The Muffia (15 page)

Chapter 21

“Berggren Wolfe’s office,” intoned a deep male Scandinavian voice a few hours later, once I’d pulled myself together enough to call. I recognized the voice of the sexy Dane immediately.

“Hello, Thor. Is she in? It’s Madelyn.”

“Allo, Madelyn. Good to hear you. But sorry, yah, Berggren’s not in. She’s in New York. Do you have her new mobile?”

Right—she’d told me she was going to New York
. I hadn’t had a chance to respond when I heard another phone ringing at Berggren’s place and Thor’s honeyed tones were telling me to hold on.

Berggren had gone to New York to rehearse a movie she hoped to produce that summer. What a dynamo. I live in awe of her. But finding scripts that actors want to do, then flying all over the place to make them happen while raising her daughters was a challenge I wasn’t up to.

It wasn’t as if she did
every
thing herself, though. She did have all those cute interns to help her, and at that moment she had Thor. Maybe if I’d had an intern like Thor I could have . . . No. With or without help, it still wasn’t my temperament to be the go-go go-getter Berggren was.

While I was on hold waiting for Berggren’s new number, my own cell phone rang and it was Kiki. “You need to go somewhere and be tested,” she said.

“For what?”

“For radioactivity, of course. Jelicka told me all about it and I think it would be a good idea.”

“Udi did not die of radiation poisoning.”

“That may be true, but if his death is related to the theft of plutonium or uranium or whatever, then it’s possible he was exposed to it. And if
he
was exposed, then you were exposed, which means we were, too. Granted, it’s very low-level contamination, but if you’re positive, I, for one, would like to know.”

Perhaps because Kiki was still in school, merely
hoping
to become a nurse practitioner, she was somewhat alarmist when it came to health concerns, but I would have thought being a nurse practitioner required a bit more sense. Then again, Kiki was less than halfway to earning her degree and you know what they say, “a
little
knowledge is a dangerous thing.” And Kiki was positively frightening. Her overreaction could be related to whatever was going on in her personal life but, so far, she hadn’t told any of us what that was. Regardless, I wasn’t going to accede to her wishes and agree to be tested for radiation poisoning just to settle her down.

“I’m not going to the hospital to be tested for radioactivity, Kiki. That’s ridiculous. Besides, Alexander Litvinenko, the Russian spy who died in London—so sick, and in so much pain—came into contact with many, many people after he was exposed—none of whom developed any symptoms.”

“Come on, I told Vicki I’d meet her there.”

“On a Saturday?”

“The cancer ward is always open.”

“That’s good to know. But what if I
am
radioactive? I should
not
be around cancer patients,” I said.

“Exactly the opposite. If you’re radioactive, you might zap the cancer out of those people.”

Again—were these the words of a medical professional?

“Madelyn,” she said in a different tone.

“What?”

“I’m kidding. I had you going, though, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“It could endanger the lives of hundreds if not thousands if you walked into Cedars to be tested for radioactivity.”

“You don’t say.”

“Actually,” she said, “I just wanted to see if I could still act the hell out of a scene. And you bought it.”

“You had me, Kiki. You’re a great actress. Is that what you want me to say?” I was a little annoyed.

“Sorry if it upset you. It’s just that Jelicka is so riled up about this whole thing that I guess I got caught up in it, too.

I supposed it was a harmless ruse she’d perpetrated—not that it didn’t contain serious undercurrents. “So why
are
you meeting Vicki at the hospital?”

“She felt another lump.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I know. She didn't want to get into it last night. But I'm sure you noticed ”

“Shit, shit, shit. I thought after they took out the first one and she had the radiation, she was cancer free. How can there be another lump already?”

“I don’t know, but she needs us to stay positive—as in
cheerful
, not death sentence. That’s what she wants. Anyway, she’s having the lumpectomy at one o’clock and we could maybe hang out and have a coffee while she’s having it.”

I thought Kiki was taking being positive into the realm of denial. But instead of commenting on that, like any trained attorney would—lapsed or otherwise—I went back to my original line of questioning. “Listen, Kiki. Did Jelicka just call you, or did she call everyone about this? I mean about her stolen-nuclear-material idea.” It didn’t surprise me that Jelicka had told the Muffs. It just surprised me a little that I’d gone through the ritual of asking her not to talk about it, thinking I might get a different result. Isn’t that the definition of an idiot?

