Sleeping Beauty (9 page)

“I mean, he was just there–what, hanging out?”

“Hanging out is about all he could do. He had some sort of soft cast on one leg, and he was on crutches. He couldn’t even swim. He was with a group of other people.”

“What did I say to him when I saw him?”

“Not much. You were both embarrassed for some reason, something about the time you saw him at the hospital the first time. You told him that you didn’t remember anything that happened after you fainted in the lab.”

“And then what?”

He chucks another Sentinel in the box, a little too hard. “I don’t know. I started to get the feeling that you wanted to chat it up with him–alone.” He shrugs. “So I hit the surf. When I got back, you guys were gone, and you’d sent me a text saying you guys had gone out to a movie.”

“Oh.” I watch Davin, trying to figure out why he’s acting so, I don’t know,
weird
. “So…at which point did he get a key to my apartment and stand around and watch me sleep. I mean, that’s creepy, Davin.”

“He did not stand there and watch you sleep,” he says sarcastically. “He couldn’t stand for long anyway, he was on crutches, remember? He had a black eye–well, I mean, it was mostly green-looking and gone by the time we saw him on the beach. Looked like he’d been in a bar fight in the not too distant past.”

“He was on crutches?” I think hard, trying to recall what he looked like when I saw him at the sleep lab.
Jeans, some kind of shirt, definitely no crutches
.

“And I guess you guys went to a movie the next day, then he came over here once West got back, and the three of you had dinner. From what I understand, the steak was a little tough, the beer was in short supply, but a good time was had by all.”

“I thought we were going to just hit the high points.”

“Okay, chill, let me think…” He rubs the stubble on his chin. “The next day he took you to breakfast. Then I think he was gone for a few days to visit family or something. I don’t know what day it was, but he came over to help us out when he got back.”

“Why?”

“West had a gig to play and I had to work. It’s that time of year, man. Gotta pay the piper.”

“So you left me with
him
? A guy you and West had known for less than two weeks, and had a few beers with?”

He points at me. “Not my idea, gidget.
You
told me to.”

I put my hand on my chest. “
I
told you to? No way.”

“Listen, I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to…” He trails off, getting all strange again. This time he even starts breathing heavy, his nostril flaring, like he wants to punch something. “I don’t know what the hell Pickering was giving you, but when you were awake, you seemed totally normal.”

“What kind of drugs are these anyway?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re in your bathroom. I don’t think you’re supposed to take them now that you’re
awake
awake though. You’d better ask the Good Doctor.”

“So he was just over here all the time after that?”

“Yeah, whenever he wasn’t at the hospital.” His words sound forced, like he’s just trying to be his cool, regular self. “He, uh, brought a sleeping bag over and was crashing on your couch.” He mashes his lips together, looking inexplicably angry again. “Well, at first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He waves his hands in front of him. “Remember our little talk. You’re like a second cousin to me, so this is one of those topics where the less I know the better.”

I feel completely and utterly grossed out. “Oh my god…what? What happened?”

“I came over one morning about three or four weeks later and, you know…”

“No, I
don’t
know. That’s why we’re having this little talk.”

Forget being physically pained. He looks emotionally pained, like an attacker has left off his eyeball and gone right for his heart. “Claire, I can’t–I mean, this is something I don’t want to–”

“Just tell me!”

He groans. “He was in your bed, okay?”

I put my hands over my face and slide them down, stretching the skin down until my fingers drop off my jaw. “Oh, god, oh god. There’s no way we’ll ever be able to pretend like we never had this conversation, is there?”

Davin has gotten suddenly interested in the yellow glass paperweight on my desk. “Trust me when I say I couldn’t have wanted to talk about it less.”

I start pacing back and forth across the small study until I’m dizzy from all the turning. “Where was my brother when all this was going on?”

“He was right here most days when he got back from touring. Doc came over mostly at night. I covered in between, when I could.”

