Fear grips my body. Is he dead? Did he break his neck? “I…I don’t know.”
Carlos begins to stir.
I drop to my knees. “Don’t move, hermanito. Stay still.” I look up at the crew. “Someone call 911!”
“They’re already on their way.” Travis drops down beside us. “Let me have a look.”
My palm is resting protectively on Carlos’s back trying to stop him from moving. I hesitate, afraid to let anyone touch him.
“It’s okay, I have some medical experience.” From the military, I realize. I nod and make room. He examines Carlos’s body and my brother groans. Then he says, “Help me sit him up.”
Carlos’s face is smeared in blood, but Travis figures out that it’s coming from a large gash above his eye. A first aid kit has appeared, and Travis finds alcohol swabs. He dabs at Carlos’s forehead.
“Ouch!” Carlos tries to push Travis’s hand away.
Travis ignores Carlos’s useless shoving. “It’s a nasty cut, man. Let me get the dirt out before it gets infected.” Once he’s done, he hands me a wad of gauze. “Put pressure on it.”
I do. The blood roaring through my ears is so loud that it’s impossible to think, let alone do anything but what I’m told. Meanwhile, Carlos is already back to being his pain-in-the-ass vain self as he realizes he has a crowd around him.
“I got it,” he says, pushing me away.
Finally, the paramedics arrive.
Emmanuel is now trying to do damage control. He’s barking orders, making sure we’re hidden from view, yelling at people to move the waiting fans from the exit so we aren’t seen when we leave. Just one more reason why I want a normal life.
“This shit hurts,” Carlos mumbles, looking up at me through his one good eye. The other lid is swelling shut fast. “How bad does it look?”
“Let’s just say we’re going to have to hide the mirrors.”
He groans. “En serio?” He sees a young assistant standing a few feet away. “Can you get me a mirror, please?”
I raise my hand to stop her. “Trust me. You don’t want one, hermanito. Let’s wait till they’ve stitched you up and iced your face at least. Right now, you look like one of the zombies from that show you like.”
“Fucking awesome,” he answers. “Emmanuel, call the studios and see if they need an extra for The Walking Dead.” He gives me a cocky grin and I don’t know whether I want to laugh or beat the hell out of him for scaring me to death. Emmanuel throws him a dirty look.
“That show is over, bro,” Hugo says.
“Well, maybe they’ll have a comeback just for me.” He winks then winces. “Damn, that stings like a bitch.”
I insist on riding in the ambulance with him even though he thinks I’m being annoying.
Travis nods at me. “We’re right behind you.”
The doors close and the sirens blare.
The adrenaline rush I felt earlier is gone, leaving me weak and shaky. I’m not sure I’ll make it through another one of my brother’s spills. I need to get him a doctor, and fast, if he has any hope of surviving his condition.
Chapter Twelve
Darya
Commotion explodes through the emergency room, voices rise and curiosities pique. I’m sitting at a desk in the back, trying to get through the pile of patient notes I still have sitting before me, in hopes that I can finish my shift on time. I’m taking Maman and Niloo out to dinner at Niloo’s favorite Italian restaurant. Maman is staying stoic with her newfound diagnosis, still in the mindset that she’s going to kick cancer’s ass, but Niloo is falling apart, already thinking of caskets and burial services. She wears worry like a bad accessory.
Trina pokes her head through the door, disrupting my flow. “Your man is back!”
“My what?”
“Ternura, silly. Little bro is being rushed back in. Passed out and fell down some stairs. Bumped his head pretty badly. Anthony is with him.” With that, a mischievous grin claims her lips. “And,” she adds, “he’s asking for you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yup. And Mr. Superstar gets what Mr. Superstar wants. They’re setting him up in room five. He’ll be ready in a few.” She giggles then prances away.
The first day of medical school was traumatizing to my introverted self. Sure, discussing classes and requirements was overwhelming, but I felt like a fish lost in an ocean of sea creatures big enough to gobble me up into nonexistence in the social whirlpool.
