Loved In Pieces (The Intentions Series)

by Carla J Hanna

  “You didn’t know? How could that be? We’ve known you forever!” Manuel laughed. “My dad was in a Latino boy band. He was a teenaged heartthrob. He was huge!”

  “What band?” I was shocked but then not. Carlos was a head-turner. It always seemed that people recognized him but I thought it was because he was gorgeous and I thought they recognized me. Liz and Manuel hated attention. They lived in that apartment. I thought it was Liz who would get money when she sold the apartment building. I didn’t know Carlos had money.

  “El Ritmo. He was CB A.me.go. He worked on their first three of seven, maybe eight, albums.”

  “No way! I’ve heard their early songs. Everyone has. Wow. But you guys don’t act rich. Why do you live in the apartment? He must get a ton from his royalties. Doesn’t the band get a take every time the song is played on the radio or on a TV spot?”

  “No, he doesn’t get royalties. He quit. He didn’t like the drugs, the sex, people telling him what to do. He saw the same crap you’ve seen. His managers really exhausted them. He was like an employee of the El Ritmo product. When he quit, he got nada. He kept the money he already had but was not entitled to any more. He wasn’t part of a union like you are with SAG. He quit after they performed in L.A to promote their third album. They replaced him immediately. They just left him here and kept touring. Ira Goldberg took him in, wanted him to act. But he wanted out of the entertainment industry. Ira was nice; helped him legally get settled in Santa Monica. He took the delivery job to be busy. He likes to work. He was living with some chick when he saw my mom again.”

  “What do you mean, ‘saw your mom again’? I thought they met the day they conceived you.”

  He laughed. “No! Well, they did hook up the first day they met but I came a few years later.” He kept laughing. “My mom was a set designer and met Carlos on his first music video. Ira produced all of the music videos; that’s how my dad knew him. Mom was actually in three of the videos from their first three albums and worked on all the videos. They were pretty good friends and dated a lot since my mom spoke Spanish. They got their first tattoos together. Mom didn’t know what happened to him after he quit. When he delivered a package to her apartment, she told him she missed him and was in love with him. He felt the same way and then they conceived me.”

  “Whoa. I had no idea that your dad was CB A.me.go. That’s a sweet story.” I laughed because I did think Liz was sleazy before I heard the story. “No wonder Carlos and my dad found each other. They had much in common. No wonder you think my career is awful.”

  “Actually, I’d like to go to the industry events with you when you need a date. I won’t say ‘no’ anymore, like I’ve done for the past year. I don’t want you to be alone anymore, not just here in the house, but also at events. I’m really here for you now.”

  “Hmm. Now that would be nice. I wouldn’t have to go to an event with a co-star. Cool,” I said. “So the Vespa or the Prius?”

  “The Vespa,” he confirmed, and we headed out the front door.

  ~ | ~ THE CURE

  Even though finals were the next week, I had the best two weeks of my life. I was so happy. Mom’s film was to wrap in less than two weeks and she would get back the day before graduation.

  Manuel stayed every night and took off work that week to study. I still worked out with Elise in the mornings so I didn’t get up with him. It was Saturday, the last day of the month, so we slept in together.

  He was in the bathroom and I was going back to bed, thinking of what fun thing we would do that day. I wanted to go somewhere since we had been trapped in the house studying. He wanted to see his family and thought we should all go to the Santa Monica Pier and boardwalk but Liz didn’t like strangers staring at me and recognizing Carlos.

  Manuel finished in the bathroom and came back to bed. “Ya know, this is none of my business, but I’m just curious. Did you think I had an STD or something?”

  “What?” I was completely confused. “I’m not following you—whatsoever.”

  “Ya know I’ve only been with Kate, and we were both virgins. Did she confide in you that she cheated on me?”

  I turned my face away from his so he couldn’t see my reaction to his comment. I promised Kate that I wouldn’t tell him that she actually wasn’t a virgin. Her first experience was worse than my Matthew scare when she was fifteen but she ended up dating her prick for a year until she had enough. She thought dating Manuel was a gift from God, a fresh start.

