C Reiss - Sing

“Thank you,” I said. “But I couldn’t ask.”

“I can’t read your mind.”

“Can we have this discussion when you’re better?”

“Did anyone explain the odds of that to you yet? Because—“

“Stop it.”

I held up both hands, and he took one. He was going to start talking. He was going to start telling me what I already knew from Margie and Brad and any doctor I happened upon in the halls. But I didn’t want to hear it. I especially didn’t want it from him, because he was going to be Mr. Control and hearing it from him, in that measured, if shredded voice, I was going to either scream or run out.

“Tell me what’s happening with you,” he whispered. “I hear about me all day.”

“Eddie asked about you.”

“Tell him he’s a douchebag for me.”

“I will.”

“Did he get you a new date to record?”

“Not yet. Christmas is coming so it’s dead.”

My face was close to his. Close enough to own my attention, shutting out the scritch of the stylus and the hissing of the oxygen tubes. Close enough for him to look at me long and deep to see the contents of my heart.

“Don’t lie, Goddess.”

“Carnival has to wait. A four song session will take all day. If something happens I need to be here.”

A machine beeped.

He pressed his lips in his teeth. It was an expression he’d used when he was healthy, and it made me want to beg him to take me.

“I need you to do your work,” he said.

“Jonathan, I won’t do it right if I’m worrying about you.”

I felt his hand on my waist, a light touch through my shirt. It slid up to my rib cage, the memory of everything we’d been together, when his hands were forceful and cruel, responsive to desires I didn’t even know I had. He fingered the black Bordelle bra I’d worn at his command.

“You’ve come so far,” he said. “You’re not the same woman I met. You have control. You can take it all and channel it into the work. If I promise you that, would you believe me?”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t know your own power. Please. Go sing. Sheila will watch me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He nodded as much has he could, and I pressed my lips to his. I kissed him like I kissed him every time since he fell into my arms, like it might be the last.

MONICA

I’d gone home to shower and rest. I shouldn’t have. The Drazens had a suite at the hotel across the street and I should have eaten humble pie and just gone there. But I couldn’t ask Sheila for the key, and I didn’t have a change of clothes or the extravagance to buy new. Fucking pride, and now I was stuck in traffic ten blocks from the goddamn hospital. Another hour lost.

Sitting in traffic in thebestfuckingthingever was far better than sitting in traffic in the Honda. And it beat the bus by a mile. But traffic was traffic, and sitting still in a Jaguar while helicopters beat the air overhead was infuriating. Having grown up in Echo Park before it was a real estate investment opportunity waiting to happen meant I was familiar with this type of police action. A perimeter was being sealed off so every car could be checked. Usually, it was a cop killing that created this kind of chaos. Or a gang assassination. Maybe a child abduction. I ticked off the list then closed the windows and sang a couple of the songs I’d prepared for the EP, belting it out in the shitty acoustics of the car.

I flipped the news on. Music was just messing up the rhythm in my head, which I needed. Talk talk talk, and I half listened to the clipped chat of a mob shooting outside the golf course. No child abduction, but a typical drive-by. I felt like I knew the details without even hearing them, and I internally restated my belief that penalties should be harsher for crimes committed during rush hour. This was going to be awhile. I sang to the leather dash, letting the news drift away.

Yea, though he stands in the fear of the dark

I shall walk at his right hand

I have drawn rod and cudgel

In his defense

I shall lead him to the gate

And if he seeks his end

My heart shall keep him safe

I can walk

            Without it

I can work

            Without it

I can sing

            Half a woman

Surely goodness and mercy

Prevail in a city of sin

As barter for a life

Beats for beats

Breaths for breath

Trade a heart for what’s mine

I can breathe

            Without it

I can see

            Without it

I can sing

            Half a woman

I was leaning my forehead on the steering wheel when I finished. I couldn’t get the rest of the song out. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see through my tears. This sucked. He didn’t have long, I could see it in the doctor’s faces when they spoke with a sense of urgency, like their own careers were on the line if he died. The inconvenience of it would be epic for them.

Meanwhile, I’d die with him.

The phone rang. Fuck it. It wasn’t like I was moving. I picked up Margie’s call.

“Hello?” I didn’t realize how snotty and blubbery I sounded until the last vowel came out in a froggy croak.

“Are you okay?”

“The love of my life is dying, so, no.”

“Well, I called with a little something. Guy just came in with half a brain and a working heart. We’re fighting our way up the list and they’re checking for a match. But he’s the same blood type.”

“Oh, God. Really?” My face exploded in prickly happiness and tears sprung into my eyes.

“Top secret, ok? This is not public knowledge, but I know people who know. Don’t get your hopes up. The family’s going to be an obstacle. Donor cards don’t mean anything without a living will, and they’ve got more hope than Jonathan has time.”

“Is it evil to hope he dies?”

“Yes. You and I both.”

“See you in hell,” I said, with a little less cry my voice.

“I’ll buy the handbasket.”

The traffic broke suddenly, and I was waved through blockade on Beverly and Rossmore.

MONICA

“I sold the house. Thank God, Monya. Cash. At market price.”

My mother had called just as I stepped into the elevator with nine other people. I was just about to tell her I hadn’t made any headway, nor had I found an opportune time to ask for Margie’s help on the house thing, when she blurted out her news like a kid blowing the date of a surprise party.

“That’s great, Ma.” I whispered so I wouldn’t annoy the three people in scrubs who pressed up against me. “Did they say when they were moving in?” I was happy for her. I really was. But the bank was going to have to put all my stuff in a Dumpster. I couldn’t leave Jonathan long enough to move out.

“That’s the good news! They’re okay with the tenant. Okay with your rent and everything. You have to make your checks out to an investment company. ODRSN Partners. The address is One four three, North—”

“Can I get it later? I’m in an elevator. I’ll call you back.”

We hung up, and I molted a few layers of anxiety. I must have bounced into Jonathan’s room, because he smiled when he saw me, the oxygen tubes gone from his nose. The sun shone through the window, and yes he had that auto-squeeze thing on his arm, and yes he was in that god damn hospital bed and his heart was ripped up, but he was in a half sitting position and he was as glad to see me as I was glad to see him.

“I don’t have to move!” I announced, kissing him.

“Good?”

“Oh, God you missed the whole thing!” I blabbered. “My Mom put the house into foreclosure and I thought I was going to have to move out really fast, which, hello I have twenty years worth of stuff in that house, so but some investor came and bought it.”

“Ah, who beat me out?”

“No, uh. Crap, she told me.” I wrestled with the granola bar, until he took it from me and got it open in one move, with a bad heart and IVs sticking out of him. “It’s such a load off. I can’t even tell you.”

He broke off a piece of the bar and held it up. “Was it Ganten Investments?”

I took the piece in my mouth. “No, it was a bunch of letters, like DRM, but five letters and not that. I made it into a word in my head but I can’t think of it.”

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

“You have to move faster next time, if you want property in Echo Park.” I took another chunk of granola bar from his fingers. “Oh my God, this thing tastes so bad.” I felt light as a feather, waving my hands at him to indicate I wanted another piece. “It’s like, stinky.”

“Stinky?”

“With a touch of dredgy.” And then I remembered, as I chewed, the rhythm of the words and the taste of the stale barley malt brought it to me. “ODRSN. That was it. It sounded like odorous. ODRSN Partners.”

He was looking down at the bar, breaking another smelly piece, when he froze.

“Did you say ODRSN?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why? Is that the competition or something?”

He put the bar on the side table, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn’t very deep at all. He breathed like he didn’t have room for air in his lungs.