by Mara Lynne
I’m hurrying to Dad’s room when I meet Dr. Martin in the hallway.
“Angel, can I talk to you?”
“Yes, doctor. If it’s about Dad, I will listen to you.”
And so, we go to the consultation room which is just a few walks away from where we met.
“Angel, the radiation isn’t helping. It’s killing the healthy tissues. With CRF, it’s almost impossible for his kidneys to work with those dead cells,” he says.
“I don’t understand,” I shake my head.
“We can’t do radiation anymore. At first, I thought it was a good idea,” he explains while showing me papers which appear to be Dad’s latest test results. “Creatinine and BUN levels hit an all-time high. He needs a new kidney.”
“But didn’t you say surgery is too dangerous?”
“It will give us better results than radiation, Angel.”
For a second, the blazing fire within me dies down.
“H-how…” I cry. I have been crying most of the time now. “H-how are we…” I can’t put into words what I am thinking. I don’t even know what to say.
“We need to find a match. Aside from monitoring for possible complications like tissue rejection, finding a good match is crucial.”
“I can be tested!” I quickly volunteer.
“You’re the only possible match, Angel, but we have to make sure.”
“Can we do it now?”
I can give anything for Dad to live. I can live with one kidney. Having read from magazines about people who continue to live normally with only one kidney kicks away my fear. If they can, why can’t I? It is for Dad after all.
“We have to inform your father about this first. Patient’s consent is important.”
“Thank you for informing me, Doctor.” I wipe away the tears from my eyes.
“Angel, if we don’t find a match in you, we have to look for one. I fear this will take longer than expected.”
Chapter 11: Beneath the Skin
“No, Angel!” Dad points out after I told him about my schedule for three compatibility tests early tomorrow morning. “I’d rather die than take your kidney!”
“Dad, it’s best for you.” I squeeze his hand, hoping he’d see how serious I am, and how critical this situation is for him if he remains steadfast with his judgment.
It is not easy for him to learn about his cancer, and the only way for him to survive is for me to lose one kidney.
“This is ridiculous!” He’s never shouted at me like this. Striking electricity hits my spine as I see Dad so angry. “I’m not going to sign the consent! I’m not doing the operation!”
“Dad, please,” I literally beg.
“Get yourself straight, Angel! You’re young, and you’re going to have a good future. I’m not going to let myself ruin that.” His voice is on the verge of breaking. I see Mom’s eyes at me, gesturing that I should stop. She, too, looks almost red as she tries to suppress her tears. “I’m old, useless, and broke. There’s nothing much left for me. Why put yourself in danger just to save an old, useless man!?”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper.
Tears burst out of his eyes. I immediately give him an embrace, telling him he’s not the man he thinks he is. Why does he even think this way? Did Mom and I do something to make him think ill of himself? He’s not useless. He’s never a burden. It’s the situation, not Dad.
“Don’t you ever try to do those tests, Angel.” His voice softens as emotions pour. “Promise me, you’ll never do them.”
I have to say yes so he will stop crying. As soon as he calmed himself down, the nurse injects him a drug to put him to sleep. Apparently, our squabble has taken a toll out of him as his blood pressure shot up. But Dr. Martin says he will be okay after he gets some sleep and as the hypertensive medication takes effect.
Mom and I got to his office to talk about our options. I wish there are other options as I hate to break Dad’s heart.
“Can’t Mom or I sign the consent?” I sound really fraught.
“The patient has to do it, Angel,” answers Dr. Martin. “It’s protocol.”
“Can we drug him like what you just did?”
“Angel!” Mom exclaims in protest.
“Dad won’t know when he’s under the influence of some drug. When he wakes up, he’ll have a new kidney.”
“Still, not an ethical thing to do.” Dr. Martin seems a little surprised. “I might lose my license.”
“Then what shall we do?” I question.
“Aside from convincing him to do it and you donating your organ, we can look for a new kidney donor from the organ bank.”
My eyes light up. Hope hasn’t fully left us.
“But it’s quite a long process and expensive, too. We have to wait before we reach the priority list. It’s first come, first serve basis, and there are hundreds or even thousands of applicants per year.”
“So, you’re saying it’s almost impossible…” Mom finally speaks while attempting to hide her panic.
“No,” he replies. “It’s isn’t impossible, but it will take time before we secure a donor. We have to wait.”
“We’ll start looking now,” I say. If we start now, we might hasten this whole thing, and Dad will have a new kidney before we know it. I am aware that he’s in dire need of it and that the operation must be done as soon as possible before the tumor grows and fully impedes his kidney’s function. “What shall we do first?”
Dr. Martin shows us some request papers that need to be filled up. He’ll take care of the rest, he promises.
I am floating, so to speak, as I work my Sunday afternoon at Maxwell’s. I still can’t take the surgery out of my mind. It’s not a big deal for me to lose one kidney as long as Dad lives on. The expenses never leave me, too. They have been haunting me for days. I am not sure how much a kidney is worth, but I bet one is more expensive than what I can think of. A kidney means life. Life is priceless. Hence, a kidney is too. The loan is my only hope. I thought of going back to the bank tomorrow and just sign those papers even if my benefactor insists of keeping his or her identity a secret. There is no room for options now, I guess. If it is Etheridge, whom I terribly hope not to be, then so be it. I need the money. I need a kidney by all means.
