by Emerson Rose
I dress and get into the car programming the address into my phone’s GPS. It’s in a neighborhood I’ve never been to up in the hills. Driving through the streets of Cameron, California, I notice the quality of the homes becomes better and better, the closer I get to my destination.
When the homes start to look like million-dollar places, I start to wonder just what exactly Lennon does for a living. How does anyone afford homes like these with wrought-iron gates, mile- long driveways, perfectly manicured lawns, and sprawling estates?
Rich people, that’s who.
When the woman’s voice on my GPS announces I have arrived at my destination, I stop in the street and look around. Fiona’s right, I would have missed this place without directions. I’m missing it right now. There is a gate to my right with a giant letter ‘B’ surrounded by swirls of iron vines and flowers. Berkshire, that must be it, but I can’t see the house from here since it’s set back so far.
I wait for five minutes, and Fiona pulls up into the driveway, presses a button on her visor, and waves for me to follow her. She has a remote for his gate? This group of friends is like no other I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t give my best friend a key to my house, and it’s a little cottage on the beach.
The sun is in my eyes as we drive along the long road to Lennon’s house, so it’s difficult to see anything until we’re right up on it. When the sprawling mansion, yes, it’s a mansion and not a house, comes into view, it’s so massive that it blocks the sun out altogether. I stop at the entrance to the circle driveway and stare.
Wow, Lennon isn’t just wealthy, he’s filthy bloody rich. No way could he have earned enough money at his age to afford a home like this. He must come from money. Dammit, I wish I had asked one of his friends what he does for a living. A honking horn jolts me from my gawking, and I pull my car up behind Fiona’s.
We exit our cars, and she looks at me still taking in the house and says, “Huge, huh? And it’s just him living here. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“What on earth does he do to afford this?” I say, spreading my arms out wide.
“He’s a lawyer, but his family is stinking rich. Come on, I have the code to get in. I clean for him sometimes, but it’s too big for me to do alone, and he pays me way too much. I feel like a criminal taking that kind of money from him, so I let his service do it most of the time.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage as I follow her up the steps to the iron and glass front doors. She presses in the code, and I avert my eyes so as not to snoop.
“You may as well know the code. You’re gonna work here, anyway. It’s 54378#. He changes it every couple of months, though, so make sure he tells you what it is.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be working here for that long, if at all. And he has memory loss, he might forget the code himself.”
She laughs a tinkling little trill and opens the doors into a foyer the size of my entire house. It has marble floors and a chandelier that looks spooky in the dim area. A large circular table sits in the center of the area with fresh flowers flowing out of a spectacular crystal vase.
Fiona rolls her eyes. “It’s pretty and shit but such a bitch to keep clean. Come on, let’s see if he’s in his bedroom. Ew, I hope Kelly’s not in there with him. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit thinking of those two together.” She makes a gagging motion with her mouth, and I laugh.
I hope we don’t find them together too. First off, because it’s a nauseating thought, and second because he has a brain injury and shouldn’t be exerting himself in that manner.
Ascending the stairs, I continue to look around at the art on the walls, the vases of flowers on every surface, and the heavy wood of the home. It’s old and stuffy and completely not my style. This place may be expensive but, in my opinion, it’s ugly. I miss the open white spaces in my home already.
Fiona leads me down a long hall to the end where double doors stand open. The room is dark and quiet, thank the Lord above. I let her go in and wait with my back pressed against the wall in the hall.
Soft light streaks from the room when I assume Fiona turns on a lamp. Kelly shrieks, and starts a string of curse words that would rival any biker or sailor. I hear Lennon’s voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying through Kelly’s fussing. And then Fiona’s voice comes loud and clear above the others, “What the actual fuck are you doing, Kelly?” she yells. “Lennon, put your dick away, and Kelly, get your ass out of that bed before I call the police.”
“You’re going to call the police? How about I call them on you for breaking and entering? I’m his fiancée, I have every right to be here with him. You’re the intruder, how’d you get in here anyway, you little weasel?” Kelly yells back.
Put your dick away? I groan and cringe when Kelly calls Fiona a weasel. I have a strong feeling that she shouldn’t have insulted Fiona like that.
“Bitch, I have the code to the house because unlike you, I’m always welcome here. He has a serious brain injury, and he needs to be in the hospital. He needs people around him who know how to care for him, not some slut jacking him off because she needs cash to party with. If he were himself right now, I guarantee he would never have come here with you. I don’t care if you say you’re engaged, he never even mentioned that to me, and I’m one hundred percent sure he would have. We’re tight.”
“Well, you’re one hundred percent wrong, you meddling little crotch canoe,” Kelly screams, and suddenly they both fall quiet, and I hear Fiona say Lennon’s name.
“Lennon? Lennon! Shit, he’s seizing. Trinity!” she yells, and I’m around the corner in the bedroom like a shot.
“Turn him on his side, protect his head,” I say, crawling onto the bed and pushing Kelly out of the way. She backs away, clutching the sheet to her naked body.
