The Sky Is Falling

The Sky Is Falling Page 11

THE CALL CAME out of the blue on Monday morning.

"Dana Evans?"

"Yes."

"This is Dr. Joel Hirschberg. I'm with the Children's Foundation."

Dana listened, puzzled. "Yes?"

"Elliot Cromwell mentioned to me that you told him you're having a problem getting a prosthetic arm for your son."

Dana had to think a moment. "Yes, I guess I did."

"Mr. Cromwell gave me the background. This foundation has been set up to help children from war-torn countries. From what Mr. Cromwell told me, your son certainly comes under that heading. I wonder if you would like to bring him in to see me?"

"Well, I - well, yes, of course." They made the appointment for later that day.

When Kemal got home from school, Dana said excitedly, "You and I are going to see a doctor about getting a new arm for you. Would you like that?"

Kemal thought about it. "I don't know. It won't be a real arm."

"It will be as close to a real arm as we can get. Okay, pal?"

"Cool."

Dr. Joel Hirschberg was in his late forties, an attractive, earnest-looking man with an air of quiet competence.

When Dana and Kemal exchanged hellos, Dana said, "Doctor, I want to explain up front that we'd have to work out some kind of financial arrangement, because I was told that because Kemal is growing, a new arm would be outdated every - "

Dr. Hirschberg interrupted. "As I told you over the phone, Miss Evans, the Children's Foundation has been set up especially to help children from war-torn countries. We'll take care of the expenses."

Dana felt a surge of relief. "That's wonderful." She said a silent prayer. God bless Elliot Cromwell.

Dr. Hirschberg turned to Kemal again. "Now, let's take a look at you, young man."

Thirty minutes later Dr. Hirschberg said to Dana, "I think we can fix him up almost as good as new." He pulled down a chart on the wall. "We have two kinds of prostheses, myoelectric, which is state-of-the-art, and a cable-operated arm. As you can see here, the myoelectric arm is made of plastics and covered with a handlike glove." He smiled at Kemal. "It looks as good as the original."

Kemal asked, "Does it move?"

Dr. Hirschberg said, "Kemal, do you ever think about moving your hand? I mean the hand that isn't there any longer."

"Yes," Kemal said.

Dr. Hirschberg leaned forward. "Well, now, whenever you think about that phantom hand, the muscles that used to work there will contract and automatically generate a myoelectric signal. In other words, you'll be able to open and close your hand just by thinking about it."

Kemal's face lit up. "I will? How - how do I put the arm on and take it off?"

"It's really very simple, Kemal. You'll just pull on the new arm. It's a suction fit. There will be a thin nylon sock over the arm. You can't swim with it, but you can do just about anything else. It's like a pair of shoes. You take it off at night and put it on in the morning."

"How much does it weigh?" Dana asked.

"Anywhere from six ounces to a pound."

Dana turned to Kemal. "What do you think, sport? Should we try it?"

Kemal was trying to conceal his excitement. "Will it look real?"

Dr. Hirschberg smiled. "It will look real."

"It sounds rad."

"You've had to become left-handed, so you're going to have to unlearn that. That will take time, Kemal. We can get you fitted immediately, but you'll have to see a therapist for a little while to learn how to make this a part of you and how to control the myoelectric signals."

Kemal took a deep breath. "Cool."

Dana hugged Kemal tightly. "It's going to be wonderful," she said. She was fighting back tears.

Dr. Hirschberg watched them a moment, then smiled. "Let's go to work."

When Dana returned to the office, she went in to see Elliot Cromwell.

"Elliot, we just left Dr. Hirschberg."

"Good. I hope he can help Kemal."

"It looks as though he can. I can't tell you how very, very much I appreciate this."

"Dana, there's nothing to appreciate. I'm glad I could be helpful. Just let me know how it goes."

"I will."Bless you.

"Flowers!" Olivia walked into the office with a large bouquet of flowers.

"They're beautiful!" Dana exclaimed.

She opened the envelope and read the card. Dear Miss Evans, Our friend's bark is worse than his bite. Enjoy the flowers. Jack Stone.

Dana studied the card a moment. That's interesting, she thought. Jeff said his bite is worse than his bark. Which one is right? Dana had the feeling that Jack Stone hated his job. And hated his boss. I'll remember that.

