A Little Help from Above (16 page)

“Ian, I’m begging you…”

“Right. Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Go on. Tell me about your sister. Lauren is it?”

“She’s thirty-two and desperate to have a baby. So far she’s had two miscarriages, the last of which was an ectopic pregnancy. Now her doctor says she’s damaged goods and has to consider alternatives like surrogacy or adoption. But that’s not all. Because of her DES exposure, she has a slew of medical problems, to say nothing of her emotional state.”

Ian licked his spoon. “So you might call your story a personal vendetta piece as well.”

“That’s fair.”

“I like it actually,” a sobered Ian said. “I do. It’s juicier than I expected. How would you feel about working on both stories at the same time?”

“It might cut into my suntan hour, but I should be able to manage.”

“What about the money? It wasn’t in the third quarter budget to do two revenge pieces.”

“I’d be willing to reduce my normal and customary fee, seeing as how you’re paying so generously on the first one.”

“Excellent then.” Ian pumped his fist. “Look out high-society debs and makers of DES. The great Shelby Lazarus is back in the saddle again.”

“So I am.” A nervous Shelby started shredding her napkin. God, I hope I’m not making a big mistake.

Believe me, Shelby’s not making a mistake. There’s no such thing. There’s also no such thing as a coincidence or an accident. Everything that happens, happens for a reason. We may not understand why at the time. Or ever, because the mysteries of life are only divulged to us on a need-to-know basis. Which explains all the universal head scratching.

I know. The very notion that some greater force is calling the shots is disturbing. Frankly, if you’d asked me about karma and destiny when I was Sandy Lazarus, I would have blown cigarette smoke in your face and told
you to lay off the hard stuff. No way would I have accepted the idea my life had been mapped out with all the precision of a Hadassah dinner dance. Hors d’oeuvres at 7:00
P.M
., dinner, dancing at 9:00
P.M
….

Who wants to believe their existence is part of some master plan? Or that the good and bad in life are simply the result of a legal, binding agreement, according to God’s will? To whom you’re born, where and how you live, the people you meet, the work you do, the person you marry, the children you have, the circumstances of your death…But it’s true. Nothing happens in life that isn’t already in the blueprints.

Take Shelby’s career, for instance. You think her desire to be a reporter was a random choice? That she just woke up one day and said I think I’ll go to the Columbia School of Journalism and shoot for a Pulitzer? No, it was her destiny.

The first clue was she was born at 12:01
A.M
., on January 1, 1960. That’s right. Shelby was not only the first birth of the decade at Mt. Sinai Hospital, but in all five boroughs of New York. What a media frenzy that caused! Reporters and photographers scrambled over to the maternity ward to capture her face, the symbol of the bold, new era.

As it turned out, the photo of Larry and me holding Shelby in our arms was such a great shot, it made the front pages of dozens of papers. From then on, every New Year’s we’d get calls from papers asking if they could interview Shelby for the morning edition. Apparently, readers associated her beautiful, angelic image with the start of another year and were clamoring to see her transformation from infant to child.

Every year we were amazed by Shelby’s cooperative spirit. Normally she was so dour and stern, but the instant the newspaper people arrived, different child. She’d primp and pose, answering silly questions with a smile, understanding even at four years old the power of the press. Talk about early influences. When she got older she’d be damned if she didn’t somehow find a way to stay on the front page!

But what, you may ask, was the real purpose of directing Shelby into the field of journalism? I’m thinking she returned to the physical world to learn the meaning of caring and compassion. And what better way to elicit the sympathy vote from someone than to expose them to the underbelly of the human condition?

Nice concept if you can get it, of course. Shelby’s been working in the paper trade long enough to have had the compassion bug bite her by now. So what’s the holdup? All I know is timing is left to the wisdom of the universe, and I have faith in the system.

Here’s why. Remember when Shelby bumped into Ian at the airport and thought it was a horrible coincidence he was on the same flight? It was no coincidence. I found out from my great-grandmother Yetta, who has been on this side for what seems like forever, that it was all in the cards. That once Shelby got reacquainted with Ian, she’d end up getting a chance to write two articles that would be the catalyst for major changes in her life.

Ditto for Roz and Larry getting hit by a truck. You think that was a random accident? Have I taught you nothing?

