"I don't care how many drugs she's on," he said. "Someone needs to up the dosage."
"If it makes you feel any better, she's not wearing panties," Caroline told him.
A look of revulsion crossed his face. "I can honestly say that doesn't help."
"Caroline? Caroline?" Madelyn came running out of the room, then stopped short. "There you are! She's just remembered a joke she heard a sheikh tell at an embassy party. Bring the computer quick before she forgets the punchline."
With a roll of her eyes, Caroline followed Madelyn and disappeared into Ro-Ro's room.
Coming to visit an old friend in the hospital was a major social undertaking. After all, the Georgias were all wearing hats and carrying coordinating purses when they got off the elevator. Georgia A. was wearing a royal blue suit with a high-collared white blouse—not black, the color of mourning, but a somber, respectful choice just the same. Miss Georgia had gambled with her ensemble, daring to wear pants. Georgia B. was gun-metal gray from head to toe and looked like a cement truck.
Seeing Lance and Julia, they bolted forward. "Darling, how is she?" Georgia B. wanted to know.
Before Julia could answer, Georgia A. cut in, "I was there when the ambulance came. And when I saw them wheel her out, oh, it just broke my heart. Broke my heart in two."
"I'm sure it was very upsetting," Julia said.
"Oh, in-deed," Georgia A. said, drawing the word out.
"She's going to fire that maid, you know," Miss Georgia chimed. "I know I would. She didn't even dry Rosemary's hair before they loaded her in the ambulance—very uncouth."
Someone should tell her about the panties, Lance thought.
"Well, everyone's talking about it," Georgia A. said. "The news should really run something—after all Rosemary's done."
"Maybe I should call Channel Eight?" Miss Georgia offered.
"Of course, the club should be notified," Georgia A. said.
"Let's make a list, and—"
"Ladies," Julia cut them off. "She's fine. You can go see her if you'd like."
"Thank you, dear," Georgia B. said, laying a soft hand on Julia's arm. "It's nice she has family.'"
Georgia A. and Miss Georgia nodded their agreement, then they moved slowly down the hall and disappeared.
Lance settled himself in one of the chairs with a copy of Sports Illustrated that was six months out-of-date.
"Are you good here?" Julia asked him. "Because I should probably ..."
He studied her, waiting for her to finish, and when she didn't, he just shooed her away with the magazine. "Go. Have fun," he mocked.
Julia rolled her eyes at him and headed toward Ro-Ro's room.
A doctor was in there now. Julia pushed the door against his long, white coat, prompting him to step forward and allow her to slide inside. Between Ro-Ro, the three Georgias, Caroline and her computer, Madelyn, and the doctor, the room was more than a little crowded.
"Julia, dear," Madelyn rushed to make introductions. "This is Dr. Tompkins. He's the Chief of Staff. He's just been in to check Rosemary's vital signs."
The Chief of Staff, Julia thought. So there's at least one benefit to having your name on the side of the building.
"Very nice to meet you," Julia said, offering the doctor her hand.
"As I was telling your mother, young lady—"
"Hump!" Ro-Ro decreed from the bed. "Walter, she is no spring chicken."
An embarrassed look flashed across Dr. Tompkins's face. Julia hurried to wave his worries away and then prompted, "You were saying, Doctor ..."
"Yes. It seems your aunt is a very lucky lady."
Another grunt from Ro-Ro. "Luck, you say, Walter? Luck, has ..." Ro-Ro's voice trailed off, then she snapped, "Evelyn, what are you doing?"
Every eye turned to Miss Georgia.
She was leaning over Ro-Ro, a curling iron in her hands.
"Well." Miss Georgia sounded guilty, as if she'd just been caught pinching a little of Ro-Ro's morphine for herself. "Rosemary, if I could just give you a little shape on the top, I know you'd feel much better." She looked to Georgia A. and Georgia B. for support, and they nodded in agreement.
As if on cue, Dr. Tompkins added, "The office of community relations did ask if you might consent to a photo, Mrs. Willis." Photo! Ro-Ro came to full attention. "After all, it isn't every day we get to treat our favorite patron," he finished with a fund-raiser's grin.
Ro-Ro surveyed the room. Julia thought she could see joy behind the old woman's scowl as she did the mental calculations, knowing she might get drugs, flowers, and press coverage all in the same day. "I suppose," Ro-Ro said slowly, "that if it will benefit the hospital, I might allow a few tasteful photos."
With that, Julia heard a familiar "thunk" as Miss Georgia's bag overturned, and Ro-Ro was lost in a whirlwind of Aqua Net and false eyelashes.
Every few minutes, Ro-Ro would mutter, "Evelyn, this is preposterous." But she still managed to pout, suck in her cheeks, and rub her lips together whenever Miss Georgia told her to.
Waiting for the elevator in the glass atrium that led to the rooftop garden, Lance readjusted his grip on the handles of Ro-Ro's wheelchair. Since she'd already succeeded in making two nurses and a photographer cry, none of the orderlies would push her. She hummed and grinned to herself in the sunshine. By Ro-Ro's standards, it was shaping up to be a pretty good day.
Julia, Madelyn, and the rest of Ro-Ro's posse were still examining the flowers on the roof—an amazing sight, Lance had to admit, and one he hated to leave in order to return the old woman to her room. But she'd insisted, and when Ro-Ro insists . . .
"Young man, when you go back to New York—which you will—you must visit Marjorie VanGundy. She was an acting coach, one of the greats. Mention my name and she'll see to you."
The doors slid open, and Lance eased her into the elevator, but all he could think was, What does she mean by "which you will"?
He pushed the button, and they began their descent.
"Come stand where I can see you," she demanded. He complied. "You're too tall. Lean down." He squatted. "There. That's better," she said, but Lance didn't agree, since he was starting to lose feeling in his calves.