“Okay, kiddo. No shit. You've got to get your ass in gear now. The doctors are getting pissed. It's time to wake up. You need a manicure, your hair is a mess. The furniture in this place looks like shit. You need to go back to the Ritz. Besides, you have a book to write.” Thanksgiving was only days away. “You have to wake up,” Stevie said with desperation in her voice. “This isn't fair to the kids. Or to anyone. You're not a quitter, Carole. You've had plenty of sleep. Wake up!” It was the kind of thing she'd said to her in the dark days right after Sean had died, but Carole had bounced back quickly then, because she knew Sean wanted her to, but this time Stevie didn't evoke his name. Only the kids'. “I'm getting sick of this,” she added as an afterthought. “I'm sure you are too. I mean, how boring is this? This Sleeping Beauty routine is really getting old.”

There was no sound or movement from the bed, and Stevie wondered how much truth there was to people hearing loved ones talk to them when they were in comas. If there was any, she was banking on it. She sat and talked to her employer all afternoon, in a normal voice, about ordinary things, as though Carole could hear her. The nurse went about her business, but looked sorry for her. By then the nursing staff had lost hope, and the doctors were right behind them. Too much time had gone by now since the bombing. The possibility of her recovering was dwindling by the hour. Stevie was well aware of it, but refused to be daunted by it.

At six o'clock, after eight hours at her bedside, Stevie left her to go back to the hotel and check on the others. They had been gone all day, and she hoped it had done them good. “Okay, I'm leaving now,” Stevie said, just as she did when she left work in L.A. “No more of this shit tomorrow, Carole. Enough is enough. I gave you the day off today. But that's it. You've had all the time you're going to get. Tomorrow we go back to work. You wake up, you look around, you eat breakfast. We do some letters. You have a shitload of calls to make. Mike has been calling every day. I've run out of excuses about why you're not talking to him. You have to call him yourself.” She knew she sounded like a nutcase, but it actually felt better talking to her as though she were there somewhere, listening to what Stevie said. And it was true, Carole's friend and agent, Mike Appelsohn, called every day. Ever since the press had broken the news, he'd been on the phone to them twice a day. He was devastated. He had known her since she was a kid. He had discovered her himself in a drugstore in New Orleans. He had bought a tube of toothpaste from her, and changed her life forever. He was like a father to her. He had turned seventy that year, and was still going strong. And now this had happened. He had no children of his own, just her. He had begged to come to Paris, but Jason had asked him to wait, a few more days at least. This was hard enough as it was, without others joining them, however well intentioned. Stevie was grateful that they didn't mind her being there, but she was helpful for them. Like Carole, they would have been lost without her. It was just her way. Carole had other friends too, in Hollywood, but because of the amount of time they'd spent together, and the things they'd been through during the past fifteen years, Carole was closer to her assistant than to any of them.

“Okay, so you got it? Today was your last day of just sleeping your life away. No more lying around here on your ass, making like a diva. You're a working girl. And you have to wake up and write your damn book. I'm not going to do it for you. You'll have to write it yourself. Enough of this lazy-ass shit. Get a good night's sleep tonight, and tomorrow you wake up. That's it. Time's up. This vacation is over. We're over it. And if you ask me, as far as vacations go, it sucked.” The nurse would have laughed if she'd understood. She smiled at Stevie as she left. She was going off duty herself in another hour, and home to her husband and three kids. All Stevie had was a boyfriend, and the comatose woman lying on the bed, whom she dearly loved. She felt totally drained when she left. She had been talking to Carole all day. She hadn't dared do that when the others were around, other than a few words of endearment here and there. She hadn't planned this, but once they were gone, she decided to try it. They had nothing to lose. It couldn't do any harm.

Stevie closed her eyes and laid her head back as the cab took her to the hotel. The now-familiar paparazzi were outside the Ritz, hoping to get shots of Carole's kids, and Harrison Ford and his family had just arrived from the States. Madonna was due the next day. For reasons of their own, they were spending Thanksgiving in Paris. So was Carole's family, and depressed about it, given the tragic reason they were there. Stevie had already spoken to the head caterer, to organize a real Thanksgiving dinner for them in a private dining room. It seemed like the least she could do. The marshmallows for the sweet potatoes were impossible to find here. She had had her boyfriend, Alan, FedEx them to her from the States. She was keeping him posted by phone every day, and like everyone else, he wished Carole well and said he was praying for her. He was a good guy, Stevie just couldn't imagine herself married to him, or anyone else. She was married to her job, and to Carole, more than ever now at her time of extreme need, and with so much at risk.