“Waitress!” One customer calls to ask for his bill, knocking me out of my trance. I quickly account the items he has ordered and immediately placed his receipt on his table when I see Damien and his troop of annoying friends enter. What I notice first when he sets foot in the diner is his eyes roaming around the corners. I don’t want to assume that he’s looking for me, but when our eyes meet his devilish smile surfaces.
Ray hurries to their table, and as expected, Damien isn’t taking his eyes off me. He follows me wherever I go. What a typical thing for him to do! He speaks to Ray as the latter fakes a smile.
“What now?” I ask when we meet in the middle, and we both go back to the counter.
“Nothing new. He won’t order a damn thing unless you go there and ask for it.”
After that night with Colin— after he left me alone in the parking lot so clueless with only his credit card to ponder about —he’s gone here to do what? I should have gotten used to doing this, but no matter how I try to force myself to get used to his antics, I still find everything he does so new. It’s like its effect on me never gets old, like he’s doing them for the first time. I am always left to marvel over my response.
“I’ll handle this, Ray.” So I approached him with my head held up high.
Damien’s grin widens as he sees me coming to his direction.
I shot him a cold stare.
“I’m not in the mood, Etheridge!” I warn him as I reach their table.
He leans forward. His friends giggle for reasons I don’t know.
“You don’t have all my time,” I say.
“Five bottles of beer,” he finally utters. “And some meat will do. My friends and I will enjoy tonight’s betting game!”
/> I quickly turn my back to him and walk away. I refer his order to Mr. Nguyen then took five bottles of beer from the fridge and bring them to his table.
“We have pork barbecue here. Do you want them?”
“Anything you say, Angel.” His voice is such a tease.
Before I could leave, I feel a tight grasp on my waist and my entire body being pulled. In seconds, I find myself face to face with Damien Etheridge. His mouth quickly meets mine. I froze as his kiss goes deeper, his tongue digging inside like there’s no tomorrow. My legs shake, but Damien extends his hands and arms to support me.
Three… Two… One…
His mouth leaves mine, but I am still dazed and catatonic.
The gray in his eyes shimmer with more than utter content. I can’t figure out why he did that and why I didn’t even push him away. My mind is working while it was happening, yet I just stood there, waiting for him to make his next move. What am I even thinking? Damien Etheridge just kissed me in front of the customers. I hear the entire place fall into complete silence except for his friends cheering him for a job well done.
A job well done?
Damien turns his back on me with that sly grin on his face.
“I won the bet!” he exclaims to his friends. “I get those tickets.” He elbows his friends. “I’m going to New York, baby!”
I drop my jaw as he celebrates. He just kissed me for tickets to New York!
How dare he!
I feel my face warming with rage. I am stunned. My legs are glued to the ground. Peoples’ eyes are stuck on me while his friends are rejoicing in the expense of my distress. Don’t they even have a heart?
“Don’t tell me you’re bringing her with you?” his friend teases.
“The bet is epic, dude! But why her?”
Damien smirks with an uncontainable sense of victory.
I let out a huge breath of air and let myself calm down for a moment. Even though people are glaring at me like I’m some poor victim, I have to remain relaxed because I’m at work, and Damien’s a customer. I should not pull out a scene or else I’ll be jobless by the end of this night. So I turn away from them, controlling the anger that is killing me inside. At some point, I want to yell at him and just let myself be devoured by rage. He makes me feel this way. He makes me abhor him. His silly tactics aren’t cute, and neither are they helping me forget my dreadful situation. One more word from him and I’ll definitely give him a dose of his own medicine, and he will not like it. Right now, I really want to show to him what I can do. I want him to realize that I’m not his play doll.
“Hey, where are you going?” He stops me from leaving by grasping my arm.
Reflexively, I give him a loud slap on the face. The sound silences everything, even the beating of my heart. In just seconds, his cheek has bright red palm print on it. Damien’s eyes widen. The surprised look on his face… I wonder if it’s humiliation or just simply surprise.
His friends shut their mouth, and the other people in the diner gasps with horror. They just witnessed how an ordinary diner girl slapped the mayor’s son in the face.
I don’t feel sorry. He deserves to be embarrassed and be slapped.
I quickly leave the dining area and head to the locker room, containing the tears that are on the verge of bursting put. People mustn’t see. It just won’t look good. My chest was so heavy like I want to cry and laugh at the same time. There is a huge lump in there, and it is impeding the flow of air into my lungs. Tears won’t stop flowing out of my eyes.
I’ve had enough of Damien. What I have done is the most relieving thing I’ve done in the past few weeks. With everything bad going on, I feel so comforted that I finally slapped him in the face.
