“Grace,” he says, “is this really what you want to do? We have a history. We have-”
“We’ve talked on the phone and you’ve been dragging your feet ever since our first contact,” I tell him. “If you’re trying to appeal to our longstanding friendship, I’m afraid you’ll find that only works when there’s a longstanding friendship to appeal to.”
Not my best pitch, but hey, I’m not at my best here.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” he says. “I was really hoping we could work together.” With that, he turns and leaves the room.
“I think it’s our time in the spotlight,” I tell Mags, and I move to the wheelchair.
This probably isn’t the ethical thing to do here, but it’s my only shot at getting what I’ve been working for ever since I started with Memento. Is it going to work? I’m not getting my hopes up.
Mags wheels me out to the waiting room, where we find Andrew being accosted by reporters. Hospital security is trying to convince everyone to leave, but not before Mags wheels me up next to Andrew, still holding the puke bag in my hand.
“Miss Miller,” one of the reporters says, “how is your treatment going?”
The press loves a good human interest story.
“Well, to tell you the truth, Charlie,” I start — yeah, I learned the reporter’s name about half an hour ago, “it’s not a walk in the park. It was really nice of Andrew here to come and pay me a visit.”
Andrew looks down at me, still trying to manage the nerve to say something.
“You all need to leave right now,” one of the security guards says.
Everyone starts filing down the hallway, and as quickly as Andrew tries to walk, Mags keeps me right next to him on the way down the hall. We get to the elevator and Andrew presses the button. I motion for him to come close.
“Why don’t we have a little talk on the way down?” I ask.
“You’re out of your mind,” he says.
“Well, either that or it’s you, me, and a few reporters from some of the better circulating newspapers in the country,” I tell him.
The elevator door opens, and Andrew hesitates a moment before going in.
“Just you and your assistant,” he says.
“Mags?” I ask.
She wheels me into the elevator with Andrew, and once the door closes, I get back into it.
“Can you see the headline?” I ask. “Representative from KJBP Runs from Cancer Patient.”
“This isn’t going to work,” he says. “I’m not going to answer any questions.”
“That’s your choice,” I tell him, “but you know the press. If you don’t give them a comment, they’re going to come to their own conclusions.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“You’ve never met someone who’s got nothing to lose, have you?” I ask. “You may make a deal that’ll get you a big office in a nice, tall building, but those pictures of you coming out of the chemo suite with me in the background all bald and sad-looking are going to be with you pretty much forever. It’s really up to you what the caption beneath them turns out to be.”
“I’m not the fucking station owner,” he says. “I can’t just make this deal without the approval of my-”
“You say the words,” I tell him, “and I’m willing to bet your betters are willing to overlook a zero or two to avoid a public boycott.”
“This isn’t going to work,” he says. “People are going to see through it if you smear me.”
“You know what the one good thing about looking like me right now does for you?” I ask. “It makes people really sympathetic. Now, I’m not usually the type of person that’s looking to exploit my illness to get what I want, but you’re not leaving me much of a choice, now, are you, Andrew?”
“This isn’t going to work,” he says.