Pot of Gold

by Judith Michael

  "Emma's all right now, isn't she.'*" Claire asked. "Now that she's awake . . . V

  The nurse hesitated. "I don't know. Sometimes there's dam-

  age that we don't see for a ... I can't really say, Mrs. Goddard; the doctor can tell you much more." She leaned over the bed. "Hang in there, Emma; you're doing fine."

  Emma was struggling to understand what had happened. Her throat hurt; she hurt all over, especially in her stomach, as if she were bruised inside, as if she had had a terrible fall or she'd been in a fight, but she could not remember falling and she had never, ever, been in a fight. But she hurt, and it made her feel heavy, but at the same time she felt empty and light-headed, the way she felt sometimes when she hadn't eaten and she and Brix were in his bedroom, doing drugs with the television on, just the picture, not the sound. She felt she wasn't connected to anything, not even herself. There isn't any Emma anymore; she's gone. She went to dinner with Brix and she disappeared.

  She was terrified. Vm here! Vm me! Vm Emma! Vm here! But the words were trapped inside her. She heard her mother and the nurse talking, but her own voice was gone. She didn't have a voice; she didn't have anything. She was a hollow shell, brittle and heavy with weariness, so heavy she could not move; she could not even lift her hand.

  Dinner with Brix. She remembered that: she and Brix had gone to dinner and he'd said some terrible things. She couldn't remember what they were, but she knew they were awful. She couldn't remember anything but Brix's cold face and the waiter looking worried as he pulled out the table.

  Brix. Her lips formed the word.

  "He's not here," Claire said briefly. "I don't know where he is. We found you in your room in the hotel, Emma, alone; no one was with you. You were very sick. Something happened to make you sick."

  Emma closed her eyes. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die.

  "Emma! Open your eyes! Please, Emma, you're going to be all right, you're going to get well; listen, I'm here, I'll help you, but you've got to open your eyes again—"

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Goddard." The doctor stood beside Claire. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay in the waiting room for a few minutes; it won't be long, and then you can come back."

  "But I want to know if she's all right—"

  "Fll talk to you after I examine her. I'm sorry, Mrs. Goddard, but I can't tell you anything until then."

  Claire lingered, watching Emma's closed eyes, her face settling back into stillness. But the doctor stepped in front of her, bending over Emma, and after another moment she went back to the waiting room.

  "Well.^" Hannah demanded.

  "She woke up. She can't seem to talk; I think she tries, but nothing happens. But then she went back to sleep." Suddenly Claire felt herself collapse. Alex jumped up and held her as her knees buckled and she began to fall.

  "Here, sit down," he said, and brought her with him to the couch. "You've been in there almost three hours, and you haven't slept and you haven't eaten."

  "I brought muffins," Hannah said. "Just in case." She opened her enormous purse and brought out a paper bag filled with muffins in cupcake papers. "We can get more coffee."

  "I'm not hungry," Claire said. "I'm not tired."

  "What did the doctor say.^" Gina asked.

  "Nothing, yet; she's with Emma now. Slie'll call me when she's examined her. The nurse said they don't know—even if she wakes up—they don't know if she'll be all right."

  "Of course she'll be all right," Hannah said. "I've seen many people in comas in my time, and when they start responding, you know you're out of the woods."

  Claire was too tired to ask Hannah when she had seen people in comas. She leaned against Alex, looking dully at the table in front of them. Hannah was clearing a space among the magazines and setting out muffins. "I'll go get us some coffee," she said.

  "Did the doctor say how long it would be.^" Gina asked.

  Claire shook her head. "I guess a few minutes."

  "Then I've got time to make a phone call. I'll be right back." She walked down the corridor to the pay phone and leaned against the wall, her lips close to the mouthpiece. "Hank, it's Gina, I wondered if you got the memos and test reports I faxed you."

  "I called. I told your friend Roz I got them."

  "Oh. Well, I haven't been home and haven't talked to her; I'm at the hospital with a friend. So.'' What's your office going to do about it.''"

