PATRIOTS: I'm enjoying this year so much more than last year.
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The ringing of the telephone was like a bit drilling into her throbbing head. The phone had rung on and off for the last few days. Tristan managed to ignore it for the most part with a pillow over her head until it silenced itself. She was too shattered emotionally and physically to crawl over and turn the ringer off. Trying to engage in some form of coherent conversation was not an option. But, today it continued to ring and ring and ring. Each time the answering machine tried to pick up, the caller disconnected. The ringing would start again in the time it took to redial.
"Why do I still have a land line?" Tristan shouted to the empty room as she dragged herself out of her bed and grabbed for the handset. "What the fuck is so fucking important that you have to keep fucking calling me every fucking minute of every fucking day?"
After a brief pause, during which Tristan thought she heard a snicker; a familiar voice rumbled over the line, "Now, Tristy, is that anyway to answer the phone? I thought I taught you better manners. Sometimes it's all I can do not to be disappointed in you and you don't want me to be disappointed in you, believe me."
"Look, Arnold, I don't really have time to…,"
"Again, you forget your manners, Tristy. It is only polite to address somebody by name without title if they have given you leave to do so. I have never allowed such familiarity between us. And, I never will."
Tristan gave an eye roll before responding, "Okay, Mr. Arnold. Sorry to forget the rules but I've had a bad couple of days here."
"Ten bad days to be exact. So, isn't it about time you get off your backside and return to work? I have information every reporter in town wants but I'll only share it with you because I like you. I really do, Tristy."
Tristan gritted her teeth to keep from snapping at the lecherous man on the other end of the line. He completely disgusted her even though all their interactions were by telephone or mail. She had no idea what he looked like but his voice was creepy enough. The deep yet slightly effeminate voice which climbed higher when he was excited made her skin crawl. She detested doing business with him but he had been a valuable source of information on the Sebastian family. The leads he provided were never wrong. Mr. Arnold might be a pig but he was a well informed pig.
"Mr. Arnold, I'm sorry to be irritable today but I'm sure you know about my accident…,"
"I believe it was Sage's accident and you were merely along for the ride," he taunted, "or should I say plummet?"
"Sure, say whatever you want," Tristan was desperate to get back to bed. "I'm still pretty banged up. Not feeling well at all, if you know what I mean. I'm not going to go back to work any time soon, I'm afraid. So, you probably want to find another reporter…,"
"DON'T TRY SHITTING ME!" He thundered. "You most certainly are going back to work. Or were you planning on going back to whoring for rent money?"
"What?" Tristan was stunned by the sudden aggressiveness of her previously merely weird and annoying source.
"Tristy, you have $48. 16 in your bank account at the moment. Your rent is due by the end of the month and you have a payment you need to make to Mount Hope…,"
"Hey," Tristan's anger sparked to life, "stay out from my business, Dude! You've got no reason to be messing around in my private life."
This time she did hear him snicker, "I'm sure most of your free press victims feel the same way, Tristy. Now, let's stop arguing and get you back to the work at hand. Sage is leaving the hospital today…,"
"Look, it's no secret she's getting released from the hospital today. I already know she's going back to her parents' place. "
"Stop interrupting me! You'd better pay attention to what I say or, by God; I'll make that little retard pay for his mother's sins."
"Don't you call him that!"
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, CUNT! I'll do a lot worse than name calling if you don't start listening to me."
The threat made Tristan shut up. Her heart was racing. She was furious but also terrified of this stranger who had been guiding her career for years. A man she knew almost nothing about.
"I will tell you what to do and when to do it," he seemed calm again now that she was quiet, "just like I always do and you'll keep doing exactly what you are told to do, Tristy.
"I bought you a new outfit to wear home," Brook stated as she unzipped the garment bag she was holding up. "The top is loose enough to pull over your arm. You shouldn't need a coat with it because it’s a heavy cable knit."
"Ah, thanks," Sage gave the clothes in the bag a brief perusal before dismissing them; "but Mom's bringing my own stuff."
"Oh," Brook gave a tiny, disappointed shrug of her shoulders letting the garment bag drop to the floor as she sat down in the chair next to Sage's bed. "Okay. Hey, I have an idea. How about after we finish up here; we stop in the North End for a late lunch? Just the three of us. We can let Simone handle the bill and I'll drive you back home and get you settled in for the night. I can stay all night. It'll be like when we were kids."
"I think I need to pass. I'm still not feeling very well." Sage shook her head, "besides, I want to ride home with Mom."
"Mom, Mom, Mom," Brook mocked. "What's with all this Mom stuff? You've called her Mom more in the last five minutes than you have in the last five years."