Dana telephoned Jack Stone at the FRA.

"Mr. Stone? I just wanted to thank you for the beautiful - "

"Are you at your office?"

"Yes. I - "

"I'll call back." Dial tone.

Three minutes later Jack Stone called.

"Miss Evans, it would be better for us both if a mutual friend didn't know we were talking. I've tried to change his attitude, but he's a stubborn man. If you ever need me - I meanreally need me  - I'm going to give you my private cell phone number. It will reach me anytime."

"Thank you." Dana wrote down the number.

"Miss Evans - "

"Yes."

"Never mind. Be careful."

When Jack Stone had gotten in that morning, General Booster had been waiting for him.

"Jack, I have a feeling that Evans bitch is a troublemaker. I want you to start a file on her. And keep me in the loop."

"I'll take care of it."Only there's not going to be any loop. And he had sent Dana flowers.

Dana and Jeff were in the television station's executive dining room talking about Kemal's prosthesis.

Dana said, "I'm so excited, darling. This is going to make all the difference in the world. He's been belligerent because he feels inferior. This is going to change all that."

"He must be thrilled," Jeff said. "I know I am."

"And the wonder is that the Children's Foundation is going to pay for all of it. If we can - "

Jeff's cell phone rang. "Excuse me, honey." He pressed a button and talked into the phone. "Hello?...Oh..." He glanced at Dana. "No...It's all right...Go ahead..."

Dana sat there, trying not to listen.

"Yes...I see...Right...It's probably nothing serious, but maybe you should see a doctor. Where are you now? Brazil? They have some good doctors there. Of course...I understand...No..." The conversation seemed to go on and on. Jeff finally said, "Take care. Good-bye." He put the phone down.

Dana said, "Rachel?"

"Yes. She's having some physical problems. She canceled her shoot in Rio. She's never done anything like that before."

"Why is she calling you, Jeff?"

"She has no one else, honey. She's all alone."

"Good-bye, Jeff."

Rachel hung up reluctantly, hating to let go. She looked out the window at Sugarloaf in the distance and Ipanema Beach far below. She walked into her bedroom and lay down, exhausted, the day reeling tipsily through her mind. It had started off well. That morning she had been shooting a commercial for American Express, posing on the beach.

Around noon the director said, "That last one was great, Rachel. But let's do one more."

She started to say yes and then heard herself saying, "No. I'm sorry. I can't."

He had looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"I'm very tired. You'll have to excuse me." She had turned and fled to the hotel, through the lobby, into the safety of her room. She was trembling and felt nauseated. What is the matter with me? Her forehead was feverish.

She picked up the telephone and called Jeff. The very sound of his voice made her feel better. Bless him. He is always there for me, my lifeline. When the conversation was over, Rachel lay in bed, thinking. We had some good times. He was always fun. We enjoyed doing the same things, and we loved sharing things. How could I have let him go? She made herself remember how the marriage had ended.

It had started with a telephone call.

"Rachel Stevens?"

"Yes."

"Roderick Marshall is calling."One of the most important directors in Hollywood.

A moment later he was on the line. "Miss Stevens?"

"Yes?"

"Roderick Marshall. Do you know who I am?"

She had seen several of his movies. "Of course I do, Mr. Marshall."

"I've been looking at photographs of you. We need you here at Fox. Would you be willing to come to Hollywood to do a screen test?"

Rachel hesitated about it for a moment. "I don't know. I mean, I don't know if I can act. I've never - "

"Don't worry. I'll take care of that. We'll pay all your expenses, of course. I'll direct the test myself. How soon can you be out here?"

Rachel thought about her schedule. "In three weeks."

"Good. The studio will make all of the arrangements."

When Rachel hung up she realized she had not consulted Jeff. He won't mind, she thought. We're seldom together anyway.

"Hollywood?" Jeff had repeated.

"It will be a lark, Jeff."

He nodded. "All right. Go for it. You'll probably be great."

"Can you come with me?"

"Honey, we're playing in Cleveland on Monday, then we're going on to Washington and then to Chicago. We still have a lot of games left on the schedule. I think the team would notice if one of their starting pitchers was missing."

"Too bad." She tried to sound casual. "Our lives never seem to come together, do they, Jeff?"

"Not often enough."

Rachel started to say something more, but she thought, This isn't the time.

