Manacled in Monaco

by Jianne Carlo

  “Madame Paxton, since the risk of birth defects is high if you have contracted the disease, you may want to consider your options. You should use some form of conception prevention immediately and continue doing so for at least the incubation period.”

  All the color had drained out of Sarita’s complexion. Even her forearms seemed ashen.

  Rizzo and Suresh left with the Doctor.

  Words failed him and he drew her into his arms. They stood in silence, fingers linked around each other’s waist, and Rolan stroked a hand up and down her spine.

  “For the next few days, Tony’s our priority.” He tipped up her soft dimpled chin. “No worrying about being pregnant or the consequences of chicken pox. Let’s focus all our energy on our son. We’ll deal with everything else once he’s healthy again. Okay?”

  “I’ll try.” He had to strain to decipher what she said.

  Two fingers straightened the third button of his shirt and her quivering lower lip told him she neared tears. Aiming to keep her busy, Rolan suggested, “Why don’t you move some of Tony’s things in here? I’ll see to the others and make sure no one leaves the Glory. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

  “I’m not made of porcelain. I’m tougher than you think. Anthony needs me to stay calm and nurse him through this stupid disease. Honestly, it seems as if everything’s falling apart.”

  He seconded that notion. Rolan knuckled his throbbing temples and wondered if headaches were symptomatic of chicken pox. Cursed shouts came from the direction of the entertainment area. He continued down the corridor, dragging one foot in front of the other along the teak floor.

  Everyone had gathered in the wide rectangular room. The din of raised voices compounded by a blaring plasma TV, incongruous sitars playing in the background, and the blast of the ship’s whistle, served to exacerbate the pounding in his head.

  “For God’s sake, shut up,” he bellowed, and his holler startled them into silence for a brief second.

  “Do you know what you’ve done? I can’t possibly remain cooped up on this tugboat for twenty-one days,” Shannon shrieked.

  “I have the Saint Laurent show next week,” Brianna whined.

  “I’m doing a screen test for Spielberg next Monday in LA,” Cindy-something moaned.

  Cry babies. Spoiled rich bitches. Rolan stifled another roar.

  His son had a fever over a hundred. His wife could be pregnant with a handicapped fetus. The damned tape from Homecoming floated around and he’d lost touch of who had it in all the confusion. Add those factors to the dilemma with the new headquarters and missing the first couple of weeks of practice, and a career meltdown loomed. At least Rizzo wouldn’t be there either.

  “I can’t force any of you to stay here, but I guarantee all of you that the press will get wind of this. Think of the publicity that will result if anyone of us goes out in public and risks a pregnant woman’s health, or that of her unborn child. Make your own decisions.” He shrugged. “Stay, go. But, if you do stay, I’m warning each of you. You’ll be fending for yourselves. Sarita and I will be too busy to cater to anyone.”

  “I called Alain Ducasse. The Louis XV will send food three times a day and provide for snacks between meals.”

  “My thanks, Suresh,”

  “One of the members of the housekeeping staff at the Hotel de Paris has had chicken pox and she’ll come in daily.” This from Rizzo. “How is Tony?”

  “Out cold. Geoff?”

  “The same,” Suresh replied. “The doctor prescribed some drugs and they’ll be delivered within the hour.”

  “I’ll have Geoff moved to the stateroom next to Tony’s. We may as well try to contain the infectious area. Thank God the staterooms are split into two halves. I suggest you keep to the stern end of the boat and Tony, Geoff, Sarita, and I will stick to the other. To prevent further infection, we might arrange for two separate sets of meals, one container for you five, another for us.”

  “Boss, I’ve had chicken pox. I can help you with the sickies.”

  “Thanks Austen. I may take you up on that.” Rolan raked the man. He seemed sober enough.

  “Both Suresh and I have had it too, Paxton. Let us know what we can do.”

  Give me that tape, Rolan thought, but grudgingly acknowledged the other man’s generous offer by saying, “Thanks. I may take you up on that, Rizzo.”