Then, this goddess with perfectly smooth skin, deep brown eyes, and a determined enthusiastic smile decided to take the seat beside me in the cafeteria, starting up a conversation like we were already fast friends. My middle-school dream had finally come to fruition: the popular girl had chosen me.
We’ve been best friends ever since.
I don’t know whether to allow my stomach to keep flip-flopping with the excitement of having Ternura ask for me specifically or to be irritated that now I won’t get out of here on time. I send my sister a text: Ternura is back. Move reservations. She immediately replies with firework emojis and faces of shock and pleasure across my screen.
I allow myself a moment to feel the rush of being the doctor to the stars, or at least this band. Then I head over to the exam room to pay little brother a visit.
The bodyguards are standing outside this time, making the confined space less crowded. Travis catches my eye and nods before returning his attention straight ahead.
“Hi, Dr. Zameeni.” Anthony’s voice fills the room, and my insides, the moment I walk through the door. He’s leaning over Carlos’s bed, his calm cool exterior a contradiction to the intense mama bear energy I can feel emanating from him. There’s panic visible in his eyes, even from this distance.
“Anthony.” My gaze moves to Carlos, leaning back in the bed. There’s a two-inch gash above his left eyebrow. Dried blood is crusted through his strands of hair and onto his eyelid, which is now swollen shut. He’s pressing a reddened cloth between his fingers.
“Hi, Carlos. How are you feeling?”
“You know, I’ve had better days.” He gives me a lopsided smile and tries to sit up, but I see him wince with pain.
“Can I take a look at that?”
I put on a pair of gloves hanging in a box by the door and make my way over to his bed. Anthony moves, giving me space to work.
“How does it look, Doc?” Carlos asks.
“It’s not so bad. A few stitches and you’ll be fine.” I pat his arm. “But I’m more concerned with how this happened. Did you slip and fall? Or did you lose consciousness? You know that can happen with an arrhythmia.” He glances between his brother and me, so I add, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me the truth.”
“I think I passed out again. I was coming down the stairs and the next thing I know, I’m facedown on the floor. I think I hit my head on the edge of one of the steps.” He averts his gaze from me, biting his lower lip.
“Are you taking your meds? Like they prescribed?”
“Yes, I am.” He looks at Anthony. “I swear.”
“Have you guys been doing gigs back to back?” This time I look at Anthony.
“For the most part. We have.” He sends Carlos a reprimanding glare. “I told you we should have canceled.”
I can see the anger in his flaring nostrils as he tries to maintain control. He doesn’t appear upset with his brother, but more disappointed in himself, as if he could have avoided this entire ordeal. It’s so relatable, yet baffling, how responsible some of us older siblings feel for our younger ones. They’re grown-ups, completely capable of making their own decisions and dealing with the consequences, yet somehow we find ourselves in taking the blame. Even if it’s self-imposed. Isn’t dinner tonight more of the same? Just me trying to save Niloo from the thoughts in her head? My mother’s illness affects me, also, but I’m too
concerned with my sister’s well-being to worry about myself. Maybe it’s just a way for us to avoid our own demons.
“Okay, so there’re a lot of things that you may not have had to think about before, that you have to worry about now. Exhaustion can make your condition worse. But even simpler than that, dehydration, too much caffeine, excessive alcohol use.” I raise a brow and Carlos cowers slightly. “I get that you’re a big rock star and all,” I tease, “but you have to modify your lifestyle or you’ll be seeing the inside of a hospital a lot more frequently than you want to.”
“This is bullshit,” Carlos suddenly huffs.
“Carlos,” Anthony warns. I raise a hand and he immediately backs down.
“I get it. It’s like you’re being punished for something you didn’t even do.” This connects with him because the anger dissipates and he nods, somberly. “But sadly, this is your reality now. You need to take care of yourself. Especially while you’re on tour. That means, rest, healthy diet, minimal partying. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees, although begrudgingly. I’ve basically told him he can stand in the candy store but he can’t eat the candy.
