Alex threw a pillow across the room, hitting the sleeping man in the other bed square on, in an effort to wake his nurse. He was wheezing and could not catch his breath to speak. With a loud snort like grunt, Harry was awake and sat up instantly. " Right oh, Alex… sit forward. Try and time your breaths… in and out, nice and deep." He did this while fishing out the inhaler from the day pack left by the TV. He handed the blue plastic tube to Alex who took a short puff and continued with his breathing exercises before blurting out "Asthma sucks. If I puke at breakfast, it'll be another perfect fucking day." Alex slid out of bed and crawled to the bathroom on his hands and knees.
From the bathroom came a loud moan. "I need the first aid kit, the pimple on my left stump has decided to fester into a boil."
Harry got the large kit and went in to see the damage. Alex was not sleeping, having a hard time keeping anything down and his skin was super sensitive, so he was covered in small annoying spots. He had developed asthma and if he got a cold it was a certainty it would develop into flu, bronchitis or pneumonia. Alex was trapped in the hotel by his myriad of health issues.
"Get comfortable Alex, I'll sterilise your leg, lance it and then tape you up. We can sleep in. Your dad is not due back until after 9 and we can all have breakfast together"
"Yeah, rice cakes and boiled water. The breakfast of champions."
…..
Harry sat and read as his patient fell into an exhausted deep sleep, snoring like a trooper. The kid needed a good eight hours, he was averaging three at the most. The two things he needed to bounce back to full health were not happening, he was not eating properly and he was not sleeping enough. Maybe it was the fact they were stuck in a hotel in a strange city, not at his dad's home in LA.
….
"Do you want to see a copy of 'Last Chance'… I'm sure Leon would let me have a preview or do you want to wait to see it in the cinema in Cambridge. Its part funded by BBC Films so it'll go around the independents and arts centres. And before you ask it does not have any zombies in it. Funnily enough those type of scripts aren't sent to me anymore."
"I'm secretary of the Film Club and an honorary member of the Uni's Tony Fletcher Fan Club, so I'll have to see it there. I read the reviews from Sundance. Its making money and has good word of mouth. You must be proud as both actor and co-producer."
Alex had his papa's itinerary off pat. With a week of publicity starting with the mid-west's favourite afternoon show, Christa, in three days. He might be back in his feet by then, if he got no more infections. Being stuck in a wheelchair and inside was getting to him. "I can go see you record Christa, please?" The former country singer and actor of truly trashy biopics was now as TV main player.
"Of course darling."
….
At 11pm, Alex was meditating. Part of his new routine to reintroduce good sleep patterns. The heating had been turned low and the room was cool. He put his failure to sleep down to the fact he was he was wearing pyjamas, again. He normally slept naked. Sergeant Dixon said it was OK that he's seen a lot worse in barracks, but that was one boundary he was not going to cross. It was bad enough he was stuck sharing a room with the scariest man on the planet with him acting as full time nurse.
He lay down and was looking forward to the busy day tomorrow, when he'd get to meet a genuine superstar.
If you asked Alex outright he would say the only thing he was afraid of was CC's temper, in truth it was his memories, when revisited through nightmares, those terrified him. A smell, a phase, a tone of voice or any seeming random occurrence could trigger dark terror to grip him. Tonight he dreamt of Jack, who had loved watching Christa shown on weekday afternoons on Channel 4, it was like being home for her. The dream turned from memories of almost but not quite a happy occurrence in Chelsea, to a lunch of lamb and then the terror of being temporarily blind and deaf after the detonation of the flash bang grenade in the Killing House. In the dark, the survivor of that dirty trick awoke with a gasp and his heart pounding and Harry speaking low and soft, "You're safe, Alex. Its December 8th 2008, you are staying with me and your papa in Chicago, its a hotel suite. Your papa is in the next room asleep. There's nothing to be afraid of here."
Alex automatically started to take a series of deep breaths and a slow exhales. After five minutes he hugged his arms around himself as Harry moved over to his bed and sat beside him to rub his back and help count breaths. "Its not helping… my chest hurts."
The nurse checked the pulse in time with his watch. "132 beats per minute, way too fast, Alex. I'm afraid its another trip to hospital."
….
