Chapter 16

At 2:47 a.m. Suzanne Moise went into labor. My phone rang at 2:28 in the other room of her suite. Her go-bag was packed, and all she needed to do was go to the bathroom. “I’m not going to embarrass myself in the delivery room by delivering two newborn baby girls and a pile of shit,” she told me. I never thought about that, but it made sense that a person would have powerful contractions in the pelvic regions. I wondered how b-K was going to handle that. It probably wouldn’t occur to her – after all, a goddess taking a shit? How pedestrian.

“Hello? Are you there Mark? Don’t pass out on me,” said the voice on the phone.

Damn! Caught mind wandering again. “Yeah. I’m here. Let me throw on some clothes and I’ll be right there.”

I called down to the desk when I got to her room. She was still in the bathroom.

“I’m in room 642. Ms Moise is in labor, and is very near the end of her term. Can we get an ambulance,” I said in my best non-panicked voice.

I went down the list of people that should be called. Mrs. Moise, Suzi’s mother, was in Bend, Oregon, and was the sous chef at Le Citron – a three-star restaurant on the edge of Bend. I knew that she was planning to come to Atlanta after the recital. Should I call her? No. She couldn’t get here soon enough to make a difference.

Signorelli? Hell, no.

Davenport, then. A groggy Augustus Davenport answered his phone on the 15^th ring.

“Hello, Davenport. It’s Mark James. Suzanne Moise is in labor. I’ve called for an ambulance and we going to New York Presbyterian. There’s no emergency. Can you come when you’re awake? I’ve got to run, she’s not taking this well.”

“That’s brill. I’ll be along after breakfast. Women never have babies right away. It takes several hours. Are you going with her?” he calmly asked.

“OF COURSE, I’m going with her.”

“Well, take a book.”

“Right, see you in a while.”

“By the way, the reviews were smashing. For both of you ... Now go take care of our mamma.”

I knew the reviews were beyond smashing. I had stayed up and checked the Times and the ‘Critic’s Corner’ in the Julliard Notes. Julliard had announced they were going to attend the recital, and planned to review it. They loved the performance, and even noticed that an ‘amateur’ from Atlanta (that would be me) pitched in a more than adequate part in the Kreutzer.

Suzi was tired and had retired as soon as we got back to the room. I wondered for a moment how ‘tired’ and ‘retired’ got connected. I mean one didn’t get more tired when one REtired for the night.

Once we got past the ‘it is not an emergency’ stage with the EMTs, and got in to the obstetrics part of the very busy hospital (Saturday night at one of NYC’s major hospitals), and got the insurance part handled, I was called in to her pre-delivery room. I called her parents.

“I was wondering when I’d get an update about the recital,” said the elder Mrs. Moise. “Why are you calling and not Suzi?”

“The recital went fine ... great even. Suzi is in labor, at New York Presby. Nothing is wrong, except she’s a few weeks early. This may be a false alarm, but she is SURE it’s the real thing. Here she is now.”

I passed the phone to the expectant one, who had a contraction in mid-call. After some assurances that I was not the father, and yes, I was that piano player, and that she would call later on, to let them know what was happening.

Well, the baby girls checked in about 10:00 the next morning. Everything went fine. Suzi and the girls went to sleep shortly thereafter and I went back to the hotel. I got a phone message from my bitch-wife and I called her back.

“How was your recital? And where were you?” she asked peremptorily.

“The recital went splendidly. There was some sort of emergency in the hotel on my floor and I spent several hours in a breakfast place. I didn’t even have my phone.” I didn’t feel like explaining the time spent caring for a pregnant woman, when the b-K would want me at home caring for her. “I’ll be coming home tonight. The flight gets to Atlanta about 9:00 p.m.”

When I checked in at the hospital, Suzanne and the babies (Carla and Justine, named after both grandmothers, now deceased) were doing fine and Davenport was sitting in a chair, reading a real book (non-electronic book). Something by Tom Clancy and one of his co-writers.

Suzi’s parents, I was informed, were scheduled to arrive in the early evening. The violin was housed in the instrument lock-up at Town Hall, so everything was okey-dokey on that front.

Davenport excused himself, citing the need for a second breakfast, a la Hobbit schedule.

Suzi wanted to hold my hand. “I know you need to get back to Atlanta. When are you leaving?”

I gave her my schedule. She nodded. “My mom will be here tonight. They’ll get me back to the hotel when I’m released. And they’ll take care of getting us all back to Atlanta – probably by covered wagon caravan. I don’t think that two weeks early would mean the girls are considered premies. But we’ll see what the docs say.” She smiled. “Dad will want me to ride home in an ambulance if I know him at all. He’s probably calling out the National Guard. But we should be back by next weekend ... I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t here. Thank you so much.” She pulled me close and gave me a long kiss on the cheek and a warm snuggle to my neck.