I Am India Fox

by Virginia Nosky

  “Oh, went to medical school like Dad wanted. Decided the life was too quiet. But I did learn a few things.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “Not quite.”

  India winced, but didn’t move. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

  He concentrated on the suturing. “Wasn’t important.”

  “How many of those are you doing?”

  “I think twelve ought to do it. Or thirteen. I’ll make that fourteen, so it isn’t unlucky.”

  “I’m not superstitious.”

  “Maybe you ought to be. What were you doing down there anyway?”

  And then the entire horror of what had happened hit her. She had been wandering through a hazy dream. She could remember Emile, but the memory of Nadia flying toward her in a brilliant flash she had blotted out. Nadia was dead and Jack did not know. He had called Nadia an angel and he did not know. He had called her his sister and he did not know he had lost her.

  India’s head buzzed. How could she say it?

  INDIA STRUGGLED WITH the words. It had not been easy. Jack was stoic with her and wanted all the details she could remember. He had pushed and pushed and finally she dragged the words from somewhere deep, described the glass shard in Nadia’s back, and the bloody hot pink jacket. That her pink stilettos had been blown off. She couldn’t tell him about the bloody stump, the foot that had been blown away.

  He had been gentle with India, took her home, but she could somehow sense him pulling away. Not blaming her, but maybe he was a little, because she hadn’t told him right away. Because she was the reason Nadia was at the Four Seasons that day. And she ached with her own guilt for that. He and Nadia had both told her they had been lovers once.

  And now, the indescribable pain to see the grief in his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  New York City, the next day

  India winced as the plane bumped down. Her head still hurt and Jack’s fourteen stitches pulled in her hair. Some aches and bruises throbbed that she hadn’t noticed until this morning. He’d told her to postpone her flight for a few days until she really felt like she was okay. He’d check up on her the next day. But in the end she wanted to get out of Beirut. She didn’t want to see Jack right away and remind him that she’d been the reason Nadia had been at the hotel, seen the actress killed in the explosion. It wasn’t that he’d blame her. It was just that he would remember he’d lost Nadia. Oh, it was all mixed up and she probably wasn’t thinking too clearly about all that had happened.

  She’d checked on Emile, patched up and hurting, but his parents were now hovering over him, so he didn’t need her. It hit her that nobody really needed her. Or ever had. That had never occurred to her before. Her father maybe a little bit?

  Could be I’m simply depressed. Well, I can’t blame myself. Anybody would feel down after seeing all that…horror. I have Emile’s camera. The network can see if I got anything worth saving at the station. I didn’t want to monkey with it and screw up anything I might have taken. I am really going to have to learn to operate the damned thing.

  Fatigue washed over her as India wheeled her suitcase out the Customs exit at JFK airport and was surprised to see Hamilton Ivorson waving to her.

  Her spirits lifted, her steps quickened. “Ham. How nice to see you here. Did you come especially to meet me?”

  “I did, sure. Sumner was worried when you said you had a head injury. I’m supposed to take you directly to his doctor. And, can you believe it, he’s authorized a limo to take you there.” He grinned and took her bag. “The network must be doing better than the Armageddon he’s griping about all the time.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake. I’m fine. All I want now is to get to the hotel and take a bath and go to bed for about a week.”

  “About the hotel. You’re staying at the network apartment instead. I’ve already arranged it.”

  “No kidding. That’s very nice of Sumner.”

  He winked at her. “It’s cheaper than a hotel. Hey make the most of it. It’s not every day a staff reporter survives a terrorist bombing. I’d pump for a raise while he’s softened up and still glad you’re okay. Maybe limp a little. We’ll get the doc to wrap you up like a mummy. Good for another three thousand a month easy.”

  India laughed, then winced. “There’s a thought.”

  Outside, Ivorson waved for the limo, then turned to look at India’s bandaged head. “How’s that doing? The doc will want to get a look at it.”

  “It’s all right. I have a bit of a headache yet, but I’ll take another pill for it.”

