by Ison, S. A.
He needed to be on his game tomorrow. There was a lot of pressure on him, and he needed to be clear headed.
10 June
Chicago, Illinois
Miriam’s nausea had become more intense. However, the Imodium seemed to have relieved her diarrhea. She called down to room service for some dry toast and ginger ale. This helped settle her stomach, and she took two more Imodium pills as she readied for the last day of the conference.
She really didn’t want to stay in Chicago, and was glad the conference would end early. She thought perhaps she just might pop her head in, then leave for the airport. She wanted her bed and Miss Piggy. Brushing her teeth, she flipped through her agenda. The conference ended near eleven this morning, and there was nothing more really important to hold her there.
The more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea of making a short visit to make her goodbyes and then depart. On her smartphone, she scrolled the travel sites and found a flight direct to St. Louis that left just before noon. She could be home by early afternoon, and in bed.
She brushed her teeth absently, her mind on Terry. Once she was home, and after she felt better, she was determined to call him. She’d known he loved her back in college, so much so that it had frightened her. It was as though he couldn’t get enough of her, and she’d felt smothered.
Snorting, she shook her head. Her lying, cheating Charles hadn’t smothered her. He’d been a complete waste of skin. But he had given her Zoe, and she was glad he hadn’t stayed in their lives. He would have disappointed their daughter. She wondered idly what her life would have been like with Terry. Well, it really didn’t matter, because she wouldn’t have had Zoe, or her precious Ally.
When she spat into the sink, she noticed once again the bright pink tinge to her spittle. She looked in the mirror at her gums; they looked even more inflamed.
Shit! What the hell had she eaten that would mess with her mouth? Was she developing an allergy to shellfish? She’d make an appointment with her doctor when she got home. She was disappointed with having to cut short her mini vacation, but she didn’t want to stay here puking the weekend away.
***
Mike handed Stephen a brown paper bag filled with small packets of pills. He then looked at Stephen’s wife, who was counting stacks of bills. He mentally shook his head; he couldn’t believe his friend was married. Stephen had never seemed like the settling-down type. But his friend was crazy about Alisa, so he guessed it made sense.
They had gone to Cook County Clerk’s office to get the paperwork, and then to downtown Chicago to marry. He and Zack were witnesses. They’d waited in line for hours, many couples ahead of them. Zack had even minded his manners, and everyone had breathed a little easier.
“You think your brother will bring us something from Chandler’s?” Mike asked Alisa, his stomach making a loud growling noise. He grinned a toothy grin at her, and waggled his invisible eyebrows.
“I don’t think so; I don’t think he works today. It does sound good, though. I’m getting a little hungry too,” she announced, her smile bright. A loud growl echoed from her stomach, and she laughed. Patting her large belly, she got up from the couch and went into the small kitchen.
The air was heavy with humidity, and Mike wiped at his face. He wished Stephen’s apartment had AC, and not just the fans. He had thought about getting them a window unit for a wedding gift, but opted to get them a new toaster oven instead. And told Stephen to shut the fuck up when he’d started laughing.
He might just get them one anyway; it was hot as hell, and he figured Alisa would like some cool air. And since he spent most of his time here, it would be nice to get it a hell of a lot cooler. It was only June and hot as hell. He didn’t want to even think about July and August.
Mike got up and went to the window to catch a breeze, and looked down into the ally below. He saw several bums sitting there.
“Dude, come over here. You got some vagrants below,” Mike called to Stephen.
Stephen got up and went to the kitchen, then joined Mike at the window with a carton of eggs.
“Alisa is going to kick your ass if you use all her eggs,” Mike warned.
“Naw, she knows I likes my funs. ’sides, I’ll only need a couple,” Stephen laughed.
Mike reached over and plucked a white egg from the carton. It nearly glowed in his dark hands. He could feel the heat of the sun burning down. He wasn’t sure what the temperature was, but it sure was hot as hell in the sun.
Leaning out, both men took aim, and let go. They watched as the eggs plummeted down, and simultaneously hit their targets.
