Chapter 3
Vandy could hear the beeping of the monitor near her hospital bed. She blinked several times. A television was playing; the sound was low. Her head was pounding; her mouth was dry; she felt confused and disoriented.
She turned her head and saw Pam on the chair, fast asleep, holding the television remote in her hand. The television was turned to FoxNews. They were talking about her. Two reporters, one male and one female, who Vandy did not recognize, were discussing her.
“We’re told that Elaine Vanderbilt is in Memorial Hospital and is in stable condition. We are waiting for more information,” the male talking head said. He turned to the female talking head, “So, what do you make of this? Was the interview so over the top that it could have caused this?”
“What happened to Elaine Vanderbilt was likely an accumulation of everything she is going through,” the woman replied.
“Marina Mayes was really tough on her, don’t you think?” the man said. “It was obvious that Vandy had no idea her soon-to-be ex-husband filed for sole custody of their daughter. It was clearly an ambush. Was it really fair for Marina to spring this on her on live television?”
The woman scoffed, “We’re talking about Entertainment Tonight,” she said. “This is not 60 Minutes or Meet the Press for crying out loud. Look, Elaine Vanderbilt has made this mess for herself. At the risk of sounding cold and distant, Elaine Vanderbilt has questions to answer. Her investors have lost millions. I think it’s time someone holds her feet to the fire…”
“But still, to attack a woman who is obviously so vulnerable…”
“Elaine Vanderbilt has a long-established reputation for being a tough, ball-busting bitch,” the woman said. “I’m sorry but it’s true. She dishes out plenty. She should be able to handle…”
The television clicked off. Pam sat up, “Sorry, I fell asleep,” she said. “I didn’t mean to leave the television on.”
“The fallout is bad, isn’t it?” Vandy said.
“I’m afraid so,” Pam replied. “Cameron knows, already.”
“Son-of-a-bitch! Is he here?” she asked.
“Not yet. He was on location when he heard the news you were in the hospital,” Pam replied. “He’s on his way home now. He will be in town this evening.”
“I don’t want the bastard here,” Vandy said. “I don’t want him to see me in the hospital.”
“Relax, I spoke to the doctor. You’ll be released before he gets here.”
“And Lindsay?”
“I spoke to her on the phone,” Pam said. “She is worried. I assured her you were all right—just exhausted. She asked if you wanted her to come home. I told her she should wait to hear from you. You’ll need to call her tonight.”
“That won’t go well,” Vandy predicted.
“She’s upset with you,” Pam replied. “She wants to live with her father.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Vandy rebutted.
Lindsay was attending the prestigious Eton College in London. It was her first year. Cameron had pulled strings with his Hollywood connections to her get accepted, against Vandy’s wishes. She wanted Lindsay home but Cameron insisted that attending Eton was the opportunity of a lifetime for her. The education she would receive and the connections she’d make would serve her well for the rest of her life.
“I will call her,” I said. “There is no need to yank her out of school and throw her into the middle of this bullshit.”
“I agree. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been plowed over by a tractor,” she replied. “Is what she said about Lindsay true? Has Cameron filed for sole custody?”
“He has,” Pam replied. “I received the documents an hour before the show.”
“An hour—before? How could you let me get blindsided on national television like that?”
“I’m sorry,” Pam said, casting her eyes downward. “I had a long meeting with Marina before the show. We discussed the topics she would speak to. I didn’t think she’d get this information. I chose to keep it from you. I thought, if you knew about this before you went on, it would have been too big of a distraction. I—I’m sorry.”
“You should have let me make that decision,” Vandy said.
Pam opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Am I interrupting?”
Dr. Wayne Charles had been Vandy’s doctor for more than nine years now. He had a thriving, celebrity-filled practice, but when Vandy needed attention, he was always there for her.
“Dr. Charles,” Vandy greeted, “No, of course you’re not interrupting. Please come in.”
“I’ve got your test results,” he said. “The good news is, there is nothing wrong with you physically. Your bloodwork looks great; your MRI is clear—all your test results are normal.”
He sat on the end of the bed and removed his glasses.
“Why do I feel there is a but coming?” Vandy asked.
“You’re exhibiting the classic symptoms of an acute anxiety disorder.”
“A nervous breakdown?” she translated.
“That’s not a term I like to use. What I can tell you is, you’re exhausted, physically and mentally. You are angry and aggressive one minute and paranoid and frightened the next. You need rest. I’ve seen the reports on television. I know you are going through a lot. This would wear anyone down. You need to get away from all of this for a couple of weeks. You need to decompress. I know a wonderful facility I can check you into. They have a two-week program that really works. It’s quiet and the people are very discreet. No one would have to know a thing….”