  “Scary stuff.” He looked at the Emile’s camera she had over her shoulder. “That where you said you might have some pictures?”

  “Yes. The engineers can work with it. I don’t know whether I got anything worth looking at. I’m not good with the equipment. I just kind of winged the camera when I found it after my partner was carted away on a stretcher.”

  “Sumner wants you to get familiar with the new cameras. He’ll tell you what he wants. After the doc you can rest up. Sumner will see you first thing in the morning. The apartment is stocked with whatever you might need.”

  ***

  INDIA SAT PERCHED and shivering on the examining table, trying to get the paper gown to stay over her breasts in the chilly office.

  The doctor had eased off the bandage on her head and gently touching the stitches. “Whoever stitched you up did a good job. You’ll have a bit of a scar, but your hair will cover up most of it. I’ll need to see you in ten days to take the stitches out.” He checked her eyes with an ophthalmoscope, then her ears. “Mmmm, hmm. Everything looks pretty normal. You said your hearing was fuzzy after the explosion. How about now?”

  “It’s better. I still have a little ringing, but only if it’s really quiet.”

  “That will probably go away. Maybe not. Tinnitus is common after loud noise. Now let’s take a look at some of those bruises.”

  After India had been poked and prodded, the doctor pronounced her healthy enough to resume whatever she’d come to New York for. “Though I don’t know what a young lady like you wants to be doing where they’re blowing up people. Apparently Sumner’s job is sending his people where there’s a high danger of just that.” He shook his head.

  ***

  HAM IVORSON LET them in the network condo and put the key on the pier table by the front door. He set her suitcase down. “There are two bedrooms, the kitchen’s over there. Should be some stuff to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. There’s a coffee maker, that I know. Ice. Make yourself comfortable.” He swept his arm around the apartment. “Your home away from home. Sylvia at the office canceled your hotel. A car will pick you up at nine. Then Sumner’s going to pick your brain.”

  “Thanks, Ham. I’ll be ready. I really do appreciate you running me around. I am kind of beat.”

  “I’m happy to do it. We’re all glad you’re all right. I’ll just let myself out.” He turned. “Would you care to have dinner tomorrow night? I’d love to hear your take on what’s going on over there. But only if you feel up to it. I could bring something here if you like.”

  She thought a moment. “I like that idea. Yes. I don’t think I’ll much want to go out.”

  “I’ll come around seven, seven thirty? Think about what you’d want to eat. I’m real good at take-out.”

  “That’s so nice of you. I don’t know what’s to drink here, bar-wise. I think I’ll probably need a drink after Sumner’s brain-excavation.”

  He laughed. “I usually do. And there’s anything anybody could think of alcohol-wise over there in that cabinet. I’ll see you here then.”

  When he’d gone India looked around. There were big windows in the living room and she could see the East River through the buildings overlooking Central Park. The furnishings were standard masculine, dark leather couches, a big glass topped coffee table with some glossy magazines, beige carpeting. Some big abstract paintings on the walls, a few struggling rubber trees i
n pots, a spindly Chinese evergreen on the mantel over the fireplace, three chubby ceramic lamps. A large walnut entertainment center took up most of one wall. Not very cozy, but it was more spacious than a hotel room.

  She picked up her suitcase and went to the bigger bedroom. The king-size bed beckoned. She kicked off her shoes, and stood shedding street clothes, then went into the bathroom. A tray held all manner of expensive shampoos and soaps. A big clear crystal carafe of some kind of bath salts or bubble bath sat on the edge of an over-size tub. She pulled out the stopper, turned the faucets to hot and threw a handful of crystals into the water. As the tub filled, she dropped her bra and panties to the floor, pleased to see thick bubbles piling. Maybe she’d thank Sumner for the bath, wondering if this was where he would have taken her had she said “yes” that day back at the Harvard Club when she first went to work for him. Two years ago?

  God, that seemed like a lifetime.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sumner Hardwick’s Office

  THE CEO OF World Broadcast News sat at the wide, tight grained-monkeywood and glass desk, immersed in a stack of papers. His personal assistant Sylvia tapped on the door jamb and hurried in. “Mr. Hardwick, I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but Ken down in Master Control has got something he wants you to see. He said it’s urgent that you do. He’s kind of insistent. Very.”

