Trifecta (4 page)

R
obin stopped off at the Mobile station on the
way to work the morning after his father's big awards dinner.  He had taken the
enormous yellow truck there to assure himself that the engine was in perfect mechanical
condition before beginning the body work, getting rid of the extensive dings and
dents.

It certainly was ugly-the-next-morning Robin decided as
he walked slowly around the huge vehicle, while Julio, one of the mechanics, gave
him a run down on its powerful engine.  As Robin gazed at the truck he had a comical
idea; a vision of himself driving Make-My-Day to work.  To the court house.  To
client's homes.

The funny thing about that picture was that he strangely
liked it, even though he would be considered insane.  Lawyers were known for driving
enormously expensive intimidation vehicles, with vanity license plates that proclaimed,
LAWYER, ESQUIRE, or LA LAW.  Most possessed a reputation that went right along with
their vehicles:  expensive, belligerent, contentious and aggressive.  Make-My-Day
could be Robin's own personal signature vehicle.  It seemed to proclaim:  practical,
hardworking, far-seeing, down-to-earth.  Anyone driving it would have to possess
that almost non-existent virtue in most lawyers; the sense of humor to drive the
repulsively ugly monstrosity.

Robin had gone into the law as a profession because he
liked what he saw his father do with the vocation.  Alan Chavier really did help
people, and tried to make the world a better place, with real justice for all. 
Robin knew many lawyers were in litigation for money and self-aggrandizement, but
he had money enough to sit on his tush for the rest of his life, if he so chose. 
He wanted to be able to make a difference.  And unlike many defense lawyers he had
an advantage, because of his own personal wealth, to take on the cases he wanted. 
He would never just be a sleazy hired gun doing a job. 

Everyone in this country is supposed to have the right
to a fair trial and that was a wonderful thing about the American justice system. 
But Robin wouldn't take on cases, even those in which he would make incredible amounts
of cash, if he though he would compromise his own principals.  Which was one of
the reasons he had switched from the District Attorney's Office, where he didn't
have many professional choices, into defense work.

Robin could afford to take on litigation in which there
was little recompense when he believed his client was innocent.  It kind of evened
up the justice system just a bit, which leaned heavily toward more equity for the
very wealthy than for the very poor.

Robin glanced at the truck again.  Make-My-Day was a gag
gift.  Robin was sure his father wouldn't really want it after the initial hilarity. 
And Robin found that he did want it, for himself, ludicrous as it seemed.  Even
if he had all the dents removed it would still be hideous.  But he could take it
off-road, when he went to his cabin at Lake Arrowhead.  It had the power to pull
his boats.  And he appreciated the fact that he could see for blocks when he drove
it, as Julia Monay had mentioned, because here in Los Angeles when traffic snarled
the greatest frustration was not being able to see the cause of the traffic delay.

Robin did not admit to himself that he had also stopped
at the service station to see how they were getting on with Julia's BMW, but he
found himself gazing at the small blue car that was now suspended over one of the
service bays. 

Julio saw Robin's glance and said, "They really did
a number on that little car.  Broke the insides up pretty good.  Even the differential
and the axle have to be rebuilt."

"Will it take long?" Robin asked.

"I can have it finished by tomorrow."

"Maybe the lady's not in a hurry," Robin suggested.

"You think so?" Julio asked curiously.

Robin nodded.  "I don't think it's a rush job.  She
has to stay here for a while."

Julio didn't say another word.  They had known each other
for years.

When Robin left the service station he started north on
Santa Monica toward the 101 freeway which would take him into downtown Los Angeles. 
Then he thought, Who's kidding who?  He turned around and headed back toward Beverly
Hills, where Cedars Sinai Hospital was located.

Julia had spent most of the night in Brian's room.  She
had gone out once, early in the evening, to the Beverly Hills Hotel where she was
staying, to change into fresh clothing.  When she saw a music store, Tower Records
on Sunset Boulevard, she stopped the taxi driver.  She bought a compact disc player
and some of Brian's favorite music.  The thought of him all alone in that barren
hospital room, with it's excessive quiet, was more than she could bear.  She would
fill that dreary hospital room with the sounds Brian loved. 

