Beloved Gomorrah Read online

“Landau suggested we make friends with her, offer to take care of her here on board. Hell, even pay her hospital bill. He thinks it will take her a while to figure out that we were the closest boat and that the dead fish came from us. In the meantime, you’ll have won her over with your tender, loving care. After being nursed back to health by you, she won’t have a case.”

  “You’re worried about her ‘case’? We have no idea how badly hurt she is. What if she dies? That’ll be our fault. No, your fault.”

  “Stop being so hysterical. She’s not going to die. I already called the hospital and they said she was out of surgery. She’s in serious condition, but otherwise she’s fine. In a few days she can move out of the hospital and, if we play our cards right, on board the yacht. Then you two can start becoming best friends. You’re an actress. It should be a piece of cake, for chrissake.”

  “Oh, so I’m to be the nursemaid to make up for your criminal act. For a woman I don’t even know. Great.”

  Bernard shrugged. “It has to be you. I’ve got to fly to New York in a few days. Don’t forget, I’m going back to finish up your next contract, for a big fat fee. So I don’t want to hear any more crap about criminal acts and who’s at fault. Just do what I tell you until I come back. Haven’t I always managed the business just fine?”

  “If by ‘business’ you mean my career, that’s debatable. I’m tired of making so many crap movies. Why can’t you find me something with some intellectual quality, instead of these broad-screen spaghetti spectaculars?”

  “What an ungrateful bitch you are. Look around you. We’re on a frigging million-dollar yacht, for chrissake. We’ve got two homes and four cars.”

  “You’ve got three cars. I’ve got one.”

  “That’s not the point. Those movies you’re looking down your nose at have made us rich, so unless you want to go back to waiting tables in Honolulu, I suggest you shut up and do your job here. And that includes schmoozing the broad who has the power to take us to court for a few million bucks. If you think she wouldn’t take advantage of us given the chance, you’re even more naïve than I thought.”

  “You make me sick,” Kaia muttered as she walked away from him toward the stairs. She was relieved to know that the woman—what was her name again, oh, right, Joanna—would recover, but she resented being ordered to spend the next week, or longer, waiting on her.

  The sun had set but the stars were not yet visible, and the sky was a somber gray-brown. It mirrored the way she felt as she made her way toward the stairs down to her cabin. Bernie could be such a bastard.

  Chapter Three

  As Kaia reached the front entrance of the El Gouna Hospital, the door swung open. She stepped out of the way and two staff members in white coats rushed by in animated conversation. A third man followed them, and in the impatient moment she waited for him to pass, she recognized him.

  “Mr. Hernie,” she said, stopping him. “Have you seen her? How is she?”

  He blinked for a moment, then recognized her in return. “Oh, it’s you. Miss Kapulani.”

  “Please, let’s get past the formalities. It’s Kaia, and you’re Charlie, right? Is she okay?”

  He nodded. “She’s awake but a little fuzzy. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

  “I’m so relieved. Did the doctors say how long she’d have to stay in?”

  “They didn’t say anything for sure. They’re waiting to see how she does. Please, go talk to her. She’s in room 27 on the second floor.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll see you later.” Having run out of small talk, Kaia offered her hand and, after a warm handshake, turned and entered the hospital.

  Inside the lobby, she looked for a nurses’ station where she could have asked but saw only white-jacketed staff hurrying past and other visitors with small children in tow. Fortunately, the stairwell was easy to find and she took the stairs to the second floor. Room 27 was at the far end of the corridor, and after a soft knock for which she heard no answer, she opened the door and peered in.

  The room held two beds, but the closest was empty. On the far bed someone huddled, facing away from the door. All that Kaia could see emerging from gray sheets was a head swathed in gauze. “Joanna?” she called softly.

  The bandaged head moved slightly in response, then made some sound that could have been “Come here,” but Kaia wasn’t sure. She moved around to the other side of the room where the patient was facing.

