by Tim Downs
“The woman’s never said a single word to me—I swear it.”
“It’s the only possible explanation and you know it. How else could you know what she’s going to say next?”
“You might be surprised.”
“Are you cheating on me?”
“Hey, let’s not get crazy here.”
“I want to know what’s going on. I have a right to know.”
Kemp slowly broke into a grin. “Aw, why not? I’ve been dying to tell somebody anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know that business deal I’ve been telling you about? Well, you might say Liv Hayden is a part of it—a big part of it, in fact. It’s like this . . .”
Fifteen minutes later Natalie found herself staring at Kemp in utter disbelief.
“Kemp—it isn’t possible.”
“Brilliant, isn’t it? Like the woman said—it could only have come from a superhuman intelligence.”
“What were you thinking? What you did was completely unethical—it was illegal! You violated a doctor’s orders. You adjusted a patient’s medication. Even if you have your MD, you don’t have hospital privileges at UCLA—that’s malpractice! What if somebody finds out about this? What if Liv Hayden finds out? She’ll sue you—she could sue the whole hospital.”
“Calm down,” Kemp said. “Nobody’s going to find out. How could they? There’s nothing to find—no evidence of any kind. I backed off on her anesthesia a little, that’s all. They were only keeping her sedated as a precaution—she was never in any danger. And all I did was talk to her. It was perfect.”
“It was wrong. Can’t you see that? I’m a nurse, Kemp. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it still means something to me. Nurses help people—we serve people—we don’t use them.”
“See, this is why I didn’t tell you before,” Kemp said. “You have no imagination—no vision.”
“I have morals,” Natalie said, “something you apparently lack. Kemp, you can’t go around putting ideas in other people’s heads—it’s just not right.”
“Why? People do it all the time—parents, teachers, politicians . . .”
“That’s different. You pretended to be somebody you’re not.”
“So what? Suppose a man walks up to you on the street and says, ‘You don’t look so good—you should go to a hospital.’ You’d ignore the guy—you might even think he was nuts. But suppose he was dressed like a doctor—then you might take him seriously. I just applied the same principle: A message gets more attention when it comes from an authority figure. I figured, who’s got more authority than an angel?”
“You need to put a stop to this—right now, before it goes any further.”
“How am I supposed to do that—by admitting what I did? That’s exactly what you’re worried about: someone finding out.”
“Kemp—find a way to stop this before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late, Natalie. It’s a done deal. That’s another reason I didn’t tell you before—I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. Look at the TV. Liv Hayden is doing a week of live interviews on Oprah, right here in L.A. There’s no stopping it now.”
“I don’t want any part of this.”
“Are you sure about that? The book comes out on Thursday, and people will start flocking to Borders and Books-a-Million to shell out $24.99 for a shiny new hardcover. The book will sell millions of copies, and I get one-third of the publisher’s take. That’ll be millions, Natalie—enough to get that place in Santa Monica; enough to buy a new car every time one runs out of gas; enough to buy Leah all the MRIs she ever needs. Babe, this is what we’ve been waiting for.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong.”
“Look, every year the state of California swindles people out of billions by encouraging them to play a lottery they can never win. Isn’t that wrong? What am I doing that’s so different? So some sucker wants to shell out twenty-five bucks to read a story by a has-been movie star. If he can’t afford the money, he won’t buy it—and if he’s got twenty-five bucks to waste, I’m more than happy to take it from him. Hey, we can even throw a few bucks to the schools if it makes you feel any better—just like the lottery does.”
“This is insane,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t do anything, Natalie. Just pretend you don’t know. Just sit tight and wait for the money to roll in. You’ll feel different then.”
“No, I won’t. Wrong is still wrong.”
“And rich is still rich. I can live with that.”
“Kemp—I want to ask you something, and I need you to give me an honest answer.” She searched his eyes as she asked the question. “Do you know what happened to Dr. Smithson?”
“What? Now how would I know that?”
“That’s not an answer.”
He paused. “I have no idea what happened to Smithson, okay? The guy’s a doctor. He’s got money. Who knows? Maybe he got a sudden urge to run off to Cozumel or something. He can do that if he wants to—and so can we in just a couple of months if you’ll just keep your mouth shut.”
Natalie continued to study his eyes. “You should have told me, Kemp. You should have asked me first. You’ve put Leah and me at risk. You know what I’m talking about—if this thing goes wrong, it’ll come back on us too. You had no right to do that.”
“I was thinking of you, babe. You’ll see that in a few months.”
“I know you, Kemp. I know what money means to you. I have a daughter to think about. I don’t like pretending, and there are limits to what I’ll do for you. You’d better remember that.”
She got up and walked out of the room.
30
Oprah smiled at the camera. “We’re talking again today with actress Liv Hayden. As those of you who’ve been watching the show already know, we’re broadcasting this week from Los Angeles, California. For those of you who haven’t been watching the show—shame on you.”
The audience loved it.
“We’re talking with my good friend Liv Hayden, an Oscar-nominated actress who’s playing a different kind of role these days. Liv, welcome back.”
