And then, there was one

My boyfriend, Jake, and I had just spent the evening discussing our latest dilemma, my pregnancy. He had driven like a maniac to an open diner through two feet of snow because he couldn't stand being cooped up in my hotel room all night. When we got back to the parking lot at the hotel after breakfast, there were snowdrifts covering up an icy mess. His truck plowed through it effortlessly and he pulled up close to the door of the room.

He was angry with me because I refused to stay in Canada during my pregnancy and trust him to help me through it. He had made a lot of promises during our seven months together. Unfortunately, he had kept very few of them. Stubbornly independent, I needed to be in charge of this next phase of my life and I couldn't count on him. He didn't need to rescue me from this disaster he had contributed to.

Not wanting to sit like a queen, expecting him to help me down from the truck in the parking lot, I popped the door open and jumped out, falling hard on my back. It took my breath away. I hit my head on the opened door when I tried to sit up and fell back down, feeling sick. He ran over and helped me up.

Shaking his head, annoyed with me, he said, “See? See? You think you can do everything alone, eh? Come on, let’s get you inside. You couldn’t wait two minutes for me to help? Two fucking minutes. You are so damned stubborn.”

Shit. My head was bleeding, and I was dizzy and embarrassed about losing my footing. Jake sat me down on the bed and made a cold pack out of snow in a towel, holding it on my forehead. It slowed the bleeding, but it didn’t stop it. My stomach was getting ready to lose the breakfast I’d just eaten but I couldn’t stand up without the room spinning.

“I think- I need to – I’m going to throw up.” I said over a mouthful of sour acid.

He helped me to the bathroom. Oh, my God. He was going to see me vomit. How disgusting. I didn’t have a choice because I couldn’t stand on my own. It was so embarrassing. It was almost as bad as if he walked in on me taking a dump. Good heavens.

He held me up over the toilet and I heaved my guts out, literally. It seemed like it would never end. Then I started to hiccup. All I wanted was to rinse out my nasty mouth and lay down on the bathroom floor to sleep. I was not feeling well. I, the germaphobe, wanted to lie down on the nasty bathroom floor filled with filthy, microscopic creatures to sleep. I once threw a toothbrush away for the same offense.

Jake helped me to the sink to wash out my mouth, but my vision was too blurry to find the toothpaste. He helped me and practically carried me to the bed. I kept getting scared that the bed was tipping over and I’d fall out. My forehead was still bleeding, and he kept sopping it up with the now wet, lukewarm towel.

“Tina, I think we need to find a hospital. Do you remember where the hospital Jean Luc took you to was?”

“I don’t remember. We took a cab.” I told him, flopping back down on the pillow, trying to block the bright lights of the room from my eyes. “I’m okay. Just let me go to sleep. I’m fine.”

“No. Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital. I’ll stop at the diner and get directions.” He insisted, picking me up and carrying me out to the truck, not waiting for me to argue.

He sat me in the passenger seat then went back inside and brought out my jacket and the bedspread to wrap around me. He handed me the wet towel and said, “Hold this on your cut. Keep pressure on it. Okay?”

All I remember is snuggling into the pink bedspread and slumping against the cool passenger-side window. I don’t recall the trip to the hospital. Somehow, he had found it and before I knew it, I was being wheeled on a gurney into the Emergency Room with him running next to me.

I thought that was a bit extreme for a little cut on the head until I saw them unwrap me from the comforter. Did my head bleed that badly? I thought. The bedspread was soaked with blood. I went back to sleep and when I woke up all the blood was gone. I was clean and lying in a spartan bed in a quiet room with dimmed lights and beeping machinery.

I fell back asleep and when I woke up again a nurse was checking my vital signs. Satisfied that I was still alive she wrote something down on a clipboard and left the room.

Between the beeps of the machine and the dimmed lights, I saw a shadow in a chair next to the bed. I couldn’t connect my brain to that shadow, so I went back to sleep.

