“Sorry,” Barbara apologized. “I didn’t know you had a visitor.”
“I’m on my way out,” Camellia said, retrieving her hat and batting her long eyelashes at Kyle. “See you later, honey pie,” she added as she reached up and patted his cheek. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that not only is your latest gift a perfect fit, as you’ve seen, it’s also really welcome in this heat. And I do love the lacy trim.” She was referring to the birdcage with its beautiful edges, but figured that Aileen would assume it was sexy underwear. “I’ll have a very special present for you too.” She started to head across the room, then stopped. “Oh, and I especially love the yellow ribbon you untied for me. It wound up mixed in the bedcovers.” They could both make of that whatever they wanted. In fact she had balled it up and thrown it at the bed after he left and thought about what his intentions had to be. So what if she was still throwing things.
He raised his eyebrows as she passed Aileen, gave her a warm smile and left the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NEXT DAY
AFTERNOON
GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL
IN FRONT
WASHINGTON D.C.
AN AMBULANCE SPED INTO THE EMERGENCY ENTRANCE AREA, its siren screaming. When it stopped, the medics removed a man on a stretcher. They were masked and gloved. Another medic in a full body protective suit wheeled a larger stretcher over and helped them shift the man onto it. They took him away.
Owen and Camellia stood outside the hospital emergency entrance. There was very little room on the corner where they set up. A flower bed, bench and directional signs crowded the brick sidewalk. Fortunately, no other networks had reporters competing for the limited space. It was several degrees hotter than in New York. The gusting wind made it feel like a blast furnace. Camellia wore a thin sleeveless blouse and skirt three inches above her knees. A bathing suit would be so much better, she thought.
Owen set up his camera, leaning against the wind. A few patients or their visitors stopped to see what was happening. They moved on when they realized the broadcast hadn’t started yet.
Camellia paused as she placed her mic in position to speak. “Thanks for offering to take care of Trotford’s dog. How’s it going?”
“Poor dog seems depressed. Lies there listless all day. Won’t play with the ball I got him. Won’t even chew on steak bones.”
“Hard to imagine how anyone or anything would be depressed getting away from Trotford.”
“I gather Braver is still mourning the loss of his handler who died in Iraq. According to his aide, he’s been like that since Trotford got him.”
Camellia adjusted her mic with difficulty because of the wind. “How‘s Karen doing with Braver?”
“She’s not happy. It’s a pretty big dog for our small apartment, and she really doesn’t have time to walk him. It’s too hot to go out anyhow.”
“Hey, now your poor girlfriend gets to put up with you and a moping dog.” She fiddled with the mic that was still giving her a hard time. “Just kidding. I’ll keep working on other arrangements for Braver.”
“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Can I ask some advice?”
“Of course.”
“What kind of ring do you think Karen would like?”
“Ah ha! Going to pop the question!”
“You have to promise not to say anything to her.”
“Duh. It’s about time. You’ve been together what, ten years?”
“Ten years, seven months and,” he thought for a minute, “five days.”
“Really? How on earth did you keep such close track of that?”
“Some things matter,” he said simply. “We met eleven years ago and moved in together after dating for a while. I remember we decided to take that step when we had dinner at the Gramercy Tavern. It set me back a week’s salary, but it was worth it.”
“Well, I’m not into diamonds myself.” Camellia thought about it. Or lasting relationships. “She often wears red, so rubies or garnets could work, the simpler, the better.”
“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Sure.”
“I know the boss insists you wear revealing clothing, but maybe you could tone it down some without too much pushback from him. Guys like Trotford are certainly going to hit on you, but ones like Hardin are likely to react negatively.”
She was about to argue, but knew he was trying to be helpful. “Maybe you have a point. But there’s no way I’m losing my job.”
“Karen’s good with a needle. She could sew some of your slits up a little,” was his response. “You’re live now.”
A few people had begun to gather, squeezed together in the limited space on the sidewalk.
Camellia put up a hand to try to hold her hair in place and turned to broadcast. “Here’s the latest. Senator Trotford remains in intensive care. The reason we’re broadcasting in Washington is that I’m very sorry to have to report that President Dickerson, Speaker of The House Blackman and Ralph Meecher appear to have also been stricken by the illness that afflicted the Senator. They’re here in the hospital. They were all at the same fundraiser and had some physical contact with him. You know, like slapping backs, shaking hands, and hugging. That kind of thing.” She rubbed her hands together around the mic, and it made a crackling sound. “Dr. Varick will fill you in on the situation.”
As she spoke, a doctor in a white coat came around the side of the building and joined them. He wore black rimmed glasses with lenses a quarter inch thick and had a black goatee streaked with gray. She held the mic so that he could be heard.
“I’ve been placed in charge of all the cases of this disease. That’s about 25 people so far,” he said as he took his glasses off and wiped them with a handkerchief. “They’re in intensive care along with Senator Trotford. Another casualty was brought in a few minutes ago. Unfortunately, we don’t have a diagnosis yet, and there is no known cure for the disease. Our team is searching 24/7 for an existing vaccine that could work on it. As a precaution, those who attended the event are to be quarantined, at least the ones who are still in D.C. We need to have total compliance with that.”
