Chris laughed along with Rose’s companion, and she turned to include him in her retelling (clearly, she knew how to hold an audience). JC and Jason kept talking, seemingly oblivious to Rose’s performance and the mirth it was causing Chris. Rose continued with her story. There were ambulances and emergency rooms and treatments for what was apparently a very serious allergy to nuts. Seems the mighty director had been felled by a froofy salad containing hazelnuts that she’d scarfed during the first intermission.
Looking back, Chris should have known what was coming. He’d had a cousin who was allergic to peanuts, and he knew what she carried around in case a hidden nut found its way into something she ate. But he was enjoying the story too much, and by the time he felt JC’s full body tension and saw his mouth go slack, it was too late.
Rose was obliviously describing that everyone who saw her epinephrine dose commented on the scene in Pulp Fiction where Uma Thurman ODs and John Travolta has to slam that big old adrenaline needle into her heart. “I have this fear that I’ll be in the midst of shock by legume, and some overzealous friend will grab this and plunge it into my chest!” Rose pulled from her tiny vintage evening bag a relatively large sealed syringe. “So I have to tell everyone I meet at parties to stick me here--” she mimed stabbing her thigh with the needle, “not here!” She finished with the dramatic flourish of stabbing the needle into her breastbone.
Chris quickly looked over at JC. JC was pale and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow and his upper lip. His eyes were locked on Rose’s hand. He began to shake and his lips moved wordlessly. Chris put his hand on JC’s knee and JC grasped it like a lifeline. Rose began to apologize profusely, and Jonathan asked if there was anything he could do. Chris thanked them and moved to get JC away from the offending item. He hustled JC to the fire escape to get him some air.
“C? Hey, are you gonna be okay?”
JC gulped huge lungfuls of chilly night air, keeping his hands locked on Chris’s forearms. They were only on the fourth floor, but as JC bent over to let the blood rush back into his head, the height sent his head whirling with vertigo. As he started to go over, Chris caught him against the wall.
“Okay, man, we gotta get you out of here.”
“I’ll—I’ll...be okay...” JC gasped, then reconsidered. “But, yeah, let’s get out of here. Don’t feel so good.”
“I’m so sorry, C. I should have realized where that story was going, I didn’t think.”
“S’okay. Not your fault.”
“Who woulda guessed we’d have to keep an eye out for the evil pointy things here?”
Still never done this before...Part Two
Looking back, Chris should have known what was coming. He’d had a cousin who was allergic to peanuts, and he knew what she carried around in case a hidden nut found its way into something she ate. But he was enjoying the story too much, and by the time he felt JC’s full body tension and saw his mouth go slack, it was too late.
Rose was obliviously describing that everyone who saw her epinephrine dose commented on the scene in Pulp Fiction where Uma Thurman ODs and John Travolta has to slam that big old adrenaline needle into her heart. “I have this fear that I’ll be in the midst of shock by legume, and some overzealous friend will grab this and plunge it into my chest!” Rose pulled from her tiny vintage evening bag a relatively large sealed syringe. “So I have to tell everyone I meet at parties to stick me here--” she mimed stabbing her thigh with the needle, “not here!” She finished with the dramatic flourish of stabbing the needle into her breastbone.
Chris quickly looked over at JC. JC was pale and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow and his upper lip. His eyes were locked on Rose’s hand. He began to shake and his lips moved wordlessly. Chris put his hand on JC’s knee and JC grasped it like a lifeline. Rose began to apologize profusely, and Jonathan asked if there was anything he could do. Chris thanked them and moved to get JC away from the offending item. He hustled JC to the fire escape to get him some air.
“C? Hey, are you gonna be okay?”
JC gulped huge lungfuls of chilly night air, keeping his hands locked on Chris’s forearms. They were only on the fourth floor, but as JC bent over to let the blood rush back into his head, the height sent his head whirling with vertigo. As he started to go over, Chris caught him against the wall.
“Okay, man, we gotta get you out of here.”
“I’ll—I’ll...be okay...” JC gasped, then reconsidered. “But, yeah, let’s get out of here. Don’t feel so good.”
“I’m so sorry, C. I should have realized where that story was going, I didn’t think.”
“S’okay. Not your fault.”
“Who woulda guessed we’d have to keep an eye out for the evil pointy things here?”