“Yeah I guess, but I still wish they'd develop a nasal formula instead of these damn injections,” he complained.
He refilled their cups and held his up for a toast. “Like the saying goes, beware of strangers bearing gifts. Cheers.” They tipped their cups and drank. “Another,” he asked.
Ann-Marie drained the last of her cup and handed it back to him with a smile. “Don't mind if I do."
As he refilled the cups he asked, “So what do you know about the top honcho at Los Gatos?"
“I can tell you what I know from the grapevine back at Port Ord. The Chief Medical Officer is Major Jim Boole. He's in his early fifties and on loan from the Army Medical Corps. A real good guy from what I hear.” She waived her hand passively. “You won't have any problems with him, but the one you'll most likely butt heads with is a Russian Jewess by the name of Lieutenant Colonel Tanya Wheelwright."
Anthony's eyebrows shot up. “Russian Jewess?"
“That's right; she's about your age, and she acts like death is her own personal enemy, from what I hear."
“And she's running a triage center? You gotta be kidding,” he frowned. “And since when is Wheelwright a Russian name?"
“She's originally from Moscow,” Ann-Marie replied as she sipped the brandy. “As the story goes, she was a hospital administrator not far from here when her family died in the big wave. She lost her parents, husband and child all at the same time—really tragic. She was really in love with her late husband from what I hear. Some professor type from Monterey I believe."
“So is this why she's on a personal crusade to battle death?"
“Well that would account for her personal grudge with death,” She admitted.
“So what else can you tell me about her?"
“I hear they call her the Ice Lady, because she can be pretty damn cold at times, but that she's a real beauty. Not in the traditional American sense, but she's one of those tall, exotic looking Russian gals with an hourglass figure that you guys all seem to go slurpy for.” Anthony's eyes drifted away as he tried to imagine her in his mind.
She reached over and pinched his nose. “If I were you, I wouldn't bother with any romantic hard-to-get competition notions in my mind right now. Pardon my French, but this gal has got juice, a grudge and a broken wing, so just remember not to shit where you eat."
Anthony frowned, “Ann-Marie, I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid. And besides, I've really had my eyes on you anyway."
“Dream on honey. Like I said, just remember not to shit where you eat."
Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like I'm batting a thousand, today."
She smiled and touched his cheek. “Thanks for thinking of me anyway, boss. You're a handsome devil in your own right so don't worry. You'll find someone to bed in no time at all."
“Louie—I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Anthony said with a grin.
Ann-Marie laughed. “Any man who can remember a great line like that from a classic flick like Casablanca is a real winner. No doubt about it, boss, we are going to have beautiful friendship.
* * *
A Sense of Destiny
PRIVATE GIBBS REACHED across the cab of the HUMVEE and shook Anthony's shoulder. “Wake up sir, we're just a few minutes from the main gate."
Anthony opened his eyelids a bit, and sniffed. “Thanks Charlie.” He stretched his arms with a sleepy groan, swiveled around in his seat and tapped Ann-Marie's knee until she began to stir.
She rubbed her eyes and looked out the window at the dry bed of the empty Lexington Reservoir, now home to their next duty station, the Los Gatos Triage Center.
Charlie stopped at the main gate and seemed undistracted by the two guards walking around the vehicle and speaking to each other in hushed tones. The one standing on Anthony's side of the vehicle asked dryly, “May I see your orders, sir?"
Anthony handed him the orders without comment. The guard examined them carefully and said, “Colonel Wheelwright is expecting you. She gave instructions that you are to be led directly to her office.” He pointed to another guard sitting on a small electric 4-wheel drive. “Just follow him.” He stood back a step and saluted. “Welcome to Los Gatos, Sir."
Anthony returned the salute as the small ATV lurched to a quick start toward the dirt road that led down to the dusty bottom of the reservoir.
