Chapter Eighteen “The Bravest Person I Know”

eighteen

" The Bravest Person I Know "

A couple of days later I decide to go for a morning run in hopes of keeping in shape. The only gym in town is inside a nursing home and called Grammy Tammy's Gym and Tanning Salon. That's a hard pass for me.

I'm just starting to break into a sweat when my phone buzzes. It's Anna Wong. I pause long enough for my breath to slow and then answer.

"I have news to report. I think I might have landed a big fish. It's a stinky fish, but it's big. Do you remember the Barbarella musical based on the 1968 Jane Fonda movie?"

"I know that most people would rather sit through a root canal without anesthesia than sit through that show. And that it has failed to make it to Broadway three times in a row. And that its author Valerie Wernsman is a raving lunatic."

"Well, they're giving it the old college try one more time. And they need a book doctor. Which I know sounds like a grunt job, but they want you. They want you to go out of town with the show and see if you can fix the structure and polish the dialogue. The tricky part is that it's an all-female creative team. So they're not going to be thrilled to have a man come in and ‘save' them."

"Well, that sounds slightly fraught."

"But here's the upside. It's a six-figure flat fee. Upon signature and non-recoupable against royalties."

I take a second to catch my breath. "Six figures? That's unheard of! Are the producers insane?"

"Well, they're putting money into a Barbarella musical, so you tell me."

Would I even consider wasting my time on this dreck? And Valerie Wernsman is known to be a raging madwoman whose hobbies include baking children into pies. Anna Wong can clearly hear my wheels turning through the phone.

"I know it sounds like one long, extended headache, but the good news is that your name won't be on the project, so if it crashes yet again, you just take the money and run."

"What's the time commitment?"

Anna Wong goes silent.

"What's the time commitment, Anna Wong?"

"A year."

"What?!?"

"Because the project's history is dicey to say the least, the producers want to do two out of towns. It goes to Seattle for four months, opens there, and then you get a month off and after that they do a long slog in Minneapolis, where they're basically assuming things will have to be rethought like crazy and then, fingers crossed, rehearse and open in New York."

My heart quickly sinks into my shoes. Luke was right. I was going to leave him. But would I really leave him for a pile of money and a project that's about as fun as putting my head through the spinning blades of a turbo jet engine? Still, in the cold, harsh light of day, how can I say no? I'm financially running on fumes.

Anna Wong continues her hard sell. "Look, Noah, it's a shitty job. You're going to be treated like the enemy by the entire creative team. And it's not going to do a thing for your reputation. But it's a stopgap. A very well-paying stopgap. And while you're there helping them rearrange the deck chairs on the Titanic , you can be quietly working on something new. That small, producible musical we talked about."

I put a sweaty hand to my forehead and consider. "How soon would they need me?"

"Yesterday. I told them you were committed right now. I didn't go into the details, obviously. But as soon as this community theater production of Stage of Fools opens, you'd have to be on a plane to Seattle, ready to be accused of mansplaining."

"Ugh, I don't even know what one wears when mansplaining. I'm guessing a light cotton fabric? Maybe a gabardine?"

"They need an answer immediately. I'll email you the paperwork. So think on it. But be quick like a bunny. We don't want them to go to someone else."

I'm too depressed to continue my run, so I turn and amble slowly home. Reality hits me pretty hard. Was I really thinking that I could stay here with Luke forever? I have a career to revive and even if I don't take the Barbarella gig, I would have to be back in New York networking at opening night parties and awards shows. Showing my face so people don't forget I exist. I can't be a Broadway writer in Plainview and Luke can't work on a farm in Manhattan. Is everything good in my life doomed to just explode in a blaze of melodramatic glory? Am I cursed? Is that it? In my mind, I run through the people I know, trying to figure out who would be most likely to dabble in voodoo. Turns out it's a very long list.

When I get home, Luke is on the front porch and hugging Mom. I slowly climb the stairs as they pull apart.

"What's going on?"

Luke turns to me, embarrassed that his eyes are welling up. "I'll let your mom tell you."

He's down the stairs and off to the barn. "What did you do, Mom?"

"Oh, nothing. Just stopped by to say hello to Luke's mom the other day. Brought her a pie."

"So you tried to poison her."

Mom rolls her eyes. "I knew you would say something like that, so I didn't make it myself. I bought one at the Piggly Wiggly. And we had a very nice chat and I told her that I did not remember saying anything unkind about her in my life. But I was guilty of staying silent while other people made idle gossip. And I told her that would not be happening anymore on my watch. And I convinced her to come to the musical. She agreed to come with your father and me. We're going to pick her up and I am going to walk into that Theodore arm in arm with Sue Carter and if anyone has anything to say about it, they'll have to say it straight to my face."

