Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

he said, shaking his head, “I don’t understand how people think in this country. Boris gets ticket in park. Spoils whole day.”
    Pieces of pancake and bread were stuck in his mustache. At least, that’s what I hope was stuck there.
    “Dogs aren’t allowed off leash in Central Park, Boris,” Bucky was quick to tell him. “You’re American dog trainer,” he said, looking around at the rest of us for appreciation of his wit, “you ought to know that, pally.”
    “Sasha was on leash, wise guy.”
    ‘Then why the ticket?” Sam asked, an unbitten piece of toast in her hand.
    “For answering call of nature.”
    “Didn’t you pick up?” Audrey asked.
    “Ticket not for Sasha’s call. Boris had call.”
    No one spoke, but Boris had our attention.
    “What you supposed to do? Boris have coffee. Boris walk dog. Boris have to go. Cop gives hundred-dollar ticket. Sasha doesn’t get ticket for doing same thing. Why Sasha’s pee okay, and Boris’s pee no good?”
    We all started laughing, but Rick began to laugh so hard he couldn’t stop. For a moment, I watched him enjoying himself. But then I noticed tears coming out of his eyes and running down his cheeks, and a moment later he was drained of color and gasping for air. I expected to see him reach for his inhaler, but he didn’t. Still wheezing, a look of panic on his face, he slid off his chair, knocking it sideways as he fell, the spoon he was holding still in his hand.
    Chip jumped up and began lifting him.
    “Get his inhaler out of his pocket,” I said, standing and almost knocking over my chair.
    “He’s choking,” Chip said. He sat Rick up and put his arms around his chest, trying the Heimlich maneuver, but nothing popped out of his mouth. Still, it must have helped, because that awful wheezing noise had stopped. There wasn’t a sound in the room. I figured whatever he’d been choking on had come loose.
    Chip, still sitting on the floor with Rick leaning on his chest, looked relieved. I heard him take a deep breath, but then a look of horror came over his face. Rick’s eyes were open, but his chest wasn’t moving.
    “We’re losing him,” Chip shouted.
    Rick wasn’t just pale now, he was ashen, and his lips were turning blue. Woody stood, pulled out his cell phone, and punched in three numbers. Martyn was up now, too. He and Chip were laying Rick flat on the floor. As a veterinarian, even though his specialty was behavior, Martyn was the closest thing we had to what Rick so desperately needed. He wiped the spittle and food off Rick’s mouth with his napkin, then opened it and swept inside with his pointer, wiping whatever was there onto his own pants leg, cradling Rick’s head with the other hand as he did so.
    Chip pulled off his jacket, rolled it up, and placed it under Rick’s neck so that his head would tilt back. I saw Martyn reach for Rick’s nose, then lean forward to blow air into his mouth, and for a moment all I could see was the back of Martyn’s head, his neck glistening with sweat.
    I ran for the front desk. Even if Woody had dialed 911, the front desk might get faster results calling the closest hospital or the local precinct. But no one was behind the desk. I rang the bell that sat on the counter and waited, banging on it again when no one seemed to be responding. But then the heavy oak door to the left of the counter opened, and the clerk appeared, a man in his seventies who moved as if he had all the time in the world. I didn’t. And neither did Rick. I wanted to leap over the counter and pull the clerk toward me to make sure he understood what I was going to say.
    ‘There’s been an accident in the breakfast room. I want you to call the nearest hospital.”
    “Another accident?” he asked, incredulous.
    “Someone choked on food. Please make the call, now.“
    „Nine one one’s the fastest,” he said, picking up the phone and searching the number pad for the nine. I heard him repeating what I’d told him and giving the address of the hotel. “They said they’re on the way,” he said, placing the phone down carefully. “Do you want to wait out front for them?”
    “No,” I said. “Just send them to the breakfast room as soon as they get here. Tell them to run.”
    But when I got back to the breakfast room, I saw there was no longer a reason for the emergency medical team to hurry.
    Chip, holding his rolled-up jacket in one hand, caught my eye and shook his head.
    Rick was lying where he’d been