  "We're going to check it out, Gina, but not the week before Christmas. Even the Connecticut State's Attorney gets a hohday, you know. We'll wait till next week, or maybe after the first of the year. Nothing's going to happen in the next couple of weeks."

  "You mean you'll send people out to search Eiger Labs.'"'

  "I mean one of us will go out there and talk to the president of the company. As long as a product sits in their warehouse, they haven't committed a crime. They'd be in trouble if they shipped a product they knew could cause health problems—"

  "Or blindness."

  "In one test, according to the stuff you sent me, and not proven to have been caused by the cosmetic, though it looks like a high probability. What I'm concerned about here is keeping possibly unsafe products off the shelves of stores in Connecticut, so I think it's likely that we'd compel them to hold up shipping until we check everything out. Isn't that what you wanted.'"'

  "Sounds fine to me. I was just wondering . . ."

  "Now what.?"

  "I thought it would be good for Quentin Eiger's board, his partners, to know what's going on in their company."

  "How do you know they don't.''"

  "I'm guessing they don't. If you could call them, Hank . . ."

  "That's not the job of the State's Attorney, and you know it. We've been friends for a long time, Gina, and I love you and think you're terrific, and I definitely think you did a good deed sending me that stuff, but I'm not playing whatever game you're into now."

  "Then I guess I have to call them myself," Gina said, and as soon as she hung up, she dialed the first of the two numbers she had written in her pocket notebook and took a deep breath, so she could tell her story quickly and devastatingly, and then get back to the waiting room, to find out what was happening with Emma.

  As soon as he was back in his office, Brix called the hospital in New York. He spoke to the operator and then someone in the emergency room and finally a nurse in intensive care. "I'd like to know how Emma Goddard is; she was brought in—"

  "Are you a relative.''" the nurse asked.

  "I'm a friend, a good friend—"

  "I'm sorrv, we can only give out information to relatives."

  "But is she dead?" he cried.

  "No, sir," said the nurse, relenting as she heard the anguish in Brix's voice. "She isn't dead."

  Brix hung up. Not dead. Christ, what was he supposed to do now.'' He slumped in his chair, looking at his feet. He'd probably made things worse. If he was worried about her talking when she was crazy about him, she'd sure as hell talk now, when she thought he'd ruined everything. And if she lived and told the doctors she hadn't taken any Halcion, the whole goddamn bunch of them would think about other ways she might have gotten it, and the first thing they'd think of was him. Unless she died before they could ask her, and he had no control over that. Christ, what a fucking mess, he thought.

  His telephone rang. "I want you in my office," his father said.

  It's too soon. She wasnt due at Hale's office until this afternoon, and Hale wouldn't call him when she didn't show up. Not right away, anyway. It's too soon. He doesn't know anything. "Should I bring something.'' Any reports or—"

  "Just get the hell in here."

  Shit. What's happened? Wc took two quick snorts of coke, then grabbed a stack of papers so his secretary would think he was on important business and walked down the corridor to his father's corner office. "Yes, sir, reporting for duty," he said, trying to make it a joke, but at the look on his father's face, his grin faded.

  "What the hell is going on with you
and Emma.^"

  "Me and Emma.''" Brix repeated. "Nothing. I mean, I've been going out with her, you know that—"

  "What does she know about the PK-20 line.'"'

  Brix felt his stomach contract. "Nothing. I mean, she knows what it is; she's been in enough photographs with the stuff in her hand or whatever—"

  "She knows something about the tests, and you've known it, and you haven't told me. How did she know.'"'

  "Where do you get this.''" Brix demanded, thinking this was his only way out. Emma might still die; he could deny any rumors, he could bull his way through anything, as long as Emma wasn't around. "I mean, it sounds like some idiot's been making up crazy stories."

  "Her mother knows. Her mother's boyfriend knows. For all I know, the whole fucking world knows. What the hell is wrong

  with you? You can't fuck a girl without teUing her every goddamn thing that's in your head?"

