“Something like that.”
“Rrrats.” The boy made a face.
“Hey!” Brent gave a mock scowl. “You been hitting on my girl?”
“She thinnnks I’m c-cute.”
“Oh, she does, does she? Well, I just might have to talk to her about that.”
The boy giggled and wobbled while Brent fought the urge to steady him.
“Robby,” the young woman called. When Brent glanced up, he saw she was little more than a kid herself, with a dark braid that hung to the waist of her peach polyester maid’s uniform. “Vente, mi hijo.”
“Sí, mammma.” As the boy struggled to stand straight, Brent realized he wore braces on both legs. With a sway-and-step motion, he made his way across the room to take his mother’s hand. At the door, he turned around a gave Brent a wave. “See yyya.”
“Yeah, see ya.” Brent waved back as the boy and his mother left. He had the oddest feeling in his chest, as if everything were turning to warm mush. Even after the door closed, he sat there staring after Robby. How could anybody with a healthy body complain about his lot in life?
Guilt pricked his conscience for every time he’d indulged in self-pity. Perhaps life had dealt him a rotten hand in some respects, but it had also given him one very powerful trump card: a healthy body and a face that had opened a lot of doors.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Laura said as she breezed into the waiting room, “though I see you’ve kept yourself entertained,” she added, eyeing the Dr. Seuss book. An odd look came over her face, more tenderness than amusement.
“Yeah, uh, riveting stuff.” He set the book aside and rose to give her the quick kiss they always exchanged when he picked her up for lunch.
“What would you think about going to the Ol’ Bayou for some Cajun food?” she asked. “Unless you’d rather have green eggs and ham.”
“Whatever,” he answered absently, his mind still on the boy.
“Hey.” She tilted her head to catch his eyes. “You okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, sure, the Ol’ Bayou sounds fine.”
The smile that swept over her face finally captured his full attention. “I missed you last night,” she whispered.
“I missed you, too,” he whispered back. That warm mushy feeling shifted and spread outward as he stood staring at her. Sometimes he wondered if being happy affected a person’s brain. He seemed to spend a lot of time simply staring at Laura without a single thought in his head. But since she seemed to suffer from a similar malady, he decided not to worry about it too much. He’d just enjoy it—while it lasted.
—
Laura savored a bite of rich étouffée as she watched Brent. He seemed oblivious to the quaint atmosphere of the Cajun restaurant, with its odd assortment of copper pots, antique beer signs, and fishing nets that covered the rough-paneled walls.
“So,” she asked, more curious than piqued, “are you going to pick at that jambalaya or eat it?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “What were we talking about?”
“The idea of you throwing a party for the people you work with.” She’d been gently prodding him for weeks to have some people over. He had a beautiful house that deserved to be shown off, just as he deserved the praise and acceptance of friends. Only he’d never have close friends if he continued to hold everyone but her at arm’s length. “If the idea of entertaining bothers you that much, I’ll quit pushing.”
“No, no, it’s not that.” He shook his head. “And I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just have other things on my mind, that’s all.”
“Like what?” she asked, wondering what excuse he’d come up with this time to postpone the party.
“Just things.” He shrugged.
“What things?”
“Things,” he insisted. At her exasperated look, he sighed. “I was just wondering if anyone had ever come up with a cure for cerebral palsy, that’s all.”
“Cerebral palsy?” She stared at him a moment before understanding dawned. “Ah. You’ve met Robby.”
“He came into the reception area while I was waiting for you.”
“He’s a real heart-stealer, isn’t he?”
“He’s friendly, I’ll give him that,” Brent agreed.
“That he is.” She smiled, as she often did when she thought of Roberto Gonzales. As always, though, the grin faded quickly, crowded out by the reality of his situation. “Unfortunately, the answer to your question is no, there is no cure for cerebral palsy. It’s a type of brain damage, not a disease. Robby’s one of the lucky ones, though, if there is such a thing in these cases.”
“What do you mean?” He finally gave her his undivided attention.
“He has no mental retardation, and his balance and motor skills are remarkably good. He could even learn to walk with a fairly normal gait if—” she took a breath as the frustration built inside her. “If we could just get him the physical therapy he needs.”
“What’s the holdup?” Brent asked as he reached for a piece of cornbread. “Even if he doesn’t have private insurance, shouldn’t Medicaid cover it?”
“Oh, they do.” She snorted. “Only Medicaid has gone to the new HMO system. Do you have any idea the kind of hoops I have to jump through to get referral approval for a patient?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, example.” She set her fork aside. “Dr. Velasquez wants Robby to have physical therapy once a month for a year to see if that helps. So I call the insurance company to request approval for twelve sessions. No problem. They approve all twelve sessions, except—get this—he has to have them all in a row.”
“You mean one a day for twelve days?”
“Exactly.” She threw up her hands. “Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”
Brent’s fork went down. “Have you explained this to the insurance company?”