The ATV eventually led them to the geodesic dome that now served as an administrative office for the center's commanding officer. She had been alerted to their arrival by the guard at the main gate and was now waiting for them along with another officer and a tall, thin but jovial looking Indian corporal wearing a Hindu turban on his head.
Gibbs brought the HUMVEE to smooth stop, and Anthony was the first to hop out of the vehicle. As he crossed around the front of the vehicle, he could see that Ann-Marie's physical description had been right on the money. Even despite the dehumanizing effect of her baggy fatigues, she still seemed to exude a genuine feminine quality. What a pity it was that she was untouchable.
“I'm Lieutenant Colonel Tanya Wheelwright, and next to me is Chief Medical Officer Major Jim Boole, and to his right, my orderly room clerk, Corporal Sunny Sharma.” She held out her hand with a genuine smile, “Welcome to the Los Gatos Triage Center."
Anthony grasped her hand. “Captain Anthony Jarman, End of Life Management Officer, reporting as ordered.” The handshake was firm and warm. He could feel that her pulse was strong and steady; he didn't sense anger in her, but rather a combination of deep personal sadness overlaid by a stronger sense of purpose. On one hand, he could see why her subordinates would privately call her the Ice Lady. On the other, there was a sad and intriguing mystery about this woman. It was a mystery like his own, held too near to the heart to be revealed.
“Thank you, Colonel,” he answered softly. As they shook hands, Ann-Marie and Charlie joined them. “This is my hospice nurse, Warrant Officer Bournelle,” he added, “and my orderly and armorer, Private Charlie Gibbs."
Major Boole stepped forward and shook Anthony's hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Captain. Your reputation precedes you. I've studied several of your case histories and your methods are unique to say the least. Perhaps there is much I can learn from you."
Anthony smiled, “Likewise, Major.” The build and facial features of the African-American doctor reminded him of the actor Anthony Quinn—just darker with warm, quick eyes that continually searched for details. Even though he was soft spoken, it was clear that he was comfortable with himself, his talents and his ability to lead.
Colonel Wheelwright was likewise impressed with Anthony. She could see that he had an easy manner about him and a warm and infectious smile. A part of her wanted to know what was behind the smile, while another wondered how many people had seen that smile with their last breath. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind. While it was her responsibility to run the triage center, she knew the whole community would eventually center itself around him in one way or another. It always happened like that with End of Life Management Officers.
“Well folks, we're still under construction, so until we open our gates, get familiar with the place and try and get some rest. Once we open for business, you'll need it.” She held up a finger, “On the bright side, our mess hall is up and running and we just completed our officer shared quarters.” She turned to Ann-Marie and Charlie, “Corporal Sharma will show you both to your quarters,” and then turned to Anthony. “Captain, I know you're tired, but we have a few administrative details to attend to. After that, I hope you'll all join us for dinner in the mess at eighteen thirty.” She gestured towards the large portable building and dining tent that now served as the mess hall.
As Sharma led the nurse and private away, Boole patted Anthony on the shoulder. “You'll be sharing a dome with Father Michael Bennett, a Jesuit Priest. We call him our Spiritual Wombler."
“Could that be because he has a fondness for Scotch Whiskey?” Tanya added with a chuckle.
&
nbsp; “Actually not,” Boole replied. “He's originally from England and there, womblers are folks who recycle things like tin cans and the such. We nicknamed him our Spiritual Wombler because he likes to recycle troubled souls. Tell me, Captain Jarman. Is your soul troubled?"
“Nothing a few drams of Scotch Whiskey wouldn't fix."
Tanya grinned. “Captain, I can already see that you're going to fit in just fine.” She nodded towards her office, “Now, it's time to do the paperwork."
* * * *
THE FOLLOWING THREE days passed with cacophony of pneumatic and electric tools and construction equipment. Anthony occasionally bumped into Tanya from time-to-time but kept pretty much to himself, sleeping as often as he could.
On the morning of the fourth day, he was halfway through his breakfast when he was graced by Tanya's presence. She sat down facing him, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Say, Captain Jarman."
