Broken Glass (11 page)

Silence on the line.

“Cal, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Do you hear me? My brother got into a scuffle with Daniel, because rumor had it Daniel—yes, Daniel Glass—was fucking half of Hollywood. Oh, and Vegas too. So my sweet little brother, who has never harmed a fly in his life, and wasn’t aware of his strength, sent Daniel flying to the floor, and Daniel cracked his skull open in the fall and ended up with a hematoma to the brain—internal bleeding or whatever—and it’s all your fucking fault!”

I could hear sniffling down the line.

“Cal, are you crying?” Crocodile tears no doubt, to try and garner my sympathy. Ugh!

“I’m so sorry, Janie. It was a
joke
. You know, these girls are so dumb! Once I said I was Tom Cruise and the girl believed me. Another time, I even told one that I was Marlon Brando. It was a fun game, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“What is
wrong
with you? With your looks, you don’t need to go around
pretending
you’re someone else!” I realized the irony of what I just said. Pretending he was someone else was Cal’s job. And I knew he obviously suffered from the same disease that riddled so many actors’ souls: desperate insecurity—even the good-looking, famous ones.

I ranted on, “I guess you never did go to MIT, did you? Never studied to be a rocket scientist, or whatever they do there?”

Silence.

“I thought so. You know, Cal, you need therapy. It’s one thing to tell white lies, about your age or height, or how well you can sing, or ride a horse—all actors have to do that to get the job. But what you did was
psychopathic
!”

“I know,” he mumbled. “I guess I just don’t feel so good in my own skin.”

I heaved out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding in. “Never mind. The damage is done.”

“I fucked up, Janie. I’m sorry, what can I do to make it up?”

“Use your imagination. You obviously have one. Put it to some good.” I pressed END, squashing my finger on the keypad in a rage. I felt momentarily better to have unleashed my wrath on Cal—for all of five seconds—before I slumped onto a heap on the floor and wailed my heart out.

PEARL CAME TO VISIT Daniel in the hospital. She brought white lilies.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” she told me, “but I was in Paris.”

“Thanks so much for coming,” I said, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

She laid her designer handbag on a chair, grabbed a vase by the bed and went to the joining bathroom to fill it with water.

It was the first time I’d seen Pearl in jeans, which showed off her curves and stunning figure. She was wearing a cream silk blouse and a gorgeous pearl choker that shimmered around her neck. Her hair was pulled up into a messy chignon. Deliberately messy. The pearls were overkill, though. They belonged with a ball gown, not with jeans.

Pearl looked down at Daniel, a tender smile passed across her face. “I brought my iPod full of my favorite songs for Daniel to listen to—it may help. Don’t lose hope, Janie, I was in a coma and a lot of people didn’t believe I’d come out of it.”

“You were in a
coma
? Really?”

“Would you believe it, I was listening to ‘Wake Up Little Suzy’ when I finally came to.”

It was a brilliant idea to bring Daniel songs, why hadn’t I thought of that? “Great gift,” I said, “thank you so much. How long ago were you in a coma? What happened”

“A few years ago. Like Daniel, it was a silly accident. It’s usually that way. Go skydiving and you’re fine, walk down some steps too fast, with the wrong shoes on, and boom, your life changes in seconds. Leather soled shoes can be lethal. I noticed Daniel favors elegant shoes.”

Pearl had been in a coma? Hope washed over me like the seventh wave. “How long did it take you to recover?”

“I was out for . . . I think it was three days. You know, I can’t remember a thing, but for my family it felt like a lifetime. My brother had overheard some of the neurologists discussing a patient, saying that person was brain dead, and Anthony thought they were talking about me. It was high drama for a while, but I pulled through.”

“Luck was on your side,” I said.

“Talking of luck, Janie, I’ve brought something I believe is blessed with special lucky powers. Every time I wear it, miracles happen. I thought I’d lend it to Daniel until he gets better.” She hooked her hands around her neck. “Actually, can you help me unclasp it?” She turned her back to me and brushed some loose blond tendrils of hair from the nape of her neck.