I boost myself up to sit on the porch rail and look at her in awe. "That's…that's really great, Mom."

"Well, as I said. I was blind, but now I see. A very handsome, sweaty young man helped me to realize that." Mom kisses me on the forehead and then says, "You stink like a heifer. Go shower."

The next day at rehearsal everyone is shocked to see Jackie and Julia McNew in two completely different outfits. Jackie guesses what everyone's thinking and addresses the room. "Yeah, we're not dressing alike anymore, so get over it. I also started my second attempt at Nicorette chewing gum, if you're all so interested in my damn personal life."

"It was Jackie's idea," Julia says, almost glumly.

Feeling bad that I might have caused this shift in their lifestyles, I try to justify things. "You know, it's kind of good for your characters. Goneril and Regan aren't twins. Think of it as an acting exercise. Sometimes it helps to do in real life what you actually do onstage."

"Great advice, Noah. Should I poison my sister in real life, too?"

"That's your call, Jackie."

As Luke and I head home, a growing dread starts to creep over me. I know it's time to come clean about the horrible Barbarella gig. I'd rather eat glass than hurt Luke, but keeping it from him any longer seems like a complete dick move. He deserves the truth, even if it's going to be difficult to deliver the news.

I take a deep breath and forge ahead. "So…the new agent I was telling you about? She kind of got me a job."

Luke is enthusiastic and supportive because he's Luke. "She did? That's great! What is it?"

"Did you ever see that campy movie Barbarella with Jane Fonda? There's a kind of cockleshell about her."

Luke stares blankly at the road. "I don't think so."

"Consider yourself lucky. It's batshit crazy, but this composer Valerie Wernsman has been hacking away at the musical version for years. They want me to come in and secretly help fix it. It's crazy money."

"When would you start?"

"Right after Stage of Fools 's opening night. Like, the day after."

Luke's shoulders slump. He pulls the truck over to the side of the road and turns the engine off. The sun shines through the window straight into his eyes and they dilate, making them seem almost emerald green. We stare at each other and it feels like we could sit like this forever, the traffic and the rest of the world speeding carelessly by.

Finally, Luke says, "Well, I knew our time was limited from the start. But it still hurts." For once in my life I'm lost for words. "So we only have one week left."

"But we could do the long-distance thing, couldn't we?"

"I don't know. You'll meet some hot chorus boy who'll probably be able to shuffle all the way to Buffalo and back again."

"But I don't want to meet a hot chorus boy. Also, there's no tap in the show, so the shuffling part doesn't apply."

Sadness hangs in the air.

"It's mostly in Seattle, then Minneapolis. You could fly out every once in a while when you have time off."

"Maybe. But you'll definitely meet someone new. And I'll be forgotten."

I turn to face Luke and solemnly take both of his hands in mine. "That's impossible. And I won't meet someone new. I'm not like Chase. My dick doesn't call the shots. I do. And as far as we're both concerned it's only Luke Carter from here on out."

Luke gives a soft chuckle. "So, you're saying your dick is exclusively mine now?"

"If you'll have him. He's very demanding, but he's loyal as fuck."

Luke looks at me and just slowly shakes his head with a smile. "Is it strange that that is the most romantic thing you've ever said to me?"

I give Luke a humble shrug. "Hey, I'm freaking Shakespeare, man."

He gives me that warm pillowy Luke Carter kiss and then starts the truck back up. As we get closer to the farm, red and blue flashing lights start flickering through the trees. Panic rushes over me and Luke gives me a worried look and guns the engine. As we pull up to the house, two paramedics are loading Dad onto a gurney while Mom looks on with fear etched across her face. Luke and I hop out of the truck and run toward them.

"What happened? Mom? Is he okay?"

Mom latches on to me, pulling me toward her in a viselike hug without taking her eyes off Dad for one second. "He passed out on his way back from the barn. I found him sprawled on the grass."

I quickly look at Dad, whose eyes are closed, and he's breathing through an oxygen mask. As they start to load him into the ambulance, Luke says, "You go with him. I'll drive your mom."

I wonder for a second if I should be the one riding with him. Wouldn't he want Mom? But there's no time to think, so I start to climb into the back of the ambulance behind Dad. One of the paramedics stops me.

"You have to ride up front."

I nod and give Dad one more quick look. He seems so frail, eyelids fluttering and oblivious to the world around him. He also seems so much smaller than usual. Has he been shrinking all this time and I just didn't notice? And what if this is it? What if he doesn't make it through like he did on opening night? I shudder for a second but quickly try to shove the thought deep into the crowded utility drawer of my subconscious.

