Say You Love Her

by Z. L. Arkadie

  “But it’s not time yet.”

  “She came early. Daisy lost a lot of blood. They’re both barely hanging on. It’s sad, Charlie. Get your ass down here. Jack needs you.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “I’ll text you the address.”

  We end the call. I take a moment to let everything Maggie just said sink in. What the hell? I stop scratching the back of my neck to reach out to Jacques. My call goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message then throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, brush my teeth, and head out. The Saturday morning traffic isn’t horrendous. It’s a smooth drive down Wilshire Blvd. to Beverly Blvd. I park in the structure and nearly run to the maternity ward where I ask an attendant for information on Daisy’s whereabouts.

  “Belmont and Daisy Lord?” she asks, eyeing me curiously.

  “Yes.”

  “May I see your ID please?”

  I retrieve my wallet, take out my ID, and give it to her. She checks my name against a list.

  “Thank you.” She holds my ID out to me.

  I take one end, but she still has the other. “One more thing,” I say, grinning.

  “Yes?” she croaks. I made her nervous.

  “Is there an Angelina Blanchard on that list?”

  “On what list?” She’s gazing into my eyes.

  I point to the list in front of her. “That one.”

  “Oh,” she says and quickly looks down to read. “Angelina Blanchard. Yes, her name is here.”

  “Has she arrived yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  I knock on the counter three times. “Thank you.” I’m all smiles as I take my ID card back.

  ***

  Angelina

  “Apparently no one wants to come see a musical about a box that sits on a wall in the projects,” Angelina said.

  “Because it’s depressing as hell,” Lars, her long time friend, replied.

  They were lying on the red faux-fur rug, watching and mocking a really bad reality TV show.

  “Maybe we can produce a musical about this,” Angelina said, shoveling a hand at the TV screen just as one of the very thin, very made-up ladies was calling the other one, who looked ten pounds lighter than the first, a “porker.”

  “Aw,” Lars said and pulled her into his arms. Angelina snuggled up against his bare and hilly chest.

  The coziness made her sigh. “This entire plan hasn’t worked out like I had hoped. And we danced our asses off! Did we not?”

  “What did that reviewer say? ‘The writing is horrific, the dancing stellar, and the concept insulting.’”

  “That’s how it read. What a jerk.”

  “Hell, at least he said we were ‘stellar,’” Lars said.

  “Stellar and currently out of a gig.”

  “Just do it, Angel. You know you want to anyway.”

  “Do what?” She listened to Lars’s heartbeat. There was something comforting about hearing the life of a person now that her mother was gone. It had been more than two months since Madame Josephine Beauchamp’s burial. Angelina thought living in Manhattan, being with old friends, and dancing in multiple shows a day, six nights a week, would take her mind off of her problems, which included the loop of Charlie and Monroe that wouldn’t stop playing in her head. But none of it had.

  “Why the hell are you slumming it?” Lars asked. “Look over there.”

  She followed his finger to where he pointed. She counted them, three roaches nesting beneath the sofa.

  She was living in a flat in Chelsea—two bedrooms, eight people, all dancers and mediocre actors. They kept it clean, though—well, at least she did.

  “It’s Manhattan, Lars. We live in their town, not the other way around.”

  “I bet you won’t find them under your sister’s couch in Gramercy Park.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that out loud.”

  “You think your roommates don’t know you’re a rich bitch?”

  “I’m not rich.”

  “Your mother was, and she left it all to you. Jacques Blanchard is your father, and he ain’t poor. Your sister is married to the dude who’s number twenty-eight on the—”

  “Okay, I get it,” she said, cutting him off. “But God bless the child who has her own, and I have zilch.”

  “You have your family, that’s not zilch.”

  She brushed one of his stray dreadlocks off his chest. “I have you though.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “You’ll always have me, but it’s time to take your ass to Broadway and Gramercy Park, and bring me with you.”

  Angelina laughed so loudly that she almost didn’t hear the phone ring.

