Trifecta (75 page)

Franklin was on automatic filming and there was a shot
of Heather on the edge of the pool inside the waterfall that came down from the
gigantic waterspout afterward.  She was drenched and laughing.  Then she turned
and ran.  That sequence won him a prestigious photography award.

The soon to be famous sequence of photos did not display
Heather slipping on the wet rocks as she ran, or the fact that she fell and hit
her head on a sharp rock.

W
hen Michelle got back from lunch she sighed with
relief when her boss took Nakamura to a meeting.  It wasn't that she didn't like
him exactly, but he was like an octopus; lots of questioning tentacles seemed to
be searching her brain very delicately for personal things she preferred to keep
secret and in the past.  He didn't come right out and ask what caused her panic
attack earlier that day, but she could tell he had been leading up to it.  He had
the impeccable manners of the Japanese and would never directly inquire, but it
had made her uncomfortable and nervous.  Now she could finally get some real work
done.

As she was ironing out a leasing dispute on a conference
call, Susan, the front desk receptionist, walked into her office carrying a large
vase with at least three dozen yellow roses.

Michelle, startled, mouthed, "For me?" pointing
at herself.

Susan nodded and grinned.  She put the vase on Michelle's
desk, turning it until the card attached was in front of her. Then Susan walked
around the desk and waited expectantly for Michelle to open the card, leaning over
her shoulder, practically breathing down her neck.

The conference call went on for a few more minutes and
finally Michelle hung up and tore the card open.  "Shit, my eyes aren't that
yellow."

"Very romantic.  Omar.  You must be hiding things
from us, Shelly." 

"I just met him.  We had a misunderstanding last night."

"We must talk.  Later," Susan said significantly,
tossing her hair back and walking with exaggerated hip movement out of the office.

Michelle laughed and read the card again, "Flowers
to match your eyes.  Omar." 

It was kind of sappy and kind of romantic and made her
spirits lift extraordinarily.

The feeling didn't last long.  A chain of disasters started
developing almost immediately.  A woman slipped in one of the building's bathrooms
and fell.  She claimed that the floor was wet and slippery and she threatened to
sue Heroshi Corporation for millions.  She said she was in excruciating pain, dizzy,
had double vision, and would probably have to wear a cervical collar for months. 

Then, a accident almost killed one of Heroshi's construction
workers.  Saw-dust in the air clogged a fire alarm, setting it off.  The worker
was on top of a ladder and fell when the siren went off, blasting directly into
his ear.  He landed on some construction materials, severing his femoral artery. 
He almost bled to death before the ambulance arrived.

A malfunctioning landscaping sprinkler was overlooked and
caused a flood in the parking garage in one of the buildings.  Several cars were
under water.

A major tenant reneged on his contract and told Michelle
he was bankrupt.  Heroshi would lose tens of thousands on that one.

Air conditioners went down.  Security systems went berserk. 
Elevators malfunctioned.  There was a bank robbery in one of their buildings. 

And tenants besieged the phones with complaints.

Through it all, the only comfort Michelle had was that
Nakamura had plugged another phone into her office and was taking the heat with
her.  He held the phone in one hand, his cell phone in the other, taking two calls
at a time.  He paced back and forth in front of her desk.  Both were on the phone
for hours without a break.  Nakamura paced and tended to throw his arms around dramatically
when he spoke, in very un-Japanese style; Michelle sat perfectly still and calmly
talked on the phone, scarcely moving an inch.  Neither could leave the office as
they were besieged all afternoon.

Michelle was thankful Nakamura was there.  When she had
to write the weekly report to Japan and describe, in ruinous financial terms, the
ramifications of the last two disastrous days, no one would have believed her. 
Least of all Nakamura.

"I can't believe this," Nakamura murmured finally,
when they had almost everything under control.  "I've never seen the like."

"It's not typical," Michelle said seriously,
wearily hanging up the phone and rubbing her head.  A tenant had been screaming
in her ear.

"Not typical!" he said.  "Right.  That's
an understatement."

"Not at all.  Typical I mean," Michelle said.

