Page 81 of The Cruiser
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Built high into the mountainside,Princess Grace Hospital is a labyrinth worthy of Lord of the Rings. As suspected, navigating the complex is as easy as navigating French bureaucracy.
“Idiot,” Perla mutters, turning to me in disgust. “In Belarus, we don’t have this problem.” Unmoved by her beseeching-turned-belittling, the clean-cut orderly manning the emergency desk gets back to pushing paper.
“But is she okay?” I ask. “Can he tell us that?”
“He says he tell us nothing,” she huffs. “We not family. So stupid. If not for you, she may be dead.”
“Don’t say that in here. It’s bad luck.”
She puts her eyes back on me. “Anything with Morgan?”
I shake my head. Still nothing, after checking on a near constant basis. I don’t want to send a bunch of morbid texts because there’s nothing more unnerving than reading bad news. “I’m going to call and leave a message. Tell him we’re here.”
Morgan’s phone clicks to voicemail on the first ring. My message is short, covering all the necessary details and for him to call me as soon as he can.
After I hang up, Perla drags me to the waiting area. “You look tight. Let’s sit.”
For all of Monaco’s wealth, very little of it appears to be funneled into the hospital and its appearance. The only chairs to sit in are plastic and uncomfortable, the dull tangerine color a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the decor. The departure area of La Guardia Airport resonates more charm.
Perla watches my hands clasp and unclasp in my lap. “On bright side, dinner must be well. Khaled doesn’t linger if he’s uninterested.”
I glance at her, surprised. “You know him?”
“I know everybody, cheri.” With fluid grace, she crosses one fishnet leg over another. We’re quite the pair, dressed to the nines in full make-up and hair. Thelma and Louise, Monaco edition.
“Given you know everyone, what can you tell me about Renan Sadik?”
Her head tilts. “What you want to know?”
“There seems to be some bad blood between him and Morgan. I wanted some context.”
“He not tell you?” Her voice sharpens with disbelief.
“There’s always two sides to every story.”
She considers this. “What was his story?”
Okay, fine, I’ll play her game. I summarize Morgan’s story and she nods knowingly, like someone holding a trump card.
“All very true,” she says. “Only one piece missing. No surprise, a woman. Olivier and Renan and Morgan all like Tatiana, and she choose Morgan. Understanding to everyone, except Renan and Olivier.”
“They’re all friends?” I ask. Morgan never mentioned this.
“Long time. Before Renan’s mother pass way. After that, nasty time, as Morgan say. Morgan clings to Olivier; they old, old friends. Only good friend I think. Olivier…” She makes a face. “He’s weasel. Desperate man. His family lose everything in stock market crash. He always follow the money, so he stick with Morgan.” She shrugs, sequined shoulders rising up and down. “Renan go down tubes. Now mafia tough guy. How you say … man drama?”
“Was that recent?” I ask. “The woman?” I think back to their fight. How personal it felt. I’m not giving Renan a free pass by any means, but losing out at love and losing a mother shines a light on his attitude toward Morgan. And women.
“No, cheri. Many years ago. But you know men. How they are. Morgan better, at everything. Renan and Olivier always second. Or four.”
I sit back, unsure with this news. “I haven’t heard a lot of good things about Olivier.”
“You not meet him?” she asks. “He like plague. Always hanging around.”
My phone, dark for so long, finally lights up. The relief is like shrugging off a bulky sweater. “It’s Morgan,” I say. “Hold on.”
As soon as I answer, he apologizes for missing my call. “I was on the phone. We’re ten minutes away. How are you?”