“He was here at
night
?
Ugh, I don’t want to hear anymore. There are probably about a million doctor-patient rules he’s broken. You can’t just go and date your patient. It’s…it’s–”

“You don’t think I thought of that?” he says, spinning the chair three hundred and sixty degree and standing up. “I wanted the guy gone, but West overruled me! If it makes you feel any better, he made it clear from the get-go that he wasn’t actually your doctor anymore.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that work?”

Davin shrugs. “I have no idea. But he brought it up more than once, said that he was happy to shuttle info back and forth from West to Dr. Pickering and the other way around, but that he wasn’t making any kinds of medical decisions for you anymore.”

“Did I ever get to hear this?”

“Well, yeah, he told you that day at the beach. He even asked you about it again a few times after that to be sure you understood.” He snorts. “Then you guys got all lovey-dovey…”

“Oh, god, please stop!” I cover my ears.

“Not like that,” he says, play-punching me in the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have, you know…” He clears his throat. “Anyway, from what I could see you guys just mostly watched TV and talked.” Again with the tight jaw. “And I just got to sit around watching him do some serious spadework.”

I hold up my hand. “I don’t even want to know what that is.” I try to phrase the next question, but I’m having trouble twisting my lips into the right position. “And…and may I ask where The Sentinels were while all this was going on?” I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the answer.

“Claire!” He grabs the box of Sentinels and stalks past me.

I follow him. “Well?”

“What do you want me to say? I kept them up like I always do when you’re having an episode. I checked on you randomly like I always do. When the feed from your bedroom started showing the hallway carpet I got worried and came over.” Again, the strange, almost resentful expression. “That’s when…” He spins his hand around to fill in the blanks.

“And you knew this was okay with me…because?”

“Look,” he says angrily, putting the box on the dining room table and slapping the flaps down over each other, “You made your choice, okay? I could give a rat’s ass what you do in the privacy of your own home. I got over here, found the teddy bear on the hallway floor, then you came out grinning from ear to ear and acting like a goofball. Sorry if I got it all wrong, but I took that as a sign that everything had gone according to plan.”

He looks away and starts babbling. “If that wasn’t what you wanted, I’m sorry. If you think he took advantage of you, I can tell you right now that I’ve got zero problem finding him and giving him another black eye and breaking his other leg.”

He feels guilty
, I think. Then
I
feel guilty for causing him the guilt in the first place. I put my hand on his arm. “Davin?”

He blinks a few times. “What?’

“When people say ‘I could give a rat’s ass,’ does that mean they keep a stash of rat’s asses to give out?”

He exhales, smiling a little. I give him a hug, and he squeezes me right back.

I give him a peck on the cheek, something I’ve done a million times before. This time he jerks his head away, like I was going after the other eyeball with the butter knife.

He tries to play it off. “Damn, Claire-Bo, I thought you were pissed at me.”

“Not at you, believe me.” I let go of him. “Any idea where my cell phone is?”

He points towards the counter in the kitchen. “Cookie jar. Doc always wanted someone to be here when you got clear in case you ever got all freaked out about…well, you know. How long it’d been and everything.”

I fish it out of the big, ceramic strawberry cookie jar and push the button at the top. The screen lights up. I push the phone icon.

“Oh, my god.”

“What?”

“Charlie Coney called every day? Why?”

“That is one high-strung fag, sweetie.”

“Didn’t he know what was going on with me? Didn’t you guys tell him?”

“Only about a thousand times.” He opens the cabinet and gets a glass. “He was crapping his pants, thinking you weren’t going to snap out of it before filming started, and that the director would change his mind about having you play the lead.”

“Brendan brought me the script,” I say looking around to see where I left it. “I guess Andy didn’t change his mind.”

He shakes his head as he fills the glass from the faucet. “I met Andy Gordon myself. Trust me, I think that guy would have postponed the movie before he replaced you.”

“You met him?”

“He took us all out to lunch.”

I shake my head, confused. “‘Us all?’ Who all?”

He holds up his finger while he gulps down some water, then says, “Charley, Doc, me, West, you.”