Loud cries of anger floated up to their grinning faces. Both vagrants turned their faces up in anger. Mike watched as Stephen leaned out and spat down toward the men. The tramps jumped out and away from the building with alacrity. Both men laughed as the bums left for a quieter refuge.
Mike shook his head. He knew he was too old for these antics, but still, fun was where you found it.
“You know Marco got pinched the other day?” Mike said, looking down the street, watching cars move and stop, their horns adding to the noise of the city.
“Yeah. Marco got lucky. He was treading on the Columbian’s territory, and I think he might have ended up dead if he’d not gotten picked up,” Stephen said.
“Word is Marco doesn’t know how to keep a low profile. Dumbass. I don’t know what he was thinking. You never invade a bigger fish’s pond.” Mike took a cigarette from Stephen and sat on the window ledge. He absently tapped the cigarette on his watch, then put it into his mouth. His friend leaned over and lit it and his own.
The smoke rose up around Mike’s head and he squinted, shielding his eyes against the smoke. He blew hard out of his nostrils.
“Man’s gotta know his limitations. Marco is a straight-up retard, I’d bet you a Benjamin he ends up dead before the year is out,” Mike said, inhaling deeply.
“You got that right brother. That stupid fuck doesn’t know how to keep his head down. You got to have a faithful clientele and stay the fuck under the radar,” Stephen agreed.
The men heard Alisa in the kitchen cooking. She was okay at it, but Mike would have preferred something from Chandler’s. That was about all Zack was good for any way, bringing them the left-overs from the restaurant. Stephen sometimes brought food home from the bakery, where he worked. Mike’s stomach growled loudly again.
Both grinned at each other. It was an odd relationship, and a close one. Mike felt like himself with Stephen, never being judged. Both men had a mutual respect for each other. Friendship was a mysterious but wonderful thing, and Alisa never bitched about him being around all the time. Maybe he could talk Stephen into moving into his place? It had AC, and plenty of room for Alisa and the coming baby. It sure beat the hell out of this dump.
He’d broach the subject one of these days. He thought Alisa might not mind, especially since his apartment had three bedrooms and plenty of balcony space. She joked at times that he and Stephen were joined at the hip, and Mike guessed that it was true; he couldn’t imagine life without his best friend.
Los Angeles, California
Larry arrived at LAX twenty minutes before the flight was due in. He had the town car, and was making his way to the terminal. He hated playing the chauffeur role. He hadn’t signed up to be a chauffeur, but if he wanted to work at the studio, he had to do it. He also hated the suit, and hated waiting for some big shot executive coming in from St. Louis. Though he had to admit, sometimes he lucked out with actresses.
Pulling at his collar with one hand, the other grasped the cardboard sign. Billiard, it said. It was already a hot day, and only the second week of June. Larry was to give the executive a ride around LA before depositing him at the studio. Larry mostly dealt with props and helped the stunt teams out, which put him right in the middle of the action. Where he wanted to be.
He had come to LA to be an actor, but all he’d ended up doing was becoming a gofer. He didn�
�t mind so much, since he got to meet a lot of stars, but he hated dressing up in a monkey suit just to drive some asshole around. Double-checking the arrival gate, Larry made his way down the concourse. At least the airport was air conditioned. He wouldn’t sweat his balls off in here.
Maybe he and Jake could hook up and go out later. Jake was a card; he always cracked Larry up with all his bullshit stories. He’d met Jake when he’d first got to LA two years ago, and Jake had helped him get the job at the studio last fall. They were best buds.
There had been a time, over a year ago now, when Larry had been at his lowest, and had thought seriously about killing himself. He’d felt his life was out of control, and what the fuck was the point of it all anyway? In his mind, his aunt had been right after all: he was totally useless. He’d been rejected over and over in auditions. Some had even laughed in his face. He’d wanted so bad to make something of himself, be someone his mother could have been proud of.
