Hidden in Paris

by Corine Gantz

  Jared was promptly transferred to the recovery floor. She followed Jared’s rolling bed toward the elevator and up to the fourth floor. She glanced toward the hallway where they had taken her that night. At the end of the hallway was a very cold room. There, in that cold room she had identified Johnny’s body. She had shaken so much in that room, shaken so violently, that they had to hold her. There she had wept and she had hollered like a wounded beast. She had wept with grief and with murderous rage. Mostly she had wept for herself. It was in that room that she did the first and the last of her crying. She had left the morgue resolute to pull herself together, to focus on the boys and what she was going to tell them and how.

  In Jared’s new room, the walls were white and there was a window. In the next bed a small black man with a large bandage across his head was sound asleep. She sat beside Jared, not sure what to say or what not to say. Lucas needed to be here soon. She wondered where Althea was. Jared’s eyes were shut, and she took it to mean that he didn’t want her to be there. She was conscious of how difficult it was for her to speak to certain people. She let words storm out of her mouth to fill voids, and she amused some, but with Jared, her words did not feel welcome or amusing. It was a familiar theme. She had often sensed in Johnny’s friends a hint of indifference to her. Maybe worse than indifference: dislike. Maybe she lacked glamour. Maybe she did not know how to behave in Parisian society. Of course she could have simply been insecure and imagined the whole thing. Those daunting parties... Johnny glowing with that peacock certainty, and the women looking at him, and Johnny, not paying attention to her a single instant. Why was bitterness coming in through the back door simply because Jared’s eyes were closed?

  “Do you need anything?” she asked abruptly, ignoring the fact that Jared might be sleeping.

  “I’m starving,” Jared answered, his eyes still shut.

  “I’ll go ask the nurses,” she said.

  She asked the hospital staff if Jared could be fed, then realized that she had forgotten to call Lola. She passed the nurse’s station on her way to the pay phone when she heard her name.

  “Madame Roland?”

  She approached the nurse’s station. “That’s me,” she said, figuring Lola had tracked her down. As a joke, she put both elbows on the counter like she was ordering at a café. “Un Croque-Monsieur s’il vous plaît.”

  “They’re asking for you in the emergency room,” the nurse said.

  “We were just there,” Annie said cheerfully, determined to make friends with the staff of this floor. “He’s been transferred here, to room 402.”

  The nurse spoke slowly to make it sink in. “This,” she said, “is for someone who just came in. A new emergency.”

  Annie saw it, the image as crystal clear as anything she had ever imagined. She distinctly saw one of her boys, any one of her boys, it didn’t matter, the head crushed, the left side of the face a pulpy mass of crushed bones and burned flesh, dead on arrival, like Johnny. “Is it my child?” she screamed.

  The nurse jumped to her feet, widening her eyes and speaking fast. “They did not say.” She pointed to the elevator. “Three floors down and to your right.”

  Annie sprinted across the hall, pushed the button on the elevator, changed her mind and ran down three sets of metal stairs. Her heart was like a stone in her chest and her whole body tingled with panic. Visions of Maxence, dead, Paul, dead, Laurent, dead. All three of them, dead.

  Once on the ground floor she ran to the emergency desk and practically screamed.

  “Someone called for me. Annie, Annie Roland.”

  The triage nurse recognized her and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Not her!” she said to the beautiful nurse.

  “Are we having a busy morning?” the nurse said with a smile, and Annie understood instantly from the nurse’s casual attitude that whatever it was, her boys were not in any danger. She was flooded with instant relief. Tears ran down her cheeks that she did not even bother to wipe. Her relief was complete when she was told that a ‘demoiselle’ had arrived on a stretcher a few minutes before and had woken up, realized where she was and asked for her. The demoiselle, was Althea. Althea who had passed out only a block away from the hospital after having, the report said, taken off most of her clothes in the middle of a street fair, of all things.

