by Traci Briery
"Where's Joanie? Can I talk to her?"
"Well, she's here, but she's pretty busy right now. Did they tell you about Bill?"
"I know what happened to him," Phyllis said. "That's why I want to talk to Joanie. Doesn't she want to talk to me?"
"Can't I talk to you for a little bit?" her mother asked. "You haven't talked to me in so long. You haven't wanted to."
"Same with you, you know. Where's Joanie?"
"Now that isn't true," her mother said. "Do you think I haven't wanted to? No one knew your address, but then I found out you and Bill were writing to each other."
"So?"
"But you couldn't write to me? Phyllis…" her mother said, "I wish I knew what it was that I did to you to make you so… hateful. What did I do? What can I do?"
"I don't want to talk about this, Mother," Phyllis said. "I'm feeling like shit right now and I WANT TO TALK TO JOANIE!"
She heard her mother start something else, then heard the phone being set down and a voice calling out in the distance. A moment later it was picked up again.
"Phyllis?" her sister Jennifer's voice said. "Hi, little sister. How are you doing?"
"What's going on over there?"
"Everybody's here," Jennifer said. "Um… you see, Uncle Bill—"
"I know what happened to Uncle Bill. I just want—"
There was some shuffling sounds on the other end, and finally, Joanie spoke. Her voice wavered while speaking, letting Phyllis know that tears could come any time. She felt the same way.
"Hello, Phyllis," Joanie whispered. "We're all so glad that you're okay. Some of us would like to go see you now. Will they let you take visitors?"
"I'm so sorry, Joanie," she said. "I swear to God, I had no idea this would happen. It was the damned door; just a stupid, damned door."
"Easy, easy now, honey," Joanie said. "It wasn't your fault—"
"But I'm the one who went outside!"
"Nobody here blames you for what happened, hon. I don't blame you."
"What the hell did this to us, Joanie?" Phyllis said, her tears coming first. "What was it?"
"It was so hard to see," Joanie said distantly. "He shot at it, but…" Then her voice drifted away.
"You two were so wonderful together," Phyllis sobbed. "This shouldn't have happened. You two were the only ones I could even care about."
"Now that isn't true—"
"Yes, it is!"
"Almost the whole family is here right now, honey," Joanie said. "They've all been—very comforting. And not just for me—for you, too. They'd like to go see you, too. You know, both of your parents were there with you yesterday."
"I'm surprised they were together in the same room for any length of time."
"You're their daughter," Joanie said. "Why wouldn't they set aside their differences for you?"
"Joanie," Phyllis said, her tears drying a little, "please come and see me if you want, but I don't want—I don't want Mom or Dad here. Please don't let them come here."
"I—I think this is the best time for you to—'
"Just—! Don't let them come here," Phyllis said. "I'll heal better if I'm not upset all the time, and that's one way to make sure of it."
"I—I'll try, dear," Joanie said after a time. "But, things are pretty hectic around here. I'll do what I can. God bless you, child."
"Thanks."
"Is there anyone else you'd like to talk to?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Your sisters and your brother? Even your cousins, Bill's sons.
"Um… thanks, but I'm kinda tired right now," Phyllis said. "Really, I am tired, but I just—I wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'll be… okay, in time," Joanie said. "I'll survive. And I'll let you get your rest now. Goodbye, honey."
"Bye."
Chapter Seven
Phyllis demanded, and got, a hamburger for dinner that night, then had to send it back when eating it was too painful. The nurses eventually brought her various Jell-Os, soups, and puddings. She had tried walking earlier, but not without assistance. She was halfway through some chocolate pudding when her mother and oldest sister arrived. Phyllis looked up briefly, then resumed eating.
Her mother was not too old, but looked it because of the cigarettes. Phyllis was not surprised to see her dressed in one of her conservative outfits. The shoulder pads always made it look like two anvils were on her shoulders. Very Crawford-esque. Her sister Janice was only slightly less conservative; her shoulders looked like boards, not anvils. Her relatives smiled uneasily, then tiptoed into the room.