Rachel was picked up at Los Angeles airport by a studio employee in a stretch limousine.

"My name is Henry Ford." He chuckled. "No relation. They call me Hank."

The limousine glided out into traffic. On the way, he gave Rachel a running commentary.

"First time in Hollywood, Miss Stevens?"

"No. I've been here many times. The last time was two years ago."

"Well, it's sure changed. It's bigger and better than ever. If you're into glamour, you're going to love it."

If I'm into glamour.

"The studio booked you at the Chateau Marmont. That's where all the celebrities stay."

Rachel pretended to be impressed. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. John Belushi died there, you know, after overdosing."

"My."

"Gable used to stay there, Paul Newman, Marilyn Monroe." The name-dropping went on and on. Rachel had stopped listening.

The Chateau Marmont was just north of the Sunset Strip, looking like a castle from a movie set.

Henry Ford said, "I'll pick you up at two o'clock to take you to the studio. You'll meet Roderick Marshall there."

"I'll be ready."

Two hours later Rachel was in the office of Roderick Marshall. He was in his forties, small and compact, with the energy of a dynamo.

"You'll be glad you came," he said. "I'm going to make you a big star. We'll shoot your test tomorrow. I'll have one of my assistants take you over to wardrobe to choose something nice for you. You're going to do a test scene from one of our big pictures, End of a Dream. Tomorrow morning at seven o'clock we'll do makeup and hair. I guess that's nothing new to you, huh?"

Rachel said tonelessly, "No."

"Are you alone here, Rachel?"

"Yes."

"Why don't we have dinner together tonight?"

Rachel thought about it for a moment. "Fine."

"I'll pick you up at eight o'clock."

Dinner turned out to be a whirlwind evening on the town.

"If you know where to go - and you can get in," Roderick Marshall told Rachel, "L. A. has some of the hottest clubs in the world."

The evening's rounds began at the Standard, a trendy bar, restaurant, and hotel on Sunset Boulevard. As they passed the front desk, Rachel stopped to stare. Next to the desk, behind a frosted glass window, was a live human painting, a nude model.

"Isn't that great?"

"Unbelievable," Rachel said.

There was a montage of noisy, crowded clubs, and by the end of the evening, Rachel was exhausted.

Roderick Marshall dropped her off at the hotel. "Sleep well. Tomorrow's going to change your whole life."

At 7:00A. M., Rachel was in the makeup room. Bob Van Dusen, the makeup man, looked at her appreciatively and said, "And they're paying me for this?"

She laughed.

"You don't need much makeup. Nature took care of that."

"Thank you."

When Rachel was ready, a wardrobe woman helped her into the dress they had fitted the afternoon before. An assistant director took her to the huge soundstage.

Roderick Marshall and the crew were waiting. The director studied Rachel a moment and said, "Perfect. We're going to do a two-part test, Rachel. You're going to sit in this chair and I'll ask you some questions off-camera. Just be yourself."

"Right. And the second part?"

"The short test scene I mentioned."

Rachel sat down and the cameraman set his focus. Roderick Marshall was standing off-camera. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Good. Just relax. You're going to be wonderful. Camera. Action. Good morning."

"Good morning."

"I hear you're a model."

Rachel smiled. "Yes."

"How did you get started?"

"I was fifteen. The owner of a model agency saw me in a restaurant with my mother, went up and talked to her, and a few days later I was a model."

The interview went on for fifteen easy minutes, and Rachel's intelligence and poise shone through.

"Cut! Wonderful!" Roderick Marshall handed her a short test scene. "We're going to take a break. Read this. When you're ready, tell me, and we'll shoot it. You're a cinch, Rachel."

Rachel read the scene. It was about a wife asking her husband for a divorce. Rachel read it again.

"I'm ready."

Rachel was introduced to Kevin Webster, who was going to play opposite her - a handsome young man in the Hollywood mold.

"All right," Roderick Marshall said. "Let's shoot it. Camera. Action."

Rachel looked at Kevin Webster. "I talked to a divorce lawyer this morning, Cliff."

"I heard about it. Shouldn't you have talked to me first?"

"I did talk to you about it. I've talked to you about it for the last year. We don't have a marriage anymore. You just weren't listening, Jeff."

"Cut," Roderick said. "Rachel, his name is Cliff."