Jake had given him a swift kick in the ass, telling him that he didn’t need to be a freakin’ actor; he could work at the studio and still meet a shit ton of actors. And so he had. So far he’d met Robert DeNiro and Alec Baldwin, and had even driven Beyoncé around town. God, she was hot, and smelled wonderful. Hell, he’d seen Dwayne Johnson. Now that was a big dude, and he was nice as hell too. He’d seen and worked with many A-list celebrities now. He was glad Jake was his friend, and that he’d pulled him out of his self-pity horseshit.
The hum of the airport was nearly deafening. He could smell the people around him, their sweaty bodies overpowering the deodorant they wore. He suspected some didn’t wear any, as he caught a ripe whiff, and it made him want to hurl.
He moved away from the offensive smell, still holding his sign high. Why can’t people take better care of themselves? All you had to do was to take a shower and put on some deodorant, for Christ sakes. How hard was that?
His phone rang, and he answered it. Jake
“Dude, where are you?” he asked.
“Bro, I scored some primo stuff. You wanna come over?”
“Can’t right now man, but as soon as I can, I’ll swing by,” he promised.
Ending the call, he notices a man eyeing him and heading his way. Cool, he thought, this guy doesn’t look like too much of a dipshit.
St. Louis, Missouri
Miriam lay in her bed. She had made it home just in time to vomit all over the foyer. She’d felt lousy, and made her way straight to her bedroom after cleaning her mess. Stripping down and throwing the soiled garments off to one side, she went to the bathroom, wanting cool water. It was the flu, and she felt like hammered dog shit. She’d prayed the whole flight home that she wouldn’t disgrace herself by vomiting all over her neighbors on the plane. It’d been bad enough with the coughing, and she’d received dirty looks from those around her. She’d been too miserable to care.
Curling around a pillow, her guts felt as though broken glass were shifting around. She had a fever, and the glass of cool water felt wonderful against her face. The soonest appointment she could get was in two days. She’d just stay in bed and keep the bottle of Kaopectate handy, along with a bucket and plenty of sports drinks.
She’d only just taken some more aspirin. Her whole body hurt, and she wasn’t sure which was worse, the diarrhea or vomiting. If she got any worse, she’d just go straight to the emergency room, the hell with Dr. Beagle and her overbooked appointments.
During the early evening, Miriam barely made it to the toilet, and decided to just camp out on the bathroom floor. Miss Piggy wanted nothing to do with her, and she was so miserable. Between the vomiting and now constant diarrhea, she was getting no rest.
Leaning against the cold porcelain of the toilet felt wonderful. The cream-colored tiles on the floor were cool beneath her, and she moved her feet back and forth restlessly. She wore only a long T-shirt of pale peach; she didn’t want to try to fight with panties or sweatpants, so her naked bottom rested on the hard, cool tiles. She was sure her ass had a mosaic pattern on it by now. Ah well. She was too ill to go find a pillow to sit on.
Taking a sip of water, she noticed a bright red backwash. She held the glass up to the light. She wasn’t mistaken, blood was in the water. She struggled up from the floor, holding the toilet for leverage. Slowly she moved to the sink, and pulled the medicine cabinet mirror closer to her face. Looking into her mouth, Miriam was shocked to see how bloody her gums were. Her heart slammed into her ribs hard, fear began to niggle its way to her brain.
What in the hell is wrong with me? On shaky legs, she went back into the bedroom and picked up the phone. She dialed 911 and asked the ambulance to come. She knew she couldn’t drive herself, and she knew this wasn’t the flu.
13 June
St. Louis, Missouri
Miriam lay in isolation; she’d been moved there at 3 a.m. that morning from her double room. Her bowels bleeding out, she lay on rubber sheets, the warm corruption pooling around her body. The lights were intensely bright, and the constant hum and beep of the machines around her was a monotonous litany of her situation. The whoosh of the ventilator harkened a dim prognosis, and the tubes in and out of her body helped not at all.
Miriam was now incoherent. She’d been admitted to the hospital three days ago, and had gone from vomiting and diarrhea to a noxious bloody diarrhea within two days. By the second day, several of Miriam’s teeth had fallen out, her gums a bloody pulp. Her muscle tissues were disintegrating, she was incredibly weak, and she hadn’t responded to either the antibiotics or the medicine to stop the vomiting and diarrhea. Fear had spread through the hospital like wildfire. This was nasty, whatever it was. Her blood and excretion samples had been sent to the lab, the results indeterminate.
