“Ben, honey, there is no chance of that happening. After all … you … are … still … already … under no circumstances … pity … she … love … understood?”
Ben wasn’t listening. His attention was turned to the strange goings-on behind his mother’s back. A startled woman was arguing with a man who had her by the palm of her hand and refused to let go. Her face spoke of great distress and, suddenly, she reached for a beer bottle on a nearby table and cracked it over his head, taking off before he had a chance to come to his senses. Less than a minute later, the brawny man rubbed the area of impact and set off after the terrified woman, the anger apparent in his stride.
Ben pushed back his own chair, excused himself, and ran outside. He was sure he had misidentified the man, who, realizing the woman had disappeared into an alley, stopped, scanned the scene, caught Ben’s eye, and quickened his pace in the opposite direction.
“Can’t be,” Ben whispered.
His mom followed him outside and asked, “What happened, Ben?”
“Simply unbelievable.”
“What?”
Ben answered quietly, “I just saw a paraplegic run like the wind.”
21
Anncognita’s Fifteen Centimeters of Fame
The noise was dreadful. Ann awoke to a feverish cawing of voices, wrapped her head in her two tired arms, and pleaded, “Quiet! Please be quiet!” She couldn’t ever remember being this tired. She tried giving sleep another chance, but after ten torturous minutes she realized that the riot outside her door had prevailed. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed and staggered over to the door. Once she opened it, she didn’t even have the chance to bend over and scoop up the morning paper; shocked, she froze on her doorstep, and stared into a blitz of flashing bulbs, shielding her face and scurrying indoors with a mighty slam of the door.
“Oh my God, where did all these people come from?” she mumbled, running toward the street-facing window. Pulling back the blinds, she looked out at the dozens of hungry cameramen, who quickly noticed the suspicious movement behind the curtain and brought their lenses to position, eager to capture a shot of the woman who freed the French arts and culture writer from the murderous hands of one of Israel’s top actors.
Ann thought Marian was joking when she suggested that she stay indoors until everything quieted down. She couldn’t figure out how they had found her house and, more importantly, how she could convince them that she was obliged to keep her promise to the tough detective investigating the case and not reveal any of the details of last night’s grisly encounter. Marian also said she wouldn’t cooperate with her predatory colleagues in their hunt for the story. Instead, she wanted to delve deeper into the attacker’s motive and in good time secure an exclusive interview with her would-be murderer. Ann poured herself a glass of water and then knocked it over at the sound of the telephone ringing.
“Relax,” she told herself, picking up the receiver. At first she didn’t recognize the man’s voice. He was crying and begging her forgiveness. “Who is this?” she snapped. At the sound of Adam’s name, she sunk in to the armchair, silent and bewildered.
“Ann,” Adam said again, stammering, “Ann, I’ll totally understand if you don’t want to see m … me again, I’m so s … sorry about what ha … happened yesterday with my brother, but there’s a reasonable explanation … I’m sure you’ll understand. I’d really appreciate it if we could meet one more time, Ann, just to talk it over…”
Ann lay the phone back in its cradle. She couldn’t speak. An army of thoughts clamored at the fore of her mind: the sublime pleasure of Adam’s acrobatic tongue between her thighs filth whore not what she expected the first time to be like his gallantry at the restaurant crazy brother almost killed the wife of the life support patient the hospital tomorrow the suspension ends have to put the white robe back on the hundredth euthanized patient vacation retirement money maybe the Caribbean disconnect the patient or not break it off with the cross-eyed man mistakes she wanted the one next to him he thought she wanted him she’s being courted feels good loved it can’t be a good idea to get involved with the brother of a murderer it has nothing to do with him it’s irrelevant but she’s already involved a whole night spent at the police station sworn statement saw him choking Marian it was all supposed to go differently the evening ended suddenly maybe it was a sign she must calm down they’re yelling out there what do they want from her planned to leave the house now she can’t she’s under siege a prisoner eyes watching her seeing her misses her old life must shower emits a familiar scent the Spot the health club where did the man of her dreams go enough facts must be faced he won’t be back the earth swallowed him whole and spit her out in front of everyone I’m not scared of closed spaces just of prying eyes the telephone’s ringing again not answering maybe it’s one of them maybe it’s him again poor Adam how could I have treated him like that he’s probably hurt rightly so I can’t speak to him now enough already stop calling shoot he knows where I live he sent me those flowers God what nerve these people have now they’re ringing my bell what could they be thinking maybe I’ll hide my face and make it clear that I have no comment that’s what I’ll do this kind of insanity can’t go on I’m putting an end to this!!!