  She saw half a face, swollen and pink. The other half was bandaged with a long swath stretching vertically from her crown over her ear and cheek to her chin. Both eyes were closed, but when they opened, the pale-blue light that seemed to beam from them took Kaia by surprise. Then they closed again, as if extinguished.

  “Do you remember me?” Kaia asked.

  “Mmm, no. Remember…nothing.” The bright-blue eyes opened again for a moment, then closed.

  “We pulled you from the water yesterday, my husband and I. Well, actually, our crewman did. But we called to shore for an ambulance. You were hardly conscious, so I don’t expect you to remember.” Kaia felt like she was babbling.

  “Yeah, Charlie said…” The woman murmured with difficulty, and Kaia saw why. The bandage was looped under her chin, making it difficult for her to move her jaw, and the swelling of the left cheek must have made talking painful.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. We were all so worried yesterday.”

  “Umm.” Joanna opened her eyes again. “Who are you?”

  Kaia chuckled softly. She hadn’t heard that question in years; everyone knew who she was. “Kaia Kapulani. You were on my boat yesterday.”

  “Kaia, the actress?”

  “Uh, yes. That one.”

  Joanna’s eyelids dropped again, but the right side of her mouth curled up in an awkward smile. “Liked your last movie. Costar was a jerk, though.”

  Kaia remembered the weeks of working with one of the highest paid and most narcissistic actors in Hollywood. “Yeah, he was,” she offered. “But let’s talk about you. How are you feeling?”

  Joanna licked her lips with obvious effort. “Like crap. Thirsty. Is there water?”

  Kaia glanced around. “Yes, there’s a bottle and glass right here. Am I allowed to give you this? I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Kaia poured water into the glass with a plastic straw. It was not the kind that had folds that allowed for bending, so she held the glass as low as she could, tilting it so the tip of the straw reached the swollen lips. Joanna took a few small sips then let her head fall back.

  “Can you move your arms? I mean, if I put it close, can you get the water for yourself later?”

  “No. Wrong side. Left arm bandaged. Leg too. But the nurse comes by.” Joanna appeared to fall asleep again.

  “Maybe I should leave and let the doctors take care of you.” Kaia started to back away.

  “No. Stay. So bored. Rather talk.” Joanna paused for breath. “Tell me about the boat.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “My boat? Oh, well, it’s a Princess sporting yacht. Eighty-four feet. Four cabins, two main and two auxiliary.”

  “Big boat,” Joanna murmured.

  “Yeah, well, my husband likes to fish, but he also thinks that looking successful brings in more business.”

  “Business?”

  “Bernie’s an agent. My agent, in fact, though he has some other talent on the roster. But I’m his big moneymaker. So I guess, in the end, the boat is mine.”

  “Good thing you were there.” Joanna licked her lips again.

  “Yes, I guess so,” Kaia said, and hastened to change the subject. “Charlie said you were working on the underwater art project. That sounds fascinating. I thought only Egyptians were doing it.”

  Joanna took a few breaths. “Egyptians did the city part. Walls, houses, archways.” She paused again. “Then they had a competition for sculptors.”


  “An international competition? Oh, yes, I think I remember reading about that. So you were one of the artists chosen. That’s fantastic. Congratulations. What are you sculpting?”

  Joanna’s eyes stayed closed. “Fountain. Some people.”

  “I see.” Kaia didn’t see. An underwater water fountain made no sense at all. “So how do you do that? You chisel a statue and drop it down there?”

  “Supposed to. Dunno what I’ll do now.” Joanna’s lips seemed to tremble, as if she was about to cry.

  Kaia started to lay a comforting hand on her, then withdrew. So much was bandaged, she didn’t know what to touch. Finally, she gently grasped Joanna’s bare wrist.

  “Things will be all right, I’m sure. If the Egyptians chose you to come here, they can’t possibly object to waiting a few weeks until you get better. Please, don’t let it upset you.”

  Joanna inhaled through her mouth a few times. “Not just that. How can I go back? Can’t even walk. Charlie can’t take care of me. He has his own work.”

