* * * * *
“We’re here to see Patrick French.”
“What floor?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was he admitted?”
“Tonight, probably less than an hour ago.”
“One moment.”
Joey and Jade stood in the empty lobby of Houston General Hospital. The lobby was meant to be illuminated by skylights. At night, the purple fluorescent lamps and the soft dentist office music on the speakers made for a creepy setting. At the main desk in the lobby’s center sat an old black woman, with silver hair, curvy glasses, and a slow Texas drawl.
“Mr. French was discharged at eleven forty.”
“Discharged? So he’s okay?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, how can we find out?”
“Sir, that’s a legally confidential matter. If you’re friends with Mr. French I suggest you allow him to inform you of his medical condition.”
Joey looked at Jade to confirm that she shared his confusion. She did. Joey was about to ask if anyone was admitted under the name Goliath, but realized that was ridiculous. Goliath insisted that everyone use his wrestling name when communicating to him, but he would use his real name at the hospital, wouldn’t he?
“Do you think he’d check in under--”
“I was just thinking that,” said Jade.
“Ma’am,” began Jade, “could you tell us if anyone was admitted tonight under the name Goliath?”
“Goliath?” The woman broke the syllables so distinctly that they sounded like three separate words.
“Yes,” said Jade.
“G-O-L-I-A-T-H?”
“That’s right,” said Jade.
“And the last name?”
“No last name.”
“One moment please.”
The woman clicked around on her computer with the care and patience of someone who didn’t grow up with computers.
“I’m sorry, no Goliath was admitted tonight.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Joey.
“You all have a nice evening.”
Joey and Jade exited through a sliding glass door and stood on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.
“What do you suppose happened?” Joey asked.
“I have no idea. That’s really strange.”
A flashbulb went off from behind the bushes. For a brief instant, Joey’s mind was back in the ring, with hundreds of fans taking his picture like he was an exhibit at a zoo. A rustle from behind the bushes caught Joey’s attention and he saw a young man running away.
“What the hell?” said Joey.
“I bet that picture shows up on the Internet tomorrow,” said Jade.
“Shit, you’re right. Should we try to catch him?”
“Oh no. You want to be seen right here, at the hospital, so the fans know you’re concerned about your fallen comrade. Hopefully you were looking distraught when he snapped the photo. It’ll be good PR.”
“What about for you? Is it good for you to be seen here with me?”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a rub. After all, you are the future world champ.”
“Maybe. I don’t know if there’s going to be any rub for me to give after tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it Joey. This sort of thing happens in wrestling, the fans know that. And the ones who don’t will think it was all a work. Besides, it sounds like Goliath’s just fine. He’s already been discharged.”
“I hope so.” Joey more than hoped. He pined, yearned, that Goliath was okay. Part of Joey’s mind raced with the idea that Goliath’s quick discharge would fly around the Internet, and Goliath would be the one to bear the blame for tonight’s fiasco. Joey could see the signs in the stands next week. Neon green posterboard with black marker: “Goliath the Wussy”.
The thought, the joy of the thought, made Joey cringe. What was he becoming? Was he so eager for acceptance that he’d take delight in someone else’s misfortune?
“I hope he’s okay,” Joey said again.
“Well, come on. We’re not going to learn anything standing here. We’ll just be fodder for more paparazzi. You wanna go get coffee?”
The thought of hot coffee late at night after all that had happened sounded awful.
“That sounds good,” he said.