  “I’ll get it.” Lars jumped up in a flash. “Hello,” he said as Angelina propped herself up on a pillow and turned her attention to the TV just in time to see the “porker” throw a drink in another lady’s face.

  “Well, I’ve hit bottom,” she mumbled, disappointed in herself for not wanting to switch the channel already.

  “Angel, it’s for you.”

  She rushed over to take the call. The only people who knew to reach her at that number were Daisy, Belmont, and casting from last week’s auditions. The odds of talking to someone she wanted to hear from were high.

  “Hello!” she said in her most pleasant voice.

  The woman introduced herself as Maggie, Belmont’s cousin. He had asked Maggie to call her. Daisy was in the hospital.

  “I have to go,” Angelina said as soon as she hung up the phone.

  It felt as though she was having an out-of-body experience. She couldn’t seem to pack and taxi over to Teterboro, where she would take Belmont’s private plane back to L.A., fast enough.

  Angelina would certainly have to see Charlie, and she didn’t know if she was ready for that yet.

  ***

  Charlie

  Jack’s dollars go a long way at this hospital. The waiting room has the ambiance of a five-star hotel lobby. I haven’t seen Jack yet. He’s still with the doctors.

  “Can you believe their blood types match?” Maggie sounds exhausted.

  I sit beside her, and she rests her head on my shoulder. “Jack gave blood already. I’m not a match. But you should get tested.”

  “I will,” I say.

  Just then a nurse comes out, and Maggie leaps to her feet. I join her.

  “Is everything okay?” I’ve never seen her this panicky.

  The nurse smiles. “Daisy is awake and recovering. As far as we can tell there’s no permanent brain damage, but we’re going to run an MRI. She’s lucid, and her long- and short-term memories are intact. That’s a very good sign.”

  “What about the baby?” I ask.

  The nurse’s smile fades. “She’s a little early, but she’s strong.”

  Maggie buries her face into my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her.

  “What about my brother? How’s he?”

  She sighs as if thinking about him is exhausting. “He’s on autopilot. But we’re keeping an eye on him, at least making sure he eats and drinks.”

  “Do you need more blood?” I ask.

  “Sure, we can always use more blood. I’ll get a station set up and call you back in a moment.”

  I lift a finger. “And my niece. When can I see her?”

  The nurse furrows her brows. “She’s in intensive care, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Suddenly Maggie gasps as though she can’t believe what she just heard. The nurse purposely ignores her reaction.

  “Did you two have a fight?” I ask as soon as the nurse walks away.

  “See what she can do?” Maggie snarls.

  “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “I’ve been waiting to see the baby since I arrived. Jack’s been too preoccupied to take me. I asked that nurse to take me, and she said she wasn’t authorized. But for you ‘she’ll see what she can do?’ I swear I wish you or Vincent would’ve been here from the start. You’re getting way further th
an I’ve gotten.” She looks as though she’s about to bite someone’s head off.

  “Have you eaten lately?”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “Are you having a hypoglycemic episode?”

  She snorts. “Are you?”

  “No, but...”

  “I’m fine,” she grumbles. “I just hate when women do that to other women. They take one look at me and decide to make it difficult. And there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s just the way of the fucking world.”

  “Mr. Lord,” the nurse calls from down the hallway. “We’re ready to draw your blood.”

  “See what I mean?” Maggie says. “They didn’t even ask you what your blood type is.”

  I squeeze Maggie’s shoulder. “Cool off, Mags. They only hate you because you’re beautiful.”

  “Is that supposed to be a fucking compliment?”

  “I guess not.” Jeez, I can see my head in her mouth because she just bit it off.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m giving blood and Maggie is sitting next to me. The nurse asked if she wanted to give blood too, and for a second I thought Maggie would flip her off. But she narrowed her eyes and hissed an ice-cold “no.”

  “You look exhausted,” I say.

  “That’s because I’ve been here since three a.m. yesterday morning. I was at their house when she went into labor. It was scary as hell. All that pain she was in… Shit.” Maggie cringes. “I was staying at their house until Vincent gets here.”