  I answered, “No, she didn’t cheat on you. She loved you.” I looked at him again, “Manuel, what are you talking about?”

  “I still think she cheated. There was just no way she could have been pregnant. But, I don’t want to talk about that. Did you think I went wild after the break-up when I dated all those girls?”

  “I knew you didn’t. I think I know everything about your relationships.”

  Manuel dated a ton of girls from when Kate dumped him until he asked me to prom. He kissed them all, too, in search of something. It made me insanely jealous, and I counted. He kissed sixteen different girls in less than three months. Before he came down to my trailer in San Diego I assumed he slept with some of them, but he told me he only kissed them. He let a few go too far, but felt bad about how he treated them, even though they were sleazy girls that Alan set him up with. I never asked him what he was searching for. But I was curious.

  Manuel faced me on his side and pushed my hair off of my cheek and neck. He smiled at me and whispered, “You do know everything so you shouldn’t have worried.”

  “Worried about what? I’m really not following you…” I asked, still confused, and put my hand over his tattoo so I wouldn’t have to see Kate’s name.

  “Well, when we had sex, you always made sure we were protected. You clearly don’t have a period since there’s no stuff in your bathroom and you’ve never complained of PMS. Since you were on birth control, you must have been scared that I was a slut monkey carrying around some disease.”

  “I didn’t think you had a disease. It’s just a good, smart rule.” I explained.

  He was still curious. “Did you think you might have something?”

  “No. You’re my only.”

  “I’m a good boy. So why so careful with me when you’re on the pill?”

  I smiled at him but he still looked at me wanting an explanation. “I’m not on birth control, Manuel. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome and the medicine I’m on stopped my menstrual cycle. I haven’t had a period for years.” I stopped, thinking. The last time I remember taking my medicine was the last week of filming Constantine’s Muse.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed and ran to my bathroom. I had completely forgotten to take my medication. I was so stressed that I completely spaced it. I realized that I better clue in my frightened boyfriend.

  “It’s my condition. I totally spaced my medicine! Please help me search my things for two prescription bottles of medicine. My assistant would have packed them with my things the night I left San Diego.”

  We were both opening every bag in my closet and every drawer in the bathroom. I checked my room. Nothing.

  “Damn. I bet he missed the stuff in the medicine cabinet. Help me think. How can I get a refill? I usually call the RX number on the bottles.”

  “Call the doctor,” he replied simply.

  “It’s Dr. Mark. I don’t know his last name, that’s also on the bottles.”

  “How long have you been taking the medicine?”

  “Years. I’m supposed to take it for managing the cysts that grow too large in my ovaries, so they don’t burst. When I get low, I just call the phone number on the bottles, key in the RX numbers and confirm my credit card and address. Then I get the new prescription bottles in the mail a week later.”

  He added, “Your mom knows the doctor’s name, right? Just call her.”

  I dialed her number. Her cell was off and went straight into voicemail. “I know they are behind schedule. They’re probably working tod
ay.”

  “When is the last time you saw the doctor?”

  “I first went to him after I turned 14, after we wrapped Left to Die. I saw him probably every six months thereafter.”

  He interrupted, “So you saw him seven months ago?”

  “Yeah. At the medical center by UCLA.”

  “If we went there, could you remember which office was his?”

  “Yeah, totally. Good thinking!”

  “Well, I guess we know what adventure we are having this morning.” He smiled, relieved that I didn’t think he was a slut and that I wasn’t. “We’ll get the doctor’s name off the door, look him up and you can call his office for a refill. I’ll call my mom and figure out the plan for later this morning or this afternoon.”

  We left in a hurry, without showering, and parked at UCLA within fifteen minutes after leaving the house. It was so easy to find the doctor’s office. I did have a great memory even though I was feeling insecure because I couldn’t remember the name of the drugs I’ve been taking for four years.

