A Perfect Life: A Novel (21 page)

“I think that’s the idea.” He smiled back at her. “I have fun with you too. Thank you for taking me tonight. I felt so special being there with you.” He had been truly touched that she had included him in such an illustrious group.

“I wanted to,” she said, as she turned off the light and they cuddled.
“I felt special being out with you too. It was nice, and no one looked surprised to see us together.”

“Why would they?” he asked, and she didn’t answer. They both knew. The fifteen years between them that his mother was so worried about. But no one at Adam Lancaster’s had cared. He was older than Blaise by twenty years, and his wife was even younger than Simon. Blaise had gone out to dinner with him once, and she had sensed that he thought she was too old for him. He liked much younger women. And now everything was reversed. It still surprised Blaise, and she was grateful that it didn’t seem to bother Simon. The evening had been a hit for both of them.

He fell asleep before she did, and she lay looking at him in the moonlight. She wondered if he’d leave her one day for a younger woman, who would have children with him, or go back to Megan. Anything was possible, but for now he was hers. She smiled thinking of it, and drifted off to sleep.

Blaise managed to squeeze in her trip to Israel before Christmas, to interview the prime minister, while Simon and Teresa stayed with Salima. Simon called her in Jerusalem constantly, he was so worried about her. There had been a bombing the week before she got there, and he was terrified something would happen to her. She reassured him that she was fine and staying in a beautiful hotel with lots of security. She felt totally safe. And her interview with the prime minister went better than expected. She got back to New York a week before Christmas, in time for Harry’s annual visit to his daughter, which was as disappointing as it was every year. Salima deserved so much more.

They sat in the living room of the apartment, while Harry looked uncomfortable as Salima walked in, and when she sat down, she told him about her singing lessons, but he looked at his watch every five minutes as though he were in a hurry to leave. Salima looked beautiful, and she had kissed his cheek before she sat down with him and her mother. But he stiffened when she bent near him, and Salima could feel it. She wanted to tell him that blindness
wasn’t contagious. Nor was diabetes. Her health issues had always made him acutely ill at ease, and even without seeing him, Salima knew it.

She offered to sing one of the songs she’d been working on, but he said he didn’t have time, and had to leave. Blaise was so angry that when he handed her a check at the end of the visit, as she walked him to the door, she handed it back to him.

“Buy her something nice, Blaisie. I never know what to get her.” The gift of his time would have been better, and Blaise was furious that he hadn’t bothered to listen to her sing.

“I’m not going to this year,” Blaise said to him with a grim expression. She was tired from her trip to the Middle East, and she hated the way he treated their daughter, as though she were a total stranger to him, which she was, since he spent no time with her. He wanted no responsibility for her, and was afraid to take her anywhere. And Blaise was tired of covering for him, and trying to make him look better than he was to Salima. “Buy her something yourself. She knows the difference.”

“I don’t know what she likes, what size she wears. How can I pick something for her, if she can’t see it?” It was the same excuse he used every year to have Blaise do it.

“She loves music. Hell, Harry, buy her CDs. Buy her anything, a piece of jewelry, a fur jacket. She’s not an invalid. She’s a nineteen-year-old girl who loves clothes and perfume and jewelry, just like every other girl her age. She’s no different. And her passion is music. And she’s good, really good. She has a teacher from Juilliard who’s here four times a week now. She’s going to have a recital in May. Not that you care.” She hated his disappointing Salima year
after year. It upset her even more than it did Salima, who was used to it after years of his indifference and always bounced back quickly. But she always looked sad when her father left after his infrequent brief visits. He was in town for a day on his way to St. Bart’s to meet friends on a yacht. And Salima was the duty call he made between meetings.

As Harry was leaving, Simon walked in, and Blaise introduced them. Harry observed him with interest, and then Simon went to find Salima, who had gone to her room. He said goodbye to Harry and disappeared.

“Wow, nice-looking young guy, Blaise. Your new boyfriend?” He smiled at her with a lascivious grin, and she was even more annoyed.

“No, Salima’s monitor from school.”

