Sherrill Ann Martin sat cross-legged on the floor of her spacious New Orleans home and looked at her DeeGees. That's what her mom called anything that just sat around the house for decor and no other useful purpose: Dust Gatherers. DGs.
Even Sherrill Ann had been dubbed a DeeGee at times.
But her DeeGees weren't the glass animals of her mother or the cigar box lamps of her father. These were awards, accolades - from the trio of Grammys on the sideboard to the singular Oscar on the end table, and the other half-dozen in between - bestowed upon her at her tender age of 20 (or younger) by actors and musicians, fans and producers, juries of her peers. Peers mostly twice and three times her age.
Some days, she quietly patted herself on the creative back for her achievements so young in life. She was talented, sure, beautiful and kind, likeable, and very wealthy.
She also knew her success was due in very large part to the generosity of others, those who gave her needed chances.
On bad days, lonely ones, Sherrill Ann Martin felt undeserving of any achievement, embarrassed by her popularity and wealth, and longing to do something - anything, really - to put the happy spotlight on someone else.
Today was one of those days.
Maybe that's why the Facebook post caught her eye, and her heart.
II
The post read:
S.A.M. is my favorite singer/actress!! My name is Mandolyn Arcadian, and I am 17. I am dying from a rare cancer, and need a double lung transplant. My wish is to meet YOU, S.A.M.! Please contact me if you are willing to grant my dying wish! #sam #bestsupportingactress # wish # pleaseplease
Below the post was a Louisiana phone number, and Sherrill Ann Martin, stage name S.A.M., dialed it with one hand as she wiped away tears with the other.
Today was one of those days.
III
The house was huge, and beautiful, just off Lake Pontchartrain, exactly where Miss Arcadian's lawyer had said. His German accent was thick, but his directions had been clear and concise.
Sherrill Ann took a deep breath as she stepped onto the etched concrete walkway leading to the palatial wooden door. A sudden memory of her father trying, and failing, to hang a screen door flashed across her mind, along with a brief picture of her mother laughing at and with him. She pushed back tears as she pushed ahead to the door.
Had it really been four years since they died? How she missed them.
Before her hand could connect with the oak door, it swung inward.
"Oh!"
The exclamation could not have been more in sync if it had been planned and practiced. The surprise on the singer's face was mirrored by that on the face of the handsome man who had opened the door.
"Well, I'll be," he said, and smiled the most comforting smile.
IV
"Honey? It's Dad."
He creaked the door open and smiled in at Mandolyn. "Mandy, guess who's here?"
As Mandy pushed up in bed, she adjusted her oxygen tube and smiled hopefully.
Mr. Arcadian opened the door fully, and stepped aside so his ailing daughter could see her heroine.
Sherrill Ann waved her cute wave and tilted her head just so, like in all her public appearances. Mandy giggled almost silently, and her dad left the two to talk.
Two hours later, they had shared laughs and tears, and were well into a duet of S.A.M.'s most recent radio hit, when a hunched little man walked in and said he needed to check Mandolyn's vitals.
Dr. J H Vernon (not initials, but his actual name) alternated between a lively smile and a concerned grimace as he listened carefully to the breathing of his private patient.
Sherrill Ann busied herself reading get well cards taped to the bedroom's far wall, staying close by at her fan-friend's request, but not so close as to interfere with her doctor.
She didn't catch what Mandy whispered to Dr. Vernon, but got very concerned when the doctor called for help, and Mandy's eyes rolled up.
V
"Just another scare, that's all," said Mandy.
"Just another," her dad said, angry or frustrated - Sherrill couldn't tell.
"I need a minute," he said, and headed downstairs to talk with Dr. Vernon.
Sherrill sat down again on the chair by the bed and said, "Tell me something interesting."
"I know all your songs by heart," Mandy said. And when S.A.M. looked doubtful, she continued. "Seriously. Every word, every ooh and yeah. Singing them, learning them... Especially my favorite ong: 'Life Saver'. You're my life saver.
"I know your birthday, your favorite books and snacks, and the stores you can't shop at anymore because... (cough, cough, wheeze)... because too many people always recognize you."
Sherrill nodded. All this was information freely found Online.
"I know your parents died in a robbery attempt a few years ago, and that you have no other family, except your manager, Teresa, who isn't technically family, and who's currently visiting family in Des Moines."
Sherrill stiffened. She hated reminders of her loss, and Mandy mentioned her absence of family with no emotion. And how did she know Teresa was gone? And to Des Moines?
"How...?"
She didn't hear the bedroom door open, was there no creaking this time? Nor the dual footfalls of father and doctor. Her eyes and mind were locked on the frail beautiful teen.
"I know you are in great health, I know your blood type..."
"Wait a minute." This was too much.
Mandy smiled, and visibly relaxed.
And as Mr. Arcadian's hands locked onto Sherrill Ann's arms from behind, and she felt the prick of Vernon's needle in her neck, she muttered, "No, no, you ..."
The men eased her unconscious form down onto the floor, and preparations began.
VI
Normally, the surgery would take a minimum of six hours. This day it took a little over nine.
But now the organ recipient was resting, and everything looked as good as it could.
Two shots from his revolver had tied up the loose ends of the surgical nurses Dr. Vernon had paid disgusting sums to for their assistance. Another had put down the self-righteous doctor who'd helped Arcadian drag their bodies into the small empty concrete pool out back.
The shell of what had earlier today been the most popular singer in pop music lay half beneath the nurses' discarded corpses. She'd probably be even more popular, once people realized she was missing, Arcadian mused.
He adjusted the slew for the concrete, and started the mixer. Before long, the pool would be a memory, the foundation for a backyard storage shed, and the bodies would be, as well.
He left the machine running and jogged inside to make sure his baby girl was sleeping alright. That pop singer was literally a life saver.
Though her heart had stopped many hours earlier, and no synapses fired in her brain, and her lungs were now drawing breath in someone else's chest cavity, Sherrill Ann Martin's brightly colored eyes still peered out between slightly open lids. They seemed to still have life. They even seemed to speak on her behalf.
They railed in silence at the injustice, at the betrayals. And as the wet concrete spilled over into them, they seemed to lament that today was just one of those days.
Fin