The crowd had increased in size. Owen focused the camera on it. Everyone was riveted by what he was saying.
“We think what the Senator caught might be related to a bone he picked up from the thawing permafrost in Siberia,” he added. “The others on that trip haven’t been quarantined because he wasn’t contagious while they were there. We’ll let you know more when we can.” He turned and went back into the hospital.
“They’re not absolutely sure of the number infected because apparently there was someone in the room where the fundraiser was held who’s unaccounted for,” Camellia said. “Many of those who attended aren’t happy about the quarantine. Fortunately, Senators Gomez and Conklin and some others are going along with it even though they didn’t touch Senator Trotford. Hopefully that will influence the rest and restore common sense, or there could be a real crisis. There’s no telling what the Government will do if relatives and friends won’t comply.” She pushed strands of windblown hair out of her eyes. “The new cases have captured the Senate’s attention. We don’t know yet what they’ll do. But we’ll fill you in as soon as we have more.” She put the mic in a case.
Owen started to pack up his equipment. “Sure is a good thing we all avoided him after his incredibly stupid stunt with the bone.”
Camellia smoothed her hair again. “We dodged a bullet that time. But you’ve damn well got to wonder how many people haven’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
NEXT DAY
LIVING ROOM
CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE
CAMELLIA PICKED THE PHONE UP WITH ONE HAND BUTTONING HER SKIRT. “Hey, Sujin. Baby about to pop? Hold on, let me put this on speaker phone.” She adjusted her phone, finished buttoning her skirt and picked up a shoe. She was getting ready for the nightly ne
ws.
Sujin could be heard crying.
Camellia dropped the shoe. “Oh, my god, what’s wrong? Can’t be anything wrong with Bobby or the baby. You’re going into labor, right? It’s okay. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
Sujin stifled sobs. “No. It’s Frank.” She started crying again.
“What about Frank? What is it?”
“He has the same symptoms Senator Trotford had. They’ve taken him to the hospital. I’m headed there now. I just need to get Bobby ready to go with me.”
“No! Can’t be.” Camellia gasped. “Oh, god, I’ll join you as soon as I can after tonight’s broadcast.”
“Thanks. I knew I could count on you. He’ll be alright, won’t he?”
“He’s tough, you know that. He’s really tough,” Camellia reassured her. “See you later. I promise.”
She put the phone down, slumped in a chair and held her head in her hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SAME DAY
EVENING
NIP ANCHOR DESK
“I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW TO BREAK THIS NEWS,” Camellia said. “There’s simply no good way. It’s…it’s impossible, truly impossible, so I’ve asked New York’s Mayor Blair to fill you in since you’re more likely to believe him.”
She had a dark stole wrapped around her shoulders, slim black pants instead of a skirt.
The Mayor came over and sat down across from Camellia. He was tall enough to have been an NBA point guard. In fact, he had gotten through college on a basketball scholarship. He wore a dark suit and black tie. The expression on his face was grim.
“I have very bad news,” he said. “President Dickerson and Speaker of the House Blackman have not survived the disease that afflicted them. Ralph Meecher apparently might live, but the doctors are doubtful. Their families have just been contacted.” He paused. “And three more of the legislators, Senators Brackett, Brown and Dorfman as well as two donors, Peter McDougal and Fred Sanford have been diagnosed with it. They attended the same fundraiser. They’re all in intensive care. Those legislators have been staying in their D.C. apartments during the current session. Their families are back in their districts, so that’s a good thing. The two donors live here in Manhattan. Their relatives have been quarantined which is important since we understand that several family members are beginning to show symptoms. We don’t know if anyone else in Manhattan has been stricken.” He paused again and tried to sound encouraging. “Fortunately, Vice President Morris wasn’t at the event. He’ll take over once he’s sworn in. His Cabinet is going to convene to determine how to handle the situation. The Senate is considering calling a special session. Funeral arrangements will be announced when they’re available. In the meantime, you need to remain calm, pay attention to public advisories and follow any guidelines we provide. You can rest assured that your government will be able to manage this crisis.” With that, he got up and left the room.
“Things are pretty chaotic at the moment which I’m sure you can understand,” Camellia said. “You’ll need to be patient. We’ll get word to you as soon as we can. “Fortunately there is a little good news. Senator Trotford appears to be recovering. Now they’re absolutely certain his disease is connected to the bone he picked up in Siberia. Tests have shown that the creature was infected with it. They still don’t know what the disease is, so for now, let’s call it the Mystery Fever since I understand temperatures run 106 and higher.” She clutched the stole tighter. “And now I have to warn you that the Mystery Fever is spreading mainly in D.C. since of course legislators who attended the event had contact with other people, in addition to their family members. Unfortunately, most of the other donors went home, one to California and one to San Juan. Others made trips abroad, two to Ireland and another one to France. Here’s Chakir Almasi in Paris to fill us in.”