The drive to the hospital seems to take forever, even though we're speeding pretty fast and the sirens are blaring. Fresh guilt pours over me when I think of Mom having to go through this alone during his earlier heart attack. She's tough but having to race your husband to the emergency room all by yourself must be terrifying.

I can't stop myself from asking unanswerable questions to the paramedic as he drives. "Is he going to be okay? I mean, he's not going to actually die, is he?"

"We're going to do everything in our power to help him."

All I can do is groan quietly in response.

By the time they're unloading Dad from the ambulance, his eyes are open, which I take as a good sign. I run alongside the gurney as we head into the emergency room and his hand seems to be searching for something, waving in the air. Oh God. Am I supposed to hold his hand? Because we don't do that, Dad and me. But he's clearly scared and I have to override all the past protocols at this point. I take his unbelievably fragile hand and give it a squeeze.

"I'm here, Dad. I'm here. You're going to be just fine. You're Bill fucking Adams and there's nothing you can't handle." And then I add, "You're the bravest person I know."

I detect the tiniest squeeze from his hand before they whisk him away from me once we're through the hospital doors. I stand there stunned as they wheel him down the hall, never having felt so powerless in my entire life.

I spot Mom talking conspiratorially with some of her friends from her nursing days. She's clearly getting privileged intel, so I know not to interrupt. Luke rounds the corner carrying cardboard cups of coffee.

"How did you beat the ambulance?"

Luke shrugs. "Shortcuts. And illegal speeding." He hands me a coffee, which I don't really want, but I appreciate the gesture.

"I've never seen Dad scared like that. I wasn't sure what to say. We don't really do the whole ‘consoling' thing. I'm not sure he even heard me."

"He did."

I give Luke a puzzled look. "How do you know that?"

Luke answers with unwavering surety. "He heard you, Noah."

Luke sounds so confident that I almost believe him.

An hour passes agonizingly slowly.

Finally, Mom walks over and her entire attitude has changed. Her gaze is steely and being back in the emergency room has clearly awakened her former health care professional demeanor.

"Dr. Dunbar is off, so Dr. Vohs is with him. She's a great doctor, so there's no need to worry. He probably just got lightheaded. I didn't see his oxygen tank near him on the lawn, that stubborn old coot. I predict they'll run an echocardiogram and possibly tinker with his statins. One thing is for sure, they'll definitely keep him here for a few days to make sure he's stable. He's apparently already talking—which means complaining—so that's a good sign. They said they'd look the other way if I wanted to sleep on the chair in his room tonight."

"That doesn't sound very comfortable, Mom."

"Well, he might wake up confused in the middle of the night and I don't want that."

I'm as shocked as anyone when I blurt out, "I'll stay."

A look of complete surprise flickers across Mom's face before she can quickly hide it.

"Why, Noah, honey. I think your father would like that."

Deep down I worry he might not. But it somehow seems like the right thing to do. Soon we're all standing over Dad's hospital bed and it's clear that he's too groggy to even complain anymore. The good news is that he is, in fact, stable.

Before Luke leaves to drive Mom home, he pulls me into a quick hug and whispers, "When he wakes up, just remember the old guy's a Cordelia. He might not have the right words to say, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel things."

I make myself as comfortable as possible on the cheap foam chair and finally think I'm about to drift off to sleep when I hear Dad's voice whisper softly.

"The bravest person you know, huh?"

So he did hear me after all. His eyes are tired, but they're open. I give him an exasperated look, but deep down I'm relieved that he has enough strength to start busting my hump.

"Don't start, Dad."

"What about General S. Patton?" Dad asks weakly. "What about Abraham Lincoln or Harriet Tubman? I'm braver than them?"

I sigh. "I said you were the bravest person I know . I don't know those people personally. Can you just accept the compliment and move on?"

Dad chuckles softly.

"You're supposed to be resting. Do you want me to turn on ESPN or some sort of ESPN equivalent?"

Dad considers. "It might help me sleep. If the volume's low enough."

I put the TV on and the muffled murmur actually lulls Dad to sleep. Once I'm sure he's completely out, I walk quietly over and take his hand. Confident that he's far off in dreamland, I whisper softly to him. "I know you're a tough guy, Dad. I get that. But if you need to be scared for a little bit, that's okay, too. I'm right here and I'm going to do my best to be brave enough for the both of us."

I give his hand a gentle squeeze and I'm almost positive he squeezes back.