When she went back into the hospital she bought flowers
too, from the gift shop in the lobby.  There would be color in the sterile surroundings
when Brian woke up, and the flowers would mask the distinctive hospital aromas. 
She got carried away, buying beautiful arrangements, and discovered she would have
to have the bouquets delivered because she couldn't carry them all.

Julia sat beside Brian's bedside for a couple of hours
studying his face, praying and talking to him.  Then she had to find something to
eat when her empty stomach started growling and she realized she had eaten nothing
all day.  She found a machine on the ground floor, near the employees' cafeteria,
where she could get a quick sandwich.  She sat watching Brian sleep while she ate
the dry sandwich, which she did not taste, anyway.  And she spent the night talking
to Brian, about their childhood and all the funny incidents she could think of,
hoping he could hear her through the coma, or at least know, deep down inside, that
someone was watching over him.

Julia roused herself when early morning light seeped into
the room.  She knew she must have dozed off in the uncomfortable straight backed
chair for a little while during the night, but she didn't remember doing so.  There
were noises in the hallway; presumably a shift change for some of the nurses, and
patients receiving their morning medications.  She looked over at Brian and saw
his lips moving. 

Julia jumped up quickly, almost tipping her chair over,
and looked down at him.  She couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, just some
mumbled syllables.  His eyes were closed and moving under the lids as though he
were dreaming.  She leaned over the bed to put her ear over Brian's mouth.  She
heard him say one word distinctly:  Music.  He said it several times, along with
the word, beautiful, and Julia smiled.  He had noticed the discs softly playing
all night long.  Maybe he was getting better.

As she watched Brian, she saw his expression change dramatically. 
He was frowning.  It almost appeared like he was crying because she could see tears
rolling from the corners of his eyes and his head thrashed back and forth on the
pillow.

"Are you in pain?" Julia whispered, suddenly
frightened.

"They're too small," Brian croaked through his
dry cracked lips.  "They're so tiny.  He can't.  No.  Don't want to see that." 
He was shaking his head back and forth again.  "Too little.  Oh, no, no, no. 
Not with the little angels."

"What's too small?" Julia asked, stroking his
forehead.

"Heroines.  Little...heroines."  He looked like
he was in pain and Julia was out of her mind with worry.  But he was speaking!

He kept muttering the words about something being too small,
and about angels and little heroines.  Whatever he was talking about, it was upsetting
him.  Julia could see him twisting, as though in anguish from his reflections, as
if evil dreams had broken through to his consciousness even while he was deep in
a coma. 

Julia leaned over the bed, straining her ears, but Brian
relaxed again and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

She ran out of the room, in too much of a hurry to use
the call button at the side of the bed, past rooms filled with deathly ill and terminal
patients.  When she reached the nursing station, Julia told the woman who was monitoring
the vital statistics for several rooms that her brother, Brian, had been talking.
 Then a doctor in a white lab coat, with his stethoscope around his neck, came by
and Julia told him.  He smiled at her excitement said he would call Brian's personal
physician, Dr. Wilson.

As Julia walked back to Brian's room she was radiant with
happiness.  Yesterday, two doctors, a radiologist and a neurologist, had come into
Brian's room to speak very seriously to her.  They had warned her not to become
optimistic about Brian's condition.  He had sustained what could eventually prove
to be lethal blows to the head.  The MRI, a radiology machine that took pictures
of slices of the brain, had shown considerable damage.  They said that Brian might
not come out of the coma.  They said he might never talk.  There was damage to the
optic nerves and they warned he might be partially blinded.  They added that he
would need extensive physical therapy to be able to function normally, if he indeed
recovered.  Now he was talking!

Julia was almost tap-dancing with glee as she hurried back
to the room.  If Brian was talking, it must mean he was getting better.  The doctors
must have been mistaken in their dire predictions.