  "I didn't tell her anything," Brix said, but the words came out weakly. The tightness in his stomach came back. Her mother knows. Her mother's boyfriend knows. She'd told people and she'd kept it from him. The little bitch; all the time she'd been swearing she hadn't told anyone, all the time she'd looked at him with those incredible eyes and he'd believed her, she'd been lying to him. Lying to him! What the fuck kind of love was that? "I didn't tell her anything," he said again.

  "Then how did she know? God damn it!" Quentin roared when Brix was silent. "How did she know? You're the only one she's been sleeping with; how did she—"

  "Well, I'm not so sure about that." It was like a lifeline and Brix grabbed it. "I mean, I don't know who she's been screwing. It could have been anybody. Maybe Kurt. Maybe Hale, after Roz moved out. She gets around, you know; I've been pretty sure for a long time that I wasn't the only one."

  Quentin looked at him with contempt. "She hasn't looked at another man since she met you, much less slept with one; she's been a lap dog, following you around, begging for anything you could give her, and if you were a man instead of a whimpering asshole, you wouldn't try to hide behind that kind of shit." He stood up and leaned over the desk, leaning on his hands, towering over Brix. His voice was colder than Brix had ever heard it. "I want to know what she knows and how she knows it. I'll ask her if I have to—"

  "No! I mean, she's not here."

  Quentin's eyes narrowed. "Where is she?"

  "New York, at a photo session. I went in with her last night, but I wanted to get to work on time so I came back this morning. I don't know what she did after dinner last night; we had separate rooms. She didn't like it but I thought, you know, a big hotel, it would be better for her repu—" He stopped. He was talking too much.

  "She didn't go to the photo session."

  "What? I don't believe it! She's never missed one. Maybe she's sick. Did Hale check the hotel?"

  "I told her mother to tell her we wouldn't be needing her anymore."

  Brix stared at his father in bewilderment. "Her mother? You talked to her mother? How come? I mean, I thought you weren't seeing her anymore."

  "Her mother was worried about her. Her mother's boyfriend was worried about her. They were afraid you'd think she was a threat because of whatever she'd found out about the PK-20 line, and they remembered what you'd done in college when you thought someone had done something you didn't like."

  Brix sat frozen in his chair. He was ice-cold with fear. How did they know what had happened in college? Emma didn't know; she would have said something. How did her mother know? Anyway, his father took care of that mess a long time ago; why would anybody talk about it now? He shrank into himself, cold and alone. His father filled his entire field of vision; there was no one else in the world but that huge, commanding figure, leaning over him, but not with love.

  "They came storming into my house last night, looking for her, asking for the names of hotels you usually stay in. They thought she was in danger. Was she?" Quentin waited. ''Was she?"

  Brix shook his head. Once he started, he could not stop. His head wagged back and forth while he tried to think of something to say.

  "I assume they found her; her mother hasn't called again. Did they find her?"

  "I don't know," Brix said, his voice barely a croak.

  "You know damn well they found her; otherwise we would have heard from them. She's probably at home, unless you have some reason to think she's somewhere else." Quentin waited. "Then I'll call her at home, or you tell me what the hell is going on. All of it."

  Brix stared helplessly at his father. He could not think of anything to say except the truth, and the truth terrified him.

  "From the beginning," Quentin snapped. "All of it, from the beginning."

  Brix gave up. "She was in my office one day when I wasn't there." He stared at the toe of Quentin's gleaming shoe, and his voice was a monotone. "I told her not to do that, but she did, sometimes, and she saw a couple of Kurt's memos on my desk. I told her a million times not to read anything on my desk, but she did, she opened the folder, in fact, and read them, and sometime.

  I don't remember when, she asked me about them and I told her they didn't mean anything, that we were doing new tests and everything was fine, but she shouldn't talk about it because it could hurt our reputation, you know, if it got out. Something like that; anyway, she believed it, she said she wouldn't talk. And she didn't, I know she didn't, I scared her, she knew I'd drop her if she talked, but then she found out we didn't do any new tests and . . . oh, shit, I don't know, I guess she told somebody." Brix looked up. "But I didn't know it. I mean, I didn't know she told anybody until just now, when you told me."