  We figured the office would be closed when we arrived. I was sure that we were at the right office, but I didn’t recognize the names on the door. Manuel pushed the latch to the door anyway. I was surprised that it was open.

  We went inside, but no one was at the reception desk. I opened the door from the reception area to the offices and walked down the short hallway to find someone to help me. There was a man going through a file cabinet in the last office. File folders were everywhere. He looked frustrated.

  “Excuse me. I don’t want to frighten you. I lost my medicine and need to get a refill and couldn’t remember Dr. Mark’s last name so we came down here. His name wasn’t on the door.”

  The man was surprised, but relaxed. He was Dad’s age, maybe older, fifty, tops. He was very handsome, taller than Manuel, probably 6’2” or more. He had a weekend runner’s body—strong, lank, but not too thin. He had brown hair and steel gray eyes and a kind smile.

  I had not been in the back office before. The office didn’t seem to match him. The desk and office hutch on the back wall were made of elegantly carved mahogany, something I’ve seen in my lawyer’s office but never in a doctor’s office. Framed, signed photos of a man with celebrities covered the walls. I recognized the entertainers and the man. He was my doctor.

  “Was it Dr. Mark Rugers?” He asked with a French accent just like Renee Dupree’s.

  “Yes!” I recalled. I pointed to one of the photos. “That’s him.”

  “Mark disappeared, I’m afraid. He left a lot of unanswered questions behind. I flew down here from Northern California to try to make sense of this mess. I’m a doctor, perhaps I can help you. What type of chemo were you taking?”

  “What? Chemo? I don’t have cancer. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. One drug I take is to make sure the cysts don’t enlarge to prevent a rupture. The other drug enhances my immune system so I don’t get sick.”

  The man stared at me, so I quickly added, “I’m here in person because I don’t know the name of the medication. I left my pills on a trip in March and forgot about taking them. It’s kind of a hard cycle to remember. The med for POS is taken in cycles: 2 weeks on, 1 week off for 6 months. Then I get a new prescription and start the cycle over. I should start a new cycle tomorrow, May 1. I’ve been on the medicine for several years, since I’ve been fourteen. You’d think I’d remember the drug’s name but it’s quite a mouthful,” I smiled awkwardly. He probably thought I was a total moron.

  “How old are you? You look young, fourteen or fifteen.”

  Weird. Someone didn’t recognize me. It was kind of a cool feeling, a freeing feeling.

  “I just turned eighteen in April, a few weeks ago.”

  “But your doctor was Mark? He’s an oncologist.”

  “Yes, I’m sure Mark was my doctor. But I never had cancer or chemo.”

  He paused, thinking. “For the cysts, were you taking progesterone, metformin, clomiphene citrate, clomid?”

  “None of them are familiar. I think it started with an X,” I recalled.

  He looked at me bewildered. I was sure he thought I was intellectually vacant. “Is it possible you were taking Xrysinib?”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. “That’s the name. We called it x-nib. The other drug was for my immune system.”

  His face fell. He stared at me with his hand on the file cabinet drawer, as if the drawer was keeping him from collapsing. He was silent.

  Manuel interrupted my thoughts, “What is Xrysinib?”

  The man answered slowly, as if his mind was working on two tracks. One track was answering, the other track was panicking. “A chemotherapy drug. It’s a cancer treatment I developed over fifteen years ago for the treatment of cancer in adults with a particular type of leukemia. It was FDA approved for adults and has been available for the last 7 years. It’s extremely effective in preventing the action of a protein within the cancer cells. Do you mind if we sit down?”

  I moved a file off of the chair next to me and put it on the office desk. Manuel did the same. We all sat down.

  He continued, “Since it was so successful in adults, we made it available on a trial case basis to adolescents. We had six case studies, including my son who inherited my family’s predisposition for developing leukemia, both my dad and brother died from it. We found that in adolescents Xrysinib had a side effect of essentially stopping the aging process. We have isolated the targeted cells but have yet to determine how it altered the pituitary gland, damaged the hypothalamus, or both.” He stopped and wrote some notes down on his paper.

