The doctor said, “We’ll do the thigh, then,” Jennifer said, “Plenty of meat on there,” and Harlan grinned.
The manager said, “When you’re finished here, Mr. Kristiansen, just ring the front desk.” He put his business card down on the coffee table, on a rare non-bloody spot. “I’ve set aside another room for the ladies, when they’re ready. As soon as you call, we’ll send a bellman to help with the bags.” He set a paper bag on the coffee table next. It was a very glossy paper bag. It was a wine-sized paper bag. “To help make up for the trouble. Anything else you need, please just ask.”
“Appreciate that,” Harlan said, as if this were normal. “You know what? I only got a bite of my dinner before all the bloodletting happened. It’s cold now, and Jennifer didn’t get anything at all. Want some enchiladas?” he asked Jennifer. “They’re chicken. The bite I had was pretty good.”
“Or you could have what I had,” Dyma said.
Jennifer squinted at her. “Is it vegetables?”
The doctor said, “Little prick here,” Jennifer said, “Oh, surely not. So disappointing,” and this time, both Harlan and Owen grinned.
Dyma said, as the needle went in and Jennifer didn’t even care, “Are you even my mother? And yes, it’s vegetables. Of course it’s vegetables. I told you, I’m doing this.”
“Enchiladas, then, please,” Jennifer said. “I’ve bled way too much to eat vegetables.”
“Two of those,” Harlan said. “And I’m sure whatever’s in this bag is real good, but if you’d have them send up a beer along with that food, that’d be even better. When I get this much blood on me, I tend to want a beer. Of course, it’s usually my blood, but still. Whatever’s local and cold will work for me. Send all that to my room, please.”
“Of course,” the manager said, and melted away.
“Wow,” Jennifer said. “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know rich people get treated better, but I didn’t think you could bleed all over somebody’s best suite and have them apologize to you. And give you wine. Does this happen to you all the time?”
“Nope,” Harlan said. “But only because I’m better behaved than you.” And this time, she laughed.
The doctor said, “I’m giving you an antibiotic shot as well, just in case.”
“Why not?” Jennifer said. “He’s paying. Notice how I’ve given up caring about that,” she told Harlan. “I have surrendered to my fate.”
The doctor smiled, then said, “I can get some crutches sent around first thing in the morning. It could be tricky to hobble on this thing for the next day or so.”
Harlan said, “Nope. I’ve got this.”
Jennifer said, “How, exactly, this time? I can’t wait to hear this one.”
“I’m carrying you,” he said. “Of course I am. What, you’re using crutches in the snow? No.”
“I’m heavy,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m strong.”
Dyma said, “Oh, man. You’re not supposed to agree with her! What are you, clueless? She’s sensitive about her weight.”
Harlan, though, was laughing. “Nah. Excuse to grope.”
“I need the crutches,” Jennifer told the doctor. “For after I go home.”
Harlan didn’t object to that, because how could he? “Bill through the hotel?” he asked the doctor instead.
“That’s how it works,” the doctor said, and started packing up. “Take care of yourself, young lady, and stay off that foot as much as you can. The internal stitches will dissolve on their own, and the outer layers are glued, but if you have any problems after you get home, be sure to give your own doctor a call.” After that, he stripped off his gloves and melted away only slightly less discreetly than the manager.
Which left Dyma and Owen, piles of towels nobody was going to want to use ever again, and a whole, whole lot of blood. Footprint-sized patches between the couch and the door, not to mention between the couch and the bathroom. And then there was the bathroom, which looked like a crime scene. And Harlan, who looked like he’d lost a fight, and was sitting down on the arm of the couch and asking, “Is this day over yet?” Then taking her hand, leaning down, kissing her forehead, and saying, “You did good. That was nasty. All right?”
“No,” Dyma said. “Not all right. Tell me. I go for a swim and dinner, assuming that my loving mother, who has trouble staying in this decade—in this millennium—will be sitting in here worrying about my safety like she always does, and instead, you’ve got the cops here. And a doctor. And blood. I thought I was being modern talking about my blood. This is serious blood.”
Harlan said, “Don’t go in your mom’s bathroom, then.”
“Exactly why?” Dyma asked. “And explain the cops.”
Jennifer said, “Maybe you’re not the only one with an exciting life.”
“Mom,” Dyma said. “I am so the only one with an exciting life.”
“I’m trying to think up a good story,” Jennifer said, “but the truth is, I broke my wine glass in the bathroom and stepped on the broken glass. That’s the whole story. The cops came because …” She waved a hand, then asked Harlan, “Are there any more wine glasses? Because there’s still that first bottle left, plus whatever’s in the bag.”
He eyed her and said, “How about a glass of water? At least until you get some food?”
“You’re no fun,” she said. “Anyway, the cops came because of the blood. They interrogated Harlan in your bedroom, I’m guessing, Dyma. As the suspect in my assault. To be fair, he is covered in blood. I thought they were going to take him down right at the door. One of them had his hand on his gun.”
“You’re kidding,” Dyma said. “Because you cut your foot?”
Harlan came back with her glass of water, and she struggled up to sit, attempted without much success to keep her robe closed around her, contemplated how many men she’d flashed tonight after a lifetime of flashing exactly none, and said, “So. If we’re having a party … does anybody else want wine?”
26
New Rules
Jennifer wasn’t on the couch anymore. She was on his bed.
Dyma had packed the two of them up, after the front-desk clerk had apologized over the phone that, “We only had one open room, but it has two beds. I hope that’s acceptable.”
Harlan said, “Yeah, that’s fine,” then hung up, explained, and said, “Owen, if you can handle the move, I’ll take Jennifer to my room to eat. It’s after nine-thirty, and I made her drop her bratwurst.”
“I think I can handle the move,” Owen said. “If you spell it out real slow.”
“Excuse me?” Dyma said, because of course she did. “I think I can just about follow a hotel employee to another room without getting lost. I can probably even figure out how to turn on the sink and flush the toilet all by myself.”