"Phyllis?" her mother said. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," she said, spooning another painful bite into her mouth. "They let me walk a little today."
"That's good," her mother said, nodding her head vaguely. "You know, just about everyone is here right now."
"I know," Phyllis said, taking the last spoonful. "Joanie told me."
"Oh, yes, Joanie," her mother said distantly. "She's been holding up very well. The service for Bill will be Saturday. Do you think you'll be out by then?"
"What's today, Thursday?" Phyllis asked. "Even if they won't let me leave, I'll go. I owe that to him."
"Well, you shouldn't go unless you're well enough," her mother said. "You don't want to end up back in here, do you?"
"Like I said, I owe it to him," Phyllis said. "And sick or not, afterward I'm going right home. I've caused them enough trouble."
"You're going back to California?"
"Yeah."
"You're in Los Angeles still, right?" Janice asked.
"Yeah."
"So you're going to leave us your address, right? So we can talk to you again?"
"I don't know," Phyllis murmured. "We'll have to see."
"Phyllis," her mother said, sitting in the visitors' chair, "I understand how upsetting all of this is to you, but_why us? Why do you hate us so much?"
Phyllis shrugged and drank up the rest of her soup.
"It's kinda pointless to tell you anything if you haven't figured it out by now," she said.
"So it's pointless," her mother said. "Tell me anyway. Tell me why you ran away from home, and—
"I didn't 'run away.' I was eighteen, you know."
"Well, why—?"
"Mother," Phyllis said sternly, "I asked Joanie not to let you visit me. What happened?"
Her mother's mouth hung open a while, but no words came out. Eventually Janice stepped forward.
"What do you mean, you asked her not to let us visit?" she asked haughtily. "How can you say that?"
"Well, I guess I can't be mad at her," Phyllis said, wiping her mouth and hands carefully. "She has enough to worry about right now."
"Who?"
"Joanie, obviously," Phyllis said. "If you two don't mind, I'm pretty tired right now. I hate hospitals. You lie around in bed all day, but you're always tired."
"Why won't you talk to me, Phyllis?" her mother asked. "Talk to us?"
"Because I'm tired; I told you that," Phyllis said. "I need to get a nurse to help me get ready for bed, so I guess you two can't stick around."
"Well, we can help you do that," her sister offered. "You don't need a nurse.
"No thanks."
"Phyl, why are you doing this?" Janice snapped. "We're not just here because of Uncle Bill; we're here for you, too! Everyone is!"
"That's nice."
Janice made a noise in frustration, but her speech was not over yet.
"You haven't ever changed, have you?" she said. "You're still being the spoiled little brat who thinks everyone owes her."
Phyllis smirked and pulled her bed sheets up to her chest.
"Would it make you happier to know that I owe more people than owe me?" she asked.
"You know what I'm talking about," her sister said.
"Yeah, well, whatever," Phyllis mumbled, turning onto her side and pulling the bed sheets closer to herself. "Sorry to be such a disappointment to you all. I didn't
really mean to be a dancer and not a banker or accountant or whatever the hell business people are."
"Hey, everyone supported your interests," Janice protested. "You make it seem like we were all laughing at you, and you know it was never like that."
"Uh huh," Phyllis said, yawning and shutting her eyes. "Not for one second. Anyway, thanks for coming to visit. Ask Joanie if she wants to come, too, when you get back, okay?"
"Phyllis, I'm not going to leave until you talk to me," her mother announced angrily. Phyllis contemplated staying just as she was and trying to fall asleep in front of them, then reconsidered. She turned slowly onto her back and opened her eyes.
"Mother," she said very calmly, "I've told you about ten times that I'm tired and want to go to bed, but I will say this, and then I want you to leave. Both of you. I don't have a steady job. I have barely any money, nobody knows who I am, and I can't even afford to pay for this hospital. Everything you were afraid would happen to me, has. Well, that's too bad. I'd die before working in some high-rise where everybody wears pantyhose and grey suits. I won't be some dickhead's slave who takes other people's phone calls all day. Dancing is what I want to do, and that's it. You're the ones who cut me off because you couldn't deal with that."