“Sure.” I fumbled with the diamond clasp, set in an intricate pattern. This was one hell of a necklace—it must have cost a fortune.

“This choker was a gift from my husband,” she let me know. “It’s genuine Art Deco and belonged to a famous socialite in Paris who was a great beauty in her day. There are eighty-eight pearls. Did you know that 88 is the number of infinity? There’s no ending with a number eight, no beginning, it just keeps going on and on. Eighty-eight is a magical number; there are eighty-eight keys on a piano, it’s the number of days that Mercury takes to revolve around the sun. Isn’t that interesting?”

Finally, I managed to unhook the clasp. The heavy pearls plopped into my hands, smooth and glimmering and catching prisms of light. It seemed there were a thousand colors in these gems: pinks and honey tones. Pearl’s generosity was overwhelming—the pearls looked so valuable, but I wasn’t about to make a fuss, Daniel needed all the luck he could get. And I, being superstitious, believed the necklace was lucky. Why not? It had been proven by scientists that even inanimate objects had a life of their own.

Pearl went on, “Daniel doesn’t have to wear them on his neck—God forbid, the doctors probably wouldn’t even let him—but you know, you can let them touch his skin, nestle them by his shoulders or under his neck. We’ll tell the nurse and doctors so they don’t think they’re some cheap trinket from a Jack in-the-box and throw them out.”

“Are you sure? You’re okay
leaving
them here?”

“These pearls are very, very precious to me, but if they can save a man’s life . . . look, maybe you think I’m a little crazy, but I believe in lucky charms, and I know how much Daniel means to you.”

“You do?”

Pearl smiled. “Janie, I know true love when I see it. And with you two, it isn’t just one-sided, either. I could tell in that meeting—in both meetings in fact, how crazy he is about you.”

My stomach fluttered, remembering that mad kiss when I straddled Daniel in front of Pearl. I held the pearls in both hands, still amazed at her kindness. Most people this wealthy didn’t have a heart like Pearl’s. My eyes smarted with tears.

“You really think he has a chance?” I murmured, wiping a tear from my cheek.

“I know he does. I’m living proof.”

9

D
AY FOUR. I GOT TO the hospital very early, with a bundle of poetry books under my arm that I found at Daniel’s apartment. I’d been reading so many stories online of ex coma patients who said that while they were completely immobile in a coma, their brains were active and aware of everything going on around them, down to conversations between families and their doctors. “Frustration,” one wrote, “didn’t even begin to describe how I felt.” Their brains were lucid, even, in some cases, when they had been pronounced “brain dead.” I thought of Natasha and had to wonder.

Daniel lay there, covered in crisp, starched, hospital sheets. I checked for the pearls that Barbara had promised would be safe. They were nestled along the side of Daniel’s torso. He looked beautiful; they had combed back his dark hair, and his fine cheekbones and beautiful bone structure reminded me of what he once said about his ancestry: a dash of Native American blood ran through his veins. With his lids shut, it was disarming not being able to see his magical blue eyes that were so much a part of his personality. I imagined him just sleeping—not in a coma at all—and decided that he could hear everything I was saying.

“Hey, gorgeous.” I leaned down and kissed him, resting my head on the planes of his face, breathing in the Daniel scent that even the nurse, the medications, and the hospital surroundings hadn’t managed to erase. “I love you,” I whispered into his ear. “I know you can hear me, I know you’re going to get better. You’re just taking a nap, which is fine, but you know, I’m ready for you to wake up now. We all are. We have a movie to make, after all.”

I began to gently massage his shoulders—something the nurse told me was very important so the muscles didn’t atrophy. I nuzzled my nose into his neck while I did so, kneaded his biceps, his forearms—the muscles like taut ropes—remembering so clearly what it was like to have those arms wrapped tightly around my body. But I refused to cry. Refused to give in.
He will get better
!
He has to
!

