Love at 11

Chapter Nineteen



“How are you feeling?”

“Like hell.” Lulu said, as she lifted her right hand and placed it over mine. She looked pale and weak lying in her hospital bed. But she was alive. That was the important thing.

Early that morning, a nurse had found my family, uncomfortably napping in waiting room chairs. She informed us that Lulu had been released from the ICU. She was awake and talking. And, thank the Lord, she didn’t seem to have suffered too many permanent injuries. Her left side had slight nerve damage but doctors were confident that with intensive rehab she’d regain full bodily function within a few months.

I leapt out of my chair and hugged the doctor. Lulu was going to be okay! I wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at the same time. At that moment, nothing in life mattered except this. My precious baby sister would live. Not only live—but be fine. Fine! She would be able to go to the prom, apply for college, graduate high school, meet a guy. Live happily ever after. Tears of relief streamed down my flushed cheeks as I released the doctor and shared hugs of joy with my mother, my father, and even Cindi with an “i”.

“She’s a very lucky little girl,” the gray-haired physician told us sternly after the hug fest had completed. “But if she doesn’t stay off the drugs, I can’t say she’ll do so well next time.”

The statement sobered our elation. Lulu was out of the frying pan, but still in the proverbial fire. Could she resist the drugs? I honestly didn’t know. But if there was any way I could help her, I would.

My mother and father had gone in to see her first, while Cindi and I waited in the lobby. Though my parents still looked a bit uncomfortable talking to each other, they’d bonded through this common adversity. Who knew, maybe someday they’d even form a weird sort of ex-spouse friendship. But even if they didn’t, both of them had learned an important lesson about responsibility. Neither would drop the parental ball when it came to Lulu again, that was for sure.

Visiting hours in her ward were short, so after about ten minutes my parents came out and said Lulu wanted to see me before her time was up.

Walking in and seeing her swaddled in hospital bedding, her skin porcelain white and her eyes hollow and vacant made me want to burst into tears. But I knew I had to be strong. For her sake and my own.

“I was so worried about you,” I said, stroking her forehead. “If I had lost you …” I found I couldn’t form the words I wanted to say. But she knew, of course.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m such a loser, huh?” Her mouth quirked up in a weak, self-deprecating grin. “You’re not a loser,” I replied, fiercely. “Drug addiction is a disease. Just like diabetes. You had a relapse. But you can beat this thing, I know you can.” Actually, I didn’t know any such thing, but I wasn’t about to let her in on that.

“I’m glad you think so,” she replied with a snort. “I, myself, am not so sure.” She gestured to her body with her good arm. “Look at me, lying here, sick as a dog, and I’m totally jonesing for more drugs. Even though I’m positive if I were to do them, they’d kill me. Pathetic, huh?”

Waves of nausea swept through me as I tried to imagine what she was going through. It seemed completely unfathomable to me that someone could become so addicted to something they’d rather die than go without. But it happened every day. And I was no longer blind enough to think someone like my sister could be an exception to the statistics. Being a white, middle-class, all-American girl didn’t give you any sort of immunity to this kind of thing. At this moment, Lulu was as bad off as any street crack whore.

But she had one advantage. Her family. Me. And I was bound and determined to help her through her recovery in any way I could. No more being pissed off about responsibility. No more thinking it was “not my job” to parent her. Whatever she needed, I would be there for her. That’s what you did for people you loved. “I don’t even know how this all got so out of control,” Lulu continued. “I mean, at first it was just a joint or two at parties. Then some Ritalin to keep me awake and focused at school after being out all night. Then Drummer introduced me to meth and it was so awesome at first. You feel like you’re flying—like you’re queen of the world and none of your problems matter anymore. Which was just what I needed at the time. You know, with all the family shit going on. But then the come-downs got so horrible, I needed more and more drugs just to feel normal. And then … well …” She shrugged. “You know the rest. I’m an addict, plain and simple.”

“But you’ll get better,” I assured her, feeling like I was offering her empty promises. “One day at a time, right?” Isn’t that what they said in rehab? It sounded stupid coming from my mouth.