  “I’ve arranged for my laptop to be delivered here. I’m thinking we’ll delay the practice camp for two weeks, and that’ll work out better for all of us. Gives me a month to locate new headquarters ‑‑”

  “I thought we had a deal, Suresh sweetie. Are you reneging on your word?” Shannon interrupted and her tone held a hint of steel.

  “I didn’t commit to anything Shannon, and Geoff can back me up on that.”

  “If he remembers anything of tonight,” she said in a saccharine drawl.

  They stumbled through tentative arrangements.

  Suresh accompanied Rolan when he left.

  “I was bluffing back there, Paxton. We can’t delay practice camp. We need Shannon’s deal. The only other option is to rent for the season and that has definite drawbacks.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Play nice with Shannon, at least until the deal’s signed. She’s made her interest in you quite clear.”

  “I will not screw her.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Play her until I have the deal in the bag.” He held up a hand. “Don’t say no. Discuss it with Sarita and then give me your answer.”

  “Let’s table it for now.”

  “Deal. If I can help with Tony, don’t hesitate.”

  “Thanks. See you.”

  Rolan made it back to the master cabin about an hour later. He found Sarita curled up in an armchair next to Tony’s bed. She had dark circles under her eyes and didn’t stir when he transferred her to the mattress in the master.

  Undressing her proved a puzzling task as the sari seemed to be composed of yards and yards of silk with no buttons or zippers. The soft material lost the battle and tore in a few spots before he slipped it off.

  Even when he twisted one hand getting it into the sleeve of his T-shirt, she didn’t wince or mumble. Rolan marveled at how deeply she slept and remembered her saying Tony had inherited that trait from her father.

  In the few nights they’d been together, she had awoken every time he shifted in the bed. Concluding tension and shock had sent her into a sound slumber, he checked his son once more and decided to catch some winks himself when the boy’s forehead didn’t burn his palm.

  Tony didn’t wake or cry out once that night.

  The following morning, Rolan opened his eyes to sunshine streaming through a slight space between the royal blue curtains. Sarita, lying to his right, moaned a long pitiful sound of pain. He frowned and rose on his elbows.

  Curled up in a fetal position, long curls and tangled satin sheets hiding all but the riot of sunset hair streaming across the ivory material, she threw one arm out and rolled over.

  Spots covered every inch of her face and throat.

  He sucked in his breath and willed it to not be so.

  Jesus.

  What if she was pregnant?

  He didn’t know if he could cope with a handicapped child and she wasn’t open to any other options. Rolan set the thought aside, laid a palm on her forehead, and leapt out of bed.

  “Jesus.”

  He rushed into the other room, grabbed the emergency kit, and fumbled to unwrap one of the fever tabs.

  One hundred and two, her skin seemed hotter than Tony’s had been yesterday.

  Tony.

  Dashing back into his son’s room, he repeated the procedure, and blew out a long breath. One oh one and holding.

  Bath for Sarita.

  She woke several times during the soak, complaining about the icy water, and his pulse soared when her teeth started to chatter. After patting her dry and slipping on another T-shirt, Rolan snuggled with
her under the covers until she stopped shivering.

  “Thirsty.”

  The first word she’d said since last night and it sounded like heaven to his ears. Rolan sprinted to the bathroom and filled a tumbler full of water. But when he propped her up against the headboard and brought the glass to her mouth, she shook her head and clamped her lips shut.

  “Sarita honey, have a little sip, just a tiny one.”

  It took him over forty-five minutes to persuade her to drink half the glass. She wandered in and out of consciousness. Her eyes remained glazed even when they flickered open.

  “Mom? Mom?”

  Jesus.

  The boy had a bellow to match his. Rolan jogged to the other room.

  “Where’s Mom? I’m itching. Why do I have these bumps all over?”

  Clear jade eyes, no sweat on his forehead, Rolan set the glass on the bedside table and fumbled for one of the tabs on the table.

  “You have chicken pox, son. But you look a hell of a lot better today than you did last night. Scared your mom silly. Here, put one finger here and another there. Now let’s see if your temperature has dropped.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “Sleeping,” Rolan said, hedging, and made a quick decision. “How do you feel? Will you be okay if I leave you for a few minutes?”

  “I’m not a baby. Jeez. Between you and Mom, I’ll never grow up.”