Hayden’s reply was drowned out by the audience’s enthusiastic applause.
“Hey, turn this up!” Kemp shouted to a waitress.
It was mid-afternoon and the lunch crowd had long since departed, but there were still enough lingerers in the sports bar to make it difficult to hear the flat-screen TV. Kemp could have watched the show at home, but that would have just led to another run-in with Natalie. Besides, there was something about seeing it on the big screen; it was almost like being there himself.
When the waitress increased the volume one of the other patrons let out a groan. “C’mon, put a ball game on. I can watch Oprah at home on the nineteen-inch.”
“You can watch a ball game anytime,” Kemp replied. “This woman has an amazing story to tell. Watch—you might learn something.”
Oprah’s mellow voice carried across the bar. “Liv Hayden has played a lot of roles in her life: actress, producer, model . . . Now she has another role to add to her list of accomplishments: author. This is her brand-new book, just about to be released—here, let me hold it up for you—It’s All About You, the story of Liv’s encounter with an unexpected visitor—an angel.”
A moan from a skeptic across the bar. “You gotta be kidding.”
“For those who don’t know,” Oprah said, “Liv Hayden was recently in a terrible automobile accident—an accident that left her in a coma for more than a week. While she was in that coma, an angel appeared to her night after night. The angel had a message for her—a message for all of us.”
“Sounds like some serious drugs to me,” the skeptic chided. “I took too many Darvon once—I saw angels too.”
“Hold it down,” Kemp shouted back. “Some of us are trying to listen.”
“We all saw the news photos of the accident,” Oprah said. “Your car was complet
ely demolished, Liv—it looked like Princess Diana’s. It’s a miracle you survived at all.”
“There are no accidents,” Hayden said. “That’s what the angel told me.”
“Why you?” Oprah asked. “Why do you think the angel chose you to receive this message?”
Hayden made a humble shrug. “I don’t feel worthy, that’s for sure. I can only tell you what the angel told me: He said I was ‘special’ somehow—I don’t know what he meant by that. He said my mind is especially ‘receptive to new ideas’ . . .”
Kemp grinned. “She’s spiritually attuned.”
“ . . . The angel said I’m ‘spiritually attuned,’ whatever that means.”
A woman sitting at the table next to Kemp’s turned and looked at him. “Hey—how did you know she’d say that?”
Kemp gave her a wink. “I must be ‘spiritually attuned’ too.”
“What did the angel tell you?” Oprah asked. “The book doesn’t come out for another two days—give us a little preview.”
“The angel taught me a series of profound principles,” Hayden said. “Principles that describe how life really works and how we should all live together.”
“For example.”
“He told me that you can’t make others happy if you aren’t happy yourself.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I think he was talking about the power of your attitude. If you’re an unhappy person you project that onto others; if you’re happy you project that too. I think he was saying that we don’t place a high enough priority on our own happiness. We’re always working out of a vacuum; we’re trying to give other people what we don’t possess ourselves.”
The audience nodded their approval.
Hayden smiled. “He even had a cute name for this principle. He called it—”
“Get yours first,” Kemp said.
“—get yours first,” Hayden followed.
Half the people in the bar turned and looked at Kemp.
“Who are you?” someone asked him.
“Just a fellow seeker of truth,” Kemp replied.
“Get yours first,” Oprah repeated. “That is kind of clever.”
“I think he was trying to make it memorable,” Hayden said.
“Sounds like it worked. You seem to remember everything clearly even though the message came to you while you were in a coma.”
“Not everything,” Hayden said. “There are parts of it that are still coming back to me—I remember something new every day. The doctor told me that’s not unusual—he says my brain is still recovering from the trauma.”
“Did the angel speak English? Did he use actual words to communicate with you, or was it more like a telepathic kind of thing?”
“There’s no way to say for sure. I couldn’t speak to him, of course—I was in a coma. All I could do was stare up into that majestic face.”
“Majestic,” Kemp said. “Not bad.”
“But however he did it, he got through to me.”
“What else did the angel tell you? Give us another principle.”
“The angel said we expect too much from ourselves. A size fourteen expects to be a size two overnight; a forty-year-old expects to look twenty.”
Kemp predicted her next words. “We choose unattainable role models.”
“He said we choose unattainable role models, and that just leads to disappointment and frustration.”
Another bar patron leaned out from his chair and looked at Kemp. “How do you know all this? I thought this show was live.”
“It is,” Kemp said. “Live from right here in Los Angeles.”
“Then how come you know?”
“Maybe I’m an angel too,” Kemp said.
“Yeah, and I’m the pope.”
“You never know. Stranger things have happened.”
The man looked Kemp over. “I doubt it.”
Hayden went on with her explanation. “The angel said we need to choose more realistic role models. Instead of focusing on some unattainable ideal, he said we should aspire to be like the people who are standing right beside us every day. Ordinary people—but people who might be just a little bit better at something than we are.”
“That really is profound,” Oprah said. “Did he have a clever name for this principle too?”