  Annie entered the room still high on adrenalin. But the sight of Althea took her aback. She lay on the hospital cot looking as frail and vulnerable as a newly hatched chick. A bag filled with clear fluid was hooked into her arm via an IV. Annie had wondered before why she had never seen Althea without a sweater or a jacket on, and now she knew why. The barely there, sleeveless hospital gown revealed it all and she was struck to the point of nausea by the impossible thinness of Althea’s arms, the large knob of an elbow above the bandage that kept the needle of the IV in place. In the room, a nurse as tall and wide as a lumberjack was scribbling on a pad. Maybe Annie should have felt compassion, and maybe she did, but mostly she felt cheated, furious. It must have been the adrenaline let down, but she felt ready to bludgeon Althea to death. Lucas’ theory that Althea had introduced Jared to drugs now made perfect sense. Jared and Althea, two young people with so much going for them both calling for negative attention like nine-year-olds. She had let them into her life, tried to take care of them, and this was what she got in return? Both acted like she was difficult, like she was the pain in the ass.

  “Why in the hell are you here?” she said coldly.

  The massive nurse advanced toward Annie, her arms crossed over her large breasts. “Doucement,” she growled.

  “It’s been a hard morning,” she told the nurse between clenched teeth, but the nurse continued standing in front of her, unconvinced. “I’ll be fine,” she had to say before the nurse finally stepped aside. She walked around the nurse, sat on Althea’s bed, and willed her tone into cooperation. “What happened to you?”

  Althea’s gaze was absent. “Jared?”

  “Jared’s up and running,” she told her. Althea’s eyes brightened, and Annie felt sorry for her suddenly. “He’s fine,” she added, “the coma didn’t last. Lucky bastard. What a scare.” She forced herself to laugh. “He is devouring his hospital lunch as we speak, food, tray and all.”

  Althea did not speak but began sobbing tearless sobs. Annie reluctantly patted her bony hand. “There, there, everyone’s fine,” she said, but Althea was not fine, that much was clear. Althea’s arms, her shoulders, her chest looked awful. This was what drugs did to bodies, it was all so clear now. Something about the way Althea had looked from the start was so dreadful, so different and wrong but then again she had not known, or she had preferred not to see. “Jared’s doctors want to run tests, keep him for a while, and then off to rehab if I have a say in this,” she said. She searched Althea’s forearms for a sign that she had used drug needles. How could one tell? Not all drugs came in a syringe. Were there drugs hidden somewhere in her home, a drawer away from her boys? A part of her brain was quickly thinking up schemes to get Althea and Jared out of her house by any means necessary.

  But another part of her brain was screaming something too. Something she could not hear, and there was this terrible hollowness in the pit of her stomach. “This is a warning sign for both of you,” she said. “You both need to go to rehab.”

  “I didn’t take drugs,” Althea whispered.

  Annie smirked. “Yeah, right!”

  “No drugs,” said the sergeant nurse. She read from her pad, “dehydration, and exhaustion, but mostly starvation. Looks like a concentration camp victim.”

  Annie turned toward the nurse, flashed her best death stare, and turned back to Althea. She took a deep breath, “no drugs,” she echoed, and then, stuttered in anguish. “My home’s... hardly a concentration camp!” Her voice broke, and she tried to hold those burning tears, but they squirted out of her eyes irrepressibly.

  “Weighing in at 90 lbs,” the nurse added. “A clear case of anorexia nervosa. And a bad one
. Very sick that girl. Been going on for quite a while.”

  “I thought you were on a diet. I didn’t mean...” Annie said. She was bawling now and there was nothing she could do to stop herself.

  Althea’s exhausted voice tried to appease her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “But I knew you were not eating. I knew it.”

  “It’s all my own fault.”

  “I saw,” Annie sobbed. “I saw and I didn’t make you eat.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “I don’t... understand,” Annie sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

  “Me neither,” Althea said, shaking her head, “me neither.”

  “But did you know?”

  Althea hesitated. “Kind of.”

  The two of them became silent. Annie grabbed Althea’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “But Jared is going to be fine?”