"A construction worker almost dies.  A bank
robbery, for God's sake.  Another flood.  A bankruptcy.  Someone suing us for
millions.  Every system in each of the buildings goes down, and the property
manager says...not typical?"  He looked very stern for a second and
Michelle thought he was furious, perhaps blaming her.  Then he burst into
explosive laughter.  He had a nice big mouth and his freckles stood out dramatically
when he laughed.  He was almost having hysterics, bent over and laughing,
trying desperately not to, and not succeeding.  She thought he looked about
twelve years old.

Michelle stared at him for a moment and couldn't help chuckling
herself.  It had been such an unprecedented day that she realized, once she started
laughing, that humor was the best release from all the stress.  Until she couldn't
stop.

They tried not to look at each other because that only
made it worse.

Michelle's boss, Tom Mitsuto, walked into her office wringing
his hands with anxiety about his inadequacy to explain all of the sudden management
problems to the company's powerful controller.  He saw his property manager and
the controller having an attack of giggles and stiffly turned on his heel and walked
out.

That made the events seem even more silly.  After Tom left,
with his comical look of incomprehension, they couldn't stop laughing.  The more
Michelle tried to stop the harder it became.  She couldn't even glance at Nakamura
cracking up because it would start her in again.

Finally exhausted, Michelle put her head in her arms on
the desk.  She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and bit her lips hard and controlled
herself.  Then she wiped away the laugh tears, wondering if mascara was streaked
on her cheeks, suddenly chagrined at her unprofessional demeanor.

Nakamura gained control at about the same time and seemed
to sense her discomfort.  "It wasn't funny at all.  I just couldn't help it. 
The way Tom looked at us."

Michelle breathed in deeply and avoided looking at him,
knowing they would both begin laughing again just thinking about Tom Mitsuto's astonished
face and hasty retreat.  Displays of emotion perturbed her boss greatly.

"I know," Michelle said.  "Tom will never
understand."

"I started the hysterics," Nakamura said, seriously
and rather formally.  "I'll try to explain American humor to him.  And you
handled everything beautifully.  Truly, smooth as glass under all that pressure. 
I had planned to ask if you would consider a more advanced position at a later time. 
But now seems appropriate, since you so obviously need an assistant here.  Really,
several assistants.  Because I do too.  I want you to think about working in Japan. 
With me."

Michelle was so astonished she couldn't answer suitably. 
She knew suddenly that she would love to work with Nakamura and felt a moment of
ecstatic elation.  This offer was what she had been working toward all her life. 
But living in Japan was a daunting thought.  The offer suddenly explained Nakamura's
questions about her personal life earlier, during their luncheon.

"I understand you may have ties here and might not
want to leave," Nakamura said.  He briefly glanced at the gigantic display
of yellow roses.  Michelle had moved them to the credenza behind her when all hell
started breaking loose.  The flowers had almost covered her entire desk.

"And Hawaii is a gorgeous place to work," Nakamura
went on, "but I do think it would be a wonderful opportunity for you.  Assistant
Controller of Heroshi."

"I'll think about it seriously," Michelle began
when her phone beeped twice.  Susan used that signal when the call was urgent or
personal.  "Excuse me."

Nakamura turned away so Michelle could have some privacy. 
He had watched the property manager handle unbelievable chaos all afternoon.  She
had stayed perfectly calm during each crisis and had handled everything with objectivity
and fairness.  His estimation of her abilities had gone up as he had watched her,
and although she had been the most promising of all the managers to promote, from
his perspective in Japan, he was now sure that she would be the best candidate. 
The fact that she was gorgeous had nothing to do with his decision.

"What!"  Michelle was shouting into the phone. 
"No!  Oh God, are you sure?  I'll be right there."

Nakamura spun around and looked at her in surprise.  The
property manager had turned white as a sheet, just like this morning, and she was
yelling.  She was so agitated that she had pulled her hair out of its bun and was
ripping through it with her fingers, hair pins flying all over the desk and floor. 
She slammed down the receiver with a crash and shoved papers hurriedly into untidy
piles.

"I've got to go," Michelle said, again almost
shouting.  "Can you stay for the police?"

"Yes," Nakamura said, fearing another, even worse,
business disaster.  "What happened?"

"My best friend had an accident.  She's in the hospital."

"Go, go.  I'll take care of the police."

