Everyone I contacted was supportive of the stay at home order and wanted to do whatever they could to encourage others to follow the state’s guidelines. Their support of first responders, medical workers, and caregivers was profound. After thirty minutes of text messages, I had more donations than I knew what to do with.
I chose two of the more appealing offers and included them as an incentive in my return email to the supplier. A few seconds after clicking the send button, my phone rang. It was my contact with the supplier.
Wearing a smirk, I answered the phone. “Rourke.”
“A walk-in on a Kevin Hart movie?” he asked. “Seriously? You’re telling me I’ll have a part in the next Kevin Hart movie?”’
“That’s what he said.”
“And a guest spot on Ellen DeGeneres’ show?”
“That is correct. But I’m giving you $200,000 even, and you’re air freighting me 125,000 masks and 8 brand new ventilators.”
“I said I’d provide 6.”
“And, I’m saying you either need to provide 8, or I’ll find someone else to do business with.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he asked. “The ventilators are bringing $20,000 each on the streets.”
“If the feds catch you selling them for profit, you’ll be doing 20 years in Lompoc.”
“Well, you’re not the feds.”
“It’s something to think about though. Men in the federal prison system are being infected at an astounding rate. Have you seen the numbers?”
“Enough about prison,” he said. “I can’t do 8. We need to stick with 6.”
“Got any kids?” I asked.
“What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just wondering if any of your kids would like to be in a Shawn Mendez music video.”
“Who the fuck’s Shawn Mendez?”
“You must not have any kids.”
“Is he popular?” he asked.
“He’s an award-winning artist. He’s got one music video that has over a billion views on YouTube.”
“A fucking billion?” he asked. “With a ‘B’?”
“Billion with a ‘B’.”
“Let me call you back.”
“Make it quick,” I warned. “In ten minutes, I’m going to someone else. Someone who knows who Shawn Mendez is.”
I hung up the phone and set it aside. When I looked up, Anna was sitting at her computer with her mouth agape. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
“You got Shawn Mendez to donate a music video spot?” she asked. “Shawn Mendez? Like Seńorita Shawn Mendez? Camila Cabello Shawn Mendez?”
“That’d be him.”
“Hoe. Lee. Crap.”
“We’ll see if my Hawaiian connection wants it.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
The phone rang. I gestured to it and grinned. “Hopefully, he’s got kids.”
“If not, I guess you’ll have to offer it to someone else. Someone will snatch that deal up.”
I reached for the phone. “There is no one else.”
I answered it. “Well?”
“This shit’s for real?” he asked, seeming hesitant. “No bullshit?”
“You’ve got my personal guarantee that when this pandemic’s over, you’ll get what I’ve promised. Ask around the industry, I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“Your reputation’s sterling,” he said. “Or we wouldn’t be talking. Tell you what. You’ve got a deal.”
“Email me the wire transfer information and I’ll send you the money. This stuff better be on a plane this afternoon. I need it tomorrow. No exceptions.”
“It’ll be out today,” he said. “You have my word.”
I hung up the phone and glanced at Anna. “Well, that’s a done deal.”
“So, you’re getting 125,000 N95 masks?”
“Correct.”
“Can I use 10,000 of them as a bargaining chip?”
“For what?”
“I want a doctor from the hospital to call you and have a one-on-one conversation about your father. I think the masks might be enough of an incentive to get him to do so.”
“Not a bad idea,” I said. “Give it a try.”
She leaned over her keyboard and began typing like her fingers were on fire. Since our agreement to be in a relationship, she’d been in my home non-stop. Six weeks earlier, I would have described such an event as torturous.
Now, I couldn’t think of having it any other way.
She swept the hair away from her face a few times, and then twisted it into a bun. She went right back to typing as if nothing had happened. The corners of my mouth curled up. I couldn’t help it.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I murmured.
She glanced up, but only for a second. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“I mean at all,” I said. “I want you to stay here. I wake up, I see you. I go to bed, you’re at my side.”
She looked up. “Really?”
“Really.”
She smiled. “Sounds fun. I’m in.”
She commenced with her email campaign. I watched her for a few moments, grinning all the while.
I shook my head in disbelief. “This is nuts.”
“What?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her typing. “Getting the masks? I know, they’re impossible to find. It’s crazy you found them, huh?”
“No, not that,” I replied.
She paused. “What, then?”
I pointed at her, and then at me. “This. Us.”
She looked up. “What about it? Us? Whatever.”
“It’s just. I don’t know.” I rested my chin against my clasped hands. “It’s easy.”
“Oh.” She smiled and then went right back to typing. “Yeah, it’s good stuff, that’s for sure.”
I didn’t know if it was Anna or the disease that opened my eyes, but they were open wider than they ever had been. The clarity of my vision allowed me to see a future with her that I never would have guessed could exist.
I hoped from deep within the limits of my soul that my father could be a part of it, also.
Anna
A member of the news crew had a microphone on an aluminum pole that was six feet long. With his arm extended, the device was eight feet from where he stood. He positioned it beneath Braxton’s chin.