  “One hundred degrees. Good, your temperature’s going down. Don’t move out of that bed or I’ll tar your backside. Got it?”

  “Hah, Mom doesn’t believe in spanking. You’d never get away with that.”

  Rolan checked one last time on Sarita and found her fast asleep, albeit tossing her head back and forth. He literally sprinted to the galley and almost collapsed when he found Rizzo whistling the William Tell Overture.

  “Rizzo, Sarita has chicken pox. I need help. She’s not conscious and her fever’s high. I need to give her a bath. Tony’s awake and someone has to look after him.”

  “Done. Let’s go. How bad is it?”

  “She’s covered in spots, pale, and her eyes are glazed. I don’t think she knows who I am.”

  “That’s a real bummer. Sorry to hear it. What about Tony?”

  “Fever’s down to a hundred and he’s complaining I’m treating him like a child.”

  Rizzo grinned and chucked him on the shoulder. “Youth, right? They bounce back. Bet you’ve thought that about me a zillion times.”

  “Don’t puff up Rizzo, you’re not that young.”

  They reached the master cabin and Rolan gasped.

  Sarita lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. Tony had her head in his lap, tears streamed down his cheeks. He shook her shoulders and whispered, “Mom, Mom. Please wake up.”

  Rolan froze.

  Rizzo rushed forward and gripped the boy’s shoulders.

  “Your mom’s going to be just fine, Tony.” Rolan’s paralysis dissolved, he ate the distance to his wife, bent, and scooped Sarita into his arms. “She’s burning up.”

  “Is Mom going to die?”

  “No, Tony. She has chicken pox like you do. She’ll be fine.”

  “Did I give it to her? I made Mom sick.”

  “No, you didn’t son. Someone else made all of you sick. Now, go with Jimmy. I need to take care of your mom. After I give her a bath, she’ll be better.” Rolan prayed his words proved a prediction.

  Hustling Tony out of the room, Rizzo said, “Holler if you need me.”

  That set the pattern for the day. A cool tub for Sarita every couple of hours, dry her off, and let her go back to sleep. Between the two of them, they managed to get her to drink almost a whole glass of water, but she refused food. Sarita seemed to fade before his eyes, and around eight that night stopped complaining about burning up or freezing. Even the cold temperature of the water didn’t spark a response.

  Collapsing in an overstuffed chair, elbows braced on his knees, Rolan propped his face in sweaty palms. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t.

  “How is she?” Rizzo’s low murmur broke his morbid train of thought.

  “The fever just won’t drop. Did you get hold of the doctor?”

  “There was a big pileup at the practice for the Grand Prix. I can’t get anyone to respond. All of Monte Carlo’s ambulances are deployed at the accident site. Should we take her to the hospital emergency?”

  “I’m afraid to move her. She goes from burning to her teeth rattling in a snap. I looked up chicken pox on the Net. Secondary pneumonia is the major cause of death.”

  “Frick. And the temperature’s dropping like a bomb. We’re going to hit the low fifties tonight.”

  “Maybe we could phone the hospital and get their recommendation.”

  “I was on hold with them for over twenty minutes and finally gave up.”

  “Suresh?” Exhaustion struck him like a bomb, he lifted his head, and his bleary eyes met Rizzo’s.

  “Has his hands full. Geoff’s in the same state as Sarita, and Harry came back drunker ’n a skunk, and he’s burning up, too. The idiot’s so pissed he’s thinks it’s a flu. On the bright side, Tony’s temperature’s gone and his spots are already starting to recede. He had two bacon cheeseburgers for lunch and ribs with potato salad for dinner.”

  “Is he in bed?”

  “Yeah, out cold. His energy levels aren’t back to par. He’s a great kid. I hope my sons turn out like that. Have you ever hung with Treach’s kid?”

  “Not after the first time I had dinner with him and his wife. I hate kids who run around restaurants screaming.”

  “Tell me about it. You know you’ll be a great dad.”

  “Let’s not get too warm and fuzzy here.”

  Rolan stood, bowed his back in a long stretch, and then reached his arms over his head.