It felt so good to sleep without dreaming. No pain. No fear. Just peaceful sleep. I wanted to stay that way forever. In that silent space between sleep and wakefulness, I decided that falling in love costs too much. I couldn’t afford it. I promised myself it would never happen again. Then I sunk back into oblivion.

I woke up to bright sunshine streaming through the window shades. Not knowing how long I’d been out I looked around, trying to find a clock. The shadow in the chair was gone. I remembered the shadow now. That’s the thing about shadows; just when you think you’ve finally caught up with them, you haven’t.

New Year’s Eve had come and gone, and I’d missed the party in Old City. Apparently, I’d missed quite a bit. The next nurse who came by helped me out of bed and took me by wheelchair to the little patient bathroom down the hall. I felt drunk and wobbly, so she had me sit on a little bench in the shower stall. The water ran down my legs in a rust-colored river and circled the drain. I remembered hitting my head in a snowstorm and felt my forehead, thinking it was still bleeding.

“What day is this?” I asked her, my mind still fuzzy.

“Saturday.” She said, as she turned off the water and handed me a towel, helping me out of the shower. She guided my arms into a gray-colored cotton hospital gown and wheeled me back to my room. I was sharing a room, apparently, and as she wheeled me past my roommate, I caught a glimpse of a clear plastic hospital bassinet next to the bed. The divider curtain separated our beds, but I could hear cries and a mother’s voice cooing.

On my nightstand was a vase of bright flowers. I fingered the leaves absently and read the card. ‘Take care, Mon Chere Amie Jean Luc and Sol’

Oh, wow. I’d missed the entire week of work because of a stupid bump on the head. Hopefully, the club had called my agent in Toronto and told them about my accident. My thoughts were interrupted by chatter from behind the dividing curtain. It sounded like a cheerful family visiting and admiring a newborn.

I also got a visitor. It was a doctor who looked vaguely familiar somehow. “Ah, good morning, Mrs. Matarazzo. Hope I’m pronouncing that right. You gave us a good scare. You lost a lot of blood.”

I was totally confused. “From a cut on my head?” I asked.

He looked uncomfortable and asked, “No one has told you yet?”

That confused me even more. The last thing I remembered was Jake being mad at me for falling and then being carried back out to the truck for a trip to the hospital. Did something happen on the way? The roads were treacherous.

“Did we have a car accident? Is Jake okay? Did he get hurt?” I croaked out, trying to climb out of the bed.

“No. No. Your husband is fine. You lost the baby. I’m so sorry. By the time you got here, we really couldn’t do much except try to stop the bleeding. You got three units of blood.” He apologized solemnly.

As if timed for a Broadway production, the baby who was still alive and squirming in its mother’s arms behind the curtain began wailing.

I had no words and just zoned out on whatever else the doctor was saying, “Blah, blah, blah, blah…” I ignored him and stared out the window wondering what was going to happen next. Funny, but I couldn’t even summon a tear at that news. Maybe I’d run out after seven months of one disappointment after another.

Eventually, the doctor gave up trying to talk with a blank wall and left me to wonder if Jake was mad at me for this and had decided to go home. It didn’t really matter. Maybe it was better this way. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about another family secreted away to take care of.

He could now dump me without feeling like a low-life scum. You know, the kind of guys I usually went for before meeting Prince Charming, as he reminded me.

It was time to use my greatest superpower. After all this was over, I would call another agent in the states and be gone so fast his head will swim. Yes, indeed, Jake. When things got tough, I disappear better than anyone I knew- even you.

Later in the afternoon an aid brought in a delicious-looking dinner of jello, more jello, beef broth, or maybe it was warm, brown jello. A candy striper brought another bouquet of flowers. My agent, Misty, sent me a little note in the bouquet, ‘Dear Tina, I’m so sorry. There are arrangements with the club you were at to let you stay at the hotel until you are well enough to travel again. Call me, Misty.’

How long did it take for one to recover from a miscarriage and a concussion? I had no idea. I wasn’t going to stay at the hotel and be a sitting duck for Jake when he wanted to suck me back in. For all I knew, he was on his way back to Hamilton.

