Page 182 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

Eric kisses me.

“Easy, sweetheart. It’s OK. Everything will be fine.”

Chaos becomes tangible. Everyone’s looking at us.

“Where is the damned ambulance?” Mel asks. But nobody knows. “Fraser,” she says to one of the men, “go get the car. I want it at the north gate in two minutes.” Then she turns to Eric. “What hospital do you need to take her to?”

“To Frauenklinik München West,” he replies.

She turns around and barks, “Hernández, give me route and time. Thomson, call Bryan to let him know about the situation. Tell him to wait for us where we agreed. I’ll call Neill.”

Seeing I’m a little better, Björn leans down to me.

“Where did Superwoman come from?” he asks.

I laugh. I don’t know Mel, but I love her assertiveness. She’ll just as soon speak English, Spanish, or German. Once she gets off her cell, she says something to one of her colleagues.

“Follow me,” she tells Eric. “I’ll have you at the hospital in twelve minutes.”

“No need,” says Björn, looking at her. “I’ll take them.”

“In twelve minutes?” she asks.

Feeling cocky, our friend pats down the dark suit he’s wearing and touches the knot of his tie.

“In eight, Catwoman.”

Eric and I look at each other. I laugh. This is a duel of titans. Then the young woman smiles, and, undaunted by a guy like Björn, she passes her bluish eyes over his body with a heck of a lot of bravado and puts on her aviator glasses.

“Don’t make me laugh, James Bond.” She turns to Eric and me. “You have three options. The first is me, the second is James Bond, and the third is to wait for the ambulance. You decide.”

“I’ll sign up for the first one,” I say decisively.

Surprised, Björn protests, and she grins.

“Follow me,” she tells Eric.

Eric looks at me, and I nod. I know it’s more than forty minutes to the hospital but, strangely, I think that if Mel says we’ll be there in twelve, we’ll be there in twelve. Eric picks me up and runs through the mall. An impressive black Hummer awaits us. We climb in, and, when Björn tries to go with us, Mel stops him.

“It’s better if you go in your Aston Martin.”

She closes the door, and the Hummer goes full steam ahead.

“It’s 4:15; we’ll be there at 4:27,” she says.

The pain is back. It’s intense, but I can take it. Eric and Mel make me breathe, and I appreciate their attention. I notice how the car goes at full speed and doesn’t slow down even once.

When we stop, Mel says, “We’ve arrived.”

Eric shakes her hand and gives her a huge smile.

“Thanks, friend.”

When I get out of the car, Marta is waiting for us with the wheelchair at the hospital door.

“Let maternity know Mrs. Zimmerman has arrived,” she tells a nurse. Then she turns to me. “C’mon, champ. When you’re ready, we’re going to celebrate at Guantanamera.”

“Marta, please!” Eric protests and I laugh.

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