“I’m going to page plastics to come do the stitches. It will leave less scarring. And I’m ordering a CT, just to be sure we’re all good. It’s not always the arrhythmia that’s the problem, it’s the accidents that can happen because of it.”
“Sorry for cussing earlier,” Carlos apologizes as I head to the door.
“Please. I’ve said my fair share, too. Don’t let the white coat fool you.” I smile.
“See? This is why I need her on tour.” Carlos grabs his forehead as he laughs. “Ouch, that hurts.”
“I’ll check on you soon.”
I step out into the hall and make my way over to the counter.
Anthony comes up behind me. “Dr. Zameeni.” His voice is thick and gritty with worry, and when I turn to face him, his eyes are pained. “I’m sorry to bother you about this again, but is there any way you’d reconsider coming on tour with us? If it were up to me, I’d cancel everything and go back home. But he won’t agree. He really needs to be monitored, like you said, and he refuses to listen to anyone but you. Even me,” he adds on a grumble.
I glance over his shoulder and Carlos, who now has his hands in a praying gesture, gives me a wide-toothed boyish smile, begging me silently to reconsider.
It’s clear that Ternura needs me. Carlos has been diagnosed for a little over a week and he’s already back here in the ER. But what about Maman? Do I leave her to go save another? Will she be okay if I’m gone for a few months? She hasn’t started treatment just yet, and when she does, maybe it will take a few sessions before the side effects kick in.
The truth is, I have no idea what Maman is going to need. Sure, we have insurance, but what if things get worse or she’s eligible for a cutting-edge trial? Worse, one that isn’t here in Los Angeles. I need to be ready to pay for that. Then there’s Niloo’s cosmetology school and Maman’s mortgage and her bills. Not to mention my apartment and student loans.
Pressure settles onto my shoulders, sending anxiety swirling through me.
The reality is that my salary alone won’t float our lives. The money I make on the tour could really be helpful. Would I be irresponsible to pass up this offer? Or will Maman see it as a betrayal of everything I’ve worked for?
Iranian daughter guilt is real.
“Can I get back to you in a few days? I have some family stuff going on that I need to figure out before I can think about asking for time off.”
“Absolutely. Take your time. I’m moving things around, so we have a few days off before heading to our next location.” He extends his hand toward mine, and for a moment it almost feels like he’s trying to hold it. “May I?” He points toward my pen and I realize what he’s actually after. I can’t pretend feeling his fingers on mine don’t make me tingle.
I hand him the pen and he pulls a card from his pocket, scribbling a number on the back.
“This is Emmanuel’s number. Our manager. Once you’ve made up your mind, just give him a call.” The smile fades from my face momentarily before I have a chance to catch myself. It’s already too late, because Anthony notices. “It’s just easier to get a hold of him. I don’t always have my phone. But he does.” Idiot! You look like a girl with a crush. I can feel the heat of crimson embarrassment creep up my neck.
“Okay,” I answer quickly, taking the card from him. “I’ll be in touch soon.” Then I turn on my heels and start heading down the hall, stopping a few steps away. I whip back around to find Anthony right where I left him. “Oh, and Anthony.”
“Yes?”
“Call me Darya.”
His face lights up with a grin, making the warm fuzzies amplify in my belly. “Okay.”
I power walk to the break room, convincing myself I need another cup of coffee before heading to dinner. What I really need is a few moments to get it together, every interaction with Anthony leaving me breathless and uncharacteristically giddy. Once inside, I plop down on the couch and exhale.
“Went well, then?” Trina’s voice startles me.
“Shit! I didn’t see you there.”
“How could you? You were practically skipping.” She sits down beside me. “So, little boy band okay?”
“Yes. Waiting on CTs, but he seems fine.”
“And big brother? How’s he?” She wiggles her eyebrows and I giggle.