  "So she wasn't in danger. Is that what you're saying.^"

  "How did her mother know about what happened in college.^" Brix burst out.

  "Lorraine told her."

  "Oh, fuck Lorraine," Brix muttered. He looked up. "But then you told her mother I didn't have anything to do with it, right? I mean, that was what you told everybody. That was the line."

  "Was she in danger.''"

  Brix was silent.

  Quentin shoved the telephone toward him. "Call her at home."

  Brix stretched out an arm. It felt heavy and reluctant. He picked up the telephone and slowly punched the numbers for Emma's home. He listened to the ringing at the other end; he let it ring for a long time. "She's not there." He hung up the telephone. "They're probably still in New York. Maybe they decided to stay another night."

  "Where is she.?"

  Brix cast a swift glance around the room, as if there might be a way out, then looked back at the toe of his father's shoe. "I guess she might be in the hospital. She got sick at the restaurant. I mean, she felt lousy, she went to the bathroom and then she decided to go back to the hotel. I didn't see her, I didn't want to wake her up, but I called this morning, early, and they told me she'd been taken to the hospital. They said it was her parents; I guess that was the guy her mother was with."

  "What was wrong with her.?"

  "I don't know; I told you, she didn't feel good—"

  Quentin picked up the telephone. "\'hich hospital.?"

  "She took an overdose! That stuff she was taking, you know, to help her sleep, Halcion, she took too much of it and she was drinking a lot at dinner and then she wanted a cognac and I didn't know she'd taken so much of that stuff so I said she could have one. I guess I should've said no, but she didn't tell me exactly—"

  "For Christ's sake." Quentin's body was rigid. "Did you see her take it.^"

  "No, she told me—"

  "She told you she took an overdose.''"

  "No, not just that way, I mean, she said she'd taken a few, to help her sleep, you know—"

  "And you let her drink at dinner.''"

  "I didn't know! I mean, I did know, but not how many. She didn't say how many."

  "What else did she say.'"'

  "That was it! That's all I know! She took a few, she said. But they found the empty bottle in her room—"

  ''How do you know that?"
>
  Brix stared at his father. Slowly, his body folded in on itself. He huddled in his chair.

  "You stupid bastard." Quentin burst from behind his desk, and Brix shrank as he came close. But he kept going, passing his son with barely a glance, to pace the length of the room, his head down. A deep rage, like a serpent, coiled inside him, its venom in his blood and bones. His chest and head felt constricted; he wondered if this was how a heart attack felt. He breathed deeply, trying to get past the constriction, trying to clear his head so he could think. Trapped, he thought. Fools all around me, and I could be trapped.

  But why should he be.'* He could manage events. He just had to think. The company first. He'd been thinking about the company since Claire left the night before, and it probably wasn't as bad as he'd thought then. Rumors were a fact of life in business, but they were ephemeral; the crucial thing was to counter them before they had a chance to take root. If a handful of insignificant people were talking about problems with PK-20, Eiger Labs would give a few interviews to carefully chosen reporters and get articles printed early in the new year, based on the test reports that Brix had altered. No one had seen the original reports; no one ever would. That would take care of the rumors, and it would still

  leave time to locate a new model, launch a second advertising campaign, heavier on TV than they'd planned, and make the scheduled release in March, or at the latest, early April. It would be tight, but it could be done.

  But his half-assed son wouldn't be a part of it. He turned and walked back to his desk and sat in his chair, looking across the polished surface at the slumped figure of his son. "How sick is she.?"

  "I don't know," Brix muttered. "All the nurse said was, she's still alive."

  "What did you put it in.'"'

  His father's voice was relaxed, almost friendly. Brix looked up. His father knew, and he wasn't angr>^ He felt a burden begin to lift, just as he had felt it lift before, in college, when his father took over. Quentin had been like a whirlwind then, making telephone calls, talking to people, telling Brix what to say and when to stay out of sight. He'd been just like God, creating the world. "The cognac," he said. "She never liked the taste."