He rips the top of her nightgown open, exposing her breasts and I have to turn away. I don’t need to see my grandma like this. It’s taking every ounce of self-control that I have to not pummel him to pieces, but I know he’s trying to help her. I hear “clear” and turn my head in time to see him place paddles on her chest. Her bodies convulses before slamming back down onto the floor. I look at the monitor that the paddles are hooked up to and see a flat line. I’m not a doctor, but even I know that a flat line isn’t good.
“Clear,” he says again and it’s the same. He does it again and again, nothing changes.
“Call it,” I hear someone in the background say. What does that mean?
“Time of death, 10:31 a.m.”
“Wh-what? I stammer.
“I’m sorry, son.” The man in blue says as he stands. Someone walks behind him and places a sheet over my grandma, blocking her from my sight.
My eyes begin to water as this man steps in front of me. His hand rests on my shoulder, but I’m looking past him. I’m afraid to take my eyes off of her. They roll her onto a board and place her onto a stretcher.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“We need to take her to the morgue.”
I shake my head. “I don’t –”
“Is there someone you need to call?”
I look at him as if he’s an alien. Who would I call and why? I grab my hair and step away from him. I’m gasping for air. Something is pressing down on my chest making it impossible for me to breathe.
“I have no one,” I repeat, over and over again. The man in blue puts his arm around me and directs me out of the room. He takes me outside and sits down with me on the bench.
“I’m sorry for your loss, son.”
I hate that he keeps calling me his son.
“You’ll need to come down to the morgue and fill out some paperwork so they can release her body to you for burial. Here’s the address.”
He sets a card in my hand and leaves. The blue and red lights are spinning, but no siren. I suppose that’s not needed any longer since the emergency is over.
“Hi, I’m here on behalf of Betty Addison.” Sam’s voice carries down the empty corridor. I don’t remember how I got here, or even calling her, but here she is. And here I am sitting in a hard plastic chair with the smell of formaldehyde invading my airways.
“Your name?” the lady behind the desk has an annoying, nasally voice that makes me what to gouge my eyes out.
“Sam Moreno. I’m Mr. Page’s manager. His grandmother was brought in and I’m here to make arrangements for her body.”
The clerk presses keys on the keyboard, each one more jarring than the next.
“Her name?”
“Betty Addison,” Sam repeats while handing the clerk a piece of paper. “Please sign this.”
“What’s this?”
“Your standard non-disclosure agreement, which I’m sure you’ve signed in the past. Mr. Page would like to keep his grandmother’s passing out of the press until such time he’s ready to make a statement.”
“But she’s famous.”
“Of course she is, this is Hollywood, isn’t it? Please sign it.”
“You know I don’t have to,” the clerk responds with a snotty tone. I watch as Sam nods and pulls out her phone. “Barry, how are you? Great, listen I’m at the morgue and need a lawsuit drawn up against the Los Angeles Country Morgue. Oh you know, the norm, leaking the deceased names before we can get a press release out –”
“I’ll sign it,” the lady huffs and Sam closes her phone.
Sam takes the paper from her and stuffs it into a folder. “Please be so kind to remind the pathologist that he has a standing order with the county and that Mr. Page isn’t afraid to sue.”