“He asked me to go on tour with them again.”
“And?”
“I think I may go.”
…
Two days later, after hours of making mental lists and running through all the scenarios I can think of, I find the courage to tell Maman about my plan.
“So what do you think?” I sit perched on the edge of my seat, my fingers tightly clasped in my lap, appearing as uncomfortable as I feel. Maman stares at me, her face unreadable. “I know I’d be taking a break from work, but it’s just a few months.” She still doesn’t say anything. “And it’s a lot of money, Maman.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“I know that. But it could really help.”
“You make enough money to keep you comfortable. Beeshtar ehteyaj nadaree.”
I sigh. “I know I don’t need more. Not for myself. But I can’t support all of us on my salary.”
“Who said you need to support us all? I don’t plan on quitting my job at the jewelry store. Maryam needs me.” She lifts her chin, offended.
Maman has been working with her cousin for the past two decades at her uncle’s jewelry store downtown. He’s all but retired, showing up twice a week, more to hang out and chitchat with the ladies and the customers because he’s bored than to run the place. The women have been doing it all without him and, since amoo Majeed never had any kids of his own, he’s most likely leaving it to them.
For me, Maman’s job would be a nightmare. I’ve never been much of a saleswoman. But for her, it’s a dream, allowing her to use her expert haggling skills on a daily basis. Maman is the type of haggler who can sell gravel to a diamond dealer.
I tread lightly, knowing that losing her position at the store due to her health would mean losing part of her identity.
“I know that, Maman. But it doesn’t hurt to be safe, right?”
She waves me off. “You want to leave the hospital to go travel the country with a bunch of musicians? And you think I’m going to be okay with this? If I wanted you to be a patiareh, I’d never have pushed you to be a doctor.”
“Maman, it’s work! I’m not galivanting around town with them like a floozy.” I move to the couch she’s sitting on and grab her hand. She tries to glare at me, show her Iranian-mom grudge-holding master skills, but she can’t retain it long, her eyes softening.
“I know, dokhtaram. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean th
at.” She places her palm against my cheek, and the gesture makes tears sting my eyes. “I’m just afraid you’ll lose sight of what’s important. These men are famous. They’re good-looking and live glamorously. Parties and women at their disposal. You’re too good of a girl to lose yourself in all of that.”
“I won’t. It’s a job, nothing more.”
“That’s what you say now. But what if one of them tries to seduce you? Khodetoh nemeebazi? All I need is for you to fall in love with…what do you call them? A rock star?”
“I’m not going to.” I laugh. “And how do you know what a rock star’s life looks like anyway?”
“I watch television.” Her expression tightens. “What about work? Is it even allowed for you to take so much time off when you’ve barely started your job there? You’ve worked so hard, dokhtaram. Why put it in jeopardy?”
“It won’t be,” I insist. “I spoke to my boss and she gave me the okay.”
“She did?” Maman asks. I nod, just as shocked as she is.
When I finally found the courage to tell Wendy the truth about the tour, I was sure she’d fire me on the spot. I mean, I would, if a newbie came into my office to tell me she was leaving to go travel with a band. But lying just seemed too risky. Plus, I’ve never been much good at breaking the rules.
To my surprise, the conversation went better than I’d expected. Wendy wasn’t thrilled that after six months of employment, I was asking for three months off. But she was empathetic to Maman’s diagnosis, and took pity on my situation.
“I know what it’s like trying to hold everything together after news like this,” she’d said. “I’ll give you the time off, but let’s keep the tour just between us for now.” I threw my arms around her and almost cried on her shoulder with relief. Then she asked me for autographs from all the band members and whatever paraphernalia I could snag. Guess it didn’t hurt that her family is made of diehard Ternura fans. Small price to pay.
Maman doesn’t push for more details, but instead asks, “Are you sure they’re paying you enough? I mean, you’re very smart. Gadreh khodetoh bedoon.”
Set to Music Page 6