“Please call me Anthony. I'm not a lifer."
Tanya chuckled. “Yeah, you're obviously not the type who looks to make a home in the military. OK, Anthony. Then just call me Tanya, as I'm not a lifer either."
“Deal. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Tanya?"
“Does the name Senator Connie Chavez ring a bell with you?"
He laid his fork down. “Is this about politics?"
“No. Actually, she called me this morning, and we had a long chat about you. She said you used to work for her."
“I never worked for anybody. I consulted."
“Oh, do I detect a subtle difference?"
He picked up his fork and scooped up some of the hominy grits off his plate. “Yeah, how long you have to kiss someone's ass for the truth."
Tanya's head snapped back and then she looked good and hard at him. She must have been blind not to see it. He was hung over. She looked at Father Michael Bennett sitting at another table with several of his volunteer caregivers and looking equally miserable.
“I take it you and our Spiritual Wombler had a male bonding experience last night?"
Anthony glared at her while deciding not to let this conversation go any further downhill than it already had. He stood up with his tray, “Nice talking to you Colonel, have a nice day."
“Sit down,” she said in a firm voice. “Please.” He did as she asked. “Hey look, I'm sorry. It seems we got off on the wrong foot and given that you're not having the best morning of your life I could have behaved better."
“Yeah, it's not my best morning and I've been no Prince Charming, so let's just call it a draw and put it behind us."
She smiled warmly. “Deal."
“So how is Senator Chavez doing these days?"
“Both she and her teenage daughter Lucinda are doing just fine."
Anthony rubbed his hair. “Lucinda. Now there is a precocious child if I ever saw one. That kid gave me more of a hard time than I'd care to remember."
“Maybe she liked you too much,” Tanya ventured.
“The curse of my life. Dogs, cats and kids all adore me like I was a fire hydrant parked under a tree house.” He stretched. “Look, I appreciate the conversation but right now I've got a hot date with a fistful of aspirin, a hot shower and my cot so could we cut to the chase?"
While Tanya was just beginning to have fun with him, she could see that his patience would soon wear thin—again. “OK. You're probably wondering why Fox News hasn't showed up to do another piece on you."
“Actually, I hadn't given it any thought."
“Well, you should. The day you got here, our new UNE governor slapped a new quarantine order on us. Any civilians entering this center, including members of the media, have to remain here until they die or until the governor lifts the quarantine. In other words, you've become a bit too expensive in terms of the Fox News production budget."
“So?"
“So a lot of people out there care about you, Anthony. For some ungodly reason, you've become a public celebrity and Senator Chavez wants to keep it that way."
“So is she going to get the quarantine lifted?"
“No can do. However, she does have something else in mind. If you're game, that is, and if you're not, she told me to tell you to shut up and tee off, anyway.” Anthony slapped the table laughing.
His reaction caught Tanya by surprise. “Is this an inside joke or something?"
“Oh no, not a joke."
“Well then, what is it?” She insisted.
He smiled as the memory of that mild summer day at Pebble Beach south of Monterrey. “Have you ever heard of the Pebble Beach Golf Course over on the 17 Mile Drive?"
“I never played the game, but who hasn't heard of it. Pretty pricey place till it got swept away."
“Pricey is right. The greens fees alone were almost three hundred bucks each plus all the other yadda-yadda. I've never been a real player, but Senator Chavez, then candidate Chavez, was a pure golf fanatic and she wrangled two all-expense-paid passes for us. We were scheduled to play in a foursome with a local car dealer and his teenage son."
“And the car dealer was being a real jerk,” Tanya added playfully.