“About a million times,” she said. “Unfortunately, the people who dole out the referral numbers are little more than college kids with a computer full of guidelines. If the computer says the treatments have to be on consecutive days, then far be it from some medical doctor with years of experience to tell them differently. And if I try to explain the error in their guidelines, they act as if I’m trying to pull a fast one.”
“Have you talked to someone higher up?”
“I’m trying, Brent. Don’t you think I’m trying?” Taking up her fork, she stabbed a shrimp in frustration. “I just get so angry. I’ve been filing appeals for weeks and getting absolutely nowhere. It’s like nobody cares. To them, Robby’s just one boy. What does it matter if one child falls through the cracks, as long as the majority are served?”
With a calmness that surprised her, Brent reached for a paper napkin and pulled a pen from his pocket. “What’s the name of his insurance company?”
“Why?” She sat up straight. “You’re not going to call them or anything are you?”
“I’m going to do a lot more than call them. I’m going to put them on the six o’clock news.”
“Are you crazy?” She grabbed his hand. “Do you want to get me fired and Dr. Velasquez sued?” When he frowned at her, she went on to explain. “Everything I just told you is protected by patient confidentiality.”
“You’re right.” She could almost see the wheels turning inside his head. A smile spread over his face. “Which is why you’re going to call Robby’s mother as soon as you get back to work and talk her into calling me. Maybe you can’t give me permission to report this story, but she sure as hell can. We’ll see how fast the insurance company changes their tune.”
“You mean it?” A giddy thrill rose inside her. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or throw her arms around Brent and cover him with kisses. “Thank you, Brent. This could make a huge difference.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled back, and she knew he cared for Robby’s plight as much as she did. How could any man with such a capacity for compassion doubt he’d make a fabulous father?
Only those children would never exist. Brent had stated firmly he didn’t want them. And she’d assured him she respected his feelings on the subject. So why did she find it so hard to live with that decision? Had she secretly hoped he’d change his mind? Or that she’d be able to change it for him?
She frowned at the thought, for if she’d entered the relationship with such expectations, she was setting herself up for heartbreak. Unless…
For one tantalizing moment, she let herself wonder what the future would hold if Brent did change his mind.
—
By the following day, Brent had approval from Robby’s mother and his news director to do the special report. In fact, the station liked the idea so much, they decided to pull out all the stops and use the special for the upcoming ratings week. Connie had even agreed to produce it, though she normally didn’t work in the field.
With Laura helping on the research end, Brent soon realized they’d stumbled onto a much bigger story than one boy’s fight for physical therapy. Though he wanted the focus of the report to remain on Robby, he expanded the script to explain that this was not an isolated case but a widespread problem in the medical community. Legislators at both the state and national level had been addressing the issue for the past few years, but until a solution was found, patients across the country were going without vitally needed medical treatment.
The taping of the segment was done over a period of days, all of it during Brent’s off hours. Laura set up a taped interview with Dr. Velasquez and arranged for Brent to take a camera crew into one of Robby’s hard-won physical therapy sessions. Not that he couldn’t have arranged the tapings himself but he enjoyed working with Laura. She was efficient, professional, and enthusiastic about the project. He often thought it a shame she hadn’t gone into journalism. She’d have made one hell of a reporter.
When he mentioned that to her, she just laughed and said it took more than gathering facts to make a good reporter. It took talent, of which he had plenty for the both of them. The compliment made the warm glow he’d been carrying around all summer grow a bit brighter, and the silly grin he wore a bit more noticeable.
Connie, of course, teased him unmercifully about his “sappy look.” But he laughed it off, which surprised him. Normally, any hint that he was “falling in love” would have set alarm bells ringing in his head.
The final day of taping took place on a Saturday on the banks of Buffalo Bayou, near the spot where he and Laura had had their picnic nearly two months before. Being August, the crew arrived early in the morning, when the temperature would be a tolerable eighty-six degrees and the park would be relatively empty. Two cameramen, the key grips, and the field director set up the equipment near the duck feeding area. They would use a mounted camera to film Brent’s intro into the report, then use a hand-held camera to get shots of Brent and Robby feeding the ducks and walking through the park. These latter snippets would be interspersed with interviews and other scenes, with Brent doing the final voiceover in the studio once everything was spliced together.
While they waited for the taping to begin, Brent stood with Connie, Robby, and Robby’s mother in the shade of a tree. Connie fanned herself with her notes. “How you ever talked me into doing an outdoor shot in August is beyond me,” she groused.
“You owed me a favor, remember?” Brent said.
“Yeah, but I never expected the payback to involve standing outside in weather like this. It’s so hot, I swear my brain is melting. How do you locals take it?”
Brent chuckled as he dabbed his face with powder to absorb the shine. By noon the heat and humidity would make even breathing difficult. “I hate to say this, but it’s not any easier for us. In fact, every year about this time, I think seriously about buying a cabin in Colorado and escaping until October.”