  “Listen.” Kaia gripped Joanna’s wrist more firmly and bent over her. “You don’t have to worry about a place to stay. That’s one reason I came today. We have this big yacht with four cabins. You’d have your own private space with a little bathroom. The crew prepares our meals so you don’t have to shop or cook. You can’t ask for anything better.”

  Joanna sniffed like a child who was all cried out. “Are you sure? What will your husband say?” The half-bandaged face looked almost pitiful.

  “Oh, you mustn’t worry about him. It was his idea.”

  “Thank you. Thank him. It’ll only be a few days. Just until I can walk.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll be no trouble at all. And I’ll enjoy the company.”

  Joanna looked up at her with eyes the color of the Egyptian sky. “You are so good. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  With a twinge of guilt, Kaia clasped her hand again. “Just get better, that’s all.”

  *

  An actress! Joanna would have laughed out loud if it wasn’t for the pain in her face. Her mother would turn over in her grave, after all the years she had worked to keep her away from actors lest they drag her back into the mire. As if she feared her daughter had a genetic disposition to the fantastical.

  Well, perhaps she did, having an actor for a father, an alcoholic one at that. Though she had lost him at the age of ten, her memories of Charles Boleyn were the theatrical ones—of the times she visited him in his dressing room after a performance. She recalled the exuberant, late-night fantasy world of laughter, of musty-smelling costumes and over-expressive stage-painted faces. Her father seemed to live in two realities, and the play-acting one was by far the more fun.

  But, as she was to learn later in her life, he was a philanderer, a lousy husband, and a drunk. Well, she already knew about the drinking, because it had ended his life in a stupid drunken accident when she was ten. The accident was no doubt the reason her mother broke ties with the theater, or tried to. Her own brother had stayed in the life, as a manager and administrator, but she’d kept the family contact cordial and distant. Henceforth shielded from the fairy-tale world, Joanna received a solid education in reality. And what was more real than being a scientist, Joanna assured herself. Her mother was justly proud, until she herself died twenty years later.

  But now the world of her father appeared like a haunting. Exhausted, she fell asleep again and dreamed of him dressed as Prospero, holding her unbandaged hand.

  *

  Joanna laid her good arm over the shoulder of the nurse who slid her up to a sitting position, and she thanked her, using some of the few Arabic words she knew. She was regaining strength and, by the next day, was sure she’d be able to stagger with help to the toilet. No matter what, she refused to use the bedpan for another day.

  From her elevated position, Joanna watched the departing nurse halt in the doorway and then pass Charlie and two of the other artists. She smiled sideways to avoid using the muscles on the injured side of her face.

  “Hey, old girl!” Charlie advanced to the bed in three steps and bent over to kiss her on her forehead. “Look who I brought! Marion and Gil wanted to see for themselves that you were still in one piece.”

  Her two friends kissed her in turn and she felt a wave of comfort. Disabled and in a foreign country, she needed to know she had friends. Charlie she’d known for years and was certain she could trust him with her life, had in fact. But Marion and Gil had also proved themselves good comrades in the short week they’d worked together on the project.

  Red-haired Marion Zimmerman, a German from Dresden whose English left much to be desired, had created a huge model of the most important image of the ancient religion, the Great Balance weighing the heart in the underworld. Joanna had found it curious that a quintessentially Egyptian work should come from a German, but perhaps the Egyptians thought themselves above all that. Too bad for them. Joanna had seen some of the sculptures and was impressed.

  The taciturn Irishman Gilbert Collins was worlds apart from the forceful Marion. Avuncular, gray-haired, and of a comfortable girth, he projected such natural cheer she could easily imagine him with a cluster of grandchildren at his knee. Gil didn’t talk much, but when he smiled, she thought of Santa Claus. In keeping with this image, his contribution to the underwater city was a railroad, complete with a scaled-down steel locomotive, cars, and a miniature concrete station. As if to suggest one could make a rail tour of the exhibit, the tracks emerged from the station, curved around the southern half of the plain, and disappeared over the edge of the coral shelf.

