Bygones (21 page)
Randy smiled and pulled another load out of the van.
The kid offered, “Want me to help you carry some of that stuff?” Randy turned and looked the kid over. He was a tough-looking little punk with an I-don’t-care way of standing that reminded Randy of
himself
at that age.
“Yeah.
Here, take this stool. Then you can come back for the cymbals. What’s your name, kid?”
“Trotter.”
He had a voice like sand in ball bearings.
“Well, Trotter, see what you think about being a roadie.”
Trotter was as good as his name, trotting up and down the steps, hauling anything Randy would hand him.
Actually, the kid was a godsend. Randy was zoned, operating on four hours of sleep and too much pot last night. With the help of the tough little groupie the last of his equipment got to the stage.
“Hey, thanks, Trotter. You’re okay.” He handed the kid a pair of royal-blue drumsticks.
“Here. Go for it.”
“For me?”
His eyes filled with worship.
“Cool,” the kid marveled as he moved on.
Pike Watson came around the back of the stage carrying a guitar case, and looked at Randy. “You droned, man?”
Randy shook his head to wake himself up.
“Yeah.
Major droned.”
“Hey, listen, I got some really good stuff here.” Pike tapped his guitar case.
“Cocaine, you mean?
Naw
.
That stuff freaks me.”
“How do you know? One little snort and you’re Batman. You can stop trains and start revolutions.” Pike gave a mischievous grin.
“I guarantee you’ll play like Charlie Watts. What do you say?”
Randy tipped his head to one side. “I don’t know, man.”
“Well, if you’re scared of
flyin
’ …”
Randy rubbed his face with both hands and flexed his shoulders. He blew out a blast of breath and said, “What the hell. I always wanted to play like Charlie Watts.”
He snorted the cocaine off a mirror in the back of Pike’s van just before they started playing. It made his nose sting. As he headed onto the stage he felt wildly exhilarated.
They started the first set, and for a while Randy played with his eyes closed. When he opened them, he saw Trotter out in front of all the others on the street, with his eyes riveted on Randy. .yeah, it was hero worship, all right, and it felt sensational.
Nearly as sensational as the high that was coming on.
Between numbers Randy put his lips to the mike and said, “I’d like to send this next song out to one terrific little roadie. Trotter, this one’s for you, kid.”
Trotter beamed while Randy rapped out the beat to “Pretty Woman.”
It happened as they began the song. One minute Randy was watching the kid idolize him, and the next he was struck by apprehension. Then his heart started racing, and the apprehension became fear. His heart!
What was happening with his heart? It was pounding so hard it seemed to be lifting the hair from his skull. The kid was watching . . . no breath . . . had to make it to the end of the song . . . dizzying anxiety. . .
“Oh-oh; pretty woman!”
The song ending. . .
“Pike!
Pike!” . . .
And Pike’s face leaning close, coming between him and the crowd.
“It’s all right, man. It always happens at first-you get a little uptight, scared like. Give it a minute. It’ll go away.”
Clutching Pike’s hand. . . “No!
This’s
bad. . .
My heart.”
Pike, angry.
“Let it ride, man. Now give us a damn lead-in!”
Tick, tack, tick . . . the sticks on the rim of his Pearls . . . the kid watching from down on the pavement . . . dizzy . . . so
dizzy .
. . Kid, get auto here . . . . Don’t want you to see this . . . .
The floor coming up to meet him.
Without a drumbeat the music dribbled into silence.
The crowd pressed forward, murmuring. Randy lay in a haze of fear with the sound of his own heart gurgling in his ears.
The band members had crowded round. Pike’s face appeared above Randy’s.
“Pike, my heart.
I think I’m dying . . . . Help me.”
Pike leaped off the stage.
“A phone!
Anybody! Where’s a phone!” He saw a policeman run right past him and onto the stage, and Pike did an about-face to follow.
“Anybody
know
what’s wrong with him?” the policeman asked.
Pike said nothing. Randy mumbled, “My heart”
The cop grabbed the radio off his belt and called for help.
Randy
lay
there, terror in his eyes. He grabbed Pike’s shirtfront. “Call my mom,” he whispered.
BLISSFULLY unaware of the events at
White Bear Lake
, Bess and Michael met at the hospital, stole a kiss in the hall, and entered Lisa’s room holding hands. The new mother was asleep in her bed, and the new baby was malting mewling sounds in a glass bassinet.
“Oh, Michael, isn’t she beautiful?”
Bess whispered. “Do you think it would be okay if we picked her up?”
Michael smiled conspiratorially at her, and she lifted Natalie from the bassinet. He kissed the baby’s forehead, then said, “Wait till you’re one or two or so. We’ll spoil you plenty, won’t we, Grandma?”
“You bet we will. And someday, when you’re old enough, we’ll tell you all about how your birth brought us back together again. Of course, we’ll have to edit out the part about.” Michael smothered a laugh. “Bess, these are delicate ears!”
From the bed, Lisa spoke. “What are you two whispering about over there?” She looked sleepy, but wore a soft smile. “Bring my baby here, will you?” They took her the baby,
then
sat one on each side of her bed. They talked about how Lisa was feeling, when Mark was expected to return,
the
fact that Randy hadn’t called or stopped by. Then Bess glanced at Michael and sent
him
a
silent message. He said, “Your mother and I have something to tell you, Lisa.” He let Bess speak the words.
“We’re going to get married again.”