  “Hey, why don’t you take a five? You haven’t eaten for the day. There’re ribs and veggies in the oven, and the salad’s in the fridge.”

  “I’ll take you up on that. And if you don’t mind, I’ll grab a quick shower in your cabin. Come and get me if anything changes. Anything.”

  “Will do.”

  He showered first, figuring a cold one would keep him awake longer. After forcing down a few ribs, a couple of spoonfuls of potato and pea salad, Rolan put on a pot of coffee. He slumped onto a barstool. As the rich aroma of espresso teased at his nostrils, he leaned his head against the wall and dozed.

  Rizzo shook him awake.

  “Rolan, wake up. Sarita’s temperature is over one oh four ‑‑ we need to run her to the hospital.”

  “Jesus.” He raced down the hallway and burst into the cabin. Sarita’s limp form lay on the mattress. “Dampen a couple of towels and grab my bathrobe.”

  “Done.” Rizzo disappeared and came back with the requested items. “You want me to check on Tony?”

  “Please. I’m so sorry to do this, Sarita honey,” he muttered, his fists clenching and un-clenching. Rolan lifted the T-shirt and placed the cold moist towels around her body, then wrapped her up in his thick navy bathrobe.

  He carried her to the car.

  Jimmy drove to the hospital and remained in the near empty emergency room while they were admitted. The lone doctor on duty chased Rolan back to the waiting area and both men paced in silence. Time crept by, and although Rolan ordered Rizzo home about every thirty minutes, the young athlete refused to leave.

  One of the many Catholic churches dotting Monte Carlo’s inner city heralded each hour with echoing bells. A hint of the sun’s rays streamed over the horizon lifting the night’s darkness. The same cathedral bell rang seven times. On the last ring, the swinging doors fronting the entrance to the hospital’s innards banged open and a white-coated goateed doctor strode through them.

  “Mr. Paxton,” he said. “Your wife is conscious and she wants to see you.”

  “Jesus.” A dumb smile curled his lips. “Heard that Jimmy? Sarita’s awake.”

  “That’s great news, Rolan.”

&n
bsp; “Yeah. Yeah.”

  “Hey man, wipe your face before you see her.”

  Shock forced a snort-chortle out of his mouth, he shot Jimmy a rueful look, and swiped at the moisture on his cheeks. “Same for you, Jimmy. Same for you.”

  Rizzo shedding tears for his wife.

  He sighed and any remnants of hostility between them vanished. Great, now he and his rival had bonded. His feet flew across the terrazzo tiles while he listened to the doctor’s assessment of her condition.

  Sarita had an IV hooked up to her right forearm, which made his heart pump faster. Amber eyes, though a little reddened, met his straight and clear, and his pulse settled a tad.

  “How’s Tony?” The sound of her hoarse voice compressed his chest. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, and he closed his eyes and offered a small thank you to the heavens above.

  “Jesus, Sarita honey.” He ate up the distance to her bed and smothered her left hand with both of his, kissing her fingertips and rubbing her small palm. Her skin felt warmer than it should be, but not as hot as before. “You’re alive, that’s all I care about. When that fever wouldn’t go down I was so scared.”

  “Tony?”

  “He’s fine. His spots are fading and he’s such a shark, he’s using being sick to worm bacon cheeseburgers out of Jimmy. Doesn’t take much though, since Rizzo’s a sucker for the kid. He gave him two burgers for lunch.”

  Her mouth lifted. “He’s got your charm.”

  “They want to keep you overnight. In a few minutes, they’re going to transfer you to a private room. I’m staying with you.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll be all right.” She cupped a hand over a wide yawn. “The stuff they gave me for the itching and the fever will make me sleep all night anyway.” Her lashes fluttered, and then shut, and within seconds her breathing had a regular rhythm.

  And he grinned like a jester and stared at his precious wife until they forced him out of the room. He’d forgotten completely about Jimmy and it was only when he heard the young athlete’s deep guffaw that he made his way to the hospital’s entrance.

  “Paxton, how’s the wife?” Rizzo had one palm propped on a wall adjacent to the long tresses of a mahogany-haired nurse who batted her eyelashes at him.