We were at Scripps Mercy Hospital in San Diego, in the parking lot just beside the entrance. The moving van was parked at Braxton’s side, and the news reporter had an open case of N95 masks at her feet.
Wearing his favorite Tom Ford suit, his Breitling watch, and a homemade mask, Braxton leaned forward slightly. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed neatly, and his hair was freshly cut by yours truly.
“I can’t say enough to accurately express my appreciation for what the medical workers are doing in an effort to combat this disease,” Braxton said into the fur-covered device. “I felt this gesture would allow them to safely continue their quest to provide care to those who are suffering.”
The bubbly brunette reporter raised a small cardboard box of masks so the second cameraman could get it in the picture. “The filter in the N95 mask is made of thousands of nonwoven fibers, each of which is smaller than a human hair,” she explained through her cotton mask. “It is that complex filtration system that provides peace of mind to the many healthcare workers who are devoted to caring for those who are struggling to survive this deadly disease.”
She lowered the box and looked at Braxton. “It’s our understanding that you father is here? In Mercy?”
“He is.”
“Infected with COVID-19?”
“That is correct.”
“Any word on his expected recovery?”
“He’s on a ventilator,” Braxton replied. “He’s stable. That’s really all we know.”
“So many lives are dependent upon the ventilators, which are also in short supply,” she said. “This brings us to another chapter in this book of selfless acts. You’ve
donated 2 ventilators to this facility as well?”
“I have,” Braxton replied. “They’re in high demand and in short supply.”
The reporter faced the second camera. “Shy of their capacity in the ICU, Mercy was forced to turn away COVID-19 patients with critical respiratory issues, as their stock of ventilators was being utilized by men and women who were fighting respiratory failure. There’s no doubt that the ventilators donated will save many lives throughout this pandemic, which is only getting started here in San Diego County.” She turned to Braxton. “It’s our further understanding that you didn’t assemble this donation by yourself. What can you share about how this came together?”
“I couldn’t have done any of this without the help of a few generous and very thoughtful people,” Braxton replied.
“Can you name them?” she asked.
“I can,” Braxton said. “Ellen DeGeneres, Kevin Hart, and Shawn Mendez each made unnamed contributions, but none of this could have been done without Anna Wilson. When I was at an impasse in negotiations, it was her idea to include celebrity endorsements. Those endorsements sealed the deal.”
My heart swelled so much I could barely breathe. Then, my face went flush.
“We’re familiar with the first three names,” the reported said. “But the third? Is she new on the Hollywood scene?”
Braxton extended his right arm toward me. “Anna?”
Embarrassed, grateful, and shocked beyond belief, I stepped in front of the camera. Braxton draped his arm over my shoulder.
“Can you explain your thought process on putting this amazing deal together, Miss Wilson?” the reporter asked.
“This disease does not discriminate,” I replied. “Young, old, compromised health, or the epitome of health, we’re all at risk. To spread the word of this disease’s contagion and seriousness, I thought someone with a strong social media presence would be best.”
“Well, you’ve certainly found those people with DeGeneres, Hart, and Mendez,” she said, turning to face the second camera. “From Hollywood fixer, to Hospital fixer, Braxton Rourke and company have left their mark on Scripps Mercy. The medical staff, the community, and all of us at KGTV San Diego would like to express our sincere thanks. This is Meghan Murphy reminding you to stay safe, stay six feet apart, and stay strong.”
Following a few still shots of the delivery van, Braxton, and me, thanks was given by the entire news crew from afar. The medical staff then expressed their gratitude from inside the facility in the form of hand-written signs they held high in the air.
MASKS SAVE LIVES - THANK YOU
As the news crew loaded their equipment, Braxton faced me. “I’m glad this is over.”
“You looked like you were annoyed,” I said.
“Never cared much for having my picture taken.”
“Mister Rourke,” A voice from behind us said.
We both turned around. A gentleman dressed in blue scrubs was standing on the top steps of the entrance, twenty feet from where we stood. A plastic face shield and a cotton mask obstructed his face, but they did little to hide his exhaustion.
“Good morning,” Braxton said.
“I’m Doctor Betz,” the man said. “I wanted to bring you up to speed on your father’s condition.”
“I’d appreciate anything you can share,” Braxton said.
“As Doctor Ziminov advised you, your father’s condition hadn’t worsened, nor had it improved. He remained stable, but reliant upon the ventilator to breathe. This morning, based on your discussions of late yesterday, we opted to try an experimental drug, Remdesivir. Since the drug’s administration, we’ve seen major improvements in your father’s oxygenation. We’ve also recorded a significant decrease in his lung edema. He remains on the ventilator, but we have expectation that he’ll be off of it before day’s end.”
I gasped.
“Breathing on his own?” Braxton asked excitedly.
“This is our first experiment with this drug,” the doctor admitted, checking his watch as he spoke. “Believe me, we’re as excited as you are. Although we have chosen to leave him on the ventilator for now, we believe he will be breathing on his own soon.”
