How to Save a Life

Along the way, multiple female voices spring up and continue to grow bolder, echoing into the hallway the closer we get to the living room.

“I’m done discussing this, Joan…,” says a woman with a Caribbean accent.

“Gabby, I’m begging you…”

I follow West into the living room which overlooks Central Park and the first thing I notice is the view. Done by design, no doubt, it is a sight to behold. I would be mesmerized were it not for the two older women in the midst of a heated discussion.

“I understand you have a problem, but we all agreed on two weeks.” The Caribbean accent belongs to a black woman with close cropped white hair, wearing peach lipstick and a mauve nurses uniform, her expression more than a little annoyed. “You were in a bind, and I did my best to help you out. The Johnsons made arrangements the moment they found out they were pregnant and I’m not about to break my commitment to them.”

“You can’t just abandon us like this. You’re the only one we trust––” replies the other one, a white woman around early sixties with short silver hair and a sharp calculating look in her green eyes. There’s no mistaking that the green-eyed one looks a lot like West.

“Call the agency whose number I emailed you,” the Gabby woman tells her while she retrieves a purse from the couch and slings it over her shoulder. “Maybe they can help.”

“Nobody nearly as qualified as you,” is the green-eyed one’s––possibly West’s mother––shrilly response.

“It’ll be fine, Joan. I promise.”

The Gabby woman squeezes the Joan woman’s arm and walks past her.

“Bye, Gabby. Thank you,” West calmly adds as he watches her go.

I’m surprised to discover West speaking to anyone with warmth in his voice. I didn’t think he was physically capable. The guy has the personality of a pet rock. Warmth is not exactly in his wheelhouse. Another equally shocking discovery…he looks sorta kinda normal holding that baby.

“Bye, baby. Good luck,” she replies with a gentle smile directed at West. Then she exits down the hall.

Brooding, the woman who I assume is his mother watches the Gabby woman leave. As soon as that’s over, the sharp green stare refocuses. Her head slowly turns, and turns, and the green stare lands on me. Every hair follicle on my body stands up straight.

“Who’s this?”

“Riley James Jr,” answers West in that blasé way he has about him.

His mother makes a face. “How odd.”

Internally, I cringe, my neck prickling with heat. It confuses people when they hear the Jr. And it’s too much trouble to explain that my father was absolutely convinced I was going to be a boy and never recovered when he discovered I was a girl.

“Just, um, Riley James is fine.”

“Nice to meet you Riley James is fine. I’m Congresswoman West.”

Yikes.

“My mother,” West adds. As if that needed clarification. My soon-to-be new boss approaches, bouncing the baby on his hip. She’s really cute and in obvious distress even though the crying has transformed into soft whimpering.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

This is a curveball I hadn’t anticipated. His mother looks like a suspicious meddler, a politician no less. The odds of me pulling this off and convincing him to give me the job have now dropped significantly. I’m bummed, my shoulders slumping with the corresponding sentiment.

“Why are you here?”

“She’s my new assistant,” West replies like it’s no big deal.

Conversely, my surprise cannot be contained. “I am?”

“She is?” his mother simultaneously asks.

“You wanted me to hire an assistant. Here she is.”

Mrs. West makes yet another pained face. “She’s a little young, isn’t she?”

“She’s old enough.” His attention pivots to me. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

I mean…yeah, but isn’t he even going to interview me? “Yeah, but…aren’t you going to interview me?”

“Saving my life qualifies. And it’s yes. Yeah is unprofessional.”

My entire face flares cherry red. “Yes.”

“Saving you? From what?” his mother asks.

Saving his life is a bit of an overstatement. At the most, he might’ve taken a few more shots to that pretty face had I not intervened, but I’m not going to quibble. I have the job. I got the job with minimal effort and no begging, so I’m not about to do or say anything to jeopardize that. One thing Tommy has taught me is the secret to success in life half the time is not getting in your own way.

Ignoring his mother’s question, West comes closer and holds out the baby. “Take her.”

“Oh, I don’t––” Too late. He dumps the baby in my arms without even a second warning. Good thing I’m used to lifting heavy objects.

The baby immediately wraps her tiny legs around my waist like octopus tentacles––she has a surprisingly strong grip––and lays her head on my shoulder, her helmet hitting me in the chin.

West exhales tiredly. He watches me with an unreadable expression.