I went to the bathroom adjoining his room, peed, washed my hands, and when I came back into the room, I swear he opened an eye.

“What’s that squeaking sound?” Daniel mumbled. He was alive and talking! He’d heard my sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.

I raced to his bedside, my heart thundering through my chest and out the other side. I leaned over him, too scared to touch his face for fear of hurting him.

He opened the other eye. “Wow, who do we have here?”

Tears misted my vision. Tears of gratitude. The doctors had told me that, so far, there was no sign of brain damage, but this I hadn’t imagined! Daniel talking normally! I leaned over him and laid my lips on his, breathed him in, and planted a sweet kiss there.

“Beautiful angel,” he whispered, “am I hallucinating? Kiss me, kiss me and show me you’re real.”

I started tentatively, little kisses all over his jaw, his chin, the edges of his sculpted mouth, but he caught my lip between his teeth and groaned. He could hardly move, though, and was very much the invalid. I cupped his head gently in my hands, terrified of pressing too hard, but steadied him as I deepened the kiss, my tongue meeting his, and they tangled together in relief, in ecstasy, our tastes mingling into one. I moaned into him.

I murmured, “Daniel, I need to get the nurse. Need to let them know you’ve woken up.”

But he interrupted my better sense of judgment. “Don’t you dare, I want to savor this moment with you, and you alone.” His tongue found mine again, his kiss laced with lust.

“Good,” he growled, “I can feel it’s all working down there.”

“What is?”

“Pull the sheet off and see for yourself.”

My gaze wandered to the middle of his body. The sheet was tented. Contrary to what the medics said could happen—that Daniel would lose his libido—his erection was alive and well! A huge grin spread across my face. I peeled the sheet back and there it was: that beautiful part of Daniel’s anatomy that still had me having wet dreams every night. I gasped. Even my dreams had betrayed me: Daniel’s cock was more glorious than any fantasy. Smooth. Huge. His wide crest throbbing with anticipation.

“Lick it, suck it, fuck my cock with your mouth.”

Ever the dirty talk.
That hadn’t changed. “Am I allowed to do this?” I said. “Isn’t it . . . I don’t know . . .
dangerous
in some way? Shouldn’t I let them know you’ve come out of your coma?”

“Don’t be disobedient, just wrap your lips around my cock.”

Did he even recognize me? He didn’t call me by name. But his sexy voice, and seeing him all in one piece, flooded my body with a nervous thrill. If I was a stranger to him, never mind, he still wanted me. My nipples peaked, my panties suddenly sticky with that familiar rush of liquid heat pooling between my legs. I looked around the room and perked up my ears like a dog. Silence, the coast was clear—nurses were on their coffee breaks.

“Do as I say,” he growled.

I laid the sheet aside to give myself full view of the totality of Daniel’s beauty. His cock rose up to his navel, sprinkled with a line of fine hair that skittered up to his wide chest. His nipples were flat and hard, his pectorals defined but not bulky, his golden skin stretched taut—not an inch of fat anywhere.

“Suck it, make me come in your sexy mouth,” he commanded in a low but quiet voice, almost a whisper.

I took his balls gently in my hand, bent my head down and licked him up and down, then widened my mouth over each one in turn, sucking them with relish.

“Oh fuck, you sexy girl.” He tried to flex his hips toward me, but only managed a twitch. There were golden and black bruises on the side of his left thigh, the point where he must have fallen.

I trailed my tongue up his solid length, aware of the throbbing veins pulsing out to the max, eager for my touch, desperate for release after all this time bed-bound. I licked the underside up and down, while squeezing him tightly in my fist at the tip. He groaned loudly. I moved around the bed to better position myself, my back to his face so I could feed my hungry mouth with all of him, stuffing his huge cock right to the back of my throat until I gagged, and even then he was too big for me.

“I love you,” he moaned. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, fuck you all day and all night when I’m better. Christ, baby you’re driving me wild.”