  “It’s okay, Sylvia. I’m finishing up here. Send him in.”

  The technician strode in, his face tense with excitement. “Mr. Hardwick, I didn’t think this ought to wait.” He held Emile’s camera and set it down on Sumner’s desk. “This is what India brought back with her. It belonged to her cameraman, who was hurt in the blast. As you can see, it’s been through a rough time. We’ve cleaned it up.” He pointed to several of the dents and scratches and the small bent and tilted screen. “I understand when she found it after the explosion, she picked it up, saw the light on, thought it might be working and just began to focus, play the camera over what she saw. She isn’t familiar with the workings of it, so what you see could be better, but we can work with it, bring up the clarity. I’d like you to see the clip. What she was saying before the bomb went off when she was interviewing a Lebanese actress in the lobby of the Four Seasons. And after. It’s pretty powerful stuff.”

  Sumner leaned forward. “Yes? All right. Go ahead Ken.”

  Ken carefully opened the monitor and hit the PLAY button. “What you see first is what India’s cameraman saw, too.” The screen showed clear footage, scenes of the outside of the hotel, the letters FOUR SEASONS, the entrance with the wide glass doors, a uniformed doorman, the potted trees in the large stone urns. The interior pan briefly showed the lobby with the crystal chandelier and large floral arrangement in the center of the space. The camera cut to the scene of the two women seated on sofas around a large coffee table set with coffee cups and a tray of cakes and pastries. The shot moved to India’s face then moved back as she introduced Nadia Robhani. The two began questions and answers back and forth as they discussed the actress’ film career. At one point Rohbani tossed her head back, laughing at a comment.

  Still amused, as she began to answer, a sudden bright, white light bloomed in back of her and in a split second the glass window buckled, cracked and shattered in a bellowing roar as the actress lifted from her seat and could be seen airborne, her long hair spiraling against the fierce glow. The image of her spinning arms and legs hung there, before the lens in the camera swirled with color and then went black.

  “Oh, dear God,” Sumner gasped. He sank into his chair.

  “Wait, wait, sir. There’s more. It’s dark and muffled for a while, but I’ll speed that through. The next you’ll see is mixed up. The camera was probably on the floor or something. As I said, the quality is poor, but my God, the…well, you’ll see. ”

  “Dammit, Ken, hurry it up if there’s something more.”

  “I’m getting there, sir.”

  The picture on the monitor began again, wavering light and shadow, then the screen is dark, but India’s voice, faint at first, unintelligible words. Though garbled, there were clear snatches. A telephone rang and rang. A woman’s voice, “Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere else?” Then India’s voice, “I think I’m okay. Will you look at the woman there. Can you help her?” Then some static about someone called Emile. “They’ll fix you up. I’ll call your Mother and Father.” More squawks. Sounds of sirens and general chaos.

  “This is where India finds the camera,” the engineer said. The picture is tumbled, but India’s face blurs, clears, blonde tangled hair, then her face streaked with blood, her voice wavered, raspy. “Is this working? How could it? Shit, shit, shit, I don’t know how to tell.” The picture swirled for a minute, then steadied and began to play around the destroyed lobby of the Four Seasons. India coughed several times, before her voice began, hesitant at first, then growing stronger over the sirens and clamor.

  “This is India Fox. I am in the destroyed lobby of the Four Seasons hotel in Beirut. A bomb has just been detonated in the street outside. I was interviewing the internationally-known Lebanese actress Nadia Rohbani, then there was a brilliant light. I saw the big window just…just disintegrate. I fear Miss Rohbani has been…badly…injured and the emergency workers have taken her to a hospital. I seem to have suffered only minor injuries. My cameraman was hurt. I don’t know how badly. They’ve taken him to an ambulance…” Her voice faded in and out. The picture wavered and blurred, then India’s voice, further away, calling, “Here…over here…”

  Sumner sat, stunned, then waved his hand for the tech man to keep it going.

