Bruce Wagner - I Met Someone

A chill raised the hair on Jeremy’s arms. MacKlatchie smiled at him with warmth and sorrow. Like the perplexed man in the story, Jeremy found no comfort in the bells, real or metaphorical, and fretted, not knowing what to believe — whether his lunch companion had actually killed his wife and son; whether Devi had a daughter who died, or even had a daughter at all… he hardly believed the stories he told himself about his own life anymore.

“‘Now I am alone — all alone,’” said the guru. (Like the bells inhabiting that “space between belief and nonbelief,” it seemed to Jeremy that the man across from him now lived in the space between guru and murderer.) “‘In all India there is no one so alone as I! If I die today, who shall bring the news — and to whom?’ That’s Kipling,” he said. “Isn’t it marvelous? Isn’t it glorious? Here’s a little more: ‘Few white people, but many Asiatics, can throw themselves into amazement by repeating their own names over and over to themselves, letting the mind go free upon speculation as to what is called personal identity . When one grows older, the power usually departs, but while it lasts, it may descend upon a man any moment .’”

His face became grave, before a smile flitted across, as if softening a stone.

“The second piece of information I wanted to tell you — well, this second piece has far more significance, at least, for you . I should add that I’ve already discussed it with Devi and believe you must go ahead, without delay.”

“‘Go ahead’? With what?”

“Why, having the child! No need to use Cathy’s egg though, if it’s genetics you’re concerned with — I mean, because of the disease that beset her child. Though it’s my studied opinion that as a breeder, our Devi’s top-notch , irregardless of poor little Bell’s fate; the little one’s cancer was a rare and anomalous event, I can assure. But if you still have your doubts, why not use one of the eggs you’ve already paid for? Devi’ll carry it. She told me your surrogate reneged, true?”

She had. The gal was a military wife with three children of her own. When one became deathly ill, she told Jeremy that the strain of care was too much and remorsefully bowed out.

“Don’t hesitate — it’s what the girl wants , with all her heart. D’ya think you two met for any other reason? That baby will save you both .”

—

She blamed Ginevra for pushing her to tell—

She blamed herself—

She blamed God…

The irony was that she no longer blamed her mother.

For a while, there just wasn’t time for guilt. In those first weeks, Aurora was touch and go. So many broken bones, so much trauma… They had a little birthday celebration in her room — Dusty took a cuddling selfie with her still-sleeping princess, who wore a rhinestone “37” tiara — and the very next day the doctors discovered something called compartment syndrome in a shattered leg. For an entire month there were whispers of amputation but the actress said no fucking way, I don’t want to even hear that again .

A miniature palm broke the fall but she struck her head on a giant terra-cotta pot. Her brain swelled and she didn’t emerge from the induced coma until the end of Month Two. Even then, it was impossible to assess the degree of neurological damage. An eye — that beautiful blue eye! — went fetus-milky. Thank God for Elise. She took on the “new challenge” like some Mafia shot-caller.

The usual website suspects insinuated that it was a suicide attempt over a “looming breakup”—they said Allegra was “living” at the Four Seasons, and claimed “she had returned to the Trousdale residence to pick up a few personal items” when she fell —and the usual wingnuts claimed divine retribution for sins committed against our Lord. Thanks to the stewardship of Elise and a handpicked P.R. team, perceptions began to slowly shift from self-harm to misadventure. Yes , the Wildings were checked into the hotel because of recent home renovations. Yes , Allegra had been drinking (a small, pre-birthday celebration) and was innocently dancing/carousing when the freak accident occurred. The doomed cover girls launched a thousand magazines, each newsflashy, retrospective-style feature adorned by photomontages of inner-circle A-list BFFs, wedding festivities, and sundry happier-days domestic horseplay — all the articles predictably ending with twenty-four-hour bedside vigils and the implied certainty of brain damage. (A chart of available B-list bis and dykes were on Perez Hilton’s site, with the caption Who will she be with next? ) But the haters were swept away by the floodwaters of public sympathy; until now, Dusty had been unscathed by tragedy, and the horrible event had all the aspects of a tribal initiation. Elise kept assuring her it would “blow over.” One of the publicity gals tried to be supportive by telling the star it was a tempest in a teapot, coolly comparing the eventual outcome to the Shatner case in ’99. The actor came home late one night to find his estranged wife at the bottom of the pool “but now, no one even remembers!” Dusty wasn’t thrilled with the analogy.

Mostly, she was oblivious. A mother’s instinct kicked in — the only thing that mattered was seeing Aurora through and getting to the other side, whatever that would look like. In eight months, she was supposed to be in England for the Bloodthrone sequel. Every time she said there was no way that was going to happen, Elise told her not to think about it, that no decisions needed to be made “just now.” One time, breezy and can-do, Elise said, “Bring Allegra with! By then, a change of scenery might be just what the doctor orders — for both of you.” As if Aurora was detoxing in some fancy rehab… It was crazy-surreal but Dusty understood what her manager was doing. She was keeping hope alive.

When she emerged from the coma, Dusty was up on Carla Ridge, gathering clothes for her daughter. By the time she got to the hospital, Aurora was in the middle of a sponge bath, a big goofy smile on her face. Dusty tearfully kissed her forehead but Aurora pulled away, shouting “No! No! No!” “Awwww,” said Dusty. “Are you cold? Are you cold, little one? Baby girl? Are ya cold?” Aurora kept saying No! while an R.N. dried her legs with a towel. Aurora squirmed and cried NONONONONO and Dusty asked them if maybe she was itching or hurting underneath her leg cast. “She’s just fussy,” said the nurse. “She’s been asleep for a while.” Then she turned to her patient. “ Haven’t you. Oh yes, you’ve had a very long nap . Did you know that, Allegra? Did you know you’ve been napping? But we’re so happy you woke up! Look who’s here! Your wife’s here, Dusty’s here, and she’s so, so happy to see you!” Aurora was crying and her mother enfolded her, kissing the pasty white, sweat-laden brow. “It’s okay, baby!” she told her. “It’s okay, I’m here . I’m here and you’re going to come home soon. Bet you want to go home, huh. Don’t you? Poor thing! I’ve got your room ready, and all your favorite stuffies…”

“Mama! Mama! Mama!” she cried, to no one in particular.

Dusty swallowed her tears, and the nurses did too. It was always super-emotional when patients woke up from comas.

—

While Aurora was in the hospital, Dusty knocked out a wall between the upstairs guest rooms, creating an “open plan” suite. She wanted caregivers to be able to sleep in the same space as her daughter, without barriers. She outfitted the gym with special equipment recommended by the physical therapy team; they said the pool would play a key role in Allegra’s recovery as well. The medical team thought it too soon for her to return home, and that transitioning to a rehab center might be better. They were overruled. Dusty said she could create the exact same environment on Carla Ridge. When Aurora was discharged, the actress invited the doctors and some of the staff to the house for a thank-you dinner. Everyone was genuinely impressed by the renovations.