Shelby wondered what planet she was on when she decided to go ahead with Plan B. If Lauren’s own husband couldn’t convince her to come out of their house, did she really think she’d fare any better? She had neither the patience, experience, nor cunning to know which magic key was going to unlock her sister’s mental health door.

Irma Weiner would know which key. Several times Shelby picked up the phone to ask for a little assistance, but stubborn pride kept her from dialing. The last thing Shelby wanted was to have Mrs. Know-It-All portraying herself as the hero to Shelby’s villain, simply because Shelby wounded Dr. Weiner, Aunt Roz, and Lauren. Unintentionally, of course.

Not that Mrs. Weiner’s anger wasn’t justified. All three people on the receiving end of Shelby’s wrath were still reeling. All three were a question mark as to their interest in surviving.

What happened to the truth shall set you free? Shelby asked herself as she double-checked the address, then pulled into Lauren’s driveway, nearly pummeling the mailbox in the process. Hopefully she’d get used to the power of the V-6 engine on Aunt Roz’s car before she hurt someone.

Cute house, Shelby yawned as she rang the doorbell. If you like small, old, two-story capes. What? No white picket fence or rhododendrons in the yard?

“Hi.” Lauren answered the door in pajamas. “I thought you said you were coming by later.”

“I know. But I was thinking maybe you’d come with me to the hospital, and visiting hours are over at eight.”

“No thanks. Maybe another time.” Lauren led Shelby into the tiny kitchen, clearly anticipating Shelby’s smug reaction. “I know it’s small,” she apologized.

“No kidding. Aren’t you afraid if you put your key in the door you’ll break the window?”

Lauren’s shoulders fell and her eyes misted. “What do you get out of being like this?”

“Like what? Sarcastic?”

“No, like angry and mean-spirited. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly in great shape at the moment. Can’t you ever take it down a notch?”

“Sorry,” Shelby shrugged. “But I did come bearing great news that is sure to cheer you up.”

“I can hardly wait.” Lauren sank into a chair.

“Now look who’s being sarcastic. You’re beginning to sound like me.”

“Not a pretty picture, is it?” Lauren looked out the window.

“I get the point, okay?” Shelby joined her at the table. “But listen to my news. I just had a meeting with a guy I used to work for at the Detroit Free Press. He’s over at the New York Informer now. Anyway, he’s agreed to let me do a full-length feature about DES daughters. Isn’t that great?”

“Yippee.” Lauren twirled her index finger. “It’s my lucky day.”

“How many antidepressants did you take today?” Shelby studied Lauren’s pupils.

“Not enough.” She sniffed.

“I’m really sorry. I thought you’d be happy to hear I’m getting publicity for your cause.”

“My cause?” Lauren jumped up. “I don’t have a cause, Shelby. I have heartache. I have fear. I have aggravation. And worst of all, my body is so deformed I can’t have a baby, okay? So excuse me if I don’t appreciate an insensitive, publicity hound like you exploiting my problems for the sake of a friggin’ byline.”

Shelby was floored by Lauren’s abrasiveness. For years she’d tried getting her sister to toughen up, never thinking the harsh treatment might be directed at her. Oh, for the good old days when Lauren trailed her around the house hoping to get her idol to play Barbies.

“I’m shocked.” Shelby got up to take a drink of water. “I thought
you’d be happy to have attention called to your problem so people would be more sensitive to you.”

“The only one I need to be more sensitive to me is you.” Lauren took a package of salami out of the refrigerator and sat down. “And if you say one word to me about eating this, I swear I’ll shove a piece down your throat.”

“Okay. No problem.” Shelby jumped up. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the right.” Lauren didn’t bother getting up to lead the way.

Shelby didn’t actually need to use the bathroom, she needed to go on a little fishing expedition in the medicine chest. Clearly whatever Lauren was taking was not only not helping her, it was turning her into a sardonic bitch. Even she had to admit one per family was enough.

Shelby slid open the cabinet to find at least a dozen prescription painkillers and sedatives lined up like an arsenal of weapons. Holy shit. When they remade Valley of the Dolls, they could have shot on location right here.

She gathered the pill bottles in her arms and returned to the kitchen. “Why do you need all this crap? You know how easy it would be to overdose?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Lauren sniffed. “And what right do you have to go through my medicine chest?”