“
Me
?” I’m shocked. I never go out during an episode. It’s too hard to predict what will happen. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or awake, and I get very agitated, even violent. “You guys took me out? Out in public?”

“We took you to the most ‘out in public’ place you could ever go: The Ivy,” he says. “That was the whole point.” He strolls to the living room and roots around in the magazine holder next to the couch.

“We went–I was at The Ivy?”

“I told you, that stuff you were taking was some potent shit. When you were awake you were almost always firing on all cylinders.” He plucks a magazine out and holds it up. It’s
The Hollywood Reporter
.

“No way.”

“Your historic, first appearance in the trades, baby.” He unfolds it to a well-worn page and lets me see.

“
What
?” I grab it out of his hands. A large, splashy color photo shows me in sunglasses and one of my fancier summer dresses and sexy sandals, sitting at a large, outdoor table. On one side of me is Dr. Charmant, smiling and sitting
way
too close. My hand is closed over his on the tabletop. West is next in our little semi-circle. I can only see his profile, but he looks…well, not well. Charley sits between West and Davin, which is strange because nothing usually separates my brother from Davin. A full-on shot of Andy Gordon rounds out our group.

The caption reads:
A rare glimpse of Claire Beau, Andy Gordon’s controversial choice to play the lead in his upcoming film, Evensong.

“I picked out the dress,” he says. “West had Eddy–you remember Eddy?–come over and do your hair and makeup. You looked hot.” His eyes sort of fade out, like he’s remembering. “Really, really pretty.”

“Wait a minute–” I stop, thinking about what Brendan said. “‘Andy Gordon’s choice?’ How could he have chosen me unless…?” When he doesn’t say anything I look up from the magazine. “It’s true what Charmant told me? I mean, I did a
screen test
?”

“That’s when he changed his mind and gave you the lead, bubbles.”

I hold the magazine up. “This is me. Me in
The Hollywood Reporter
.”

He smiles. “Crazy, right? The studio heads were pissing and moaning that they’d never seen you, that you weren’t at the first run-through or any of the rehearsals. I think they were starting to think you didn’t exist.” He snatches the magazine out of my hands and turns it back and forth in front of my face. “Andy was desperate for you to be seen, so Doc said a quick lunch would be okay since you were doing so well.”

When he stops moving it around I look again. Dr. Charmant is in my space, sure, but I’m leaning against his shoulder, looking relaxed and…
No, I will not say ‘happy.’ He was my doctor! It’s disgusting.

“Okay,” I say, pulling my cell phone back out. “I’ve got to make a few calls.”

“Calling the Doc?” he says, looking irked again. Suddenly he brightens up. “You know, you could always tell him you were confused, and that you have to break it off. Just tell him and get it over with. He’s a doctor, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

He looks so…so earnest, in an over-the-top, over-protective way I’ve never seen before. Obviously something else happened in the last seven weeks to make him behave like this. I’ll definitely get to the bottom of it, just not now.

I snort. “No way.” I scroll through some numbers on my phone.

“Who are you calling?”

I hold up my index finger. “Charlie Coney first.” Up pops the second finger. “West second.” I fold my index down finger down and hold up my middle finger for a few seconds while I scroll through the numbers with the thumb of my other hand. “
Then
I’m getting Wendy Pickering on the phone to find out what the hell she thought was okay about this.”

Right before I turn away to connect the call, I see Davin smiling, looking inexplicably relieved.

Chapter Eight

July 14
^th

The nurse walks me to the back hallway and stops. “It’s been a couple of months since you’ve been here…do you remember where it is?”

“I remember.” To everyone else it’s been almost two months, but for me it was just a few days ago. I stop at Dr. Pickering’s door and peep my head into her office. “Wendy?”

“Claire!” Wendy Pickering pops up from her chair and comes around the desk. I expect her to shake my hand, but instead she wraps me in a big hug. This would normally freak me out, but she’s so motherly that I feel fine hugging her right back. “How are you feeling?” she says, squishing my head against her chest. “Had kind of a rough go of it this time around, huh? I was worried about you.”