sh-Boom.”
“You’re taking one hell of a gamble.”
“Just about everything.” My chest tightened at that answer. I was taking a huge gamble and it would take damn near everything, except for a trust fund put away for Ginger’s care now and for the rest of her life. And that can’t be touched.
“Any clients?”
“Not yet.”
“They’ll come. If anyone can do it it’s Rob Fleming.”
“Thanks. There is one thing missing.”
“Yeah?”
“You. I need Vince D’Angelo. Can’t pay much to start but I can offer you some stock. Interested in going out on a limb with me?”
“When I said I wanted to work together, I thought you’d be packing up and coming to action central. New York is where advertising happens.”
“That’s what all New York agency people say. We did some good stuff out here. If you were with me in LA, we’d create great some advertising, I’m sure.”
“The missus would divorce me if I suggested that we pick up and leave our home.”
“Have you ever talked about moving?”
“Why would I? We have a co-op apartment here.”
“You don’t have kids, so rent it out and come join me. If after a year you decide the west coast is not right for either of you, move back to Manhattan. But you’ll still own stock in what I know will be the best agency around.”
“Let me think about it and talk it over with mama. But there’s no way I’m ever going to see the Dodgers play. Those traitors.”
“Vince, the Dodgers left Ebbets Field in ‘57.”
“Because Walter O’Malley thought the area around Ebbets was getting too Black. Funny, since he was the owner of the first team to field a Black player, Jackie Robinson. That was more promotion than anything else. I haven’t forgotten about the Dodgers treachery, not for one second. It’s the Yankees till I die. Ciao, bambino.”
I hung up, the phone rang again and I answered, “Sh-Boom Advertising.”
“Mister Fleming, Miss Ginger has disappeared again,” Maria said in a desperate voice.
I almost ran Ginger down. She crossed the road right in front of my car just as I turned the corner to our house. I jumped out and called to her, “Ginger!”
She stared at me with a look I would come to hate. It was blank with nothing behind it. I instantly got angry, then ashamed at my anger, then angry at the anger and angry at the disease, and all the while she just stood there and stared.
“Sweetheart, it’s me. Rob.”
“Rob?” She might as well have been saying rock.
“Yes, come on let’s go in the house.”
Over the next two months, Ginger wandered away twice. The first time was when she and Maria were grocery shopping. She was found walking around the parking lot. The second time we were having dinner at a Beverly Hills restaurant and Ginger went to the ladies room but ended up outside as though waiting for the valet to get her car.
When I talked about her wanderings with Doctor Scanlon he was forthright. ”This problem will worsen, and you should seriously consider moving Ginger into a memory facility for her own good. There are several very good ones in Studio City, just down the hill from where you live. Look at them and make a choice now before it’s forced on you.”
“Thanks.” We shook hands and I asked, “How goes the 17th Hussar paint job?”
Scanlon grunted. “He’s looking more like a Wookie, but my martini-making skills are getting better.”
Maria handed in her notice as Ginger became more difficult to watch over. “I’m sorry, Mister Fleming,” she said, “but Miss Ginger has become too much for me. She is always trying to get out. I cannot make her meals, do the laundry, or anything else because I must watch her all the time. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her.”
Finally, I was desperate enough to beg. “Look, Vince, you’re not doing anything but reading and otherwise being a pain in the ass around the apartment.”
“The wife will agree with that.”
“How ‘bout if you give her a break for a month or so and come out here and help me get the agency off the ground. You’ll make a few bucks and can go back home knowing you helped out an old pal.”
“Geez, Rob, if you feel that I’m the only guy around to help you get started, how can I say no?”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Is next Monday soon enough?”
“I would have preferred last Monday, but that’ll do.”
With Vince D’Angelo on board, if only for the time being, I was about to open the West Coast’s newest advertising agency, Sh-boom.
60
Russia, the former Soviet Union, re-opens diplomatic relations with Israel. Jeffery Dahmer admits to killing and dismembering eleven men and boys. Ice Cube releases Death Certificate. And Rob gets Sh-Boom Sh-going.
* * *
Vince liked everything about the Musso & Frank Grill on Hollywood Boulevard. “It’s not plastic-new, Mexican, or a franchise, like most of the restaurants in this town,” he said.
“Been around longer than the Hollywood sign. I saw my first Hollywood star here.”
“Lassie?”
“Zsa Zsa Gabor.”