“Good idea,” Connie sighed and reached for a cigarette. “When do we leave?”
“D-do I have to wwwear that gggunk?” Robby asked, watching Brent finish with his makeup. Brent hid a grin, since he had little liking for the stuff himself. Fortunately, with his dark complexion he rarely had to wear any outside of the studio, and then he wore as little as possible.
“It’s not so bad,” Brent assured him. “Once you get used to it.”
“It’s fffor girls!” Robby crinkled his nose.
“And movie stars,” Brent added, thinking quickly. In the last few days, he’d learned Robby could be as temperamental as any seven-year-old. Strangely, he found he liked the kid all the more for being so natural. With Robby, no one ever had to wonder what he was thinking—because every thought was instantly voiced. Brent glanced at Robby’s mother, Maria. “What’s Robby’s favorite show?”
“Walker, Texas Ranger,” she answered in her accented English.
Brent squatted down to Robby’s level. “I bet Chuck Norris puts on makeup.”
“Who?” Robby frowned.
Brent rolled his eyes and tickled Robby’s stomach. “The guy that plays Walker.”
“Wwwalker doesn’t wear mmmakeup,” the boy protested between giggles.
“Sure he does. Every guy that gets in front of a camera wears some kind of makeup.” Brent dabbed the sponge into translucent stage powder. “And that’s what you’re going to do today, play out a scene in front of a camera, just like Walker, Texas Ranger. Pretty cool, eh?”
Robby scowled dubiously at the round sponge in Brent’s hand. “I g-guess.”
Not giving him a chance to change his mind, Brent started swiping the boy’s face. “After all your friends see the show, you’ll be a regular star.”
“Yyyou think s-so?”
“You bet.” Brent smiled at the boy’s excitement. He’d already learned that being camera shy was not a problem with this kid.
Just then Laura drove up and parked along the curb behind the TV van and other cars. Getting out of the car, she headed toward them with a bakery bag in one hand and an ice chest in the other.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she drew near. “But I thought y’all might need a few thousand calories to keep the energy up.”
Spying the bag, the crew abandoned their work and headed for the shade tree.
“What did you bring?” Connie asked.
“Doughnuts, danishes, and croissants so buttery, they’ll make you drool,” Laura announced with glee.
“Oh, bless you, my child.” Connie went straight for the bag as Laura spread a blanket in the shade. “I don’t suppose you brought any coffee?”
“In this heat?” Laura shuddered, then opened the ice chest. “I brought orange juice and soft drinks.”
Connie made a face but reached for a small plastic bottle of juice.
“I’m g-going to be a mmmovie star,” Robby told Laura.
“You are,” she answered with the proper amount of awe. “Well, that calls for a celebration. Pick your poison, orange juice or soft drink.”
“Yyyou have orange s-soda?”
“You bet!”
“No orange soda!” Brent, Connie, and the field director shouted at once. The last thing they needed was for Robby to have an orange mustache when the cameras rolled.
“Okay, okay,” Laura cringed playfully.
Brent took one look at Robby’s mutinous face and quickly intervened. “How about a Coke now and an orange soda later?”
“Okkkay.” Still pouting a bit, Robby swayed and stepped his way ov
er to the blanket.
“You have children?” Maria asked softly beside him.
Brent startled at the words. “No. None. Why do you ask?”
“You’re very good with them.” Maria smiled.
“I—thank you.” A strange tightness crept into his chest as Maria turned to watch her child. The pride and love she felt for the boy shone clearly in her eyes. Yet he knew raising Robby couldn’t be easy, and not just because of the cerebral palsy, but because Maria was young and single.
Just as his own mother had been.
In the last week, he’d wondered many times why two women in the same situation would react so differently. Robby’s father had apparently abandoned Maria before the child had even been born. Maria had dropped out of high school to take care of her baby and now worked as a hotel maid to support them both. He admired her for refusing to give up her child, even though keeping him made her life more difficult.
Brent’s mother, on the other hand, had put up little more than a token resistance when she’d found a man who wanted to marry her and take her to California, but only if she left Brent behind. Though she’d promised to send for Brent later, none of the Zartlichs ever heard from her again.
For as long as Brent could remember, he’d blamed himself for her leaving, but now he wasn’t so sure. What if the weakness was with her character, not his?
He thought of all the years he’d spent trying to be perfect out of fear that everyone would abandon him if he weren’t. Even as an adult, he worried about letting anyone get too close, for fear that they’d see his flaws and want nothing to do with him. Yet Laura knew all about his shortcomings, that he could be stubborn and selfish at times and embarrassingly insecure at others.
She knew all that and she still brushed his flaws off as simply being human.
“Okay,” Connie called as she finished her danish. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
As the crew grabbed for the last few pastries, Brent gratefully turned his attention to work. Here at least was safe ground, a place where he didn’t have to be anything but the man on the surface for the camera to film.
Chapter 22
Drive Me Wild Page 22