Tony had employed a new assistant, while he was in Chicago. Mark Logan woke at six to his normal alarm having left his phone in his kitchen; only to pick the offending item then to read the series of texts from his employer concerning his very eventful night. His son Alex was unwell and recuperating from a stay in hospital in England. The first text detailed , the emergency department at University of Chicago Medical Centre, atrial fibrillation and then the news the cardiologist was performing a cardioversion to correct the abnormal heart rhythm. As he read the last, wondered on the itinerary for the day and the all important TV interview, the Tony finally texted. 'Alex getting discharged momentarily, wait and see if this is to be a regular problem. Touch wood all OK from now on. See you at 11 as expected.'
Alex seemed to have gotten five minutes sleep, when he was being told the car had arrived to take Tony to the studio. He pondered for about a minute staying at the hotel before sitting in his wheelchair and pointing to the door.
The Producer was doing her meet and greet. Tony Fletcher was in his dressing room and the questions had been agreed. In half an hour he was due in make-up and she was making sure hospitality had done its job.
She knocked gently and entered. There was a young man asleep on the sofa, covered n a fine hand made knitted throw and a tall older man on the chair talking with Tony who was drinking a glass of sparkling water. "Good morning, Lorraine. This is Harry Dixon, my son's nurse, and on the sofa snoring is my son, Alex. He's really looking forward to the show, and I've promised to wake him when we go through for recording."
The dark haired woman noted the pale young man and the wheelchair. "Is he OK?"
"Now, he is; but at 2AM this morning it was not so good. I hope I never have to witness cardioversion again, but Alex assures me it does not hurt. He was under a general anaesthetic at the time. Twice in two weeks, if his arrhythmia persists, he may need a pacemaker. These things are sent to try us."
Not for the first time, the entire schedule for the program was adjusted at the last minute, Ms. Christa McKenzie, took one look at Alex and decided to include Tony's son in the show.
It was the run through, before filming began and Alex was wheeled to the side with Harry Dixon standing over him like a pissed off guardian angel. The run through had been a military operation, drink check, vegan energy bars check, half a sack of medication check, was Alex warm enough yes. No he had to be wheeled about. Complete rest for two days meant no walking seemingly. Alex normally found days on set extremely boring, when he spent hours in the trailer or bugging the technical guys, because Tony in the zone was a man not to be trifled with. Today Tony arrived on set and he fussed his son, much to the horror and embarrassment of the young man in question.
In front of the entire production team, the tall, pale and gaunt young man moaned like he was still a teenager, "I'm fine dad. Stop fussing and I promise once this program is over and I'll go back to bed for the next week baring traveling, order in soup and watch zombie films until Harry turns into one."
As soon as Christa saw Tony's handsome, frail looking son, her full attention was on him, with her soft southern accent, bright beautiful smile and full pseudo-mother to the nation persona in place. The young tired man was completely in her thrall. Normally Alex would eschew the spotlight and had only attended a handful of premieres and parties and had never been party to interviews. Tony sensibly had ket work and his private life very separate.
She decided that after they finished the expected chat on Tony's publicity necessities, she would draw the audiences attention to the fact this unassuming, extremely polite and private actor was a family man at heart. The son, while ill and disabled, was a graduate student and a former paralympic gold medallist. Her assistant had even pulled up some videos posted on the young man's social media of him snowboarding like a demon and at Beijing in the summer being interviewed on Chinese television, wearing two gold medals from the 2004 games; where he spoke Mandarin well enough not to need a translator or subtitles.
Alex smiled and blushed as the woman persuade him to join his papa on the couch, saying it would be taped but may get edited out post production. He was sure he would be, he was hardly dynamic or stunning, not like Tony, who at sixty looked like on the good side of forty.
Tony watched as his son accepted help from Harry to walk a few steps, his left stump enflamed and sore, but still he was wearing his prosthetics. His new brown inhaler was produced and Alex took a puff as he was hooked up by the sound team.
"I must warn you darling, he has rather a potty mouth. I'm afraid I always encouraged him full free expression, but he knows he has crossed the line if I use his full name. In the whole gamut of problems, a few blue words are hardly worth worrying about. By the time he finished at secondary school, even the teachers were immune to his colourful vocabulary. Then again, inner city schools have far more laissez-faire attitude to difficult students, otherwise Alex would have been expelled at some point in Year 9."
"Thanks for that assessment, Tony. Though, after the science block thing, which was totally not my fault, I'm really surprised they let me back."