“What? You mean a mental institution. No!” Vandy replied. “I’m not gonna let some smelly orderly keep me medicated so he can feel me up while I’m asleep.”
“Vandy, this place is not like that, I assure you…”
“Bullshit!” Vandy interrupted.
“I think it’s the best solution,” Dr. Charles replied.
“And the media would have a field-day with this?” Vandy added.
“The media would not know,” Pam said.
“More bullshit,” Vandy replied. “I just passed out on national television. Everyone knows I’m in the hospital. Some clever reporter will pay one of the orderlies $500 to spill the beans—maybe even take my picture. No way. It’s not happening.”
“What if we found a really remote place where she was free from any distractions, Doctor?” Pam said.
Dr. Charles shook his head.
“It needs to be a controlled environment,” he replied. “I think the Brookfield Institution…”
“I’m not going to a fucking mental hospital,” Vandy repeated, emphatically. “End of story.”
“I knew she’d say this, Doctor. I found a great place,” Pam said. “No cell phones, no television, no internet. It’s miles from civilization.”
Dr. Charles sighed, looking at Vandy reflectively.
“I would prefer a professionally managed facility,” he said, “with professional supervision, but I’ve known Vandy long enough to know when her mind is made up she will not budge. I do not recommend it, though I would have to admit it beats the alternative, which is no change at all. A long rest in a remote location would probably help a lot, if we can keep her off the phone, off her email and away from the television. I have some mild medications I can prescribe. If she can follow instructions, take her meds, stay away from email, her cell phone, the television and the internet, it should be safe. She needs rest, and plenty of it.”
“I have it all worked out,” Pam said.
“You’ve been planning this, Pam?” Vandy asked.
“I’ve been working on this for two weeks,” Pam admitted. “I was concerned about you long before this episode. You have way too much going on. It would be enough to give anyone a nervous breakdown. I pushed this whole thing into high gear when you were admitted. I was pretty sure you’d poo-poo the idea of a facility.”
Dr. Charles turned back to Vandy, “Can you get away?”
“I don’t see how,” Vandy replied.
“Yes, you can,” Pam said. “Your lawyer can make the initial reply to Cameron’s legal action. The FTC will not require your presence for questioning until mid-month. I’ll rearrange all your appointments and handle everything else that comes up.”
Dr. Charles looked at his pager, “I have other patients to see—gotta go. I’ll let you two work out the details. I’ll be back this afternoon. In the meantime, I get the discharge paperwork ready.”
“So, I can go home now?” Vandy asked.
Dr. Charles gave a faint smile, “Vandy, what you have is not going to be cured by a night in the hospital. You really do need to take some time, relax and remove all the stress from your life.”
He patted her hand and left the room.
“But I have a business to run,” Vandy protested to Pam. “I have meetings. I’m due in N.Y. later this week.”
“You have nothing we can’t move around,” Pam said. “There is nothing more important than you getting the rest you need. You need to take some time and recharge your batteries.”
“But Lindsay?”
“Lindsay is not due home from boarding school for more than three weeks,” Pam said. “You’ll be home in plenty of time.”
“I don’t know,” Vandy said. “It would seem like I’m running away.”
“And I know just the place,” Pam said.
“Where?” Vandy asked.
“West Glacier, Montana,” she said. “My ex owns a cabin there.”
“Your ex lives in East Jesus Montana?” Vandy quizzed.
“West Glacier,” she corrected. “And yes. He bought a distribution company in Montana six years ago. He has a beautiful cabin in the middle of nowhere.”
“West Glacier, Montana?” Vandy repeated. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s the whole point, Vandy. It’s in northern Montana, along the Middle Fork Flathead River, near Lake McDonald,” Pam said.
Vandy waved her right hand over her head and made a swooshing noise, “I have heard of none of those places.”
“Which is perfect,” Pam said. She held up an Amazon Kindle, “I know how much you love to read fiction. Reading used to be your favorite thing. When was the last time you sat down and read a novel?”
“I can’t even remember,” she said. “It’s been years.”
Pam handed Vandy the Kindle, “I just downloaded every Jodi Picoult novel that she’s written since 2010. I also downloaded the last four John Grisham and Patricia Cornwell novels.”
“Oh my god, I love those authors,” Vandy admitted.