He was in the wrong position for bullying a girl who’s been carrying the whole world on her shoulders for a time now. He was wrong to pick on me. I bury my face in my hands and cry out loud. I couldn’t do it while everyone is watching. In the locker, I can do everything I want to do. I can cry. I can curse Etheridge to my heart’s content. I can blame everything on him.
“Angel?” Ray knocks on the door.
“Ray?” Clearing my throat, I quickly wipe my tears away.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Damien and his friends have left.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Come out now.”
“I think I’ll stay here for a while.” After what happened, I don’t think I can bear what people might say about me. Their glares back there were squeezing my chest. I don’t want their sympathy.
So I stay inside to wait for an hour more before the diner closes for the night.
“Damien is such a skunk!” Ray comments as we walk the well-lighted streets around the diner. It’s one of those usual nights when we wait for a cab. “It’s good that you slapped him back to reality.”
Despite the coldness of the night, the warmth that kiss brought into my face lingers. I would like to think it’s just pure humiliation.
“A kiss for tickets to New York? How strategic is that?” Ray continuous. “It’s not like he’s poor not to afford them!”
“Okay, Ray, I’ve heard enough.”
“I’m sorry, Angel.”
There’s a cab nearing our direction.
“You coming with me?” he asks.
“Nah, I need a walk.”
“Are you sure? You’ll get to the hospital sooner if you come with me.”
“It’s okay, Ray.”
He mounts the car the moment it stops at the curb.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
It is a starless night. I think it is going to rain. I tug my jacket close to me to keep the remaining heat in my body. I watch my feet take every step on the gravel walk, hoping that the motion will erase the ugly memory of the kiss in my mind. It deadens me for a while, freeing my heart from the burden of Dad’s illness and the expenses that await me when I reach the hospital.
If Damien is my benefactor, should I still take the money? If he is and I take it, will it not look like I’m letting him get a hold of me? I’ll be indebted to him once his money helps Dad. I just want to believe what Ray has told me… that it could be other people, that Damien isn’t the charitable type. I don’t want to have any connection with him, not after what happened tonight.
“Sorry,” a woman in red leather dress say after she bumps into me. “Hey, aren’t you the waitress in that little diner downtown that serves good pancakes?”
I study her face when it strikes me.
It’s her! The woman whom I thought was a hooker. Her blonde hair is gone. She’s turned redheaded this time. She’s blazing red.
“Well, well, well, it’s destiny!” She smirks. “Have you decided, lovely?”
Decided on what?
Oh, her offer! I am not even thinking about it. To be a hooker like her? Is she even one? She dresses like she is, but I don’t want to judge. Maybe it’s just her fashion sense.
“If you need money, my dear.” She ambles closer to me, calculating the back steps I make to avoid her. “You can have it easily with this.”
“What kind of work?” I find myself asking.
“Come with me!” she teases.
“I… I don’t do your stuff,” I stutter as I let go of her hand.
“It will be easy. No sweat!”
“I don’t sell my body.” I try to fake a laugh.
She flickers her eyes on me and smiles. “You think I’m working in the red district?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Honey, it doesn’t mean when people dress like this, they are already sex slaves. I don’t even sell sex right away. Yes for good money, and definitely yes for good bed partners,” she answers calmly while unwrapping the gum she just fished out from her purse. “Want one?”
I shake my head for.
“I’m not a hooker. I’m a talent scout,” she continues
“A talent scout? Wha
t is that?” Is she responsible for those actors and actress on TV who can barely act?
“Do you mind if we go inside that coffee shop?” she asks, pointing to a small bistro café across the street. “It’s kinda cold here.” Her legs are shaking. Why does she even dress like this at the coldest hour of the night?
We cross the street and find ourselves a table inside the café.
“Coffee?” she asks me.
“No,” I answer.
“Don’t worry, I’m paying for this.” She sounds so confident.
I timidly smile. “No, thank you. I can’t afford another sleepless night.”
Why am I even here? I can’t believe I am actually interested in what she’s going to say. Once she has clarified that she isn’t a hooker, I suddenly felt curious about the thing she does.
I watch her sip her hot coffee like some thirsty animal.
“What do you mean by being a talent scout?”
“I refer girls to rich businessmen to act as their girlfriends in events and functions. These men pay me five grand per referral, and if they find the girl beyond satisfactory, they double their pay. The actresses’ pay depends on how much they have pleased them. I am sure they get more than I receive, though.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Obviously, you don’t know much about the rich bachelors who go to parties bringing their unknown ‘girlfriends.’ They do this to keep the press and the public’s interest on them alive. You just have to stand next to him and smile to the cameras, pretend like you know your date, follow whatever his specifics are, and you’ll be good.”
“And after the play acting, what happens next?”
“You go home. It’s just a one-night event,” she responds, “except if he hires you again for another date.”
“Date?”
“I mean another play-acting event, though this rarely happens. Rich bachelors like to bring different girls to different events. It gives them the masculine vibe. You know what I mean.”
I am not sure if it’s a good idea. If people see me on TV or newspaper, they’ll definitely know who I am.