“She thought we needed to know in case we wanted to be tested,” said Kiki. “But truthfully, it sounded far-fetched to me, too.”

Not so far-fetched as to keep her from having some fun at my expense.

Thor came back on the line after what had seemed like an hour.

“I’ll call you back,” I told Kiki.

“’K. And don’t worry—we can always get a tester to come to you if it comes to that.” Then she hung up.

Once I’d gotten Berggren’s number from Thor, I called, hoping I’d catch her during a break in rehearsals.

“Berggren?”

“Who’s this?” Berggren asked, as if speaking through twelve layers of cheesecloth with her lips tangled up in the first layer.

“Berggren, it’s Madelyn.”

“Madison, how are you?”

“Ma-de-
lyn
,” I said louder, glad I was at my house and could talk as loud as I wanted to. “Is this a good time?”

“Mad . . . be . . . long . . . hard.”

I think that’s what she said. “I just wanted to tell you something, but if you’re really busy right now, I can call back.”

“It’s . . . fff . . . go ahead.”

Berggren had a way of being distant and approachable at the exact same time. This was one of those instances when I didn’t know if I should continue or just hang up.”

“Udi, remember Udi? The guy I met at your house?” I began.

“The Israeli, yes!—very hot. I heard from ZsaZsi that he’s really into you. It was so sexy watching you two that night, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. How did the second date go?”

“Not so well.”

“What?”

“He’s dead, Berggren.”

There was no point in leaving that part out. In fact, she might know this already. But anything else I told her I’d have to filter, given that she and Nissim’s fiancée were business partners.

“ZsaZsi didn’t say...I had no idea...Oh my God. How did he die?”

“I think he had a heart attack.”

She gasped. “Oh, you poor thing. Did this just happen? Is he there?”

“No, no. It was a couple of days ago but, well, the thing is, it was just so sudden, you know?” I wanted to see how much information she might provide without my having to ask. “We’d barely gotten started and his death was so sudden. I hardly knew anything about him and now I feel like there’s no
closure
.”

I try to avoid using that word whenever possible, particularly in mediations. It has so much pop-cultural baggage attached to it, and it’s never been a satisfying word anyway because so few painful events ever receive real closure. You can’t just zip-lock the bad chapters in your life away like so many leftovers; they’ll still spoil eventually. But in this conversation,
closure
suited my purposes.

“Oh, Madelyn, I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could say.”

“Did ZsaZsi say anything? You know, about him? Anything she may have told you? I just need to know.”

“I don’t think ZsaZsi knew much about him. She’d only just met him, too. All she told me was that Udi and Nissim met in the Israeli army.”

She was breaking up, but I think that’s what she said.

“The army?” I asked.

“Because in Israel—”

I don’t think she heard my question. But I remember Jelicka telling me that all Israelis had to serve in the army, so it might make sense that that’s how Udi and Nissim knew each other.

“Yeah, I remember ZsaZsi saying that’s where they met,” she said again. “Nissim stayed in for like ten years or something, which I guess is a long time. Maybe Udi did, too, and that’s how he got into sky marshaling.”

Well, she was trying to give me something, I guess.

“Where are they?” Now she was speaking to someone else, presumably in the rehearsal hall, and she was clearly annoyed. “I needed them here half an hour ago. Call their agent, the little flakes.” There was a garbled exchange before she came back to the phone. “Sorry. Where was I?”’

“The army?”

“Oh yeah, the army. Well, here’s the thing. I don’t think she’d mind if I told you because it’s over now, but ZsaZsi told me that Nissim had been an assassin.”

Granted, we had a bad connection, but I could have sworn she said
assassin
. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I think it’s sexy, though, even if it
is
a little scary and dangerous. I mean James Bond, Jason Bourne, Jack Bauer—”

She
had
said assassin.

Then, without covering the mouthpiece, she yelled in a cheerful voice, “Mary Kate! Ashley! Over here!” Then she returned to the line. “They finally deign to make an appearance. The word contract means nothing to these people.”

“The Olsen twins are in your movie?”