Lennon’s stiff body shakes and jerks, he foams at the mouth, and I wish to hell we were in the hospital where suction is readily available to clear his airway. Fiona is on her knees at his back, holding him on his side as I wipe the thick saliva from his mouth. There isn’t anything we can do at this point but keep him from hurting himself and make sure he has an open airway while we wait for it to stop.
I look up at Fiona after a minute goes by to tell her we need to call 911, but his body stills before I get the words out. “Thank God. Is he opening his eyes?” Fiona asks.
“Lennon, Lennon…” I pat his cheek, and his eyelids flutter and then open a slit. I drop my forehead to his bare shoulder and close my eyes.
“Is he awake?” Fiona repeats, and I lift my head.
“Yes.” I cup his cheek as he stares at me.
“Angel,” he says, and I almost cry.
“Yes, it’s me, I’m here. You’re going to be okay now. I’m going to call the hospital, and we will get you back there.”
He grabs my wrist with surprising strength for having just seized. Usually, patients are weak and disoriented and exhausted after an episode like this. “No. I don’t want to go anywhere. Please, stay and take care of me here. I’m remembering things. Since I got here, I feel more like myself.”
“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure Dr. Carmichael will want to examine you and order another MRI.”
“Have him come here. Buy an MRI machine or rent one, whatever. Just don’t take me back there.”
I look at Fiona, and she shrugs. “I’m sure the doc will make a house call for Lennon. I don’t know about the MRI thing, though. I mean he’s rich as hell, but can anybody buy one of those?”
“I have no idea. How about I call the doctor and have him come and look you over. If he thinks you need any testing, we can do it on an outpatient basis.”
“Yes, whatever as long as I can stay here with you,” he says.
With me. That wasn’t part of his original request, but since I’ve already accepted the job of being his private nurse, sort of, I guess it’s implied. I look behind me for Kelly to see if she’s going to object, and she’s gone.
“She split. I saw her grab
her clothes off the chair and take off when he was still seizing,” Fiona says.
“Good. She’s a bad influence,” I say as we roll Lennon onto his back and pull up the covers. He’s naked, and I can’t help wondering what was going on before we arrived. I don’t plan on asking, but Fiona isn’t as discreet.
“What the hell are you doing screwing that crazy cesspool of STDs?”
Lennon looks confused, and Fiona lifts the sheet to show him he’s naked. I look away embarrassed to be caught checking him out. Not Fiona, though, she shakes the sheet, and he pulls it up to cover himself.
“I didn’t have sex with her, I don’t think.”
“How about you tell us what you do remember about the last six hours, then.”
“I wanted to leave the hospital. That redheaded woman showed up and said she would help me. We drove here, and we went to bed, but I think I was fully dressed.”
“So, you were asleep when Fiona turned on the light?” I ask.
He shifts his eyes to me. “Yes.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“No, I’m not sure about anything lately, but I think I was sleeping. I don’t know what she was doing.”
“We need to have a discussion about that whore, but right now I’m going to call your doctor and tell him you’re okay and ask if he will come to see you here at the house. Watch him like a hawk,” she says, narrowing her eyes and pointing her finger at Lennon as she crawls off the enormous bed.
Lennon looks sheepish, and I have to work not to smile. “You’re in trouble, you know?”
“It seems so,” he says watching Fiona pull out her phone. “Do you think you could get me something to wear before the medical community converges upon us?”
This time I do smile. “Of course. I don’t suppose you know where you keep your loungewear, do you?”
“Loungewear? That sounds fancy.”
I raise my eyebrows and look around the room. “It seems you’re a bit of a fancy chap.”
“I guess you’re right, and no I’m not sure, although that looks like a closet over there.” He points to a door across the room.
“All right, I’ll look. You’ll be okay for a second?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? Apparently, I just had a seizure, and I’ve never had one of those before. I guess anything can happen.”
“Does your head hurt?” I ask.
“Not any more than usual. I think it’s that woman. She brings out the worst in me.”
“Yes, I’d say you made quite a cock-up with that one.”
“A what?”
“A cock-up, a mistake. How you fell in love with that one is beyond me.”
“Not your cup of tea, huh?” he asks with a wry smile.
“Not anyone’s, I’d say.”
I cross the room and open the door to his closet. Lights come on automatically. The closet is more of a room with rows of suits and dress clothes on the left and casual, everyday things on the right. Built-in cabinets surround the room with large shelving units in each corner. More shoes than any one man could ever wear line the smaller built-in units along the floor, and an island with more drawers sits in the center.
Unsure of where to start, I move to the right where the casual clothes are located and start opening the drawers. Six drawers later, I find a pair of linen sleeping pants and a t-shirt.
Back in his room, I hand him the clothes and turn my back to give him some privacy.
“You don’t have to turn around. I’m sure you’ve seen most of me.”
“I haven’t seen anything. Our patient-care techs help with bathing.”