The others were in much better spirits that night, and at Carole's urging, they had dinner downstairs at the Espadon, the hotel's main restaurant. It was bright and cheerful and busy, and the food was fabulous. Stevie didn't join them. She had a massage, ordered soup from room service, and went to bed. They all thanked her for the activities she'd planned for them that day. They felt almost human again. In a burst of nervous energy, Chloe had bought six pairs of shoes and a dress at Saint Laurent. Jason couldn't believe it, but he'd bought two pairs of John Lobbs at Hermès while he waited for her, and although Anthony hated shopping, he bought four shirts. Both men had bought some extra clothes, mostly sweaters and jeans to wear at the hospital, since they had brought so little with them. They felt refreshed after swimming and massages. And Jason had beat his son at squash, a rare occurrence, and major victory for him. In spite of the horrifying circumstances that had brought them to Paris, they had had a decent day, thanks to Stevie, and her positive outlook about everything. She was wiped out herself when she went to bed, and was sound asleep at nine o'clock.

The hospital called at six o'clock the next morning. Stevie's heart sank when she heard the phone ring. It was Jason. They had called him first. A call at that hour could mean only one thing. He was crying when Stevie answered.

“Oh my God …,” Stevie said, still groggy, but she was instantly alert.

“She's awake,” he said, sobbing. “She opened her eyes. She's not speaking, but her eyes are open and she nodded at the doctor.”

“Oh my God … oh my God…” It was all Stevie could say. She had thought she was dead.

“I'm going over. Do you want to come? I thought I'd let the kids sleep. I don't want to get their hopes up, till we see how she is.”

“I'm coming. I'll be dressed in five minutes.” And then she laughed through her own tears. “She must have heard me.” She knew her eight-hour monologue wasn't what had done it. God and time had finally done their work. But maybe her words hadn't hurt.

“What did you say to her?” he asked, wiping the tears of relief off his face. He had lost hope at the doctor's conference the day before. But now, she was awake. It was an answer to their prayers.

“I told her that we were sick of this shit, and to get off her dead ass and get back to work. Something like that.”

“Good job,” he said, laughing. “We should have tried that before. You must have made her feel guilty.”

“I hope so.” This was going to be one incredible Thanksgiving gift for all of them.

“I'll knock on your door in five minutes,” Jason said, and hung up. When he did, she was wearing jeans and a sweater, and carrying the heavy coat she had brought. She was wearing the cowboy boots she often wore to work. She had found them in a thrift shop and loved them. She said they were her lucky boots. They sure were now. She had been wearing them the day before too.

They chatted excitedly on their way back to the hospital, and passed all the landmarks that were all too familiar to them now. They could hardly wait to see her, and Jason reminded Stevie that the doctor said she wasn't talking yet. That might take a while. But she was awake. Everything had turned around overnight. In the silent hospital, they raced to her room, where the security guard stood outside. He nodded to them both as they went in, and assumed their early-morning arrival wasn't a good sign. It was a cold sunny morning, and the most beautiful day of Stevie's entire life, and for Jason it was second only to the birth of his children. This time Carole had been born again. She was awake!

Carole was lying on the bed with her eyes open when they walked in, with the doctor in charge of her case standing at her side. She had just arrived. They had called her first, and she came right in. She smiled at Stevie and Jason, and then down at her patient. Carole met the doctor's eyes as she spoke to her in heavily accented English, but didn't respond. She made no sound, and didn't smile. She just watched, but when told to, she squeezed the doctor's hand. The pressure was slight, and she shifted her eyes to her two visitors when she heard them, but didn't smile at them either. Her face was expressionless, like a mask. Stevie spoke to her as though she were the same person she always had been, and Jason leaned down to kiss her cheek. Carole didn't react to that either. And eventually, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep again. The doctor, Jason, and Stevie left the room to talk outside.