“Who knew? But the movie’s about twins separated at birth, so I wanted real twins. Anyway, I’ve gotta rehearse now, babe. I’m so sorry to hear about all this. Let’s get together next week when I get home and we can talk about it. Come to my dinner party?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

Yay . . . another dinner party at Berggren’s house!
It was exactly what I’d been hoping for and a surefire opportunity to find out more about Udi. But that would have to wait because I had other pressing concerns—Vicki's lump, Lila's volleyball game, then there was a mixer at Lila's school with me as one of the parent chaperones.  At least Lila’s friends would distract her from asking about “Mom’s special friend.” So far I’d been able to avoid telling her what had happened, but sooner or later she might press me on the subject and I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say. I just wanted to present a believable alternative to the truth. Why upset her?

In retrospect, I think I must have been starting to get caught up in Jelicka’s plot. Perhaps she wasn’t so crazy after all—particularly since some new information had emerged about Nissim—
assassin
! The whole thing could actually turn out to be very serious.

Despite that possibility, however, I didn’t thoroughly think through what could happen to us if Jelicka
was
right.

Chapter 22

Vicki sat propped up in her hospital bed, a silvery curtain hanging from chains strung from an oval ceiling rod pulled around it, staring wide-eyed at Kiki and me. The anesthesia had kicked in and her eyes, along with her pale skin and spiky blonde hair put me in mind of a teenage drug addict rather than the conscientious filmmaking Muff I knew.

“This is the best
mmmoo
ovie I’ve ever had an opportunity to be involved in,” she said with conviction. “Whatever happens with this l-l-lum-l-l-lummpec-tomy”—

Vicki’s anesthesia was making her unable to form words, not to mention the problems it was causing to her synapses.

“—annn-ddd I wanna have Jelly or some
body
shoooot me—”

“Honey, Jelicka’s not here.”

“OK, OK, OK…then
you
guys shoot me, the
lumcotopeee
. The trunk is my video camera in my car.
Prommmisssse
you’ll finish me with this film.”

Kiki and I exchanged a worried look. Kiki shook her head.

“We promise,” I said.

“I wannnna
die
making this Muffie.
Pleeeassse
. It’ll be my  . . . gift of parting to the world.”

Kiki and I each took one of Vicki’s hands. “You’re not going to die, Vick,” Kiki said. “It’s probably a benign fibroid.”

“I love you guys. I just, it’s just, so
sig-nif-i-cant
!” Vicki belted, startling even herself.  She reached for my hand. “Sad Maddie. Are you sad? You’re sad, aren’t you?”

“I
am
a little sad,” I told her.

“All right, ladies,” said a Filipino nurse in pale yellow scrubs with a nametag that read:
Gloria P
. “I’ll take her now. How are we today, Victoria?”

“I’m so lu-luh-cky,” Vicki said as Gloria P. began pushing her down the hall.

“Yes, you are.”

“Soooo luuuhcky . . . my
frienddzzs . . .
”

“Mmmmm, hmmm.”

“They’re the Muff-eeyaa. Ya know what a muffia is—GloriaPee?” It had taken awhile for Vicki to focus on the nametag.

“Ah, no, Vicki. I don’t believe I do,” Gloria said with some trepidation.

“It’s the bush on your twat!” Vicki screamed, then began laughing, turning heads as Gloria P. continued rolling the gurney toward the OR. “I’m a luuuhhhhckkk-eee gurrrlllll . . .”

Then both were gone, beyond the double doors and out of sight.

We were in the new cancer center at Cedars-Sinai, a huge hospital serving most of Los Angeles. We were there to support Vicki and not, as Kiki wished, to have me tested for radiation. Which was preposterous.

The waiting room was scarier than any other hospital I’d ever seen—probably because it was dedicated to advanced-stage cancer patients. Most of the people looked very ill, and many probably didn’t have long to live. But I found myself looking at their drawn faces, feeling guilty and so happy I wasn’t one of them and, all the while, worried for Vicki.  My mind flashed on the Rabbit for no clear reason, and though I felt particularly
not
sexy at that moment, it was still a shocking thought that one could go from orgasm to the nasty realities of the scourge of our age so quickly.

“How long?”

“Couple of hours,” Kiki said. “Wanna walk around? Get a coffee?”

“I don’t know,” I said taking in the fragile souls in the waiting room. “I’m a little afraid of knocking someone over.”

I stood and stretched, glancing at the patients, their attendants and loved ones, trying not to dwell on anyone for too long. In some cases it was hard to tell if someone was offspring, parent or paid staff. I decided Jack Kevorkian was not such an evil person after all. If someone wanted to spare himself this end, I reasoned, he should have the right to.