by Amy Faye
"Thank you," she said, finally. That was the only answer she had, and it was going to have to be good enough.
"Don't thank me," Paul said softly. "You'll make me think that I've done something right."
21
'Can we talk about something?'
The message on his phone was unexpected, but not completely out of the realm of possibility. The ring was a surprise, he knew. It would have surprised just about anyone, and Lara seemed like she never quite knew where she stood.
It wasn't hard to guess why. After the way things ended, completely ambiguous all those years ago, and all that time passed…
Never mind, of course, that it wasn't exactly likely that she'd somehow managed to avoid hearing about his reputation for womanizing. Hell, he'd had it when she knew him, so it wasn't as if that could have been a surprise to her. She was one of the same women who had helped form that reputation. The most important of them, but when you were stuck in the forest it was hard to be certain that you could see the trees.
He slipped the phone into his coat.
"I'm sorry, I'm listening."
"Did you need to take that?"
"No," he answered. It was probably the truth, too. He hoped he sounded believable.
"Well, then, I guess… let's eat?"
The woman on the other side of the table wasn't on the menu, though if she'd offered then Paul wasn't entirely certain that he would have refused her. She wasn't as young as his usual preference. She couldn't have been much younger than Lara, but unlike Lara she'd had enough work done that she could pass for a woman much younger.
"Alright, but I do have to make it a little quick. I've got another meeting in an hour."
"Of course, Senator."
"As long as we're clear on that from the beginning."
"Clear as crystal." The woman turned on a tape recorder.
"So we've been getting reports from our man on your plane that you've been… what, having some kind of shakeup in your organization?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, Alice."
"A new woman on board, with her son? Something about her being involved in the campaign somehow?"
"Not at all," Paul answered. "I'd rather not talk about her if it's possible."
Alice Rogan's hand reached out and clicked the button to pause her recording.
"I'd definitely appreciate the scoop, Senator, if you don't mind."
"I just said I do mind, Alice."
"I could promise you that the coverage we give you as a result of this interview would be favorable. If she's a friend–"
"That's all she is. An old friend."
"We could definitely promise that she would see some positives out of this."
He took a breath. He'd known that eventually the question would have to be addressed at some point. When someone who was a known face showed up on your airplane, it was easy for people to start speculating that there was a good reason they were there.
If Stan Reitman was there, well, he was an old friend of Helen's. Maybe he was there to have a little pow-wow with Paul and talk about what the marching orders for Stan's people were going to be.
Maybe he was going to share some secret; Reitman was well-known first and foremost as a snitch of the highest order, and if you wanted to know something then the chances were that you could find out through him. It was almost a time-honored rite of passage to trade information with him.
But when a stranger showed up, some normal everyday person, there were questions to answer. People tended to want to know why they were there, and they tended, in the end, to get those answers one way or another. It was easier when you just came clean about it, but he wasn't sure that any of them on that plane were ready to really discuss what Lara was.
"How positive are we talking, exactly?"
"How positive do you think we're talking?"
"It wouldn't look good to be colluding with the press, Miss Rogan."
"Please, Alice."
"Alice or not, it wouldn't look good, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't, which is why I'm just making conversation."
"So you're telling me, if I talk to you about my friend, that she stays out of the mud, right?"
"Of course," Alice said. Her lips twisted into a smile.
He still didn't know. But the fact of the matter was, at some point someone was going to find out what was going on with her. Someone was going to talk, or someone was going to identify her from a Facebook photo, and then there wouldn't be any controlling the message.
"Alright, fine. You can turn that back on, then."
"Thank you, you're very kind, Senator." Her thumb moved over and un-clicked the pause button. The red light turned back on and the reels started spinning again. It was strange to see someone using a physical cassette in this day and age, but he wasn't about to question it. Reporters had their way.
"So, about your friend."
"She's an old acquaintance of mine, from when I was living in Salt Lake City."
"This would be…"
"Well, I was living in Salt Lake City a long time, you know," he laughed. "About ten years ago, during my tenure as District Attorney."
"Right. How did the two of you meet?"
"She was in court one day, wanted to ask me a few questions. I've always got room in my schedule for a pretty face, as you well know, Alice."
She laughed politely. Flirting was something that came naturally to Paul, but it came naturally to anyone sitting with Alice Rogan, and she knew it. She knew that coming from Paul it probably didn't mean anything, and she was right about that.
"So what's the story?"
"She was a protege for a little while, I suppose you could say. She and I talked about the law over coffee, things like that."
"And why is she with you now?"
"That's easy, Alice. Because someone on that airplane needs to have a conscience."
She laughed again. It was a musical laugh and one that she'd practiced for a long time to get it to work on television, he knew. It was no different for anyone in politics or show business. She was practiced at everything that could get her ratings.
He wondered idly if she were practiced at other ways to get ahead as well. If there were any place that was as corrupted to the core as politics, after all, it had to be television.
"Of course, of course. And about the rumors that Stan Reitman has something to do with these allegations about President Noble?"