The broadcast switched to a live feed from overseas.
Chakir Almasi appeared to be in his 30’s and from the Middle East. He stood in front of the six-story Hospital Du Perray on the right bank in Paris, microphone in hand. A small group of people clustered near him. “We’ve just learned that Bernard Goldstein has been brought to this hospital with what’s assumed to be the disease you’re dealing with over there. We understand he did attend the fundraiser. His family has been quarantined, but it seems he ate at a restaurant where there was a big party last night, and no one knows if he had physical contact with anyone there. Crowds have gathered around the hospital entrance, clamoring for information. You can see there’s a lot of tension, but so far nothing out of hand.”
The camera panned to the crowd.
“I will get back to you later as things develop.”
Back in New York Camellia said, “Thanks, Chakir. And now, unfortunately, I have more personal bad news. One of our NIP employees, Frank Cho, the EMT who checked out Senator Trotford, has also caught the disease. Please everyone, whatever your belief, please pray for him.” She pulled her stole tighter yet. “Officials are trying to track down anyone who might have been exposed. It’s going to be a truly formidable challenge. We’ll break into programming when there are further developments.”
She started to put out her signature message. “Good night friends.” And then she paused, pulled her stole so tight that it threatened to tear. “Stay safe.”
A commercial break followed, and Camellia headed to the hospital.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SAME DAY
LATE EVENING
WAITING ROOM
NEW YORK PRESBYTERIAN HOSPITAL
EAST 68th STREET
MANHATTAN
BOBBY WAS CLINGING TO HIS MOTHER when Camellia arrived. She hugged Sujin and bent down to be sure to get her arms around him too.
Plastic chairs were backed against the hospital waiting room walls. A few tables held assorted magazines, mostly out of date. The walls were the usual institutional off white. No pictures. The floors were covered with carefully scrubbed tiles. An antiseptic smell pervaded the atmosphere. Families and individuals talked quietly among themselves, some eating snacks, some drinking coffee in paper cups or Coke in cans. They were clearly waiting for word from doctors. Occasionally someone burst into tears.
“I’m so very sorry about this,” Camellia said.
“It’s not your fault.”
“But, I….”
Sujin interrupted her. “No, it’s not. I know you well enough to know you’ll blame yourself, and you mustn’t. You keep trying to help other people, not thinking about yourself often enough.” She shook her head, despairing. “They won’t let us see him.”
“Let me talk to the doctor. Maybe that will help.”
“Thanks. I simply can’t bear for him to be dealing with this by himself. I just can’t.”
They sat down and huddled together to wait. Sujin took a picture book from her bag and turned the pages for Bobby who didn’t really pay attention to what he was seeing. Camellia leafed absently through an old health magazine but quickly put it down since she couldn’t concentrate either. Darn it, she thought. This is taking too long. She looked at Sujin who seemed so patient. Why can’t I be like her?
“When can we see daddy?” Bobby asked.
“Hopefully soon,” Sujin answered.
“I want to see him now,” he insisted.
“I’m sorry, we have to wait.” She turned some additional pages, but he didn’t pay any more attention to them than he had to the others.
Eventually a doctor in blue scrubs with stethoscope around his neck came into the room and walked up to them. He was around forty with frizzy brown hair and close-set eyes. “I’m Dr. Lowenstein. Your husband’s case has been assigned to me.”
“How is he?” Sujin asked urgently.
“I’m sorry to have to report that he isn’t doing well. We’re trying everything we can, but he’s slipping. His temperature is 105 degrees, and we can’t get it down. We’ve tried absolutely everything,” he repeated.
“I want to see him!” Sujin pleaded. “Please.”
“There must be some way that could be worked out,” Camellia insisted.
Dr. Lowenstein shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He saw how distressed they were and relented. “But maybe I can open the door wide enough for you to catch a glimpse. You absolutely cannot go into the room.”
“Oh, yes,” Sujin said. She collected Bobby and their things. They all followed the doctor out of the waiting room and went down the hall. He stopped in front of a closed door. When he opened it half way, Sujin could see Frank lying in a hospital bed, attached to numerous IVs with a monitor blinking next to the bed. His eyes were closed, and she could tell he was flushed. She picked Bobby up and held him so that he could see his father.
“Daddy!” he cried as he struggled to get down and go into the room. Sujin held him tight and stood back so that Camellia could take her place. She blinked back tears at what she saw. They turned to the doctor who was on his cell phone.
“What can we do?” Sujin asked.
“There’s really nothing you can do,” he answered, putting his phone back in a pocket and closing the door. “In fact, I’ve just been advised by the CDC that you and Bobby will have to be quarantined even though I understand you were vaccinated when you got here. We’re not sure yet if the shingles vaccine will work on this disease. It’s only been tried on a few people. In the next day or two you could become contagious. At least fortunately in your case, it should be possible for you to stay at home as long as you don’t go out at all until you’re told you can.”
“They won’t catch it! They can’t!” Camellia protested.
Calamity Page 10