“You can have some fun with him,” he commented. “I can really see you with a younger guy. You look great for your age, and you have more energy than anyone I know.”

“He’s here for Salima,” she said drily. It was none of his business.

“When is she going back to school?” he asked as they waited for the elevator.

“When they reopen, probably sometime in January.” She didn’t like thinking about it. She didn’t want Simon or Salima to leave, and wished they never would.

“That’ll be a lot easier for you,” he said sympathetically. “It must be hard having her home.”

“It’s wonderful. It’s not hard at all,” she said, as the elevator came and he disappeared into it with a wave, and wished her merry Christmas. And as she watched the doors close, she wondered how
she could have been married to him. He was such a lousy father and a total zero as a human being, no matter how intelligent he was. She was still looking unhappy about it when she went back to her office to do some work. Simon stopped by to see her after he left Salima in her room, talking to friends on Facebook, as usual.

Blaise looked up and smiled at him when he walked in. “Nice-looking man,” Simon said about Harry. But he hadn’t liked him. He knew how little attention he paid to Salima and how sad she was about it. He was successful, handsome, and charming, but to Simon, that wasn’t enough. And Simon thought it unforgivable that Harry had detached from Salima at three, when they diagnosed her with diabetes. He had heard it from both her and Blaise.

“He said the same thing about you. He asked if you were my new boyfriend.”

“Well, that’s direct anyway. Maybe he should talk to my mother. He’s so cold, Blaise. I can’t see you with a guy like him.” He had been puzzled by him, and couldn’t imagine him connected to Blaise, or anyone. He was all about himself, and it showed.

“Neither can I. I was impressed by him. He’s brilliant. And I was very young. I was twenty-five when we met. And he was the same age I am now. I married him a year later, and a year after that the network moved me to New York, so we only lived together for a year. Our time together was pretty irregular after I moved. We were both married to our careers. We weren’t even planning to have kids. Salima was a slip. A fortuitous one, it turns out.” She smiled at him. “Harry has no idea what a gift she is.” Simon had seen that, and he nodded. “He wouldn’t even let her sing for him. Sometimes he really is a shit.” She shook her head and went back to work, and
she was relieved to see at dinner that Salima didn’t look upset. Her father always disappointed her, so she was used to it. She had recovered very quickly. Disappointment was the only relationship she’d ever had with him.

A big box arrived from Chanel that night. It was a Chanel backpack from Harry, with a note.

“Merry Christmas! You can use this when you go back to school.” It was beautiful, though not really her style. But at least he had tried.

“I can use it for my music,” Salima said happily, touched by the gift. And she could tell that he had picked it instead of her mom. He had actually called the store, spoken to a salesgirl he knew, and told her to pick something for his daughter and put it on his charge. He had no idea what she’d sent. Salima texted him that night to thank him, but he was on the plane to St. Bart’s by then and didn’t respond.

They were all tired that night, and Salima went to bed early. Blaise was tired too, and said she felt fluish after the long trip a few days before. For once, she wasn’t her usual energetic self. And she was already half asleep when Simon came in later that night. He snuggled up next to her, sleepy too. He had done a lot of errands with Salima that day. She was looking for one last gift for her mother, and had dragged him to every store. And after that they’d gone grocery shopping at the supermarket, and then checked out a new stereo.

They made love even though they were both tired, and Blaise muttered something about getting up to check Salima, as she did every night. She was always fine, but Blaise liked to be sure there
was no glitch with her pump, and she just felt better if she saw her one last time before she went to bed. And she had made Simon do it while she was away, which he had. But before she could force herself to get out of bed that night, she was sound asleep, and Simon passed out just as fast. Their lovemaking had put him in a daze. And the following morning, Saturday, they overslept. It was daylight when they woke up, and Blaise was horrified to see that it was ten o’clock. She wanted to get Simon out of her room before Salima found them there. At least Teresa didn’t come in on the weekends. And by now, Salima could make her own breakfast. The house was quiet when Blaise peeked out and looked down the hall. Salima’s door was closed, which meant she was asleep too, and Simon ran back to his room on silent feet. He could tell when he ran through the kitchen that Salima hadn’t gotten up. There was no sign of her having eaten, no cereal boxes on the table or dishes in the sink, and he was relieved. He hoped she hadn’t gone looking for him, and wondered where he was. He went to take a shower, and was just drying off, when he heard Blaise calling him from the other end of the apartment. She raced to his room then, still in her nightgown, and told him with a look of panic to call 911.