Lulu nodded. “I’d been doing good, you know. At Shady Oaks? I’d even stopped feeling sick from detoxing. Then that stupid guard offered to let me out and …” She trailed off. “Some of the things I’ve done, Maddy. It’s so embarrassing. When I saw Mom, I could barely look her in the eye.”

“You don’t have to apologize for the past,” I said firmly. “Just get well. That’s all we ask.” I petted her head. “I’m going to try,” Lulu said, nodding and then wincing from the pain of doing so.

A manly-looking nurse with a mustache that desperately needed bleaching picked that moment to enter the hospital room. She checked Lulu’s IV and fluffed her pillows before turning to me. “Visiting hours are over,” she coldly informed me.

I nodded, grasping my sister’s hand a last time and stroking it with my fingers. I leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I won’t give up on you,” I whispered. “I love you, Lulu.”

“I love you, too, Maddy,” She whispered back, tears streaming down her face. “And I won’t let you down.”



*



I still couldn’t believe I was actually doing this.

Clutching the videotape in one trembling hand, I strode down the hallway, heading for what in the TV news world, we called Receive. The place where my story could broadcast to the world. Well, at least the world of San Diego. Receive was the gateway to the air-waves and its guardians had no idea what they were about to let loose.

In just minutes, my five-year career at News 9 would be over forever. Heck, they’d probably blacklist me from ever setting foot in a TV station again. My dream of working at Newsline would never come true. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to work in a business that was as corrupt as I’d recently determined it to be.

The truth was more important. My sister and the others like her were more important.

My heart slammed against my rib cage as I pushed open the door to Receive. The coordinator gave me a stressed smile before going back to organizing the videotapes for the night’s broadcast. I smiled back, knowing from her look that no one had time to check to see what was on the tape I delivered.

I took a deep breath. This was it.

“This is for you, Lulu,” I whispered to myself, then handed the coordinator the tape.

“Here’s tonight’s feature story,” I informed her. “Cosmetics That Kill.”

I held my breath as she took the tape and examined the label. Please don’t check, please don’t check.

“Great.” She smiled, filing the tape in its appropriate slot for the five o’clock news. “Thanks, Maddy.”

It was done.



*



After leaving Receive, I raced down the hall to Richard’s office, as fast as my flip-flops could carry me. Forgetting to knock, I burst into the office. He was sitting watching the newscast and looked up when I entered.

“Madeline?” he asked, looking bit worried at my brash entrance. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” I assured him, trying to catch my breath. “I just stopped by to chat.”

“Can it wait? I’m watching the newscast right now.”

Which is exactly what I need to stop you from doing, I thought as I deliberately walked in front of the TV. T minus two minutes. How was I going to pull this off?

He leaned to the side, trying to see the television. “Madeline, could you move over to the—”

“So, Richard. I was thinking. Since we barely know each other, and now as fellow managers we’ll be working together on a daily basis, I thought it’d be best if we could chat for a bit.”

Richard stared at me like I was a crazy person. “Now?” he asked.

“Sure, why not? So, first off, I need to inform you that my name’s actually Maddy, not Madeline. No one’s called me Madeline since birth. So if you don’t mind, now that we’re colleagues and all, can you please call me Maddy from here on out?”

I could hear the broadcast behind me. “And now tonight on ‘Terrance Tells All’ … Could those cosmetics you keep in your cabinet actually kill you? Terrance has our News Nine exclusive …”

This was it!

I grabbed the remote off Richard’s desk and pressed mute.

“Hey,” he protested. “I was watching—”

“Oh well, you’ve already seen this segment. Cosmetics That Kill?” I willed my voice to remain casual, even though my heart was beating like mad. “I showed you the story earlier, remember?”

“Yes,” Richard admitted, looking seriously pissed. “But I like to see how it looks on air.”

“So, anyway, as I was saying, let’s get to know each other,” I said, ignoring his request and not dropping the remote. “What are your likes and dislikes? Hobbies? What do you do on weekends? I myself am a big fan of eighties music and movies. Did you ever see Pretty in Pink?”