I wait and listen while he slides on the clothes imagining what he looks like from the waist down. I wasn’t lying. I’ve never peeked under the sheets while taking care of him, although I can’t say I wasn’t tempted.
“I’m decent,” he says, and I turn slowly in case he’s one of those people who likes to play jokes.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m tired, and I wish people would stop asking me that.”
“You’re tired because of the seizure. The lack of oxygen to your brain will do that. And we have to keep asking how you are. Your injury is serious, more serious then I think you realize.”
“Come here,” he says in a tone that causes me to do as he asks immediately. “I’m beginning to remember things. One of those things is how much I hate being coddled. I also loathe being inactive, physically and intellectually.”
“Did Kelly tell you that or is that your own realization?”
“A little of both. She told me I’m an attorney, and that triggered memories of law school and a few cases I’ve tried. When she brought me into this house, I knew where my bedroom and the kitchen were located. I remember you every minute of every day, but do you know what I don’t remember at all?”
He thinks of me. Not as much as I think of him, I’ll bet. “No, what?”
“I don’t remember asking that woman to marry me. I don’t remember one single thing about her or our past together.”
“Do you think she’s lying? About you two, I mean.”
“The others say I dated her for a long time and that we broke up and had been seeing a bit of each other lately so, no, I don’t think she’s lying about our history.”
“But?”
“But I feel as if she’s lying about the engagement.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right. Nothing about her feels right. I’m going to ask for the ring back and tell her the engagement is off until I get all of my memory back. I realized how wrong it all was the second we came through the front doors of this house. Something about being here is helping me get my memories back. They’re all jumbled up in a mess. I need to sort them out, but they’re there.”
“I think that’s a smart move. And if you don’t mind my saying, I think you might want to have the ring appraised to make sure it’s the same one you gave her. From what I’ve heard from your friends, she’s not the most trustworthy.”
“I don’t mind you saying that, and yes, I’ll have it appraised. Good idea.”
“What are you two talking about in here?” Fiona asks, entering the room.
“Kelly and that ring,” I say.
Fiona scoffs. “Lennon, I recognized that ring, it was your grandmother’s. You showed it to me once years ago when you were having a safe installed in your office. I seriously doubt you gave it to her, and I’m wondering how the hell she got it out of your safe.”
“Can you change the code or the combination on the safe?” I ask.
Lennon shrugs.
“I’m sure there’s a way. Do you want me to look around in your office for the maker and a serial number of the safe? Maybe they can help us?”
“Please. Thanks, Fi,” Lennon says.
“You sounded like yourself just then,” she says, her eyes brightening.
“I’m feeling like myself, I think.”
“When will Dr. Carmichael be here?” I ask.
“Soon. He wasn’t happy that Lennon’s refusing to go to the hospital. He does want another MRI, but we can take you to outpatient today and have it done. They don’t usually do that on the weekend, but he said they will make an exception in this situation.”
Lennon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“I’m going to check on things in the house. I know where shit’s supposed to be, and I don’t trust that bitch not to have lifted a few things to pawn for cash.”
“All right, I’ll stay here,” I say.
She stomps out of the room still pissed off about Kelly being in the house. She’s one of the most protective people I’ve ever met.
“Lay with me,” Lennon says with his eyes still closed.
“I don’t think that’s approp…”
“Lay. With. Me. I’m the patient, and the patient is always right.”
“I think that’s the customer is always right, actually.”
“Cus
tomer, patient, same thing. Come here.” He pats the mattress next to him, and against my better judgment, I scoot over and stretch out next to him, making sure we aren’t touching.
“I don’t bite.”
“This is highly unprofessional. I don’t want Dr. Carmichael seeing me cuddled up with a patient who has a brain injury.”
“I’m rolling my eyes under my lids.”
I chuckle. “Okay, you keep doing that, and they’ll bloody stick. That’s what my mother used to tell me.”
“That’s what all mothers tell their kids. I don’t know why, rolling your eyes isn’t so bad. It conveys a certain feeling that no other expression can do as effectively.”
“I believe it’s considered disrespectful. At least where I’m from, it is.”
When he doesn’t answer, I prop up on my elbow and look at his face. He’s relaxed and breathing regularly. Asleep. Good.
I roll off the mattress carefully and start exploring the bedroom. The heavy curtains are blocking the sunlight keeping the room dark. I think even with them open, this room would be dark and gloomy. Why does such a young, vibrant man live in an old, stuffy mansion?
A desk sits in the far corner with a laptop next to what looks to be a journal. It’s large and leather bound. I trail my fingers over Lennon’s engraved initials on the cover wishing I was the snoopy type. I’d love to see what’s written inside, but I would never invade a person’s privacy like that, not even Lennon’s.
A photograph of Lennon with who, I assume to be his mother, sits on one corner and a cigar box on the other. That’s it, no photo of Kelly or his father, no papers, files, or anything that would indicate he sits here to work regularly. Maybe he’s a tidy man? Maybe he does the messy work in his office?