  Annie blew her nose. “As it turns out, it’s only drugs. He’s probably the healthier of the two of you.”

  “I was thinking,” Althea paused and looked away, “maybe I need to go home.”

  “Sure, absolutely!” Annie sprang to her feet. “I’ll take you home right now. Let’s get out of this joint.”

  “Hospitalization is mandatory,” said the nurse who was obviously a sadist and did not want to miss a second of this.

  “I mean, go home, to the States.”

  Annie sat back down on the bed. She knew what she was going to say and knew she would regret saying it. “Your home’s here,” she affirmed, her voice calm, her eyes steady. “We are your family. Dysfunctional, yes, but family, nonetheless.”

  “I’m afraid to go back to my mother. I don’t think I’ll get better there.”

  Annie tried a joke, as she contemplated how she was essentially screwing herself up, but some things have to be done and cannot be undone and some words have to be said, and cannot be unsaid. “Well, I’m far too young, but please consider me to be your temporary dysfunctional mother.”

  Althea looked at her with clear eyes, eyes that were full of a certain light, a hopeful light, and said, “Thank you.”

  Lola knew from watching E.R. that each passing minute could mean irreparable damage to Jared’s brain. She hurried through the house, made the children’s beds, picked up enough dirty socks to practically fill the diminutive machine à laver, then, armed with a bottle of Monsieur Propre, she scrubbed both bathrooms to a shine. As though she were hired help, as Mark would say. But she liked cleaning the house. Or rather she liked cleaning this house. This was a house with a soul and a spirit, not like that thing that resembled an over-decorated wedding cake and that Mark pompously called The Mansion.

  After cleaning, she filled the bathtub with bubble bath and very hot water. She brought candles into the bathroom and lit them one after the other for Jared, saying a small Sanskrit prayer with each one. She placed the candles around the bathtub, the telephone on the sink, undressed and slipped into the steaming water. As she floated, she did Pranic breathing and visualized Jared’s recovery by focusing on the color blue-green and sending him healing thoughts. Her hands floated to the surface. She took them out of the water and contemplated her nails now freed from the tyranny of acrylics. The sick-looking stumps at the tip of her fingers were a disagreeable memory, and now her nails were short, clean and real.

  She wondered why she needed to look perfect for Mark. Was it really something he asked of her? She did not look her own idea of perfect anymore. A couple months of Annie’s food and she had gained at least ten pounds—pounds her body needed so she could feel normal, and real. Real was a theme that kept coming back. Real, as opposed to perfect. Annie had helped her trim off what was left of her dyed black hair, and without the dye to give it some weight, her hair grew like hay in all directions. It was interesting how her face, scrapped of artifice, was back to the androgynous look of her teenage years. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth were still there, but they no longer bothered her. Wrinkles added charm, that’s what Annie had said. Because her face was rounder and her eyebrows were now blonde as well, her expression was softer. She looked more average maybe, but also infinitely more relaxed. There was very little of her old appearance she wanted to go back to. She liked the way she looked now. But would Mark?

  It wasn’t only the way she looked that had changed. It was the way she felt. In Paris, she felt more capable, more centered, stronger, independent. Maybe it had something to do with basking in sexual ecstasy at the ripe age of thirty-nine with this man who had obviously descended to earth for the sole purpose of giving her pleasure. Mark would not like that either.

  After her bath, she patted her body dry in the foggy bathroom, stole some of Annie’s Chanel #5 crème pour le corps, the one Annie had bought the day before when all was well, when the frivolous was acceptable. She slipped into a favorite pair of lavender leggings and a matching T-shirt. Her wardrobe had narrowed down to whatever was wearable in the lotus position. She was putting on her socks when the phone rang.

  “Jared’s going to be fine,” Annie quickly said. “I’m sorry I did not call you sooner. He’s been out of the coma for the last hour, but it’s been one struggle after another.”

  Lola felt the tension melt out of the muscles in her back. “How is he?”