Near noon, Miriam died, blood streaming from every orifice, mixing with her toxic excrement. Panic escalated, and the CDC in Atlanta was notified. Alarm bells were going off as other cases started popping up.
Miriam’s body was placed in a biohazard body bag and left in the isolation ward until the CDC could tell the hospital how to deal with the problem. Miriam’s next of kin were notified.
Arlington, Texas
Zoe clung to Patty as they sat on the large leather sofa, Zoe’s face twisted in a mask of sorrow and horror. Her mother was dead. She just couldn’t wrap her head around it. Ebola? How in hell had her mother gotten Ebola in St. Louis?
What a horrible way to die. Christ. How had it happened? They couldn’t even bury her. She had to be burned, and ashes were to be put in a biohazard bag. There would be no closure. Her tears fell afresh.
Zoe watched as Patty got up and went into their kitchen. The warm wood of the cabinets and the cool white of the granite counters made the space inviting. She watched as the love of her life pulled out a glass and filled it with cold water from the refrigerator water dispenser. As Patty returned, she passed Ally, who was standing in the doorway, watching. Her hand gently touched Ally’s head.
Zoe saw fear in her daughter’s large eyes. She beckoned their daughter to the sofa, and pulled the small girl between her and Patty.
“Mommy? Mommy, are you okay?” the child asked, her voice filled with fight.
“Yes, my heart, I’m okay. I’m just a little sad. Granny Miriam went to heaven. It makes mommy very sad, honey. It’s okay, honey. I will be okay.,” Zoe lied. How could she explain this to a five-year-old? She turned her head and looked out the window. The trees were bright green, and she saw butterflies flitting around. It was beautiful outside. How could something so bad happen when it’s so beautiful outside? Shouldn’t the sky open up with tornadoes and thunderstorms? she thought sadly.
“Granny went to heaven? When will she come back? Will she come to visit us?” Ally asked, worry still etched in her earnest face. Her hands pleated and un-pleated Zoe’s red gingham shirt.
“Come on, baby; let’s go get some ice cream,” Patty said.
Zoe flashed a grateful smile for the diversion. What a difficult topic to explain to a
five-year-old, and she just wasn’t up to it right now. She hugged Ally tightly, then smiled bravely to her daughter, and waved as Patty took the child
Sinking back into the soft leather sofa, Zoe pulled an overstuffed pillow to her chest and let the tears fall freely, wiping absently at her nose, which had started to run. Leaning forward, she plucked a tissue out of the carved tissue box and blew her nose.
Ebola. What on earth? She just couldn’t make sense of it; she’d heard nothing on the news about any outbreaks, not even in Africa. There had been that one three years prior, but nothing since. She wiped at her eyes, and heard a child up the street scream. It startled her, but then she realized it was just someone having fun. And it wasn’t Ally.
Perhaps tomorrow, she would call the hospital back and demand some answers. Right now, she just couldn’t deal with it. She lay on the sofa, pulled the patchwork quilt that always rested on the back of the couch over her body, and wept for her mother.
Chicago, Illinois
Dale was fuming. His head hurt, his throat hurt, his lungs felt heavy, and he was annoyed Zack didn’t have anything on him. He could really use a buzz right now. Chandler’s was busy, and everyone was running around, dropping stuff and bumping into each other. Zack was no help either; he kept tripping and dropping crap. If the dude had just brought some speed, Dale’d be fixed right up.
The order for the table with the five Chinese tourists was up. Looking around, Dale leaned over one of the plates and spat onto the food. A nasty smirk lit his face, and he spat onto another plate. That would fix those Ching Chong assholes. He knew deep down they wouldn’t tip for shit. Most foreigners didn’t, and the Chinese were notorious. Why, he didn’t know, and it always irritated the hell out of him to no end. He’d give them his own special brand of tip. He just wished his head and throat didn’t hurt so much.