I went back to sleep after my five-star gourmet meal and woke up with someone kissing my cheeks.

“Mon Chere! Mon petite Chere! Sol and I have been beside ourselves with worry.” My dear friend, Jean Luc fussed over me, smoothing my wild curls and patting my hand.

Sol, his stoic lover, was standing quietly behind him and gave me a slight nod of his head, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed.

The baby in the bed next to mine began making a ruckus and Sol declared angrily, “This is wrong. What have they done? How could they put you in a room with a new mother and a baby?” He stormed out of the room, and I envisioned him snapping his fingers at the nurses, transporting me instantly to a private room. They were in for a taste of Sol’s temper.

Jean Luc looked at me helplessly and shrugged his shoulders. “What can I do with him?”

“Well, if this wasn’t the shortest pregnancy on record. I find out about it on Sunday and by Saturday it’s over.” I said wryly.

“Mon Chere, it was over on Wednesday morning, I’m afraid. We are so sad for you and for your lover.”

“Shit, maybe he’s relieved. Now he only has to worry about his wife having a baby.” I told him, “He has his hands full. He doesn’t need me mucking things up more.”

“Tina, my dear, he did not look like a man who is relieved.” Jean Luc informed me, “He looked like a man who was feeling pain. Did you know he stayed all week right here and refused to go back to the hotel and rest?”

“Was he mad at me for falling?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly.” Jean Luc scolded, “Why would he be angry with you for an accident? That’s ridiculous. If he was angry, he had a strange way for showing it. You don’t trust, do you? That is a problem.” He warned me.

If he only knew that my problem was really trusting too much. Jean Luc needed the last word, so I didn’t argue with him.

The baby next to us was fussing again and I just looked out the window, trying to not pay attention. There was a commotion in the hallway, and I could clearly hear Sol’s booming voice commandeering the staff in a flurry of angry French swear words and accusations.

Jean Luc pulled his hanky out and began fanning himself, “Mon Dieu! Sol is going to get us thrown out of here. Oh, dear.”

A wheelchair rattled into the room and a perturbed nurse began gathering my belongings, which were few, then hustled me into the wheelchair. We passed the wailing baby behind the partition and an angry-looking Sol in the hallway. He was standing with his hands on his hips, looking vindicated that his demands were punctuated by the sound of a crying newborn.

The nurse, with Sol and Jean Luc in tow, took me on the elevator to another floor and deposited me in what looked to be a private room. Sol stormed around the room, inspecting it for flaws. When he deemed it acceptable, he nodded to the nurse, who rolled her eyes privately at me, and helped me onto the bed.

Jean Luc tried to ameliorate her feelings by thanking her effusively as he arranged my bouquets on the windowsill. It looked as though all she wanted to do was get away from us all.

Sol came over to my bedside and patted my hand, “There, my dear. This will be better for you. Imagine the nerve- of putting you in with a crying newborn. Incroyable! Imbeciles!”

On their way out, Jean Luc told me he left his number with the nurse’s desk and to call him if I needed anything at all. He kissed my hand and they left, arm in arm. I could hear Sol bellowing about something in French all the way to the elevator.

Exhausted by all the excitement I went back to sleep, happy to not have to listen to a baby crying while I sorted out my feelings about the miscarriage.

Early the next morning there was more commotion in the hallway, and I jerked awake, thinking Sol was angry about something new. Someone was yelling in the hallway in English, so it wasn’t Sol. For a hospital, this was a pretty loud place.

The door to my room flew open and a wild-eyed Jake stalked in, looking furious. “What the hell. They moved you and no one thought to tell me. I went to see you and your bed was empty. I thought- you know. God, what a bunch of dicks at this place.”

The nurses will be happy to see me gone, I thought.

“I’m sorry. Sol got mad at them last night,” I explained, “They put a mom with her newborn in the bed next to mine. He didn’t like that, so he made them move me.”

“Jesus, that was shitty. That’s the last thing you need, eh?” He groused, “I got all your stuff from the hotel and the club and I rented another room closer to here. You’re going to be here a few more days.”