  “Vincent Adams? You’re still with him?”

  “Of course I’m with him!”

  “You can’t get offended by me asking. Look at your track record, Mags.”

  She shrugs. “I know, but this is different.”

  “He doesn’t leave toothpaste in your sink?”

  “Ha, ha, ha.” She narrows one eye. “Actually, he does.”

  “And you haven’t dumped him?”

  “It’s amazing all the shit you put up with when you’re really in love. Like he’s always on me about leaving my clothes on the floor.”

  “I can’t believe you still do that. I have only one thing to say about that: seek help.”

  She punches me in the arm that doesn’t have a needle stuck in it. The nurse at the desk gives her a warning look.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Maggie says and punches me again.

  I laugh a little, but I’m still intrigued by how long Vincent’s lasted. I thought for sure he’d be history by now. “No, but where’s Vincent?”

  “He’s on his way. He’s flying in from Montreal.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s he doing up there?”

  “D-TV business. It’s cheaper to film in Canada.”

  “Am I supposed to know what D-TV means?”

  “Drama TV! Jeez, you’ve heard me talk about it before.”

  I shrug nonchalantly. “You were probably talking, but how often do I pay attention to what you say?”

  “Hardly ever,” she says.

  A nurse comes up to us. “Excuse me, Maggie?” she asks.

  “Is my fiancé out there?” Maggie asks the nurse and then turns to me. “I know it’s him because she’s red in the face,” she says.

  “A Mr. Vincent Adams?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m taken aback. “Fiancé?” I take her by the hand. “Where’s your ring?”

  “That’s my right hand,” she says.

  I take her left hand. “No ring.”

  She pulls her hand back. “That’s because it’s too expensive to wear willy-nilly.”

  “Excuses! Excuses!” I say.

  She flips me the bird as she walks away.

  “Always so willing to pull the trigger,” I joke.

  After I finish giving blood, I run into Jack in the hallway. We give each other hugs. He’s as white as a polar bear, and his eyes are so red that they look as though they’re bleeding.

  “Glad you’re here, man,” he says wearily.

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. How’s Daisy?”

  “She’s getting an MRI. I thought I’d go see how Joella’s doing until she gets back.”

  “Who?” Then it hits me. “The baby’s name is Joella?”

  “After Daisy’s grandmother.”

  I’m choked up. They’ve named her. That makes it official. Shit, I have a niece. “Well, we’re going to have to get Maggie or she’s going to pull a Rambo on all the nurses.”

  At least he’s able to snicker. “And me,” he says.

  I walk out to the lobby to collect Maggie. I hoped to find Angelina, but she’s not there.

  “Hey, did anyone call Angelina?” I ask as Maggie, Vincent, and I are on our way to see Joella.

  “I called her,” Maggie says. She shoots me a look that I’m not particularly fond of. This is not the time to address it. We have to put on sterile hospital scrubs, masks over our mouths, and caps on our heads before entering the sterilized room.

  Joella is inside a glass box. Tubes and wires are connected to this little thing, who’s only two or three inches larger than my hand. It’s plain old sad. Shit like this doesn’t happen to lucky men, and Jack Lord is a lucky man.

  “Oh,” Maggie moans and leans on Vincent for support.

  He kisses her on the side of the face and says, “She’s going to be fine.”

  “How is she?” I ask.

  Jack sighs wearily. “She doesn’t have brain damage, but she’s recovering from respiratory distress. Daisy was given a shot before Joella was delivered to help close her heart valves.”

  “Shit,” I say at the gravity of it.

  “It’s hard to watch,” Jack whispers.

  “She’s beautiful though,” Maggie says.

  “She looks like you, Jack,” Vincent says.

  I look closer at Joella’s little red mouth and her chin, cheeks, and nose. “She does look like you, Jack,” I say, patting him on the back.

  “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s what Daisy said.”

  I’m not sure if they felt that, but I did. “Look,” Maggie says, pointing at her tiny face. “She just opened her eyes!” We all shift left to see. “Charlie, she has your blue eyes!”