“Salima’s unconscious!” she said breathlessly, and ran back, and they both guessed what it was. She was in a diabetic coma. She hadn’t eaten, and Blaise suspected that her pump had somehow failed. She had never woken up. A failure of her pump had never happened before, though Blaise was always afraid it would.

Simon called, and then jumped into his jeans while he was still wet, pulled on a T-shirt, and ran to Salima’s room with wet hair and bare feet. Blaise was sitting with her, alternately touching her
cheeks and stroking her hair, and shaking her and trying to revive her. Salima was deathly pale, and her lips were blue, as tears ran down Blaise’s cheeks and she talked to her. Salima showed no sign of life, but Blaise had made sure that she was breathing. She was wracked with guilt as she looked at her. It was the first time in years that she hadn’t checked on her when she was home. And within five minutes, the paramedics were there. They gave her insulin immediately, put her on a stretcher, and rushed her to the ambulance waiting downstairs. Blaise literally tore off her nightgown, hastily put on the slacks and sweater she’d worn the day before, pulled on boots, and was out the door with her handbag and uncombed hair. They were taking her to Columbia Presbyterian, and Simon shouted that he would meet her there, as the door closed. He could hear the siren screaming as the ambulance drove away, and he could just imagine what was going through her mind. It was going through his as well. They had been making love the night before when Salima almost died.

The doorman hailed a cab for him, as soon as Simon got downstairs, and after promising to pay him double, the cab driver got him there in twelve minutes, which was heroic. Simon gave him two twenty-dollar bills and ran into the emergency room and asked for Salima Stern. She used her father’s name. He was told she had just been taken to the ICU. He followed the nurse’s directions, and looked for Blaise in the maze of hallways and treatment rooms. And he found her finally in a cubicle with two doctors and three nurses. Salima was still unconscious, and Blaise was sobbing in the corner as Simon put an arm around her and she shook him off. There were tears in his eyes too. And a moment later the doctor asked them to
wait in the waiting room. Simon followed her in silence, and they were alone in the ICU waiting room. Blaise was grateful that no one else was there when she turned to look at Simon with a combination of guilt, anguish, and hatred. The hatred was for herself.

“Do you realize what we did? We made love last night, and I never got up to check her. I was too goddamn tired from having sex and I went to sleep. Her pump failed, the catheter disconnected under her skin, and she had no insulin all night.” They had told her that Salima had diabetic ketoacidosis, which could be fatal, although it was a very rare occurrence. “She could have been dead by the time we found her. And she could still die,” Blaise said, sobbing. “She was dying and we were screwing.”

“We weren’t screwing,” he said in an equally anguished tone, and he felt guilty too. “We were making love. Christ, Blaise, we’re human. You’re allowed to fall asleep once in a while. It could have happened even if we didn’t make love. It can happen. I saw it with a kid with a pump at school. You take better care of her than I’ve ever seen.”

“Not last night.” She looked daggers at him, and then collapsed onto the couch. He didn’t dare approach her, and sat down across the room.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, gently. “I will if you want me to.” She shook her head in answer, and burst into tears again, and Simon went to comfort her, and she melted into his arms in grief.

“Simon, we killed her,” she said sobbing. “What if she dies?” He was praying she wouldn’t, and he just sat there and held Blaise for the next hour until the chief resident walked in. He took off his mask and peeled off his gloves, and he smiled at them both.

“She’s going to be okay. She’s conscious. She gave us a hell of a scare, but she’s a strong girl. And don’t blame yourselves, these things happen. For a kid with type 1, she’s in remarkably good health. I can tell you’re doing a great job with her. You can’t watch everything, or predict this kind of problem, even if you watched her all the time. The catheter just slipped out. Once in a blue moon it happens.”