  He continued, “Clearly, x-nib stopped aging in adults—that answers the Hollywood connection. We just haven’t focused on that. I never thought about autopsying the adult glands. We need to look at tissue damage in the pituitary gland and hypothalamus of the adults who became victim to secondary malignancies.”

  Manuel interrupted, “So what does this mean?”

  The doctor broke his thoughts. He looked up, “I’m so sorry, but for four years now no children were to be given this drug. I honestly don’t know how it has affected her but I can tell you that she should not be able to sit right here after taking chemo for four years. Her immune system should be toast, to speak bluntly.”

  “I’m calling the police.” Manuel fumbled with his cell phone.

  I didn’t understand Manuel’s reaction. My head was spinning. What crime did Manuel see? I knew there was something wrong with me. I have been going to Dr. Mark for the last four years, never understanding why I didn’t have a period. My periods started when I was twelve. I had painful periods, horrible cramping when I was on set. Mom was concerned because I had very large breasts for a thirteen-year-old and was worried about future breast cancer since my grandma died from it. Once, I was worried about not menstruating and looked up polycystic ovarian syndrome. I didn’t really have the symptoms when I was thirteen. Last year, my migraines were so bad that I told Mark I’d rather have the painful periods, they lasted only one to two days per month but the headaches were daily. He reduced my dosage of x-nib and the immunity enhancer and I felt relief but still needed Excedrin. Most importantly, I was always aware that I wasn’t looking older. Every day I looked in the mirror, I saw the same person as the girl in the picture with Grandma May at fifteen years old. So the crime must be that I never did have POS. Mark intentionally gave me the meds to stop my aging, which meant Mom was behind this. They wanted me to be forever young-looking. They wanted me to be Muse. Holy shit! That bitch! That psycho doctor!

  The doctor addressed Manuel, “You can do that and have every right to, but if you do, the local police will confiscate everything in this room. Then I won’t be able to help her. I am working with the FBI.”

  Manuel hung up, furious. “Well, what the hell are we going to do? Shit! She didn’t even have cancer. She took a drug for four years, forgets to take it, and you’re telling us that she wasn’t supposed to be on it and the reason why she looks so yo
ung is because she’s not aging!”

  The doctor responded, “I don’t know what happened. What I do know is that Mark is missing, a bunch of powerful people in Hollywood knew him, some high-profile people are dying and pointing fingers here, and there might be a connection with Xrysinib. I’m here on behalf of my company and the FBI to figure out what Mark was up to. Now I see this pretty girl took the drug, too. Ten minutes ago, I was looking for a needle in a haystack in here. We now have evidence that Mark was prescribing this medicine to stop the aging of non-cancer patients. With the Hollywood connection, it looks like he was selling the serum to eternal youth.

  “But x-nib is carcinogenic, a very aggressive therapy, a last resort. Some chemotherapies are safe. X-nib is not. Over-treatment causes the growth of tumors, what we call secondary malignancy. It’s the assumed risk of primary treatment—that the chemo or radiation treatment will cure the existing problem but cause other tumors down the road.”

  Manuel gasped, “Great. So she probably now has cancer?”

  The doctor nodded. “We know x-nib affected the pituitary gland but we don’t want to remove the gland from the patients if we can help it. So it has been very difficult to isolate the damage. We are only now studying the pituitary gland and hypothalamus from the autopsy of CSY2, the second adolescent trial. Now I just realized we should be autopsying the adults as well. When we first saw that the adolescent case studies didn’t age, we expected to find hypopituitarism to explain the deficiency in the gland to produce growth hormone, but only one adolescent had a non-functioning pituitary gland tumor. I’m working to find a way to reverse x-nib’s effect on the gland, or possibly on the hypothalamus, to help the kids and my son live normal lives.”

  He looked at me with sad eyes. “You’ve been on the drug longer than any. But how are you not sick? Chemo kills cells. Your immune system should be shot. You should be vulnerable to every virus around. I wish I knew what dosage you were taking.”