"Okay, Jaz," I said as I shuffled my cards for the hundredth time, trying to relax to the whish of a perfect bridge, "here's the deal. You will not yell at Albert for at least five minutes." I figured the call would be over in two, but I'm one to hedge my bets when it comes to losing my temper. "You will keep your opinion of him to yourself this time, and you won't mention Mom at all."
"Okay, I'll try," I told my closet door reflection, "but I'm not making any promises." I nodded to myself, then I called Albert.
He answered on the fifth ring. Not a good sign. His voice, when he said, "Hello," sounded faint and weak.
Though he'd gotten himself into this predicament, he would now expect pity. Ugh! I grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. "Hey, Albert," I said, trying to sound pleasant and not overly concerned. "Evie tells me you're not feeling well."
"She's a meddler, that one, just like your mother."
I gritted my teeth. I would not argue with him over the fact that what he saw as meddling, we saw as Mom coming home early from work to find him in the sack with her best friend!
"I heard you fired your nurse."
"Goddamn busybody. Always wanting to know what I was eating, always poking me with those damn needles."
My Rage-O-Meter spiked. I could feel the veins in my forehead throb like war drums as my temper began to shred. It's a fragile thing, my temper. Sort of like the pretty colored tissue paper you find lining gift bags. My inner eye watched it disintegrate into little, raggedy edged pieces that floated away to perhaps reassemble themselves in another place and time as my father whined, "She treated me terrible, Jazzy. And now I feel terrible."
"Oh, for Chrissake, Dad, you feel terrible because you're not following your doctor's orders. Evie's going nuts worrying about you, and Dave and I don't have time to come coddle you so you'll quit trying to fucking Mil yourself! So here's the deal. We're hiring you another nurse. You will eat what she says. You will take the insulin shots without complaining. And if you fire her, I will personally haul your sorry ass to the Veteran's home and dump you on their doorstep."
"But—"
"Furthermore, you will make an appointment with your doctor today, and if he has to cut off your goddamn foot none of us are going to pity you because you brought it on yourself!"
"Jasmine Elaine Parks—"
"Don't you dare pull your Dad voice out on me, old man. I know exactly what kind of game you're playing and it doesn't wash. You weren't there when we were growing up. What makes you think your pitiful health is going to make us come to you now?"
There was a long silence, during which I'm sure Albert was looking longingly at his beer can while I was kicking myself for yelling at a decrepit old war hero. I knew he'd been an awesome Marine. He had a drawer full of medals and an address book full of phone numbers of men who would still willingly die for him. He just never should've had children.
"I'm tired," I said, suddenly feeling even older than his 61 years. "I'm working on a big account and it's got me on edge. Evie's call knocked me over that edge and now you're catching the fallout."
It wasn't an apology. He didn't deserve one and he knew it.
"I'll call the doctor this morning," he said. I guess if I could make concessions, so could he.
"Good. I'll call you when I find a new nurse."
"Okay."
Another awkward silence. This was the point at which many fathers and daughters would exchange little affectionate phrases like 'I love you' and 'I miss you.' We knew that. We just had no way to get there from here.
"So… I'll talk to you later," I said.
"Okay. Bye."
"Bye."
Beep. I found it terribly ironic that lately all my conversations with family members ended in a high, annoying sound.
I threw the phone on my bed, dropped down beside it. Before other things demanded my attention I picked up the phone, dialed Evie's number and left a message for her to get me the number of the nursing pool we'd drawn the last woman from. Hopefully I could hire one who hadn't yet talked to his old nurse and learned what an ass Albert could be.
Chapter Seven
I woke to the sound of a doorbell.
"Hey," I told the clock, which was blinking 1:00 p.m. at me, "I went back to sleep. How cool is that?" Even better was the total lack of nightmares. I started to bounce out of bed, but my ribs turned it into more of a slow roll. Grief accompanied me to the door. Vayl had taped a note there.
Jasmine,
Before I went to my rest, I ordered you something special, since I know how much you hate to eat out. See you at dusk
V
I looked through the peephole. Nobody. And the only inhabitant of the hall, when I opened the door, was a serving cart full of covered dishes. I imagined the waiter dashing back to the elevator after he'd rung so I wouldn't catch a glimpse of him and think, gasp! that real people actually ran this hotel. I supposed the employees did a lot of darting into stairwells and linen closets. Were they required to run sprints every morning before work to keep themselves in shape? Hmm, a definite thought. By the time I had the cart inside, the door locked, and the table set for my meal, I'd decided the entire staff met in the attic every morning for calisthenics, and every one of them, maid, cook and maintenance worker alike, wore matching pink leotards.
I uncovered the lids to each dish one by one, offering each plate a round of applause as it appeared. Number one plate held three small pancakes, a slab of butter and a mini-pitcher of syrup. A mushroom omelet spread itself across plate number two and plate number three held four slices of extra crispy bacon. Vayl had also ordered coffee and a big glass of orange juice. I saluted his closed door with my mug and said, "To you, Boss. May you never realize how much I truly like you."
Which brought up toe-tingling memories of last night. You know what, best to leave those alone. Write the whole thing off to delayed reaction due to surviving a car wreck and an assassination attempt and ignore the fact that it had never happened before despite some close brushes with death on our previous missions together. Stuff those uncomfortably exciting feelings in a manila folder and lock them in one of Pete's black metal file cabinets. Case closed.
As I ate the most delicious breakfast I'd consumed in months, I planned my afternoon. Since anything to do with Assan fell under Vayl's domain, I tabled the whole issue and moved on to our more immediate problem. Four fairly well-informed killers disguised as religious fanatics did not just materialize and try to eliminate two Central Intelligence Agency employees. I wasn't sure how they'd even found us on that highway, but I did have a theory. Someone must have told them we were after Assan, so they had probably watched his house until we showed up. That someone had taken a big risk too, because only a handful of people even knew we existed. That included Pete, the three senators on our department's oversight committee, Bergman, and the woman I was about to call.
Our secure phone sat where we'd left it last night, beside the laptop in front of the unoccupied chair at my breakfast table. I swallowed my last bite and used that phone to call Martha. She answered on the first ring.
"Demlock Pharmaceuticals," she said in her gravelly baritone. She hadn't smoked a day in her life, but you'd never know it by her voice.
"I need to establish an order."
"Hold, please."
Moments later Martha was back on a line that was now secure from her end as well as mine.
"What do you need, hon?"