Rachel said, embarrassed, "I'm so sorry."

"Let's go again. Take two."

The scene really is about Jeff and me, Rachel thought. We don't have a marriage anymore. How could we? We live separate lives. We hardly see each other. We both meet attractive people, but we can't get involved because of a contract that no longer means anything.

"Rachel!"

"Sorry."

The scene began again.

By the time Rachel finished the test, she had made two decisions: She did not belong in Hollywood.

And she wanted a divorce...

Now, lying in bed in Rio, feeling ill and exhausted, Rachel thought, I made a mistake. I never should have divorced Jeff.

Tuesday when Kemal finished school, Dana took him to the therapist who was working with Kemal and his new arm. The artificial arm looked real and functioned well, but it was difficult for Kemal to get used to it, both physically and psychologically.

"It will feel like he's attached to a foreign object," the therapist had explained to Dana. "Our job is to get him to accept it as a part of his own body. He has to get used to being ambidextrous again. There's usually a two- to three-month learning period. I must warn you that it can be a very difficult time."

"We can handle it," Dana assured him.

It was not that easy. The following morning Kemal walked out of the study without his prosthesis. "I'm ready."

Dana looked at him in surprise. "Where's your arm, Kemal?"

Kemal raised his left hand defiantly. "Here it is."

"You know what I mean. Where's your prosthesis?"

"It's freak. I won't wear it anymore."

"You'll get used to it, darling. I promise. You have to give it a chance. I'll help you to - "

"No one can help me. I'm afukati cripple..."

Dana went to see Detective Marcus Abrams again. When Dana walked in, Abrams was at his desk busily filling out reports. He looked up, scowling.

"You know what I hate about this damned job?" He indicated the pile of papers. "This. I could be out on the street having fun shooting perps. Oh, I forgot. You're a reporter, aren't you? Don't quote me."

"Too late."

"And what can I do for you today, Miss Evans?"

"I came to ask about the Sinisi case. Has there been an autopsy?"

"Pro forma." He took out some papers from his desk drawer.

"Was there anything suspicious in the report?"

She watched Detective Abrams scan the paper. "No alcohol...no drugs...No." He looked up. "It looks like the lady was depressed and just decided to end it all. That it?"

"That's it," Dana said.

Dana's next stop was Detective Phoenix Wilson's office.

"Good morning, Detective Wilson."

"And what brings you to my humble office?"

"I wondered whether there was any news on Gary Winthrop's murder."

Detective Wilson sighed and scratched the side of his nose. "Not one damn thing. I would have thought that by now one of those paintings would have turned up. That's what we've been counting on."

Dana wanted to say, I wouldn't if I were you, but she held her tongue. "No clues of any kind?"

"Not a thing. The bastards got away clean as a whistle. We don't have too many art thefts, but the MO is almost always the same. That's what's so surprising."

"Surprising?"

"Yeah. This one is different."

"Different...how?"

"Art thieves don't kill unarmed people, and there was no reason for these guys to shoot down Gary Winthrop in cold blood." He stopped. "Do you have any special interest in this case?"

"No," Dana lied. "Not at all. Just curious. I - "

"Right," Detective Wilson said. "Keep in touch."

At the end of a meeting in General Booster's office at the secluded the FRA headquarters, the general turned to Jack Stone and asked, "What's happening with the Evans woman?"

"She's going around asking questions, but I think it's harmless. She's not getting anywhere."

"I don't like her snooping around. Kick it up to a code three."

"When do you want it to start?"

"Yesterday."

Dana was in the middle of preparing for the next broadcast when Matt Baker walked into her office and sank into a chair.

"I just got a phone call about you."

Dana said lightly, "My fans can't get enough of me, can they?"

"This one's had enough of you."

"Oh?"

"The call was from the FRA. They're asking you to stop your investigation of Taylor Winthrop. Nothing official. Just what they called a friendly suggestion. Looks like they want you to mind your own business."

"It does, doesn't it?" Dana said. She locked eyes with Matt. "It makes you wonder why, doesn't it? I'm not backing away from the story because some government agency wants me to. It started in Aspen, where Taylor and his wife were killed in the fire. I'm going there first. And if there's something there, it should be a great kickoff story forCrime Line. "

"How much time do you need?"

"It shouldn't take more than a day or two."

"Go for it."