"Now wait a—"
"You're the ones who didn't want another kid, and god-damn if you didn't let me know that. Did you think I was stupid because I was a little kid? I knew that I was a pain in the ass to take care of, but why you didn't just give me up for adoption, I'll never know."
"Phyllis!" her mother croaked. "I can't believe you'd—you'd even think something like that!"
"Visiting hours are over."
"Do you think I'm going to let you say those things to me without defending myself?"
"Yes," Phyllis said, pushing the nurse's call button.
"You don't mean any of that," her mother said. "You were never unwanted. You were unexpected, Phyllis—but never unwanted."
"Good night, Mother," Phyllis said, adjusting her bed to flatten out. "Let Joanie know I'm feeling a lot better, and I'll be there for her Saturday. I promise."
A nurse entered the room.
"Phyllis, you're just acting like a child!" her sister said. "You've been saying that all your life, and—
"Flo," Phyllis said to the nurse, "I want to go to sleep now, but I can't get them to leave. Can you tell them visiting hours are over?"
"You're going to throw us out?" her mother said. "Phyllis! Listen to me for once in your life!"
"Um—um, ma'am?" the nurse said. "Uh—She says—"
"I know what she says!" her mother snapped, then shook her head in anger. "Oooo!" she said. "Nothing has changed for you, has it?" she asked her daughter. "Still the poor, suffering one who was never loved, hmm?"
"Ma'am? I'm going to have to—"
"She's been doing this all her life!" her mother said to the nurse. "Ignoring me! She has to have her way, and if not, then she—
"I DON'T THINK I SHOULD HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF, MA'AM," the nurse's voice boomed. "You're not helping her get better whether she's 'ignoring' you or not! Visiting hours are over!"
Phyllis had her eyes shut, but smiled and listened to her relatives make huffing and puffing noises before storming from the room. The nurse left with them, then returned to the door.
"I'm sorry about that, honey," she said. "No one else will be allowed to see you tonight; I promise. Would you like your door shut?"
"Yes, thank you," Phyllis said. "Good night."
"Good night."
The doctor did not want to release Phyllis, so she released herself. She was wheeled outside to her brother's waiting car, where she used the cane given to her to edge herself into the passenger seat. The pain was not due to leave until at least a few days, so she bore it out.
One of Joanie's children had made it to Wisconsin, and Uncle Bill's sons also sat beside Joanie in the front row. Phyllis had to settle for the second row. The minister delivered a most eloquent eulogy, helped by the fact that Uncle Bill and his wife were regular churchgoers, and were therefore known to him. Finally, the minister asked Joanie to rise and face the others. It had been her wish to stand up and thank everyone for being there. She asked everyone to bow their heads for a prayer. After this, she called attention to Phyllis and asked everyone to say a prayer for her speedy recovery. Phyllis had already given way to tears long before this, but they started anew as Joanie began to lead the prayer.
Phyllis's mother and sisters, Jennifer and Laura, wisely kept their distance, but her sister Janice did not. Phyllis could shut her out if necessary, and it became necessary after a short time. Her father went to her to offer comfort. For him, she probably had no feelings. No love, but no hatred, either. He had his new wife with him—Phyllis's stepmother—but this was the first time Phyllis had met her. After about a half hour of this, Phyllis rose painfully from her chair and hobbled over to Joanie. She put her hand on her shoulder, and Joanie turned around and made as if to hug her, then reconsidered in deference to Phyllis's wounds.
"Um… my plane leaves in three hours," Phyllis said. "I'd better get going."
"You're in no condition for this, dear," Joanie said. "Why don't you postpone the flight and get more rest? Why, your stitches aren't even out."
"I know," Phyllis said, trying to smile. "I… I just couldn't stay any longer. I shouldn't stay any longer. Look at all that's happened since I got here."
"These things would have happened if you hadn't come here," Joanie said. "Stay, Phyllis. You really should rest."
"Yeah, the doctor didn't want me to leave the hospital until after the funeral. But I wasn't going to miss it for anything. I had to be here."
