Different Circles

Jim checked anyway. It was going fast—a hundred and twenty-four beats per minute—but not SVT fast. The tachycardia was likely because Matt had just snorted two lines of uncut Bolivian cocaine. “You really should think about cutting down on the coke, Matt,” he told the guitarist, not for the first time.

“Sure, I’ll think about it,” Matt said. “I ain’t gonna do it, but I’ll fuckin’ think about it.”

Jim just shook his head. “That’s my medical advice for the day. You feeling better?”

Matt took inventory. The pain was still there, but it had eased considerably. “Yeah, I do. Thanks again.”

“It’s what you pay me for,” Jim said.

Matt carried his drink back to the couch and sat down. He had a few slugs to wash the chalky mint taste out of his mouth. He then lit a cigarette and took a big drag. The pain lingered for a few more minutes and then slowly faded away. Matt was glad to feel it go.

Unfortunately, it would return the next day during the sound check. And it was a pain that was not being caused by an ulcer, but by an occlusion of blood flow in Matt’s left anterior descending coronary artery, the vessel that suppled blood flow to most of the left ventricle of his heart, the ventricle that was responsible for pumping blood out through the aorta so it could deliver oxygen to the brain and other body tissues. And just upstream of that occlusion was a large piece of atherosclerotic plaque that blood platelets had accumulated on and caused a clot to form over the past few days. It was only hanging there by a tiny thread. It would not take much to cause it to break free and travel further down the grossly occluded artery, where it would then get stuck like a cork in a bottle.

The United Airlines Boeing 777 touched down at John F. Kennedy International at 4:35 PM, local time. Jake, Laura, Meghan, and Caydee were among the first to deplane from the first-class section in the front of the aircraft. It had been an uneventful flight, with only minor turbulence when they crossed the Rocky Mountains. Thanks to Caydee and her car seat and diaper bag and clothing bag, they had checked baggage to collect, which delayed their departure from the busy airport by more than thirty minutes. A limousine was waiting for them in front of the terminal building. They climbed inside and the driver fought his way through the thick New York City traffic, across the Queensboro Bridge, and into Manhattan. They arrived at the Plaza Hotel near Central Park South at 6:30.

Jake tipped the driver forty dollars. He then tipped the bellhop who brought their baggage up to their suite another twenty. The suite was quite impressive—it should be for sixteen hundred bucks a night—and Meghan was blown away by the opulence.

“This whole bedroom is for me?” she asked, wide-eyed as she looked at the huge bed, the private bath, the view of Central Park far below.

“All for you,” Jake assured her. “The room is registered to us, of course, but we’ll be ... you know ... sleeping elsewhere.”

“You can set up Caydee’s crib in the secondary bedroom,” Laura said. “Just keep her door open in case she wakes up in the night. She usually doesn’t, but it is a new place for her, and she did sleep an awful lot on the plane.”

“I understand,” Meghan said.

Caydee was, in fact, quite full of energy at the moment. She was now toddling around pretty well, moving from place to place, exploring the room. She looked at the large television mounted on the wall and pointed at it. “Teeve!” she shouted in delight. “Teeve, Dada! Teeve, Mama!”

“That’s right,” Laura said with a smile. “It’s a TV.”

“Teeve!” she shouted again.

Jake walked over to the phone and picked it up.

“Pho!” Caydee said. “Dada pho!”

“That’s right, Caydee,” Jake said. “Daddy’s using the phone. Time to play the quiet game for a minute.”

“Qui?”

“That’s right,” Jake said. “The quiet game.”

Caydee giggled a little and then began walking around and naming off other objects. She was not very good at the quiet game.

Jake knew that Celia and the band had checked in a few hours ago after the flight from Albany. He did not know what room she was in. He dialed the front desk and asked to be connected to Marie Vasquez’s room. The operator knew, of course, that Marie Vasquez was really Celia Valdez, but she also knew that anyone who knew to ask for her by that name was someone authorized to be connected. “Right away, sir,” she said politely. There was a click and the phone began to ring in his ear.

It was picked up on the third ring. “Marie Vasquez’s room,” Celia’s voice said.

“It’s us, C,” Jake said. “We just checked in.”

“I was starting to worry about you,” she said warmly. “Your flight landed at 4:30, right?”

“We had checked baggage,” Jake said. “And then the traffic was terrible. We’re here safe now though.”

“What room?” she asked.

“We’re in 2112,” Jake said.

“Just down the hall then,” Celia said. “I’m in 2103. Hang tight. I’ll be right over.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” Jake said.