* * *
The sight of a young man on her doorstep, looking over his shoulder at the posse of photojournalists and holding a giant bouquet of roses, wiped the decisive look off Ann’s face. Her surprise was so great that for an instant she let her guard down, revealing her face and offering the deliveryman a smile. One blinding flash sufficed. She muttered, “Give the bouquet back to whoever sent it,” and slammed the door shut. She put her ear to the door and strained to hear what the man was saying to them, picking up fragments of sentences that gave her no new information beyond the journalists’ steely resolve to stay put until she showed herself and spoke with them. When she heard the phone ring for the third time, she went into the shower and stood under the stream of water, thinking about her last day on “vacation.” Her train of thought was cut off by the repeated clanging of the phone. She toweled off for a while before leaving the warmth of the bathroom and turning on the television. While the cheerful threesome on TV discussed how to prepare a table full of delightful dishes in under twenty minutes, she went to the kitchen, fixed herself some tea, took a bite of an old cookie, and decided to spend the day in the company of the people in the box. She watched a stupid sitcom that didn’t elicit so much as a smile, wasted a minute in front of a particularly depressing news broadcast, tested her trivia knowledge with a game show, watched a few bouncy videos on MTV, and then changed her mind, turning off the television and retreating into the bedroom. She dimmed the lights and got into bed, listening intently to the sound of the fading ruckus outside.
Rising, she felt like she’d been asleep for an entire day. The haze still sitting heavily in her mind, she got out of bed and promptly banged into the empty night table by her bed. “Idiot!” she yelled as she appraised the bruise on her ankle, knowing it would soon blacken, serving as a reminder of her clumsy and graceless ways.
“Clumsy and graceless,” she said, looking into the mirror, “Retard. If you don’t know how to get out of bed maybe you shouldn’t go anywhere at all. You are not presentable in public. Now that a miracle’s taken place, you are visible. Up until now you were
un
-everything. That’s why no one noticed you. Now you’ve done something positive and they are all watching you. But don’t get carried away. They’ll keep on watching you and they’ll see you for who you really are. Small, diminutive, an infinitesimal molecule, a grain of sand. They’ll see how empty you are inside. And don’t even bring up the man from last night. Because that’s exactly who he is. The man from last night. Give him a day or two and he’ll run away. And don’t flatter yourself. So a few pitiful people are clustered outside your house. It’s only because of the famous actor. If he wasn’t involved, your day would be just as mundane and anonymous as ever … Anncognita! They’ll lose interest before the ink of today’s paper is dry. Just like every news item. Soon you’ll go back to being Ann Dolington, the woman who needs to wear fifteen-centimeter heels just so she isn’t unwittingly trampled. But for now I’ll allow you to bask in the glowing fifteen centimeters of fame, you ridiculous woman!” She lifted an index finger, “I said, for now!”
The phone rang and this time she answered, hesitantly, surprising herself by the about-face in policy. “Hello?”
“Ann?” a female voice asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s Marian, how are you?”
“Okay,” the nurse lied, “and you?”
“Not so great.”
“Are you in any type of pa…?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I just don’t understand what’s going on with you.”
“With me?” Ann looked at herself in the mirror, twisting her face into a grimace.
“Yes, I’m getting the impression that you’re trying to avoid me.”
“I don’t understand…”
“I’ve been calling you all day and you haven’t answered. At first I thought you might have gone out, but then I remembered the photographers who must be standing outside your door. There’s always some bastard who leaks information. But if you’re at home, why aren’t you answering the phone?”
“It’s nothing personal. I just didn’t feel like talking.”
“And the flowers? Is that also not to be taken personally?”
“Flowers?”
“Yes. I sent you a bouquet, to thank you for last night, but was told that you refused to accept them.”