Sage took a deep breath before answering, "Brook, I'm not saying it to upset you. I love you. You know that. But, I'm too hurt and exhausted to stay angry at her. I need a Mom now more than ever. Simone's legally my mother. We both have to accept the facts of our lives."
"Oh, please, when did you become the diplomat," Brook exclaimed in frustration.
"Probably around the same time I fell off a building. Dangling nine stories in the air gives you a fresh perspective of what's really important," Sage stated it as simply as she could.
Brook was unmoved by the explanation. "Sage, I'm your mother. I was the one who was pregnant for nine months. I was the one in labor for sixteen hours. I was the one that nursed you…,"
"Eeew," Sage groaned. "Come on, the pain meds are making my stomach queasy enough without piling on gross talk."
"I'm serious!"
Sage let some of her suppressed resentment surface, "Well, I'm serious too. My life is destroyed! My arm is a useless hunk of flesh hanging from my shoulder." She wouldn't spare a glance at the offending limb. "I need both my parents to take care of me. Simone and Granville have been there for me every single day. Not only this time, all the times I've screwed up. And, how have I thanked them? I've been a total shit to them. Not anymore. I'm done being an asshole. I finally understand I need my parents. I desperately need them. So, unless you're ready to drag the stud muffin out of your misspent youth and introduce me to my long forgotten Daddy…,"
Brook visibly flinched. "You have no idea how cruel that was."
"Hang around a while, I think I have the potential to get much crueler," Sage's evil sneer forced Brook to her feet and out the door.
The town car glided to a smooth stop rousing Sage from her all too brief slumber. Getting dressed and out of the hospital took more strength than she predicted. Of course, the argument with Brook was a physical drain before Sage even started to pull on her jeans.
Sage gave Simone a brief smile as she straightened up to exit the vehicle. It was returned in kind.
"Wait a minute," Sage's demand sounded more like a worried request. "Why are we here and not home?"
Simone gave Sage's right hand a gentle squeeze before freeing it. "You are home, dear. The hotel is your home. Although, I will confess that I invaded your privacy to make sure your linens were fresh and there was edible food in the refrigerator. Forgive me."
"No, you don't understand. I want to go home with you and Dad. You know, to the big house in the suburbs."
"Yes, that would be a safe choice. You wouldn't need to fend for yourself or think about what's happened to you or decide what you'll do next. It would be like returning to your childhood." Simone gave a gentle shake of her head, "As much as I want to drag you back home to keep you safe and protected, I love you too much to lock you away."
"But, I want you to," Sage barely managed to spit the words out before a sob escaped.
"No, honey, you really don't."
"Yes, I really do!"
"Sage, you're only afraid. You're afraid to try and fail and maybe get hurt again. It's okay to be afraid but it's not okay to run away. I'm not going to let you hide." Simone gently waved her hand and commanded, "Go back to your own home, Sage. Go!"
The car door opened as if to obey the woman. Sage sat staring at Simone for several long seconds getting her breathing under control. Seeing that Simone was in no way prepared to blink, Sage broke eye contact first and glanced out of the car door. Her meager belongings were being loaded onto a bell man's trolley and the hotel's huge double doors were being held open. She was expected to get out of the car and follow the red carpet back inside the beast that almost killed her.
"If," Sage looked over her shoulder to pin Simone with a hard glare, "if I get hurt again, I'll hate you forever."
"Yes dear, that's exactly what I would expect you to say to me," Simone repeated the reply Brook had earned the day Sage fell.
"Today just keeps getting better and better," Sage snarled when she entered the loft.
The Spartan space was not nearly as empty as she when she left it. A stone block stood on one of her workbenches in the center of the room. Her chisel and hammer lay out awaiting her arrival. A short distance away, Tristan sat on another workbench smiling.
"Welcome home."
"Get out!"
"Now, Sage, before you kick me to the curb, at least, hear me out," Tristan requested.
"Why would I want to do that?" Sage turned her back on Tristan and snapped at the bell man bringing in her belongings, "Doesn't this piss hole have security anymore? How did she get into my loft?"
The young man paled at Sage's venom and stood silent.
"ANSWER ME!"
"Ah, Melvin is it?" Tristan interrupted as she rushed to get between the pair. "Ms. Sebastian is extremely tired. Would you see to it that her evening meal is delivered in thirty minutes? I've already given the menu to the chef so they'll be expecting you in the kitchen. And, Dr. Tsu will be arriving at 5pm exactly. See to it she is escorted here immediately. Can't keep a doctor waiting around, right? Not with what they charge."
"Lady, if you don't shut up and get the Hell out of my life…," Sage was ready to explode.