Julia went over to the bed.  Brian was still asleep, but
she began speaking to him again, very fast, because something was terribly, seriously
wrong now.  The skin on his face had turned a deep shade of grey and there were
dark, almost black hollows beneath his eyes.  Brian was breathing, but there was
an enormous difference that she could not even fathom.  She didn't want to know
what it was.  She was speaking more and more urgently, pleading for him to just
make an effort to try and hold on a little longer.  "Brian, you are getting
better.  Charlotte is coming to see you from Boston this morning.  Alexander is
coming, too.  We'll all have a good time, vacationing here in Los Angeles.  And
then we'll take you home.  As soon as you're better, we'll all go skiing together,
at the cabin in Vermont." 

Julia painted wonderful word pictures of all the things
Brian loved best, that she promised they would do as soon as he got out of the hospital. 
She was talking faster and faster, and would not let herself notice the beeping
noise in the room.  She would not listen and the awful beeping would go away if
she just kept talking to Brian.  Faster and faster.

Then suddenly the room was full of people.  Doctors and
nurses.  She was gently pushed to the back of the room and could not see Brian because
of the crowd around him.  They were very busy.  A hospital worker had run into the
room, pushing a machine.  Now there was a harsh wining sound from the device that
was monitoring Brian's vital signs.  It wasn't beeping any more.  The shrill whine
went on and on as Julia watched the doctors use electric paddles on Brian's chest. 
They tried it three times, the doctor yelling, Clear, and then jolting Brian's chest. 
They were giving him injections.  The awful beeping and wining machine had gone
silent.  Then, finally, the frantic activity around the bed subsided.  It seemed
unnatural after all the frenzied activity.  Julia wondered why they were not doing
anything.  All activity had ceased.

Finally, Julia felt hands on her arms and back, guiding
her forward beside the bed.  Most of the people left the room.  Julia could see
they all seemed dejected, with slumped shoulders, looking down, not conversing as
they left the room.  She mutely begged them with her eyes to come back and save
her brother.  They didn't look at her.  A doctor stood behind her, with his hands
kindly gripping both of her shoulders.

Julia looked down at the figure on the bed.  It was perfectly
still and peaceful.  Julia knew that her brother, Brian, was not in that body any
longer.

"His heart just stopped," the doctor was saying. 
"I'm so sorry."

Julia leaned over the bed as the doctor spoke soothingly
to her.  She wanted to catch Brian's spirit, the essence of her brother, and hold
it in her hands for a just little while before it flew away. 

Julia pleaded for him to touch her again, she needed him,
his voice and laughter and love.  But she couldn't feel anything.

As she gazed at the still body in the bed she wondered
where Brian had gone.  The reality that he was not here any longer was absolutely
enormous, so immense that she could not even begin to grasp the fact.  Brian had
passed, but it was not sinking into her mind.  It was impossible and it would go
away; she was having a bad dream and she would wake up soon.  She knew it and she
was calm. 

She noticed that here were people in the room again and
she heard the words 'shock' and 'trauma' and something about getting a psychiatrist.

Julia said, "Excuse me.  I have to leave."

She walked out of the room rapidly and down the hallway
to the end of the corridor to the public bathroom.  She went into one of the tiny
stalls, closed the door, and sat down on the seat, leaning her forehead against
the cold white tile wall.  She was shivering with a terrible wintry feeling that
made her entire body shake.

It dawned on her that Brian had died and she had left his
body in that room.  But it didn't matter because he really wasn't there any more. 
Although Julia was extremely intelligent, she knew that her emotions lagged behind
her intellect.  She should be crying, but she felt like she was in an awful surrealistic
dream or hallucination.  Sometimes she didn't know how she felt about an event until
a few days had gone by.  Then the sledgehammer of emotional impact would hit her. 
During emergencies she was always calm. 

Robin walked down long hospital corridors.  He knew that
Brian Monay was in the Intensive Care Ward and he got directions from the hospital
personnel on how to get there in the enormous and confusing hospital, which seemed
like a maze with all the floors and dead ending corridors.