“Hey, thanks for being here with me all week.” I said, reaching out for his hand, “Jean Luc told me. I guess I was out of it.”

“You scared me half to death. I thought I was going to lose you too,” he said into my hair, resting his chin on my horribly messy curls.

“I look like shit. I need my makeup and hair stuff,” I complained.

“I think you look great. A lot better than seeing you in a casket, eh?”

“I don’t know. Funeral directors are pretty good with makeup and hair.” I quipped back.

“How are you handling all this with the baby and all?” He whispered into my hair.

“It sort of comes and goes. Sometimes I feel really sad, then I get mad at myself. The rest of the time I think I’m just worn out, you know? Numb.” I confessed, “What about you? What’s going on in your head?”

“I think we’re both feeling the same way- maybe for different reasons,” He admitted. “I’m mad at myself for not being around often enough to know what was going on with you. I’m mad at myself that you found out without me there. I’m mad that things aren’t different, and I’m sad that you’re always getting hurt because of me.”

Fair enough, I thought. That was as close to a sincere apology as I will ever get from him.

“If I roll over on my side and scootch over there’s room for you here.” I offered, making room for him in the little hospital bed.

“Naw, I don’t want to hurt you.” He declined my offer and stretched out on the armchair near the bed instead, holding my hand until he nodded off to sleep.

In a few days, they sprang me and although I was still wobbly it felt good to get out of there and breathe some fresh air. I left with stitches on my forehead and a prescription for iron pills and an anti-biotic, which Jake picked up for me on the way to the new hotel he had found.

As soon as I could I called my agent, Misty, and told her I had gotten out of the hospital and was planning on going back to work as soon as I could walk without tipping over. She suggested taking the rest of the month off and told me to come back to Toronto and stay at the Warwick Hotel again to recuperate and work on pictures, costumes, and new shows.

She also cautioned me about my personal life, “What were you thinking, Tina? You were doing so well.” She scolded, “I’ve changed your booking fees to a featured act and you’re going to destroy all your hard work over a man, and a married one at that? That is a losing situation, my dear.”

“I know. I never planned on it being like this. It just happened.” I said lamely.

“No. No. No, my dear. Love affairs are a choice. They do not just happen. This is the sort that will destroy you.” She warned.

As if anyone had to tell me that again.

I told Jake that Misty wanted me to stay in Toronto for the rest of the month to recover, so she could work with me on my pictures and shows.

He said, “Yeah, I’m gonna have to go back home soon anyway, eh? I’d rather leave you at the Warwick with people you know than way out here. You gonna make it a whole month without work?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been saving my money. Hey, Misty said I was a feature now- even without pictures. So, that’s good.” I shared without much enthusiasm.

“That’s great- right?” He tried to cheer me up to no avail.

I wasn’t very good company on the ride back to Toronto. I cried most of the way because even though I was not ready for a baby- especially with an unavailable man. For some inexplicable reason, I longed for the baby I had only really known about for several days. My body suddenly felt wooden and empty.

I also knew our affair was coming to its conclusion. We didn’t discuss it. It hurt too much. But, it was apparent neither of us could take much more of the uncertainties and the pain of being apart more often than we were together.

Another thing we never discussed was the hospital bill that sometime soon would arrive on his doorstep for his wife, Tina Matarazzo from Quebec City. That would be my parting gift to his dear wife, Bree, who was busy hiring designers and contractors for her fancy baby nursery, and ordering her henpecked husband around, while I was left alone in every way possible.

Our arrival at the Warwick Hotel in Toronto was nothing like our first time staying there. There was no fervent lovemaking or passionate promises. Not much talk at all. Jake carried my luggage to the room and sat with me on the bed for a long time, one arm around me, my head on his chest. I sobbed and he kissed my curls. Finally, he had to leave. I walked him to the door and hugged him for the last time and poof- we were over.

I watched out my window as his truck’s taillights sped down Dundas Street, heading for home.