“The flowers … were from you?” Ann said, shutting her eyes in self-loathing.
“You thought they were from someone else?”
“Yes, I made a mistake. It’s so embarrassing. I’m terribly sorry Ms.…”
“I mentioned this yesterday, Ann; please call me by my first name.”
“I’m so sorry Marian, I didn’t read the note.”
“Too bad, because then you’d know that you’ve been invited to dinner.”
“Oh, thank you, but that’s really not necessary.”
“I know, but I want to, and I’m not going to take no for an answer. Is there any special place you’d like to go to?”
“No, it doesn’t really matter to me.”
“Great. Are you okay with Indian food?”
“Indian food is great,” Ann said, barely able to form a proper giggle.
“Superb. So let’s say I’ll take a cab and swing by your place at eight?”
A moment after she hung up the phone, she looked back at the mirror and smiled snidely. “Don’t let it go to your head!”
* * *
Five hours later, Ann opened the door carefully, coaxed her head out, and was pleased to see that the reporters had left the premises. She walked out to the sidewalk and saw a cab coming toward her. When it stopped beside her, she looked in, saw a redheaded woman in the back, and stepped away.
“Are you looking for me?” the familiar voice asked.
The woman with the flame-colored pageboy looked at the nurse through dark glasses that covered half her face.
“Marian?”
Marian motioned her into the car and asked the driver to go. “Every once in a while we all need a little change.”
“You’re unrecognizable,” Ann said, taking in the well-put-together woman in the black suit and red silk scarf.
“You have no idea what kind of day I’ve had,” Marian sighed. “After we left the station, instead of going home to sleep like any normal human being, I went into the first hair salon I could find and asked the guy to do something revolutionary with my hair … it took us a while to get to the perfect solution, but I’m now pleased to say I most certainly hate the new look.”
“Just because of the press?” Ann asked, her little hands pinching one another gently.
“Yes,” she said, motioning her close. “I’ve got to make sure I don’t draw any attention. The last thing I want is to become known because of my involvement in this affair. I hope that by the time someone recognizes me there’ll be other developments in the story. By then no one will care who I am and what I look like. They’ll all be going crazy about my exclusive interview with the most interesting actor in Israel. It’ll be the interview that lays his soul bare. I mean, even when he performed in Europe, like when he had the lead in
FLEA,
he always hid behind the character. I have to interview him. To get to the heart of it. I don’t mean the gossipy side of it but the real thing. And in order to get the real thing, I must keep a low profile.”
Her laugh contained more than a touch of disdain. “I’ve been here a week and a half and already I’ve managed to get myself entangled in an insane mess.”
The taxi pulled up to the restaurant, Marian paid the driver, and the two of them got out. Just before they went in, Ann noticed a ponderous look in the reporter’s eyes. Staring at the far sidewalk, it seemed to Ann that something sucked the air out of Marian’s earlier enthusiasm, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
* * *
The maître d’ led them to a corner table and opened the menus with unusual ceremony. During the main course, the two rehashed the incident that brought them together. Once they laid down their silverware, an uncomfortable silence hung between them. Ann looked around impatiently, hoping that the Frenchwoman would signal for the check. Instead, her discomfort was elegantly avoided by what seemed to her an innocent question: “How’s your husband?”
“My husband?” she asked, her posture rigid, her face suddenly hard.
Ann, not reading the body language, smiled softly. “Yeah, you haven’t brought him up once all evening and…”
“Well, I had no reason to bring that scum up…”
Ann cut her short. “That scum is lying helplessly in a hospital bed, attached to life support.”
The cold look that had been trained on the nurse’s face turned playful. “Oh, God, you’re talking about Yonatan…”
“Your husband,” Ann agreed, feeling stupider by the second.
“No, honey,” Marian said, laying an explanatory hand on Ann’s sweaty one, “You’ve got it turned around. Yonatan’s not my husband. He’s my virtual lover.”
An hour sailed by. Ann listened to the story of the two Salman Rushdie fans with dreamy contentment. When Marian reached the end of the tale, she cleared her throat and lit a cigarette. “I’m sorry I jumped all over you before when you brought up my husband. It’s just no one likes to be taken down failure lane, especially when the memories are from the not-so-distant past.”