The Last Story Read Free

differently with codeine in your system. How bad is your head?"

    "Seen from the outside, it seems pretty bad."

    "Shari. You have to see a neurologist."

    I shook my head. "If there was anything seriously wrong with me, it would have become apparent in the last three years."

    "That's not true. Injuries to the head often take time to manifest. I've done reading on the subject.

    You may have something wrong that can easily be fixed."

    "Yeah, right, easily fixed with brain surgery. No thanks. I trust in the Rishi. If he put me in this body, it must be strong enough to last me."

    "Having the Rishi's blessing doesn't mean you're exempt from using common sense."
    Jimmy glanced around and sighed. "The others are waiting.

    We can talk about this later."

    "There's always later," I agreed.

    Jo accompanied Peter and me back to our apartment in Venice, which was close to the beach. I sat in the middle. We were in Peter's van, which had been especially outfitted to allow him to drive using only his hands. The van had cost a bundle. Not that I minded. Last year I made over three million dollars, but had promptly given half of it to the government. For me I'd bought a red Jaguar, which sent up a flag for every cop on the Coast Highway.

    In the last six months I got four speeding tickets and was in danger of losing my license.

    The rear of the van was stuffed with track and baseball equipment. Peter coached a Special Olympics team and also did volunteer work with several handicapped baseball teams. He didn't get paid for

    his work, so the only money he brought in was from his business of finding rare books for people. He ran it out of our spare room. How he managed to locate the books for people, I didn't know. But he did well and had a growing list of clients. The trouble was that his commission on his finds was usually low—five or ten dollars. It was more of a hobby than a business, really, but he seemed to get a kick out of it. I just hoped my books never reached his list of hard-to-finds.

    "Shari told me the pitcher on your baseball team is blind," Jo said to Peter as we cruised toward the beach. Our apartment was in a nice area of Venice and had a wonderful view of the ocean. Still, I was thinking of buying a house in Malibu, where my producer, Henry Weathers, lived, but was worried about tying myself down. For some reason I felt I would be traveling soon.

    Peter nodded. "His name's Jacob and he's seventeen.

    He's been blind since birth."

    Jo frowned. "I can understand that he can throw the ball as hard as anybody, but how can he throw strikes? In fact, how does it get anywhere near the batter?"

    "He orients himself by the catcher's voice. As Jacob winds up, the catcher talks the whole time."

    Peter added, "The catcher's deaf."

    "And the batters are all retarded," I quipped.

    "Yeah," Jo said with a chuckle. "Doesn't Jacob hit the batters half the time?"

    Peter shook his head. "He hasn't hit anyone in

    the last six games. His strikeout percentage rivals that of big league ball players. He's a phenomenon."

    "He's probably just nearsighted," I said.

    "He has no eyes," Peter said softly.

    Boy, did I feel stupid. I touched Peter's leg. He could not feel the gesture but at least he saw it. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'd like to see him pitch sometime."

    "You can come to any of our games," Peter said, quietly reminding me that I had never showed up yet. I enjoyed playing sports, but sitting and watching them somehow made me feel like a failed cheerleader. Visions of an old high school acquaintance, Candy, came to mind. She had been

    deaf and virtually blind. On the "other side,"

    during my review of my previous life, I saw how important Candy had been to me. The few times I helped her at school had brought me better karma than the four years I studied to get good grades.

    "The first chance I have," I said, "I will go see Jacob."

    CHAPTER

    II

    VV HEN MY FIRST Young Adult novel came out and jumped on The New York Times