I was just about to order the Beef n’ Cheddar at Arby’s drive-thru last night when my phone rang.
“Charles, it‘s me,” came a voice I instantly recognized. It was my patient, Ray, the socialite wife of a prominent L.A. politician. “Charles, I’m having problems with my son Froggy again. One of his friends just called me from the Roosevelt where Froggy is staying. There’s a party going on over there and it's very noisy. This fellow who called, he says Froggy is unconscious and he may have been drinking. I know it’s more than that! He‘s been taking drugs!”
Ray had talked about her son many times during our sessions. The youngest of her children, Froggy made a lifestyle of drinking and partying with celebrities, always footing the bill for lavish dinners at places like One Pico and La Boheme. He called himself a producer but had only helped produce one forgettable independent flick. His actual passport into the world of celebrities was his credit card--backed by family money--and his enthusiasm for footing the bill.
“Ray,” I said, “if he’s unconscious you need to call 911.”
“No!” she said. “His father will kill him if he finds out. I don’t personally care--I’m so disgusted with his behavior--but it would be an embarrassment to his father and to the family if Froggy ended up in ER.”
I was about to remind her that "ER" had long since been cancelled but then I realized she probably meant the other one. “I don’t know if I can help him. It sounds like an emergency.”
“I don’t care.”
“But what if he's--”
Ray's voice took on a slightly hysterical tone. “That boy can be dead for all I care. You give him an acupuncture treatment! Then you bring him here. Our private doctor will be waiting when you arrive. I gave Froggy’s friends your cell phone number. Hurry! Every second counts!”
I considered driving up to the speaker and quickly ordering a Beef n’Cheddar. It wouldn’t take Arby’s more than a minute or two to toss a delicious, steaming burger in my window as I sped by. The thought of those tender beef strips and pepper bacon on a saucy bun (with Arby's ranch dressing!) made my stomach growl. But then I remembered Ray’s admonition: every second counts. I was fifteen minutes away from The Roosevelt in heavy traffic and I hoped Froggy could hold on until then, although I had no idea how I could help him. I backed out of the drive-thru lane and drove toward the Roosevelt. I had heard that “The Hills” was having their end-of-series party there and I wondered if Froggy was part of the festivities. As I pulled onto La Brea, my cell phone rang.
“Mr. Yarborough?” came a young man‘s breathless voice. “It’s Connor. Froggy’s friend? We’re not in the hotel. We left? It’s crazy at the hotel tonight with 'The Hills' and all. Security is so tight, they might not let you in? We got Froggy into the limo just outside the hotel on the side street. We're in a stretch limo?” Connor was one of those people who turn every statement into a question.
“Ok,” I said.
“Um, but you might wanna take your time?” said Connor
“Why is that?” I said.
“Well,” he hesitated, “we think he’s kinda dead.”
”What do you mean he’s kind of dead?” I asked.
“Uh, he stopped breathing about ten minutes ago. And he was blue but he isn’t anymore. And my girlfriend put a mirror up to his mouth but it didn’t steam up.”
“Call 911,” I said.
“Uhm, we can’t?” said Connor “Froggy’s mother told us not to. We’re supposed to wait for you. We're five cars down from Hollywood Blvd? We'll wait for you.”
Ten minutes later I arrived and tapped on the rear window. It slid open. A cloud of hops and dope wafted out. Inside, in the dim yellow light, were four young people--one man and three women in their early twenties in formal attire. And stretched out on the rear seat was a pale man with thick brown locks, wearing a tux and looking quite dead.
I got in. The somber mood of the guests was undermined by Lady Gaga crooning over a fabulous sound system. I pressed two fingers on Froggy's carotid artery and felt a faint pulse. Then something unexpected happened: Froggy opened one eye and sent me a furtive wink. "Well," I said, playing along with the prank, "it looks Froggy has bit the dust."
The girls started crying miserably. A curly haired surfer leaned toward me. "I'm Connor," he said, "and I feel responsible for this. We were drinking in the hotel and he started gagging. I should have called 911 but I got scared, what with his dad being so famous and all. So I called his mother..."
"It's not your fault," I said. "Let's open that champagne."
"What?" said Connor. "Why?"
"So we can toast Froggy and a life well-lived," I said, patting Connor on the back. "Here, if you don't want to do it I'll do it myself." I popped the cork and poured everybody a drink. "A toast to Froggy," I said, though I was the only one who lifted his glass.
“To Froggy,” they said, confusedly.
“Now listen,” I said, “I’ve been instructed by Froggy's’s mother to give him an acupuncture treatment even if he’s dead. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Really?” they said, wide-eyed.
“I’m just not sure what kind of treatment I should give him at this stage,” I said. "Maybe a treatment for energy? Froggy could certainly use more of that! Pull off his shoes, somebody. I rolled up Froggy’s trousers and poked needles in his pallid shins, then stuck some in his feet.
“How about for alcohol addiction?” said one of the girls. “He drank way too much, Poor Froggie!"
“Sure,” I said. “That’s an easy one,” and I stuck some needles in his ears. Reaching into the pocket of Froggy's tux, I said, "Is anybody hungry? I am! I’ve got Froggy’s credit card right here! Last chance for a Froggy treat!”
“I'm not sure that would be such a good idea," said Connor.
"Well I am," I said. “Arby’s has a Beef & Cheddar sandwich that’s absolutely to-die. Does anybody here like pepper bacon? They'll put extra on the burger if you ask! Driver! To Arby’s!” So I got to put my order in at Arby’s drive-thru after all and I ordered burgers all around, though nobody ate but me.
As we drove out into the night, I turned up the Black Eyed Peas' "Boom Boom Pow," and whispered into Connor's ear. Then Connor whispered into the girls' ears. Pretty soon we were all winking at each other. And as the limo slowed down for hordes of tourists at the corner of Highland and Sunset, the door swung open and Froggy's pals rolled him into the gutter.
Okay, so this was pretty rude, I have to agree. But so was Froggie's prank. And so were the things he shouted at us while running after the limo in his bare feet.
"Hello, Ray?" I said, when his mother answered the phone. "It's Charles. Yes, yes. Froggy is perfectly fine. In fact, he's out having a bit of a jog. How did I get him to do that? Well, when I tell you, you're going to have a good laugh. At least I hope you will." (She did.)
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