“Maddy, I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Richard said in a tight voice. “But if you don’t give me back the remote control right this second and get out of my office, I’m calling security.”

Oh-kay. Time to make my exit. The piece still had a couple minutes to play, but I had an idea.

“Sure, no problem. Sorry.” I handed him the remote, while wrapping my toe around the phone cord on the floor. “I guess I’ll come back when it’s a better time.”

“What the—?” Richard said with a gasp.

“Records show that the land is owned by this man, Rocky Rodriguez of Pacific Coast Cars,” Terrance was saying over the airways.

Richard stared at me, his face quite literally turning purple. “What the hell have you done, Madeline?” he demanded. He grabbed the receiver to his phone and punched in three numbers. Probably dialing Receive to have them pull the tape. Couldn’t have that.

“Okay, I’ll just—” I yanked my foot, still wrapped around the phone cord, as hard as I could, forcing it out of its socket.

“Hello?” Richard cried, not realizing I’d disconnected him. He looked like Grimace from McDonald’s at this point, and I hoped he didn’t have any heart problems. “Hello!?”

I quickly exited the office and ran upstairs to Cubicle Land. Just had to grab my purse and I was out of there, mission accomplished. I knew that there was no way Richard could reach another phone before the end of the piece. The drug tunnel story had aired on News 9 and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

My illustrious career in TV news, on the other hand, had warbled its swan song. It was sad in some ways. But I knew I’d done the right thing. This wasn’t about me. This was about Lulu and the thousands of others like her. I’d gone into TV news to make a difference. Now I felt I actually had.

It was only a week after Lulu’s overdose, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. After three days of hospital recovery, she’d been admitted into another rehab—this one maximum security—for further treatment. Doctors said she was extremely lucky. We all were. They warned us about her tough road ahead. But I had faith in her recovery. This time, unlike when first admitted, she wanted to quit. I knew desire wasn’t always enough, but it was a good start.

I had taken the week off from work to deal with Lulu’s affairs and be with my family, so I hadn’t seen Jamie since the night of the overdose. The night he’d told me Jen was pregnant. He’d phoned me though, every day, leaving messages, begging me to return his calls. But I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone. Every time I thought of him, I could only envision Jen, growing huge with his child inside her belly. It was too much to deal with. As much as I loved him, I couldn’t get past her pregnancy. I wanted desperately to move on with my life.

My cell phone rang. Jodi.

“I’m watching the news,” she screamed through the receiver. “And I can’t believe what I just saw. How did you get them to go along with it?”

“I didn’t,” I admitted, walking down the stairwell to the front desk. I needed to make a quick exit. “There was a tape label malfunction.”

“But Maddy, Richard will fire you….”

“Oh, I’m sure the paperwork’s already been started,” I agreed, pushing open the door and heading outside. “If Richard isn’t in the hospital facing cardiac arrest.”

“They’ll blacklist you from TV. No one will hire you.”

“Then I’ll find a job in another field.” I reached my car and rummaged for my key while balancing the cell phone against my ear.

“But—”

“Listen, Jodi,” I said soothingly. She was taking this harder than I was. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. It was something I had to do. And I feel I made the right choice. The story got told, that’s the important thing. What matters is people are now aware of the drug tunnel’s existence. It’ll be shut down. The borders will become stronger and it’ll be harder for drugs to be smuggled into the US. That’s the bottom line. That’s all that matters.”

“Wow,” Jodi said softly. “That’s so brave and noble of you. And here I had accused you of selling out by accepting the executive producer position. I’m sorry, Maddy. I was wrong.”

“You weren’t.” I shook my head. “At the time I would have ditched the story for the chance to get ahead. But then after what happened with my sister … Well, I started to see things in a new light.”

“I think that’s great, what you did. You are truly a credit to the profession of journalism.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, blushing. I got into my car and turned the key in the ignition.

“So what will you do now?” she asked, concerned. “You know, Jodi?” I said with a small grin. “For the first time in my life, I have absolutely no idea.” And also for the first time, I was okay with that.