  Marion poked Joanna’s good shoulder. “Crazy woman.” She pronounced the r in crazy somewhere deep in her throat, and woman with a v. “They call you now Dances vit Sharks.”

  Behind her, Gil frowned. “Don’t tease her, Marion. It must have been a nightmare.”

  Joanna smiled sideways again. “In fact, I don’t remember a thing. Just diving with Charlie and seeing a hole in the ground. After that, it’s a blank.”

  From the other side of the bed, Charlie took her hand. “Really? You don’t remember coming up, the decompression stop, the sharks? Nothing?”

  “No, only the broken sign for Site 13. Then I woke up here in the hospital. Just as well. I don’t want to remember sharks attacking me.”

  Charlie nodded to himself. “Well, good. But we have to talk about how you’re going to get around in the hostel, not to mention the workshop. I can assist you of course, but maybe we need to hire someone to help you dress and, um, you know, do the personal things.” Charlie’s cheeks showed pink over his trim white beard.

  Joanna raised her good hand. “Don’t worry, Charlie. Kaia Kapulani was here right after you left yesterday and offered to let me stay on her boat. They even have a cook.”

  “Kaia Kapulani? The actress?” Gil whistled softly.

  “Yes, apparently several boats were close by, but her crewman saw us first. She and her husband were the ones who pulled us out and brought us back to shore. She’s a very sweet person.”

  “Not to mention beautiful,” Gil added. “I saw her in Samson and Delilah. For a woman like that, I’d pull down the temple too.”

  Marion nodded agreement. “Strange that a Hawaiian woman looks so perfect as a Philistine. Dark eyes to dive in. She is, how you say, a knockover.”

  “Knockout,” Charlie said. “Yeah, she’s a winner. I’m just surprised by the offer. It can’t be a tax write-off.”

  “Don’t be so cynical, old man,” Joanna said. “Sometimes people just do good things.”

  “I suppose so.” Charlie sounded unconvinced. “But listen, I’ve contacted the committee about the accident and asked for a postponement of your deadline. They’re meeting tomorrow and will let you know, but I don’t think you have to worry.”

  “Well, I do, of course. I’m lying here, useless, while the rest of you are moving along, finishing your work.”

  “Not everyone is moving a
long,” Charlie said. “Remember George, the American guy? He’s complaining that the site he was assigned is too small for his piece. So he’s on strike for the moment.”

  “Idiot,” Marion grumbled, putting the accent on the last syllable. “You can’t make a strike when someone gives you a prize.”

  Charlie snorted. “A prize he doesn’t deserve. You know the committee accepted him because his father’s a big shot in USAID.

  “USAID? What’s that?” Marion asked.

  “The US Agency for International Development. One of the groups funding the project. But forget about him. He’ll solve his own problems, or not.”

  Joanna let herself relax against her pillows and enjoy the banter passing over her head. The pain from the wound on her temple had let up, and though the aches in both her left arm and left leg persisted, she could at least move them, and for now that was enough. It was just a question of time before she would be on her feet and working again. But how much time? A week? A month? How long would Kaia Kapulani and her husband put up with an invalid in their midst?

  What nice people they were.

  Chapter Four

  Charlie watched from the dock as the barge that had deposited Marion’s sculptures chugged back into the harbor. The vessel was an impressive sight, some two hundred meters in length, he guessed, the essence of functionality. Obviously designed primarily for lifting and lowering, it had little cargo space or crew housing. Its main superstructure and tool was the huge crane at its forward end, and he marveled at how it could lift heavy concrete blocks such as those that made up the walls of the City, and not plunge the bow under water.

  According to the schedule they’d all received at the hostel complex, the barge would have just deposited Marion’s last figure. He’d seen the work in the yard, awaiting delivery to the sea, and had been deeply impressed. A ten-foot-high set of scales, its center post in reinforced concrete, its arms and dishes were made of stainless steel, one holding a sculpted feather and the other a heart. Along with it were several Egyptian gods—one with a jackal head, one with a long curving beak, and a seated god he thought represented Osiris. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety. Marion’s work was done, while Joanna’s had scarcely begun.