Braxton exhaled. “Is there any way you can keep me posted on his—”
“I have your cell phone number,” the doctor replied. “May I—”
Braxton nodded. “Absolutely.”
The doctor checked his watch. “I need to go.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Braxton said. “For everything.”
“The instant something changes,” The doctor said. “You’ll hear from me.”
Braxton held me tight against his shoulder. “Thanks again.”
The doctor gave a curt nod and turned away. As he disappeared through the hospital’s doors, Braxton exhaled. “Maybe Pratt’s right.”
“About what?”
“He said good karma brings good karma.”
“I believe hatred breeds hatred, and love can only blossom by and through love,” I said. “It sounds like he and I think alike.”
“Pratt doesn’t think like anyone,” he retorted. “He wanted to come here and see if he could get a nurse to fuck him. It wasn’t until I warned him about the possibility of getting infected that he finally decided it wasn’t a good idea.”
I gave Braxton a quick once-over.
I smirked. “He sounds like someone else I know.”
“That was the old me,” he said. “The new me isn’t like that.”
“Oh, he’s not?” I asked with a note of sarcasm.
“No, he’s not.” He kissed me. “The new me only fucks wannabe nurses, not real ones.”
Braxton
We had driven from Los Angeles to San Diego to pick up my father. The day after they administered the experimental medication, he was capable of breathing on his own. Two days later, they were ready to release him. Although he hadn’t fully recovered, staying in the hospital was no longer necessary. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to be living at my home until I felt he was strong enough to be on his own.
My father was like the THC-laced edibles peddled in So-Cal’s many marijuana shops. A little bit of him made most people smile, but a large dose could end catastrophically.
As we approached the hospital, the thought of having him in the home was proving to be more than I could bear.
“Is it the excitement, or is there something wrong?” Anna asked. “You seem, I don’t know, tense.”
I stared straight ahead. Visions of him going on a rampage about how I’d infected him with the disease came to mind. They were promptly replaced with vivid recollections of how he treated my ex-wife.
They got along like a mongoose and a snake.
I glanced in Anna’s direction. “Nothing’s wrong—”
“Why do you seem so anxious?”
I hadn’t lived with him since I was eighteen years old. As excited as I was to see him, the thought of having him in my home—especially with Anna present—made me as nervous.
“He’s just. He can be overwhelming,” I said. “He’s very opinionated.”
“You guys get along well, though. Right?”
I’d seen my father every Sunday for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t imagine life any other way. Having him in my home on a semi-permanent basis was a different story altogether. I wanted to explain matters to Anna but doing so without making him sound like an absolute asshole would be impossible.
“We do and we don’t. He’s…I don’t know how to explain it. He’s got an opinion about everything.”
“Most elderly men do,” she said. “I know my father did.”
“It’s not as simple as that. I guess you’ll just have to see.”
“All you’ve done for three weeks is complain because he’s in the hospital,” she gave me a condescending look. “I think you should be happy.”
“I am happy. I’m just. I guess,” I stammered. “I don’t know. I’m worried.”
She laughed
out loud. “Worried? You? Mister ‘I’ve been shot, stabbed, and survived roadside bombs’ is worried?”
I shifted my eyes from the freeway to her. “I’d rather be shot again than have him living with me. Us. This is going to be interesting I’ll promise you that.”
She gave me an apologetic look. “I don’t have to stay at your house. I can go home, you know.”
My desire to have Anna stay was as strong as my desire to have my father elsewhere.
“You’re staying.” I shot her a glare. “End. Of. Discussion.”
“Okay, Boss.”
As instructed by the hospital’s staff, we pulled up to the administration entrance of the hospital. The vehicle rolled to a stop. I glanced at the building. The hospital’s western-facing glass was tinted, but not so much that I couldn’t see through it. A tall mask-wearing orderly was standing beside a wheelchair. My father’s arms were waving in every direction, and his mouth was moving a mile a minute. An armed security guard at their side appeared to be taking mental notes of the event.
“See that?” I asked.
Anna shifted her attention from the parking lot to the hospital. “What?”
“Inside.” I nodded toward the commotion. “Right beside that potted palm. You can’t miss it.”
She scanned the area. Her eyes locked on the three men. “The two guys arguing?”
“One of them is arguing,” I said with a laugh. “The other is just listening. It looks like the guard is acting as the referee.”
“Is that—”
“You guessed it,” I said. “That’s Hap.”
She peered toward the three men. She squinted. “I thought he was a frail little old man. He doesn’t look frail, little, or old. He’s tall and he looks physically fit, especially for being comatose for three weeks.”
She was right. Considering the length of time he was confined to a bed, he looked like he was in remarkable condition.
“There’s nothing little about him.” I got out of the car and glanced at Anna. “I’ll be right back.”
She shot me a look while reaching for her door. “I’m coming.”
“Suit yourself,” I murmured.
We walked to the entrance side by side. The automatic doors slid open, revealing an amused guard, an argumentative Hap, and an extremely accepting young orderly, who appeared to be offering the old man a wheelchair.
The Man I Hate Page 21