Кэндес Бушнелл - Four Blondes

“Clay?" James says.

"Yes. Clay. A married man.”

“Winnie, I…”

"What?”

"I ... I ...”

“Spit it out.”

"Winnie, I think I'm having a heart attack. I'm going to die. Winnie. I think I'm dying.”

"Oh James. You're such a loser." Winnie puts her head in her hands. "You can't even do coke right.”

James wants to be nursed and coddled. (Like when he was a little boy. Like when he was sick. His mother would make a bed for him on the couch and let him watch TV all day. His father would call him on the phone. "Hey sport," he'd say. "How's the sport?") He wants Winnie to say, "Oh James, you poor sweet baby." (He wants Winnie to be like his mother. Or at least mother/y.) Instead she says, "They said you're fine.”

I'm not fine, he wants to scream. He wishes Winnie would go away. He wishes he could tell her to go away. He can't now. He can't ever. "I know," he says.

"You can leave now.”

"I know," he says. He pushes the buttons on the remote control, changing the channels on the TV above his head.

"So. Can we go?" she says. "James. I've got to get back to my office.”

"I need my clothes.”

"They're right here," Winnie says. She picks up his clothes from the chair and dumps them on the hospital bed.

James looks at his shirt, his sweatshirt (with the logo of Winnie's magazine on it), his jeans, socks, and white briefs. His clothes look tainted. "I need clean clothes," he says.

"Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough?" Winnie says in a stage whisper. (She doesn't want to be overheard by the old man in the next bed, who is practically dead. Who has a scab-covered leg sticking out from under the covers.) "I'm not going home," James says. "I'm going to a press conference." He paws through his clothes. He still doesn't feel quite ... normal. (He feels high. Probably from all the cocaine he consumed the night before, combined with the shot of Demerol they gave him in the hospital last night. Or rather, early this morning. When he thought he was having the heart attack. From cocaine. Other people have done worse. They've shot up heroin. But they aren't married to Winnie.) "Do you have a notebook I can borrow?" he says. "I want you to go home.”

"No," he says. If he gives in now, he's finished. "What do you mean, 'No'?”

"No," he says. "What do you think it means?”

"You must still be high," she says.

"Probably," he said. He looks up at the TV. He doesn't feel unpleasant. The world has an interesting intensity that is, for once in his life, non-anxiety producing.

"Where are you going?”

"To a press conference." (He has something important to do, too.) "A press conference!”

"Monkeys," he says. "Chimpanzees.”

"Which, James?" Winnie says (cleverly, he thinks. If she is back to her old tricks of trying to trick him, maybe she's not that angry).

"I need a pen, too," he says. "I can't find my watch. I can't leave without my watch.”

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" she says. She marches (and she's the only person he knows who does march) the few feet to the head of the bed and presses the buzzer with her thumb. "I am praying that none of our friends get wind of this incident. This could ruin your career.”

"Could," he says. "Do you even care''“

“No," he says.

A nurse comes into the room. "Yes?" she says. "My husband can't find his watch," Winnie says. "Can you find it for him, please?”

"If s on his wrist.”

"Well, how about that," James says. He leans back on the pillows and looks at his silver Rolex with fresh appreciation. "Ifs ten-thirty.”

"I know what time it is. I had to leave my office. Now get up and put your clothes on.”

The doctor walks in. "How are we doing this morning, Mr. Dieke?" he says.

"Richard?" Winnie says. "Winnie?”

"How are you?" Winnie says, smiling pleasantly, as if James weren't lying in a hospital bed, high, smelly, and partly naked. "I didn't know you worked at Lenox Hill.”

"Why should you?" Richard says. "We haven't seen each other since college.”

"We went to college together," Winnie says. "What a coincidence. Richard Feble, my husband, James Dieke.”

"Well, I'm happy to say that your husband is doing just fine," Richard says. "His EKG and his chest X rays came back normal, so all I can say is since you never know what’s in this stuff, stay away. If you have to indulge in illegal substances, smoke a joint. Okay? I don't want to see you guys in here again.”

"Believe me, Richard, this was a complete fluke," Winnie says. "James and I never—”

"I'm not your mother," Richard says. "By the way, we found this in Mr. Dieke's pocket. You might want to keep this." He hands Winnie a small brown vial. If s half full of white powder. He winks.

"Oh," Winnie says. "Thank you." She puts it in her purse. Glares at James. Now she's a drug addict too. What if she gets caught with this stuff?

Richard pats James on the leg. "I've read your stuff in Esquire. You must lead a wild life.”

"Untamed," James says. He doesn't look at Winnie.

"I've got a column in X," Winnie says, naming the magazine she works for.

"Oh, we always knew you would succeed," Richard says.

"Let’s get together sometime," Winnie says, cocking her head to the side and smiling. "Are you married?”

"Me? Nah. Listen guys, I've got rounds. Nice to see you, Winnie," Richard says. He points at James. "Can't wait to read your next piece. Stay alive, huh, big guy?”

Richard walks out of the room. Winnie turns to James. "Untamed?" she says. "Oh James, now I've heard everything.”

James looks at her. He feels like sticking his tongue out. But he doesn't. Instead, he smiles.

James slips into the back of the grand ballroom in the Hilton Hotel just in time for the commotion in the front of the room.

An attractive (on second thought, make that very attractive) dark-haired girl in a tight-fitting purple top (her breasts look like they could spill out at any second) is waving her arm frantically. "Hey, Danny.

Danny!" she says in a raspy voice. "Where were the customs agents in all this?”

Danny Pico, the head of customs, a greasy-haired balding guy in a cheap navy blazer, glares at her. "Not today, Amber," he says. "Not today. “

Amber! James can imagine what her breasts would look like. Full and soft. And quivering. He hasn't had breasts like that in a long time.

"Please, Danny," Amber says. "Why are taxpayer dollars being wasted on completely irrelevant scientific experiments?”

"Next," Danny says.

"Hello. The fourth amendment," Amber says, waving a hand with blue fingernail polish.

(The fourth amendment?) "This press conference is over!" Danny Pico says. The room erupts. Amber turns and clomps toward the door on a pair of four-inch platform sandals. She's wearing a short skirt. Leather. White. She's headed straight for James.

"Excuse me," he says, touching her arm as she passes.

She stops and turns. "Huh?" she says. "Do I know you?”

"I'm James Dieke.”

Her face lights up. "James Dieke. Ohmigod," she says. "You're one of my heroes.”

"I am?" (He is?) "Sure. I loved your piece on satellites. You're the only writer who could make magnesium sulfide interesting. Important. You know?”

"Really," James says. (Magnesium sulfide?) She switches some papers from one arm to another. She holds out her hand. "Amber Anders.”

"Wow," James says. "Wow?" she says.

"Your name. It's great." (It sounds like a porno star's.) "You think so? I always thought it was a good name for a byline. I write for X, " she says, naming the same magazine Winnie works for. "I'm a staffer. But I hope not a lifer." She leans closer. "Some people never get out of there, you know? I swear, there are dead editors in obscure offices hidden behind piles of back issues.”