Tristan gave Melvin a conspiratorial wink, "Its okay, my good man. You can trust me with Ms. Sebastian. Her Mom gave me the keys. I mean, how else would I have gotten in here? Couldn't just walk right in the front doors and up the private elevator and pick the skimpy lock on the light weight door, right? Not in an operation as organized as Sebastian America. Nope, no way, no how could somebody sneak into the Harbor Bostonian Hotel and lay in wait for the return of the seriously injured heir to the fortune, as it were. No, I'm right where I should be. But, you're not. So, go ahead, Melvin, and do what I've told you and I'll make sure she tips you real good. That'll be a nice change of pace, won't it? I'll take care of everything on this end."
"Sure, you will," Melvin shook his head in disgust at the fast talker. "Ms. Sebastian, you want me to show her to security while you call 911?"
"Yes, Melvin," Sage sighed in exasperation. "Get her out of here."
Tristan took two steps backward to avoid the eager bell man's grab. Unfortunately, his lunge was long enough to snag a corner of her sling. He tugged hard to reel her in.
"Son of a…,"
The pain was so intense Tristan was unable to finish the curse. She dropped to her knees cradling her injured shoulder. Her sobs were in short muffled pants as she rocked back and forth.
"Oops," the young man retreated from the harm he caused.
Sage rolled her eyes. She waited a few extra seconds to see if the woman's tears would stop on their own but that did not happen. It didn't appear it would happen anytime soon either.
"If I give you five minutes to state your peace, will you stop crying?"
Tristan sobered immediately, "Thirty minutes."
"Ten," Sage countered with a slight amusement at the ridiculousness of the situation.
"Twenty," Tristan continued to bargain.
"Fifteen," Sage held up her hand to stop any further negotiations. "That's the best I'll give you even if you start to hemorrhage right there on the floor in front of me."
"Well then, we have a deal." Tristan extended her left hand to the bell man, "Melvin, my man, how 'bout a hand up?"
Melvin waited for Sage to nod her approval before he helped Tristan to her feet. He gave her a sideward glance as if to warn her. Tristan had no doubts that Melvin might be afraid of Sage but he held no fear of her.
"Don't worry, I won't press charges for the assault," Tristan reassured with a smirk.
"Jerk," Melvin hissed as he left the loft.
"Okay, clock's ticking. What the fuck do you want?" Sage asked while she meandered over to her battered but comfortable sofa across from the wall length windows facing the Atlantic.
Tristan toddled over and dropped onto the other end of the sofa. She winced slightly on impact.
"They give you anything good for the pain?" Sage sounded a bit concerned.
Tristan shrugged, "I've got a little history under my belt so doctors are reluctant to use the top shelf stuff with me. No opioids for me, I'm afraid. But, I'll manage. How 'bout you? Anything good and what kind of contraption is that on your arm? All they gave me was a sling."
Sage allowed herself to look at the mess that had been her left arm. It still had metal screws and surgical piping protruding through the skin and holding the pieces of her bones together. There were several patches of white gauze covering the bloodier sites. The rest of the exposed skin was a swollen mass of black and blue and numb meat. All of which was perched on a trough strapped to her hip.
"The drugs are okay and the contraption is to keep my arm from dragging along the floor, I guess." Sage closed her eyes and settled back into the couch, "What do you want? Why did you come? And, most importantly, when are you leaving?"
"Right to the chase. Fine," Tristan plunged head first into her half baked idea. "We are both so screwed."
"You can say that again," Sage snorted.
"Well, I think we can help each other."
Sage flashed a dirty look but didn't interrupt.
"You smashed your left arm which you need to sculpt. I smashed up my right arm which I need to write. Can you see where I'm going with this?"
"No," Sage was bewildered. "And, you're running out of time."
"I help you sculpt and you help me write."
Sage laughed. When Tristan didn't join in, Sage stopped.
"You're not kidding, aren't you?"
"Nope."
"Not possible. Now get out."
"I still have five minutes. And, it is possible. If two people can learn how to play the piano together then you and I can sculpt and write together," Tristan reasoned.
Sage opened her mouth to object but couldn't think of a reply.
"See, it is possible. You just have to give it try, Sage. Please, try with me. Give me a chance to reclaim my art while you reclaim yours." Tristan wiped a real tear from her cheek before finishing, "A writer who can't write doesn't have long to live. Kurt Vonnegut said that. What happens to a sculptor who can't sculpt?"
"I don't know," Sage replied with a hint of worry in her voice.
"Do you want to wait around and find out?"
"No," Sage quickly answered.
Tristan gave a wide grin, "Good. Then I'll be here at 9am tomorrow."
Sage smiled broadly, "7 sharp or nothing and don't even try to haggle your way out of it."
"Deal," Tristan readily agreed.
"Good. Now get out!"