“The cabin is remote. It’s fifteen miles from the nearest civilization. There is no cell service there, no cable television,” Pam said. “My ex was into cross-country skiing, which is why he bought the place. I know you did the cross-country thing when you were younger. You might enjoy it again. The cabin is incredible. There’s a fireplace in almost every room, and there is a jacuzzi bath to die for. He also has a fully stocked wine bar, but I have taken the liberty of sending up a case of Duckhorn Bordeaux, hoping you’d agree.”
“Wow,” Vandy said. “It really does sound good.”
“Just think of it,” Pam said. “No Cameron, no reporters, no business, no Randall and no me. Just you, a few bottles of wine, your loaded Kindle and—oh yes, I almost forgot—a DVD player with a collection of more than 300 movies from the 1940’s and 1950’s.”
“Holy shit, that’s awesome!” Vandy admitted. Old movies were her favorites; Pam knew it of course. “Is it safe there?”
“My ex had the cabin built in 1999 and spends maybe three months a year there,” Pam said. “There has never been an incident, but…”
“I knew a ‘but’ was coming,” Vandy said.
“I would want to send Pete and Mike with you,” Pam said.
“No.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “They don’t have to travel with you. You won’t even have to interface with them. There’s a guest house they can stay in. You’ll hardly know they are there.”
Pete McCutchen and Mike Arnaiz were two celebrity security guards that Pam had known for more than 10 years. They were good at what they did, even if some of their ‘methods’ were questionable. Five years ago, Mike sent a member of the paparazzi to the hospital when he did not heed the warnings about staying off one of his clients’ lawns. Last year Pete beat a male stalker senseless when the man rushed one of his rocker clients to take a selfie after she had left a restaurant. Though there had never been an incident of an actual celebrity being hurt under Pete’s and Mike’s watch, they were both thugs who always gave Vandy the creeps.
“Let me think about that. Let’s get back to the logistics. How would we make all this happen?” Vandy asked.
“We would sneak you away,” Pam said. “We’d pick you up at the house about 4:00 a.m. to avoid the paparazzi and take you to a private airfield.”
That part sounded good to Vandy. Reporters and paparazzi began to congregate at her house and business around 7:30 a.m. she had noted. Vandy hadn’t been sleeping, so a 4:00 a.m. departure for her was no problem.
“Why can’t I take the company jet?” Vandy asked.
“Because as soon as a flight-plan is submitted for the company jet, some asshole airline employee will call TMZ and tip them off for $50 and then the world will know where you are going. I’ve chartered a beautiful private jet. Tons of celebrities use it. Their very discreet.”
Vandy nodded, “Makes sense.”
“I’ve made all the arrangements,” she continued. “The private jet will get you to Missoula, and then Amtrak takes you to West Glacier. I have a 4-Wheel Jeep rented, fully equipped to navigate the snow if you want to ski or hike in the mountains. It will be waiting for you. It’s all top secret. No reporters, no media of any kind—and no paparazzi. No one will know where you are for two solid weeks.”
Vandy shrugged and let out a breath, “And no pervert orderlies and no meddling front desk facility staff to tip off the paparazzi,” she added.
“That’s right,” she said. “No doctors; no group therapy sessions. What do you think?”
“We need to tell Uncle Randall,” Vandy said.
“Even that old bastard can live without you for two weeks,” Pam insisted. “He got you into this mess. He can deal with the crap for a few days.”
“He needs to know,” Vandy insisted.
“I really think the fewer people…”
“He needs to know,” Vandy insisted.
Pam rolled her eyes and shrugged, “Okay, okay. I’ll call him.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“What about the weather?” Vandy said. “It’s winter now.”
“The weather is always a crapshoot, but it’s clear now,” Pam said. “I’ve already bought all the winter wear you could possibly need and had it shipped to the cabin. It’s waiting for you; coats; hats; gloves; boots; everything, including ski equipment should you so desire. What are you worried about? Driving? You grew up in upstate New York for cryin’ out loud. You know how to drive in the snow.”
“True. What about food?” Vandy said.
“I have made arrangements to have pre-made meals there, all ready to go—heat and serve. The company that makes them does a wonderful job. I almost live on them. Plus, the place will be flowing in chocolate.”
“Okay, please,” she pleaded. “This is a lot to take in. Let me think about it tonight.”
“I’ll text you pictures of the cabin,” she said. “Everything is on standby for tomorrow, but we can put it off for a day or two if you want to think about it. But you heard Dr. Charles, the sooner the better.”