Michelle started out of the office at a run, then turned
around, ran back to her desk, picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. 

She started out again, stopped, turned around and ran to
Nakamura, grabbing him by both arms.  She squeezed hard for a moment.  "Thanks. 
I really appreciate it."  Then she took off at a run.

"Wow," Nakamura said.  He sank down in her chair
to await the policeman who would give an update on the bank robbery.  An image of
Michelle's face stayed in his mind.  Disheveled hair flying, yellow eyes round and
very wide, staring into his eyes.  He could still feel the imprint of her fingers
on his arms.  A very strong woman.

When Michelle reached Hawaii General Hospital she
found that Heather had asked for her when she regained consciousness, hours ago. 
The nursing staff at the hospital had not been able to get through to Michelle because
all the phone lines had been tied up.  The nurses had been too busy to stay on hold
and listen to Muzak.

Michelle had barely avoided several automobile accidents,
disobeying all the speed laws while driving to the hospital.  Then she had run down
endless corridors at the hospital to find Heather's room.  She had hit visiting
hours dead on, so there were many people lost like she was, wandering the corridors,
most bearing fruit baskets, balloons or flowers, magazines and boxes of candy. 
Michelle felt like she was in the thrall of a bad dream, haunting hospital halls
after the disastrous day at the office, searching in vain for her best friend. 

Most of the hospital doors were partially open and Michelle
saw patients who were deathly ill with needles and tubes sticking from numerous
bodily areas.  Most seemed wasted away and old, white haired and shriveled.

Heather looked like a fragile doll lying in the hospital
bed.  She had a bandage on one side of her head and was sipping water from a large
glass with a gigantic plastic straw, which looked like a thick segmented worm. 
She smiled immediately when she saw Michelle, then winced and touched her head where
the bandage was.

Michelle walked in tentatively.  "Hi."

"Hi, Shell.  Shut the door.  They insist on keeping
the damn thing open, so just anyone can look in."

"I noticed.  Awful lack of privacy here," Michelle
said.  She walked to the bed and dragged a chair next to Heather and sat down. "How're
you feeling?"

"Pretty good, now," Heather said.  "I said
you would take me home, but they insist I stay here tonight."

"God, I was so worried.  They couldn't get through
to me this afternoon, or I would have been here sooner."

Heather gave a small smile.  "Good thing you weren't. 
Seems concussions make you throw up a lot.  Nausea and dizziness are evidently normal. 
I spent the morning heaving away.  It was horrible."  She gave a wan smile
at the memory.  "A nurse had to stay with me.  She had tiny plastic basins,
shaped like kidney beans, so they don't miss anything under your chin.  I ate a
lot this morning and just kept filling the suckers up."

Michelle smiled, but she was worried.  Heather had dark
circles under her eyes and she looked exhausted and drained of all energy, as though
the hospital's white colors had filched out all her endurance and healthy exuberance. 
Heather was a small person, but she never seemed tiny.  She usually filled up a
room with her energy and fun.  The hospital had leached her personal vital qualities.

"How'd you get here?" Michelle asked.

"Franklin called an ambulance.  Well, he didn't do
it himself.  When I fell he started yelling for help, but no one was around.  So
he left me on the rocks, covered with his shirt, and ran down the beach to the life
guard station.  He had to run about a half mile.  You'd think it was a marathon,
the way he described it.  A life guard called the ambulance."

Michelle knew Franklin, and said, "I can't imagine
Franklin running.  In the sand."  He was about the most unathletic person she
had ever met.

"I know.  Must have looked like a stork with his long
skinny legs.  He was complaining about sand in his shoes.  Evidently he ruined them. 
And he has this horrible sunburn, because he covered me with his shirt."

"Are they feeding you?  You look so exhausted."

"They're mad, but I refused to eat.  I can't take
any chances with my stomach.  I simply will not go through that puking business
again.  And they won't give me any drugs to sleep because of the concussion.  Afraid
I won't wake up, I guess.  Usually they give you fantastic stuff and you can just
sleep till you have to go home.  But every time I do go to sleep, or even start
drifting off, they wake me up and shine lights in my eyes.  You don't suppose you
could spirit me away?"