"I don't know anything about that," he answered flatly. "If Stan Reitman wants to spread stories, that's his business, but I don't keep track of what stories he spreads."
"Is he not a close family friend?"
Paul wanted to tell her exactly how close he was to Helen's friends. He couldn't stand Stan, and anyone who could stomach Helen had to be touched in the head. That was the sort of answer that got people in trouble.
"I know that Helen's terribly fond of him," Paul answered instead. "But I've only met him once or twice, at parties. He seems like a decent enough guy, but…"
"Just never really had the pleasure of taking to him at length?"
"Not really," Paul agreed. "No."
"Uh… one more thing."
"Okay, shoot." Whatever she had on the docket last couldn't possibly be as sensitive as the first two questions she'd asked. Yet, she'd saved it for last as if this was the perfect place to end her interview prep.
"We just got a poll back from ABC, showing a…" she fished in her pocket for a moment and pulled a notebook loose, flipped through the pages and looked down her nose at the page. "3 point lead for the incumbent. Are you and your people worried about that, or…?"
He made a face. It wasn't the sort of question he liked answering, but he wasn't going to pretend he hadn't heard it either. Which might be what he should do, because the alternative was to lie.
"Not worried, no. It's a long time before November. We've got plenty of time to make up any temporary difference."
"Thanks," she said. He smiled
as the waitress set down a steak in front of him. "Of course."
"See you this evening?"
"Live, right? Not taped?"
"Live, yeah."
"So I should avoid cursing, then," he said, and dug into his food with a smile that wasn't entirely faked. Not entirely, anyway. The text from Lara, at least temporarily, forgotten.
22
Tim's head was so warm that Lara could feel it through the fabric of her skirt, as it rested in her lap. Her jaw worked itself loose and tight again in a cycle that never seemed quite to stop. She needed someone here, and she needed them here yesterday. Should she call Paul again? Or… if he hadn't picked up the last three times, then there was probably some reason. Number four wasn't likely to change anything.
She looked down at Tim, laid her head on his forehead. It was hot to the touch, hot enough that she didn't want to touch it again. What was she supposed to do now?
She took a deep breath. There weren't any other options, not really. She needed to get him to a doctor and she needed to do it now. If there was no way to drive, and there wasn't in spite of her hopes, then she needed an ambulance and it didn't much matter what she was 'supposed' to do.
She dialed 9-1-1, her hands shaking.
"Yes, ma'am, what is your emergency?"
"My son is sick," she said. She tried to tighten her jaw.
"Where are you?"
Lara told her, and the woman on the other side of the line answered quickly. "Okay, ma'am, we've got an ambulance on the way to your location."
"He's got a fever of… god, I don't even know. I'm from out of town, and I just. He's so hot, and I didn't really know what to do. I don't have a car so–"
"Ma'am, calm down. Is there anything else that I should tell the EMTs before they arrive?"
Lara took a breath and tried to calm down. That was good advice. If she wasn't calm then it was only going to cause more trouble in the end.
"I don't know. Nothing that I can tell. He's very hot to the touch and the past few hours he's just been very… blah. I assume that's a result of the fever."
"You mean he's been very…"
"Non-responsive? Like he's been just laying there for the most part. I can get him to respond, but it's just… small."
"Okay, thank you. I'll stay on the line with you while you wait, to make sure, okay?"
"Of course."
"What are you in town for?"
"I'm just on vacation, I guess. I'm with an old friend of mine and we're just going around. My son's with me. I only went on this stupid trip because–"
Lara felt like her head was splitting in half, and her stomach was threatening to revolt against the rest of her body. It was planning to throw the first stone any minute now and have her upending her stomach all over the hotel room floor. The very expensive hotel room floor, she noted.
"Everything's going to be alright, okay? You've got nothing to worry about. We've got the best hospitals around here, okay? No need to worry. I'm sure your son will be fine. What's his name?"
"Tim," Lara muttered. "His name's Tim."
"I need you to stay with me here. How old is Tim?"
Lara touched his forehead again, rubbed her thumb across his brow. It burned but she forced herself to ignore the heat as best she could. She had to stay under control, because the operator was right: everything was going to be fine. If she didn't calm down she was only going to cause trouble for other people.
"He's, uh… ten next month," Lara said. Her mind was somewhere else entirely, though. Where was Paul? What was he doing? She didn't expect him to let her know wherever he was, but somehow she hadn't expected this to happen, either.
One minute he seemed fine. Nothing wrong with him, maybe a little tired. Then she decided she'd had enough of cartoons, it was time for bed, and when he didn't get up…
He was a good boy, usually. He at least knew enough to be obedient when it came to little things like that. The less fight he gave her on going to bed and watching TV, the less fight he got in return on other things. That was how it was with the two of them and it was good because she wasn't sure how she could manage with just herself, if he wasn't obedient.
"Mom?"
He looked up at her with hazy eyes, like he couldn't quite see.