A radiant smile lit Lisa’s face as she lunged forward, clasping her parents in an awkward, three-way embrace, the baby still on her right arm. Against Lisa’s hair, Bess whispered simply, “Thank you, darling, for forcing two stubborn people back together.”
Lisa kissed them both. “Oh, you guys. I’m so happy!” Lisa held Natalie straight out and rejoiced, “We did it, kiddo. We did it!”
From the doorway Stella said, “May I get in on this celebration?”
“Grandma, come in! Mom and Dad have some great news!
”.
Stella approached the bed. “Don’t tell me. You’re going to get married again.” Bess nodded, smiling widely. Stella said, “I knew it!”
She kissed Bess first,
then
went at Michael, with her arms up. “Come here, you handsome, wonderful hunk of a son-in-law you!” He scooped her up. When he released her, she turned toward the bed. “Now let me see the new arrival.”
It was an afternoon of celebration. Mark arrived, followed by the rest of the
Padgetts
. Bess and Michael’s news was received with as much excitement as was their new granddaughter.
They left the hospital at
.
Bess said, “We haven’t talked about it yet, but where are we going to live?”
“I don’t know.”
“I suppose we should discuss it. Want to come to the house?”
Michael grinned and said, “Of course I want to come over.”
They drove separate cars but arrived at the house simultaneously. Michael parked behind Bess, feeling happier than he could recall being in years. “You know what?” Bess said as she got out of the car. “I’ve discovered something that surprises me.”
“What?”
“That I really don’t care about this house as much as I used to. As a matter of fact, I absolutely love your condo.”
He couldn’t have been more surprised. “Are you saying you want to live there?”
“Where do you want to live?”
“In my condo, but I thought you’d have a fit if I said so.”
She burst out laughing. “You know,” she said, “in more ways than
one we
sort of outgrew this house. It was grand while the kids were little, but
now.
. . well, it’s time to move on. The condo is a fresh start. And after all, we did decorate it together.”
“Listen, Bess, you don’t have to convince me. I’ll be overjoyed to stay there. There’s only one question. What about Randy?”
“It’s time to cut him loose,” she said.
“Don’t you think? He has a job now.
Friends.
It’s time he got out on his own.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
They let a kiss seal their decision, sharing it leaning against her car. When Michael lifted his head, he looked serene. “I’m staying till
he
gets home, and we’ll tell him together.”
“Agreed.”
They entered the house to find the phone ringing. Bess answered, unprepared in her radiant, state for the voice at the other end of the line.
“Mrs. Curran?”
“Yes.”
“This is Pike Watson, one of the guys in Randy’s band. Listen, something’s happened to him, and he’s not . . . well, I think it’s serious. They’re taking him by ambulance to the hospital.”
“What? A car accident you mean?” Bess’s terrified eyes locked on Michael’s.
“No. We were just playing, and all of a sudden he’s lying on the floor. It’s something with his heart is all I know.”
“Which hospital?”
“Lakeview.
They’ve already left.”
“Thank you.” She hung up. “Michael,
it’s
Randy. Something’s wrong with his heart, and they’re taking him to the hospital.”
“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand, and they ran out to his car.
They reached the hospital emergency room at the same time as the ambulance, catching a mere glimpse of Randy as they ran behind the gurney bearing him inside. An alarming number of medical staff materialized at once, speaking in brusque spurts, focused on the patient with unquestionable life-and-death intensity, and ignoring Michael and Bess, who hovered on the sidelines. “His blood pressure: one eighty over one hundred.”, “Respiration: poor.” “Heart: bad.
Irregular and rapid.”
Three patches were already pasted on Randy, connected to monitors. Intermittent beeps sounded.
His eyes were wide open as a doctor leaned over him. “Randy, can you hear me? Did you take anything
?..
Someone said, “His parents are here.”
The doctor caught sight of Bess and Michael. “Are there any congenital heart problems?” he asked them.
“No,” Michael answered.
“Diabetes?
Seizure disorders?”
“No.”
“Does he use cocaine?”
“I don’t think so.
Marijuana sometimes.”
An alarm sounded on one of the machines, and a nurse said, “Blood pressure’s dropping.”
The doctor shouted, “Code Blue!” He made a fist and delivered a tremendous blow to Randy’s sternum.
Bess winced, and placed one hand over her mouth. She stared, caught in a horror beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
More staff came running-two more nurses; an anesthesiologist, who inserted a pair of prongs into Randy’s nose; a doctor, who began administering CPR. “Grease the paddles!” the doctor ordered. “We have to defibrillate!” A nurse turned on a machine that set up a high electrical whine. She grabbed two paddles, on curled cords, and smeared them with gel. The doctor ordered, “Stand back!”
Everyone backed away as the nurse flattened the paddles to the left side of Randy’s chest.
“Hit him!”
The nurse pushed two buttons at once.
Randy grunted. His body arched. His arms and legs stiffened,
then
fell limp.
Bess uttered a soft cry. Electric current zapping through her son’s body . . .
Please, don’t! Don’t do that to him again!
The room fell silent. All eyes riveted on a green screen and its flat, flat line.
Dear God, they’ve killed him! He’s dead!
There is no heartbeat!
“Come on,” the doctor whispered urgently.
“Beat, damn it.”
Bess and Michael stared with the
others,
in near shock themselves from this quick plunge into disaster.
The green line squiggled. It squiggled again, lifting to form a tiny hillock on that deadly, unbroken horizon. And suddenly it picked up, showing a regular rhythm. Everyone in the room sighed. “Way to go, Randy!” one of the medical team said.