“You betcha, but don't get ahead of me. You see, Senator Chavez had to go back to the clubhouse to take a private call and left me with the car dealer, and this yutz started drilling me to see how good I was. When he learned that I'd only spent a few nights knocking balls on a driving range and putting in the office, he went ballistic. The guy started telling me that I was too green to play the course, which, he dutifully pointed out, had been the site of four US Opens. After he busted my chops about me needing to play on municipal courses for a while before playing Pebble Beach, I had enough. Free passes or not, I didn't relish having to spend 18 holes of golf with a loud mouth used car salesman and his ass-kiss son, so I headed back towards the club house, found Chavez and explained the situation to her."
“I know this is going to be good,” she said. “Go on, go on."
“Well, Chavez blew her lid. She told me that she had to deal with idiots like this every day of her life and that she wasn't going to give up 18 free holes on Pebble Beach for anyone, let alone an asshole. I started to argue with her and then she grabbed a box of balls and shoved them into my hands saying, ‘shut up and tee off!’”
“And you did?"
“You're damn straight, I did. Trust me, arguing with Chavez when she has her mind set on something makes about as much sense as trying to push a locomotive off the track with your bare hands. So now, let's get back to this bold, new idea she's got. You know, the one where it is supposed to look like I've actually got a choice."
Tanya crossed her arms across her chest and giggled. “Oh my, I can see her screaming that at you in my mind's eye. I would have paid a king's ransom to have been a fly on the wall that day.” She sniffled and wiped under her eyes. “Thanks, I needed that. OK, so here's the deal. She worked out a full time media coverage deal for you for the next two months and the crew will be here tomorrow."
“So what about the part about me having a choice?"
“We did that already."
He scratched his head. “Excuse me, Tanya, but I don't recall saying I'm ready to agree to this, and I'm not that hung over that I'd forget either."
“You're right, you didn't."
“So..."
“So, it's a done deal, so shut up and tee off!"
* * * *
CORPORAL SUNNY SHARMA had watched the television production van, followed by two motor homes enter through the main gate and follow one of the guards riding an ATV to area that had been recently cleared for them.
The producer, a smallish, frumpy looking college professor, later presented himself alone to Sharma who made him sit and wait while Tanya finished her early morning meeting with the civilian contractors in charge of building the triage center. As they streamed out of her office, he gestured towards Tanya's office. “Professor, Administrator Wheelwright is ready to see you now. Please go on in."
Sharma noticed the fami
liar bulge of an old-style laptop in the professor's time worn black leather computer bag as he entered Tanya's office and introduced himself.
“Good morning Colonel Wheelwright, I'm Professor Idan Goldberg, and it is a pleasure to finally meet you."
Tanya Wheelwright smiled and gestured to one of the chairs in front of her office desk. “The pleasure is mutual. I've had several conversations with Senator Chavez about your project, and we're quite excited by it."
“As am I, Colonel."
“Just call me Tanya."
“And please call me Idan,” the professor replied. She nodded as he continued. “I assume you already know,” he began, “that I hold a teaching position at the California State University at Northridge. While our campus is going through a major rebuilding phase to repair our quake damage, I was granted a paid sabbatical by my department so I could document the lives of those entering this camp."
He stopped to clear his throat, and Tanya could see that his mouth was dry. As he continued, she poured a glass of water and held it out to him. He accepted it and thanked her. After gulping half the glass, he continued with the introduction. “Our college is affiliated with the Holocaust Survivors Film Project, which began videotaping Jewish survivors and witnesses of the Holocaust back in 1979. They interviewed over 4,100 survivors, and have over 10,000 hours of recordings available for teachers, researchers and the general public—a rather substantial body of work.” He began fumbling with the latches on his computer bag. “As proof of our expertise, I've brought some samples of the interviews our Northridge volunteers obtained from Jewish survivors in the Los Angeles area."
Tanya held up her hand. “That is not necessary professor. My family on my mother's side came from the Ukraine and I'm the last of the line. We're Jews, although I've never really got a chance to learn about the faith. But tell me, how did you get involved with this."
“Well, I teach several courses on news production, and this seemed to fit with my personal history, so I took it on. I used to be a news producer for a small station in the Midwest before accepting my position at Northridge."
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