“Hey, you went through my kitchen cabinets looking for food. That’s what sisters do.”

“What do you know about being a sister? You’re a lousy sister. You’re selfish and mean and insensitive, and you won’t have a baby for me.”

Shelby closed her eyes in exasperation. Was every conversation going to come down to this? “I need you to understand something. It’s not that I don’t feel for you. It’s not that I don’t want you to have a baby and live happily ever after with Avi. It’s that I can’t help you fulfill that dream. You’re right about me. I’m selfish and insensitive…oh, and what about my diet? You said yourself. I don’t eat enough for one, let alone two.”

“Yes, but you could change…”

“The point is I don’t want to,” Shelby said, raising her voice. “Besides, if anyone should be changing something about herself, it’s you.”

“Me?” Lauren sniffed. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re fickle, that’s what’s wrong. You had three different majors at four different colleges, one month you’re a vegetarian, the next month you’re living on Burger King…”

“This isn’t the same thing. This is something I’ve always wanted.”

“So was red hair, a sailboat, and a chance to be on Jeopardy! But then you chickened out.”

“I’m not going to chicken out, Shel.” Lauren reached for her hand. “I would give up my right arm to have a baby, and you know it.”

“Then ask someone in Avi’s family. Maybe he has a sister or a cousin…”

“…Who all live in Israel. What should I tell them to do? FedEx the baby when it’s born?”

“It’s no less preposterous then asking a thirty-eight-year-old woman to donate her eggs, spread her legs, then put her career on hold for God knows how long. Besides, you don’t even know for sure that I can get pregnant. Maybe I have fertility problems, too.”

“I know.” Lauren sniffed. “That’s why I want you to see my doctor. If he examines you and says you’re not a good candidate, then I’d have to accept it and hire someone else.”

“Why wait? Let’s hire someone else right now. My treat.”

Lauren nodded no. “I want you.”

Shelby opened her mouth, then decided against fueling the fire. Maybe Lauren was right. If a doctor examined her, there was a good chance he’d disqualify her based on age, size, or some other technicality. It didn’t matter what eliminated her, as long as she proved unfit for the job.

Out of desperation to get Lauren to move on, Shelby heard herself agree. “I’m not saying I’m willing to be your surrogate,” she warned. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get checked out.”

Suddenly Lauren’s whole demeanor transformed from victim to grand inquisitor. “Thank you.” She threw away her tissues, like the invalid at a revival meeting tossing her crutches. “It would mean so much to me and Avi. By the way, when’s the last time you saw a gynecologist?”

Shelby hemmed. “Socially…or by appointment?”

“By appointment.”

“That would be…once in college. When I went on the pill.”

“Are you serious?” Lauren cried. “That’s the last time you had a Pap smear?”

“Actually, I’ve never had a Pap smear.” She shivered at the very idea.

“That’s crazy, Shel. Mommy died of ovarian cancer. We’re at tremendous risk!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I swear to God, Shel. For an intelligent woman you’re an idiot. I mean I know you hate hospitals, but what do you have against going to the doctor?”

“Nothing. It’s not like I made a deliberate attempt to avoid going. I just never had anything wrong with me. I take care of my body, I eat right…”

“I’m taking you to see my doctor, and that’s that. One day you’ll thank me.”

“Right.” Shelby stood soldier-still as Lauren hugged her tightly.

But what Shelby was really thinking was she should have realized Plan B had no upsides. Lauren was as stable as a three-legged chair, so taking responsibility for getting her back on her feet was a lose-lose situation. Even if Shelby managed to help her have a good day, it guaranteed nothing. Between the mood swings and anxiety attacks, one wrong move could send Lauren back into a tailspin. She would just have to take one day at a time.

“Okay, here’s the deal.” Shelby released Lauren’s clutch. “I go see your doctor, you come with me to the hospital.”

Lauren shook her head no.

“Why not?”

“Because I need more time.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait. How long do you need to shower and change?”

“No. I mean I need months. Or years. Like you had. I just can’t look at them right now, and no way am I walking back into that house.”