  “They’re running some tests on him, but it all looks good so far.” Annie sounded exhausted. “You won’t believe this, but the question of the moment is not how is he, but how is she.”

  “Who?”

  “Althea,” Annie said weakly. “She’s been hospitalized, too, one floor above Jared. I’m guessing that the emotion around Jared precipitated things. Listen,” she paused before adding, “according to the doctor, Althea was on her last leg. She fainted in the street near the hospital. They said they had rarely seen such a severe case of dehydration. Besides, she is so malnourished. Lola, I...”

  “It’s the anorexia. This was going to happen sooner or later. We knew that.”

  “We didn’t know that! I certainly didn’t know that!” Annie cried out. “I didn’t know anything about that.”

  “I guess I’ve seen anorexia at work before. There is little you can do.”

  “There is tons we could have done,” Annie screeched, “and even more we should have done.” There was a long silence on the phone. “You’re right,” Annie finally said. “I knew she had an eating disorder. How could I knowingly let her do this to herself?”

  Lola search for soothing words. It had been a difficult morning. Annie acted tough, but she was a marshmallow. On the phone, Annie was blowing her nose.

  “I’ve been so wrapped up in my shit,” Annie said finally.

  “Think of all the things you were dealing with. Jared and Althea are adults. We’ll help her. I don’t know how but we’ll help her and she’ll be fine. I know tons of ano...”

  “On the bright side,” Annie interrupted, “Lucas spent the night!”

  “The two of you did look highly suspicious this morning.” She heard Annie giggle, and she was once again amazed at Annie’s gift for joy, her ability to either swing away from negative emotions or embrace them. “How did that happen? How was it?”

  “I have so much to tell you. Things are a little tense around here. Lucas just arrived. He’s acting all perplexed and embarrassed, and you should see me. At any rate, we’ve spent the whole morning running between Jared and Althea, one crisis after another, and we haven’t exchanged one word about the subject.”

  “This is so romantic!”

  “In our case, it was strictly pornographic.”

  “Even better.”

  “I want to stay at the hospital for Althea. I told her I would.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll pick up the kids at school at 4, and visit Althea and Jared later. I’m so excited about you and Lucas.” A loud banging coming from the front door interrupted her. “Wait,” she said, “someone’s at the door. Are you expecting a delivery?” Lola nudged the phone between her ear and her shoulder and
ran downstairs. “We’ll help Jared and Althea get back on their feet, and everyone is going to be happy, you’ll see.” She unlocked the entrance door with two hands with the phone tight against her cheek. “Now it’s your turn to describe your wild night,” she said chuckling while pulling hard for the front door to open. “How did you finally...” Lola faced the open front door, and her body turned to granite.

  Annie’s voice echoed in her ear. “Lola?”

  But Lola could not speak. She heard the faint “Lola? What’s going on?” coming from Annie at the end of the line. Lola managed to articulate “I...I have to go.”

  On the phone Annie screeched. “What’s going on? Who’s at the frigging door? Talk to me!”

  Lola had forgotten how tall he was, how she needed to look up when she faced him. “Annie... It’s my husband.” She said. “Mark. He’s here... Mark.... How did you...? Annie, I have to go,” she stammered before hanging up.

  Jared attempted to lift his arm, but it was strapped to the IV so he brought it down. His voice was weak. Lucas had to lean toward him to hear what he was trying to explain. “One thing led to another,” Jared said.

  Lucas decided to ask. “Did you mean to do this?”

  “What?”

  “To overdose, Jared. Did you mean to kill yourself?”

  “I was having a bad day.”

  “A bad day!” Lucas blurted out, and Jared closed his eyes. Lucas softened his voice to a whisper. “What happened exactly?”

  “Well, I had this...thing with Althea, and I drank a lot of booze on top of some coke and then some other stuff that kind of landed in front of me. I usually know my limits. I fucked up.”

  “Who got you into drugs? Althea?”

  “Believe me, I don’t need anyone’s help to get into trouble.”

  “But why?”

  “You know how it goes.”