Sandra Brown - Charade

Charade Sandra Brown Chapter One October 10, 1990 Cat, wake up! We have a heart!" Cat Delaney slogged through the mire of drug-induced sleep toward the shore of consciousness. Opening her eyes, she attempted to focus on Dean. His image blurred at the edges, but his smile was wide, bright, and distinct. "We have a heart for you," he repeated. "For real?" she asked, her voice raspy, weakened. "The retrieval team is winging it here as we speak." Dr. "The retrieval team is winging it here as we speak." Dr.

Dean Spicer turned away from her to address other hospital personnel who'd accompanied him into the ICU. She could hear his voice, but his words seemed meaningless. Was she dreaming? No, Dean had clearly stated that a donor heart was on its way. A new heart--for her! A life! Suddenly she experienced a greater burst of energy than she'd felt in months. She sat bolt upright in the hospital bed and jabbered to the nurses and technicians who swarmed around her, brandishing needles and catheters with which to poke and probe her. The medical violation of tissue and orifice had become such an everyday occurrence that she barely noticed it.

Over the past few months, enough body fluids had been withdrawn from her to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool. She'd lost a significant amount of weight, and very little flesh remained on her petite skeleton. "Dean? Where'd he go?" "Here I am." Her cardiologist shouldered his way to her bedside and clasped her hand. "I told you we'd get you a heart in time. Didn't I?" "Don't be smug. You doctors are all alike.

Cocky asses." "I resent that." Dr. Jeffries, the cardiac surgeon who would perform the transplant, ambled into the room as though he were taking a casual evening stroll--on water. He perfectly fit the stereotype to which Cat had referred. She acknowledged his talent, trusted his ability, but despised him personally. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be in the OR sterilizing your instrument?" "Is that a double entendre?" "You're supposed to be the genius.

You figure it out." "As disagreeable as ever. Who do you think you are, a TV star?" "Precisely." Unflappable, the surgeon turned to the senior ICU nurse. "Does this patient have a fever?" "No." "Head cold? Virus? Infection of any kind?" "What is this?" Cat demanded in annoyance. "Are you trying to back out of it? Want the night off, Doctor? Made other plans?" "Just checking to make sure you're okay." "I'm okay. Get the heart, cut me open, and make the switch. "Arrogant ass," she muttered. "Better not call him names," Dean said, chuckling. "He'll come in handy later on tonight." "How long do we have to wait?" "A while." She hounded him to he more specific, but that was all he would say. "He'll come in handy later on tonight." "How long do we have to wait?" "A while." She hounded him to he more specific, but that was all he would say.

Encouraged to rest but charged by adrenaline, she remained wide awake, watching the clock as the hours slowly passed. She wasn't as nervous as she was excited. News of the impending transplant made its way through the hospital grapevine. Organ transplants were fairly commonplace, but they still inspired awe. Especially heart transplants. During the night, well-wishers popped in to her room.

She was given a bath in iodine, which was sticky and nasty and turned her skin an obnoxious gold. She choked down her first dose of cyclosporine, the vital antirejection drug. The liquid had been mixed with chocolate milk in a vain attempt to cover its olive oil taste. She was still complaining about it when Dean rushed in with the news she'd been waiting to hear. "They're en route to the hospital with your new heart. "I'm going down now to scrub. "I'm going down now to scrub.

I'll be there with Jeffries the whole time, watching over his shoulder." He paused. "I'll be with you every step of the way." She grabbed his sleeve. "When I wake up, I want to know immediately if I've got a new heart." "Of course." She'd heard of other transplant patients who had been informed that a suitable heart had been harvested. A man she knew had even been prepped for surgery and put under anesthesia. Upon the heart's arrival, Dr. Jeffries had inspected it and declined to transplant it, saying it wasn't good enough.

The patient still hadn't recovered from the emotional setback, which was worsening his critical heart condition. Now, with surprising strength, Cat clutched the sleeve of Dean's Armani jacket. "The second I come out of it, I want to know if I have a new heart. Okay?" He covered her hand with his and nodded. "You have my word." "Dr. Spicer.

Please," a nurse beckoned. "See you in the OR, darling." After his departure, everything moved with remarkable swiftness. Cat gripped the side rails of the gurney as she was whisked along the corridors. When the gurney burst through the double doors, she wasn't prepared for the blinding glare of the operating theater, where the masked personnel moved about with speed and purpose, everyone intent on his or her duty. Looking beyond the lights suspended over the operating table, Cat saw faces peering down through the glass that enclosed the observation gallery. "I see I've drawn quite a crowd.

Do those people up there have tickets and printed programs? Who are they all? Hey, somebody say something. Am I the only one here who speaks English? What's that you're doing over there?" One of the figures wearing scrubs and a mask groaned. "Where's Dr. Ashford?" "Coming," the anesthesiologist said as he breezed in. "Thank God you're here. Knock her out so we can get some work done, will you?" "She's a blabbermouth, a real pain in the butt." Cat took no offense, knowing none was intended.

The eyes above the masks were smiling. The mood in the OR was upbeat; she preferred it that way. "If you guys are always insulting the patients, it's no wonder you wear masks to conceal your identities. Cowards." The anesthesiologist moved into place beside the table. "I understand that you're a little hyper and causing quite a ruckus, Miss Delaney." "This is my big scene. I'll play it the way I want to." "You're gonna be great." "Have you seen my new heart?" "I'm not in on all the good stuff.

I just pass gas. Relax now." He swabbed the back of her hand in preparation for an IV needle. "You'll feel a little prick." "I'm used to little pricks." Everyone laughed. Dr. Jeffries approached with Dean and Dr. "How are we doing?" Dr. "How are we doing?" Dr.

Jeffries asked. "Your script needs work, Doctor," Cat said scornfully. " 'How are we doing?' should be my line." "We've examined the heart," he replied calmly. She caught her breath expectantly, then frowned up at him. "We use these pregnant pauses in the soaps all the time to build suspense. It's a cheap shot.

Tell me about the heart." "It's beautiful," Dr. Sholden said. "It looks terrific. Has your name on it." From the corner of her eye, she noticed a group of OR technicians fussing over a cooler. "When you wake up, it'll be beating inside your chest," Dean said. "Ready?" Dr.

Jeffries asked. Was she ready? Naturally she'd had some misgivings when the idea of transplantation had first been broached. But she'd thought all her doubts had been allayed by now. She'd gone into a slow decline shortly after Dean had first diagnosed her heart problem. Medication had been a temporary remedy for her profound fatigue and lack of energy, but, as he'd told her, ultimately there was no cure for her condition. Even then, she'd refused to accept the severity of her illness.

Only when she began to feel truly sick, when taking a shower became an ordeal and eating a plate of food was strenuous exercise, had she acknowledged that her heart condition might be terminal. "I need a new heart." Until she made that bold announcement to the television network executives, they had been unaware of her illness. The cast and crew of the daytime soap opera Passages, with whom she worked every day, had never seen the telltale pallor beneath her makeup. They, along with the network hierarchy, went into a predictable state of denial. None wanted to believe that Cat Delaney, winner of three Emmy awards, their star, whose Laura Madison character was pivotal to the story line of Passages, was that sick. With their unstinting support, and using her acting skills and ebullient personality, she continued to work.