Joanie kissed her on one of the few unbandaged spots on Phyllis's face.
"I can't force you to stay, dear," she said. "If you think you'd be happier going home now, then do so. Now that I think of it, with all the noise and fuss over here, Los Angeles will be your 'peaceful vacation."
Phyllis's smile hurt, but she didn't fight it.
"I'm gonna miss him," she said in a tone only Joanie could hear.
"I will, too," Bill's wife echoed. Then Phyllis kissed her this time and leaned into her ear.
"I love you, Auntie," she said. "And this time, I won't flake out on writing to you. Once a week, at least."
"God bless you, dear," Joanie said, and they parted. Phyllis glanced at the others in the house as she hobbled past them, but few of them approached her to offer her any comfort. Her mother watched her pass by, and took a step forward as if to speak to her, then stopped herself.
She had already called a cab, which arrived ten minutes later. Many were quite surprised an hour or so later to find that she had not gone to bed, but had gone to the airport. And again, only Joanie knew where she lived. Joanie believed in the absolute power of reconciliation, but would not divulge this secret, out of respect to Phyllis, to anyone else in the family. At least, not until she had asked permission from Phyllis first.
It was Roxanne who picked her up from the airport. She was quite surprised at Phyllis's condition, as no one in California had been informed of the incident. After enduring a barrage of questions, Phyllis finally made her point that she was not up to anything until after a good, long sleep. Roxanne was silent the rest of the way home.
Michael had left a message for Phyllis indicating his desire to get together with her after her return. Nobody's calls were returned that night, however, not even his. The next morning Phyllis was sufficiently braced to handle the onslaught of unanswered questions from her roommate. She held back few details and told the worst of it. Roxanne was understandably concerned about exactly what it was that had attacked her roommate. That was still to remain unanswered. However, she had had her rabies and other shots at the hospital, and even an AIDS test. Now Phyllis only needed time to heal her wounds.
"I know this is going to sound kind of—you know, premature—but did Gary ever tell you about Taroara Taylor?" Roxanne asked late
r that morning.
Phyllis looked up from a fashion magazine.
"Huh?" she said.
"I was wondering if your agent got you into Tamara Taylor's audition? But then, do you think you'll be up to it?"
"That depends," Phyllis said. "She's holding auditions? How come? And when? "
"Oh, man, you mean he hasn't called you?" Roxanne said. "Girl, you need a new agent, I'm serious."
"I know that, but what about Tamara?"
"She's going to go on tour, and she needs backup dancers. Could be part of a permanent troupe."
"No shit? When?"
"I'm not sure, but the audition…" Roxanne said, suddenly dejected. "It's in only two months. You're going to need that time to heal, not push yourself."
"I'll be the judge of that," Phyllis said, rising from the couch to grab their phone.
"I don't even know if you could get in now," Roxanne called to her. "It might be booked."
That was very likely. Although Phyllis did not own any of Taylor's records, she kept up with the entertainment scene as well as any performing artist would. Tamara Taylor's first album had gone gold in a few months, and the second was well on its way with two singles in the Top Ten. Somebody (Phyllis didn't remember) had once joked about Taylor at an MTV award show, calling her "The White Tornado" as much to describe her stage persona as how she had seemingly "dropped in from nowhere." She had already made the late-night rounds, but until now Phyllis had not heard of any tour. Every dancer in L.A. was probably going to be there.
Phyllis's agent rarely returned her calls when she left messages, but until now she had almost accepted this as normal. Now her patience was not what it used to be. By some miracle, he was in and available. Phyllis avoided any formalities and asked directly if he had been trying to get her in to see Taylor. When he answered "no," she fired him, on the spot. Phyllis hung up the phone very quietly in spite of her inner rage.
"What's the number of your agent?" she asked Roxanne.
Phyllis returned Michael's call that morning, but his answering machine took her message. She was still recuperating in front of the television when he called back at noon. He had wanted to meet her for lunch, but managed to convince her to have dinner with him. She was not up to going anywhere that day or night, but decided to brace herself for the inevitable onslaught of questions and agreed to meet him somewhere.