  Damn, she really does. They are our mom’s eyes. I haven’t smiled like this in a while. One by one we make sure she sees our faces, and we stay until she closes her eyes again. Then Jack escorts us to Daisy’s room, but when we arrive, she’s in a deep sleep.

  “The doctor said she’ll sleep a lot while her body recovers,” Jack says.

  “At least she looks comfortable,” Maggie says.

  I’ve never seen her out cold like this. Even while asleep she looks as though she just finished running a marathon. But underneath the purpling below her eyes and her chalky skin, there lies the same beautiful Daisy I’ve always known.

  Maggie, Vince, and I return to the waiting room.

  “Why don’t you go home, Mags,” I say. She can hardly keep her eyes open.

  “I will,” she says, resting her head on Vincent’s shoulder. They’re sitting across from me.

  She’s staying for the same reason that I feel I can’t go. We don’t want to leave Jack alone. It’s not about whether or not he can handle this. Jack’s as solid as steel. It’s about her. It’s about me. It’s about watching over the one person we can’t survive without.

  Vince lifts her face by the chin and kisses her on the lips. Shit, my stomach just turned.

  “Why are you frowning?” Maggie asks, chuckling.

  “Could you not do that in front of me?”

  “You mean this?” Maggie lays it on thick this time. I see tongue and lip sucking.

  I shake my head. She giggles as Vince kisses her neck.

  “Congratulations, Vince,” I say to get him to stop.

  “Congratulations for what?” He does stop, but I recognize the state he’s in. Maggie has him all turned on.

  “On your engagement. Many have tried.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Yeah, thanks.”

&
nbsp; I snort. He’s as nonchalant about it as Maggie is. Since I’m bored and feel like torturing her, I ask, “So when is the big day?”

  Maggie narrows her eyes and Vincent widens his.

  “One day,” Maggie says. She’s trying to evade the answer.

  “What day?” I ask.

  “A day in the future.”

  “The near future?”

  “What the hell, Charlie?” she snaps.

  I throw my hands up. “These are standard questions. You don’t have answers for them yet?”

  “We’re going to get married when the time is right,” Vincent says as though he has the final answer.

  “And when is that?” I figure I’ll mess with him too.

  Vincent just flinches. He’s answerless.

  “Don’t engage this lug nut, babe. He’s just screwing with me,” Maggie says.

  Then in walks Angelina with some guy. Our eyes meet. Maggie turns all the way around to see what’s taken my attention.

  “Oh my God, that’s Daisy’s sister.” She pats Vincent on the leg. “I’ll be back.”

  Maggie springs up out of her chair to go introduce herself to Angelina. This guy is fairly good-looking, and he wears dreadlocks. He must be a musician. She’s surrounded by musicians. I wonder how many she’s banged. Maybe she is a man-eater.

  “This is Lars,” Angelina says, introducing him to Maggie. I can’t believe she brought him. She had to have known I’d be here.

  “Hi Lars, I’m Maggie, Jack’s cousin.” Maggie shakes his hand.

  I examine Angelina’s body in the tight jeans she has on. I also appreciate the way her shirt lays over my tits. Maggie is giving her a quick update. Daisy and Joella are in recovery. Joella opened her eyes. Angelina and I lock eyes for a moment. Daisy was asleep the last time we saw her.

  “I’m supposed to ask the nurse to take me to see her. Daisy’s been asking for me,” Angelina says.

  “I’ll go with you,” Maggie says.

  “I’m going to go grab something to eat. You want anything?” this Lars guy asks Angelina.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “I’ll bring you a sandwich. Would you like anything?” he asks Maggie.

  “No, thank you. Vince and I are going to eat as soon as we leave.”

  Angelina squeezes his bicep. It’s bulging through the royal blue silk shirt he’s wearing. I already hate this guy. He’s trying too hard. She said she wasn’t hungry, and he’s going to get her something to eat anyway? The way she just touched him says they’re fucking.