  The camera wobbled as it played around the lobby. Shadows moved in and out. “Around me you see the rubble of the beautiful hotel in ruins. You can hear the sirens and the screams of the wounded and dying.” Her voice shook. “There are people, bodies on the floor.” A pause. “What had been a quiet morning in the city, normal, with people going about their business is now a terrible scene of death and destruction.” The words wavered and she cleared her throat. “Innocent people blown to pieces. I will find out who is responsible.” Her voice is bitter. “Or who is going to take the credit. For this… massacre.”

  India’s narration stopped abruptly. What followed was a jumble of colors, noise, sirens, people yelling. The tech man Ken held up his hand and moved the recording forward. Then there were blurry shots of the hospital, with people lying on stretches, urgent calls over the intercom, more sirens, a distant helicopter, the chaos of a hospital emergency room overcome with the injured. Scratchy static. The screen went dark.

  “That’s all that’s there. What do you want me to do with it, sir?”

  His voice was strained with excitement. “Don’t go. I want some others to see this.”

  ***

  India sat in Sumner Hardwick’s office with various technicians, network higher-ups, Ham Ivorson, all mesmerized as the scenes of the bombing in Beirut played on the monitor. She shrank back in her chair, head buzzing and a sick feeling in her stomach that made her put her hand over her mouth. The scene hit her harder sitting in this New York office than it had at the Four Seasons hotel. That was all murky and indistinct in her mind. Now it was all laid out for her to see, in Technicolor. Also, that she came very close to being killed had not occurred to her until now. She tried to conceal how shaky she felt.

  Sumner motioned to Ken. “Play the blast scene again.”

  India rose from her chair and stared as she watched, Her mind imprinted with Nadia laughing, the orange ball of flame, heard the roar, the shattering window, saw Nadia float into the air, her dark hair whirling around her head. The hot pink jacket, her flying arms and legs, the hot pink snakeskin shoes flying off. Her one foot suddenly gone. A gaping, bloody hole where it had been.

  India felt light-headed, her ears roared as she and dropped back into the chair.

  Sumner motioned to the technician again and the screen went dark. He turned to the group. “This is dynamite
stuff, no pun intended. We get pictures of explosions from a distance, the aftermath of the rubble, the chaos. It’s very rare to have a moment by moment taken in the center of the blast.” He turned to India, slumped in her chair. “This is spectacular for us, India. We’ll feature it on the evening Six O’clock…then have a special on at seven, showing the clips, India on with Tom Bradshaw.”

  India raised her head, aghast. Her hand went to the bandage on her head.

  “Don’t worry about that, India. We want you to look a little beat up.”

  India struggled up. “I understand that. But you’re not going to show the part with Nadia being blown up. You can’t. Show me all banged up, but don’t show that. I beg you. Dear God, I beg you.”

  “Rubbish. Of course we will. It’s important news. She was a person of note. The Middle East is in the beginnings of a melt-down. Our video will be on feeds all over the country. Hell. The world.”

  “Sumner,” her voice shook as she tried to keep the tears from her voice. “The woman, Nadia, was my friend. She has parents, a large family.” The image of Jack Spear’s agonized face flashed through her head as she described to him the glass shard in Nadia’s bloody back. The dripping stump where her foot had been that she couldn’t tell him. “People who loved her. Showing her being blown up, dismembered, dying, is…is unconscionable. ”

  There was a murmur around the room.

  Ham Ivorson spoke. “Sumner, I’m with India on that part of the broadcast. We can trim that easily enough. People don’t need to see that. Hell, it’s an amazing thing without it. ”

  Sumner looked around. “Anybody else getting squeamish around here?” He turned to India. “Of course it’s horrible. I want the country to see that it’s horrible.”

  “Sumner…”

  There was quiet rustling around the room, but no one spoke.

  “That’s it, then. You’ll be on with Tom. He’ll want to talk with you a bit before you go on the air.” His voice was brusque. “That’ll be all. India, stay behind a minute.”