The Last Don - Mario Puzo [147]
The brown-tinted windows of the limo presented the city in the beige monochrome of old-time cowboy movies. As they progressed inward, the buildings became taller, as if they were penetrating a deep stone forest. Claudia was always amazed how in the short space of ten minutes she could go from a mildly bucolic small-town green to a metropolis of concrete and glass.
In Cedars Sinai, the hospital corridors seemed as vast as the halls of an airport, but the ceiling compressed like a bizarre camera shot in a German impressionist movie. They were met by a hospital coordinator, a handsome woman dressed in a severe but high-couture suit who reminded Claudia of the “Hosts” in Vegas hotels.
She led them to a special elevator that took them nonstop to the top penthouse suites.
These suites had huge carved black oak doors that reached from floor to ceiling, with shiny brass knobs. The doors opened like gates, to a suite of a hospital bedroom, a larger, open-walled room with dining table and chairs, a sofa and lounge chairs, and a secretarial niche that held a computer and fax. There was also a small kitchen space and guest bathroom in addition to the bathroom for the patient. The ceiling was very high and the absence of walls between the kitchen niche, the living room area, and the business nook gave the whole room the look of a movie set.
Lying on a crisp, white hospital bed, propped up by huge pillows, was Eli Marrion. He was reading an orange-covered script. On the table beside him were business folders with budgets of movies in production. A pretty young secretary seated on the other side of the bed was taking notes. Marrion always liked pretty women around him.
Bobby Bantz kissed Marrion on the cheek and said, “Eli, you look great, just great.” Molly and Claudia also kissed him on the cheek. Claudia had insisted on bringing flowers, and put them on the bed. Such familiarities were excused because the great Eli Marrion was ill.
Claudia was noting all the details as if researching a script. Medical dramas were almost financially foolproof.
In fact, Eli Marrion was not looking “great just great.” His lips were ridged with blue lines that seemed drawn with ink, he gasped for air when he spoke. Two green prongs grew from his nostrils, the prongs attached to a thin plastic tube that ran to a bubbling bottle of water that was plugged into the wall, all connected to some oxygen tank hidden there.
Marrion noted her gaze. “Oxygen,” he said.
“Only temporary,” Bobby Bantz said hurriedly. “Makes it easier for him to breathe.”
Molly Flanders ignored them. “Eli,” she said, “I’ve explained the situation to Bobby and he needs your OK.”
Marrion seemed to be in good humor. “Molly,” he said, “you were always the toughest lawyer in this town. Are you going to harass me on my deathbed?”
Claudia was distressed. “Eli, Bobby told us you were okay. And we really wanted to see you.” She was so obviously ashamed that Marrion raised his hand with acceptance and benediction.
“I understand all the arguments,” Marrion said. He made a motion of dismissal to the secretary and she left the room. The private duty nurse, a handsome, tough-looking woman, was reading a book at the dining room table. Marrion gestured to her to leave. She looked at him and shook her head. She resumed reading.
Marrion laughed, a low wheezing laugh. He said to the others, “That is Priscilla, the best nurse in California. She’s an intensive care nurse, that’s why she’s so tough. My doctor recruited her especially for this case. She’s the boss.”
Priscilla acknowledged them with a nod of her head and resumed reading.
Molly said, “I’ll be willing to limit his points to a maximum of twenty million. It will be insurance. Why take the risk? And why be so unfair?”
Bantz said angrily, “It’s not unfair. He signed a contract.”
“Fuck you, Bobby,” Molly said.
Marrion ignored them. “Claudia, what do you think?”
Claudia was thinking many things. Obviously Marrion was sicker than anyone was admitting. And it was terribly cruel to put pressure on this