“Yes, he did,” Hayden said. “He called it—”
“Look at the next guy in line,” Kemp announced with a grin.
“—look at the next guy in line,” Hayden said.
Now everyone in the bar was looking back and forth between Kemp and the flat-screen TV.
“What can I tell you?” Kemp said. “Great minds think alike.”
Hayden continued. “Then the angel said something else, and this is a little bit fuzzy—I’m not sure I understand it yet. He said you need to be careful when your role model is the next guy in line, because that guy is only imitating the guy next to him. He said what you really need to ask is, ‘Who’s the first guy in line?’”
Kemp blinked. “Hey—I never said that.”
“That sounds almost contradictory,” Oprah said.
“I know,” Hayden said. “Maybe it’s some kind of paradox. What I just told you isn’t even in the book—I just remembered it.”
“You mean right now?”
“The whole encounter is kind of an unfolding thing for me,” Hayden explained. “There are things I’m just now remembering—parts of the conversation I couldn’t recall before.”
“Sounds like a sequel to me,” Oprah said.
The audience laughed and applauded.
“An ‘unfolding thing,’” Kemp grumbled. “Unbelievable! Who does the woman think she is, anyway?” He took out a twenty and slapped it down on top of his check, then hurried for the door.
“What’s the problem?” the skeptic said as he passed. “One of your psychic predictions didn’t come true?”
“Kiss off, bozo.”
“Now is that any way for an angel to talk?”
31
Kemp switched off the DVD player and turned to face the three men. He waited, but there was no response.
“So what?” Biederman finally said. “I don’t see the problem.”
Kemp did a dramatic double take. “Are you out of your mind? Didn’t you hear her? Oprah asked Hayden about ‘Look at the next guy in line,’ and Hayden said ‘Look at the first guy in line.’ That’s not what she was supposed to say—she was supposed to say ‘the next guy.’ That’s the right answer; that’s what I told her to say; that’s the line we wrote for her.”
“I’m with Biederman,” Wes said. “What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal? She’s ad-libbing, that’s what—she’s ignoring the script we gave her and making it up as she goes.”
“I have to agree with our partners,” Tino said with a shrug. “It seems like a minor departure to me.”
“It’s minor now, maybe, but what about later on? It’s like bowling—if you set the ball down just an inch or two off track, it’ll be a mile off when it reaches the pins.”
“This isn’t a bowling alley, McAvoy. You’re getting upset over nothing.”
“Nothing? It could be a catastrophe! Did you hear what she told Oprah? ‘This whole encounter is kind of an unfolding thing for me.’ She said, ‘There are things I’m just now remembering.’ Translation: ‘I’m planning to make this up as I go along.’”
“She’s an actress,” Biederman said. “What did you expect? Liv Hayden never stuck to a screenplay in her life—her script departures are legendary in Hollywood. Writers have shot themselves because of her; directors have threatened to shoot her. Did you ever see The Kresbach Constancy? Liv kept changing her lines so often that Brad Pitt couldn’t remember his cues—he just sat there shaking his head. They had to keep reshooting; they went over budget. Now that was a catastrophe.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Kemp said. “You’re talking about a memorized script; I’m talking abou
t a message we implanted in her subconscious mind. She can’t be ‘just now remembering things’ unless we told them to her. Where’s she coming up with this stuff, anyway?”
“An actress is trained to improvise,” Biederman said. “So what?”
“But this is supposed to be a message from an angel—where does she get off throwing her two cents’ worth in? Moses didn’t say, ‘Here are the Ten Commandments—and while we’re on the subject, let me throw in a couple of my own.’”
Wes frowned at him. “Is that what’s eating you? She’s changing your message? Lighten up, Kemp—you’re taking this angel thing too seriously.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Besides, it’s not your message. The three of us contributed just as much as you did. You don’t see us getting upset, do you?”
“You guys don’t get it,” Kemp said. “We gave her a message so we could write a book. Now the book is about to come out, and she’s doing interviews to promote the book. Don’t you see? Her story is supposed to match the story in the book. She can’t go around contradicting herself. What will people think?”
“They’ll think it’s an ‘unfolding thing,’ just like she said.”
“These slight departures of hers may even be profitable,” Tino added. “We’ve all considered the possibility of a second book; the three of us had enough trouble coming up with the first one. Ms. Hayden may be writing the second one for us. Like Oprah said: ‘It sounds like a sequel to me.’”
“These ‘slight departures’ could be disaster,” Kemp replied. “You said it yourself, Tino—we had enough trouble coming up with the first book, and there were three of us working on it. What’s she going to come up with all on her own?” He looked at Biederman. “Tell the truth, Biederman. When Liv was ‘improvising’ on those movie scripts—was the stuff she came up with better than what the writers wrote for her? Was she improving the movie or just changing it? What if she just ‘improvised’ the whole thing—then what would you have had? Because that’s what we’re going to have if we just let her keep talking off the top of her head.”
The group paused to consider this.
“What are you suggesting we do?” Wes asked.