"What's up, baby?"
His eyes drifted a little from her face and then slowly drifted back. "I don't feel very good."
"That's okay, sweetie. You're going to be fine. Mom's on the phone with the hospital and we're going to get you taken care of right away. Don't worry."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to…"
"Don't say that," Lara cut in. The woman on the other end of the line let her talk, thank God. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just trying to get things figured out."
"Ambulance is five minutes," the woman updated. "If you'd like, you can make your way to the lobby."
Tim wasn't heavy, but she wasn't strong, either. Picking him up was a strain, but it was a strain she needed to deal with.
"I can walk," he protested, but she didn't let him down. He could claim that he could walk all he liked, but she knew better because she had seen the sort of walking that her son could do right now. Trying to get him over to the bed he'd stumbled twice, and barely managed to hold himself up with her helping him over.
Her heart wasn't ready to watch him do that across an entire hotel. There was no way. No way at all.
The woman's voice on the other end of the line was far away. Lara couldn't hold the phone to her head and carry her son at the same time. He was a bit big for that, at ten, and he wasn't exactly helping her to carry him. Whatever it was going to take to help her carry him, he didn't have it inside her.
She reached the lobby in three minutes, and the EMTs got there two minutes after that. She didn't have a watch to count but she could feel every second like it was draining out of her, waiting there, Tim laid out on a dining room chair.
They started talking to Tim and a moment later, the two men picked her son up and started walking. They managed to make it to the door just as Paul walked inside. His eyes shot wide as he saw them walk by. Lara ignored him.
He'd ignored her long enough, himself, and for that matter she had other things to worry about. So maybe she should have told him what was going on, but she didn't. Instead, she climbed into the back of an ambulance with her son and hoped and prayed that the EMTs would be able to figure out what was wrong with him before something started going really wrong.
He'd been so hot when she touched him…
One of the EMTs felt his forehead; the other reached without waiting for a thermometer and handed it over to his partner. They must have felt his heat because they also immediately reached into a compartment and pulled out what looked like freezer packs and put one on his head. Tim pulled away, but they held him fast, and then they were driving.
Somewhere in the night, Paul was no doubt wondering what was going on. He had every right to know what was happening, that was true. Tim was his son, after all, even if he didn't know and very well may not have cared.
But if he really wanted to know what was going on, and how he could possibly help, then he should have picked up the phone the first four times.
23
Paul watched her go with a frown. The entire moment seemed to crystallize, and for the space of a heartbeat, a heartbeat that seemed to wait on him forever, he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do.
Tim? Ambulance? The engine was still running and they pulled away seconds later. Paul was already out the door trying to follow it.
His vehicle had gone, but not far. He flagged it down as it came around the turnstile and threw himself into the back seat.
"Follow that ambulance," he gasped. The engine revved softly, almost inaudible inside the climate-controlled cabin of a hundred-thousand-dollar SUV that had been converted practically into a limousine. The effects, though, were not hard to feel at all. The SUV started to hurry quickly after, no questions asked.<
br />
That was what Paul liked about secret service. They didn't bother to ask questions when he needed something. It was a delightful relief from every other part of his daily life.
"Is everything okay, sir?"
"My…" Two words in, and he suddenly realized that he didn't know what he was supposed to say. "The boy, he's… I don't know. Sick, or hurt, or… something."
"We'll get you there, then," the guy said. He went quiet, apparently focusing on the road and on his driving, and they drove for a long time in relative silence, no noise save for the engine's soft moan and the occasional noise of turn signals being clicked and fingers that gripped the steering wheel too tightly.
They turned and darted through traffic. Paul didn't bother to ask what speed they were going, or if it was legal. Of course it wasn't, he knew, but they weren't exactly in a position to question an ambulance, and he wasn't going to lose it either.
They screamed around a corner and a minute later they were outside of ambulance receiving for Sacramento Mercy General. He climbed out and followed them inside, not taking no for an answer. When there was no choice to be made, it was easier not to ask.
"What's happening," he asked, out of breath in spite of the fact that he had only been sitting for most of that time. His body felt heavy and it was hard to keep up with them as they moved. He'd been out of the gym far, far too long. But he kept moving anyways, and his body relented, loosening up and allowing him slightly freer movement as time went on.
Lara shot him a look, one that he no-doubt deserved but didn't understand. But she didn't answer, until the doctors showed up and they were asked by an orderly to wait in the lobby while the doctors had a look. Lara would be informed once there was something to inform her of.
She looked at him with an expression that could have started a forest fire for a long time, saying nothing. Then she turned, and again saying nothing, she stormed off toward the front lobby. At least, the direction that the signs pointed in for the lobby, since neither of them had been through it.
Paul followed after her a moment later, trying to give her whatever space he could, not sure that it would end up mattering. She seemed so furious that he wasn't sure anything was really likely to calm her down except perhaps a long wait, a good night's sleep, and a large bottle of something that burned on its way down her throat.