What a nightmare, Shelby thought. The shoe is on the other foot. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from probably better than anyone, so be my guest. Be angry at them. But don’t direct your anger at the house. It’s like me with North Shore,” she blurted. “All those years I avoided going back there solved absolutely nothing. The hurt and betrayal were inside me, not the building.”

“What are you saying?” Lauren sulked. “That I have no right to be upset by this? I’ve been betrayed as much as you.”

“I know that. I just want you to learn from my experience and channel your anger. It’s a waste of time being so mad at the house you can’t walk back in there.”

“Oh my God. You hypocrite!” Lauren cried. “You’ve had years to deal with all of this and you’re still not over it. I just found out a few days ago, okay? So don’t tell me to channel my anger.”

“Fine.” Shelby backed off. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Fine.” Lauren sighed. “Are you going over to see Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, Shel. It may not be the best thing right now. He…”

“What?”

“He said he didn’t want to see you ever again.”

Shelby’s face felt flush. “He told you that?”

“No, he told Avi that.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t care how angry Daddy is at me, he would never say that.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Lauren shrugged. “And don’t blame me if he refuses to talk to you when you get there. You really crossed the line this time.”

“Fine. I heard you, but I know how to talk to Daddy. Believe me, if I show up at his bedside, he’s not going to kick me out. You know how long he’s waited for me to spill my guts?”

“What are you going to say to him?”

“I have no idea. Now do me a favor in exchange for my very magnanimous offer. Promise me you’ll throw this shit away.” She pointed to the rows of pill bottles. “You don’t need them. You’re the sanest person I know. A little emotional at times, very high-strung, and you know nothing about nutrition. But considering everything you’ve been through, you’re really okay. And the last thing you need right now is to get hooked on painkillers, because what surrogate is going to have a baby for a drug abuser? Besides, I heard Betty Ford no longer has a family plan.”

Lauren could not contain her laughter. “Okay, but this was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“What? Being so stoned you couldn’t match up the tops and bottoms of your pajamas?”

“No. Getting to act like you.”

“What do you mean act?” Shelby narrowed her eyes. “You’re not flung out on Prozac?”

“Are you joking? Me? The prude? I’m not on anything.”

“Then where did all the pills come from?”

“From friends. I just had to hope you didn’t read the names on the prescriptions.”

“You little shit, you! You mean to tell me this whole display…”

“You gotta do what ya gotta do.” Lauren gently tapped Shelby’s cheek. “I’ll call you as soon as I set up the doctor appointment. Oh, and good luck with Daddy.”

“Did you also make up the part about him never wanting to see me?”

“No, unfortunately. That’s the real deal.”

I knew Plan B was a big mistake, Shelby thought as she backed out of the driveway, narrowly missing the mailbox again. I’ve been duped by my own sister, and now I’m going to get stuck answering some idiot doctor’s questions about my sexual history while he secretly delights in examining my breasts. How did I not see through her ruse?

More importantly, if her father was so angry with her, why subject herself to even more angst by visiting him? She’d waited this long. What was a few more weeks to let him cool off?

But in her heart Shelby knew she didn’t want to wait. Possibly she didn’t even have time to wait. Scott had repeatedly said given the extensive nature of her father’s injuries, they had to expect the unexpected, particularly in this early phase of recovery. Several good, productive days in a row would mean squat if he suddenly developed an infection or reacted to a strong, new drug. Then they’d have to start from ground zero, if they got another chance to start at all.

Shelby didn’t even want to contemplate the prospect of never getting the opportunity to reconcile. Not because she’d decided to forgive him, but because she’d grown weary of the unresolved anger that had glued her to a shrink’s chair.

She remembered the session with Dr. Kahn when he talked about how much energy was expended distancing oneself from a loved one. Shelby had vehemently disagreed, arguing she’d never felt more liberated. But, of course, he’d been right. When she had been
on speaking terms with her father, she barely thought of him. Once she cut him off, however, all she did was obsess. Was he thinking about her? Was he feeling remorse? Was he ever planning to explain himself?

Shelby also had to admit that as much as she’d been devastated by his lies and deception, she still needed his assurance that he loved her and his promise that everything would be all right. But mostly what she longed for was to feel safe again. As a child, one bear hug and a kiss atop her head was all she needed to go forth and conquer. Since then, no paycheck, billboard, or man had ever come close to giving her that same sense of security.