Poor Dan, I really like to put him through the wringer, but he just suffers so beautifully I can't help myself. I hope you enjoy this, I really enjoyed writing it, particularly the scene at the end. Dorota is a lot of fun to write, I just hope I get her speech ok. I look forward to your thoughts as always.
The production meeting had finished early and Blair found she had more than half an hour until the time she had scheduled to meet Dan. She found a sunny bench with view of the theatre door to sit upon while she waited and withdrew a copy of the Daily Mail from her bag. It had become her morning routine, browsing through the paper she had Vanya collect for her on his way in. Her breakfast that morning had been so snatched that she hadn't got past the first page so she had taken it with her, to search through for Dan's name. She had to assume that what he had been writing had been so minor that it didn't warrant accreditation as she had yet seen neither sight nor sign of him in it, but finally there it was, his review of Martha Graham. A smile grew on her lips when she recognised direct quotes of her own lifted from the conversation they'd had after the performance. It gave her a flush of pleasure that he had so obviously listened to her, and more still to think of how she could tease him for a cut of his pay.
The rest of the newspaper held little interest for her so after she had read the article through twice she laid it on her lap and closed her eyes, soaking up the bright spring sunshine, enjoying the warmth seeping through her and allowing her mind drift. As always, her thoughts would bend in a certain direction.
It had surprised Blair how quickly she had forgiven Dan. When she had left him in the library that day it hadn't seemed possible that she could recover her self possession and reestablish her sense of confidence with him. The feeling had made her so mournful she had stormed home and locked herself in her room to cry out the frustration and shame. The solitude let her explore her feelings with a little clarity. When she looked hard enough at herself she realised she wasn't angry. There was a sense of hurt and large dose of embarrassment, but her overwhelming response was one of regret.
Talking to Serena had given her more perspective. Blair hadn't thought to lock the door to their adjoining bathroom, despite her determination to isolate herself, and her housemate had come breezily through, entirely unaware of the precarious emotional state Blair was in.
"B! I've just met the most divine man, you must let me tell you about him. He's a..." Her words had trailed off. "B? Why are you lying here in the dark?" Blair had hunched into her coverlet, hoping her friend would think her asleep. The ruse failed to work. "I know you're awake, I saw you pull the pillow further over your head."
"Serena, the last thing I want to hear about is your latest conquest. I was trying to sleep." Blair tried for silky detachment but the break in her voice couldn't be smoothed.
"Blair, how can you go from the absolute apex of happiness you were riding only just this morning at breakfast, to the very depths of despair, you absurd thing?" Serena whipped the pillow from her. "What's wrong?"
Blair rolled over in her bed. "Nothing...everything... I resent you calling me absurd. Leave me alone."
Serena sat on the end of the bed, ignoring Blair's request and instead laid her hand on the back of her blanketed leg. "Blair, I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."
Blair had sat up then, blinking at the brightness of the lamp Serena switched on. "There's nothing to talk about. I spoke to Dan... I told him I wanted more, that I wanted... why I wanted him to come to The Hampton's and he said he wasn't interested!"
Serena raised one brow. "Is that exactly how he said it?"
"He may as well have."
"Blair, I've told you this before, the man clearly adores you. That doesn't make sense. What were his actual words?"
Blair felt her tears returning with a vengeance and had shaken her head to ward them off. "He said I'd regret it, that he's not comfortable taking anything from me. He made me feel fast, Serena."
"He said that you'd regret it? Not him? Although really, what does a man regret? I think you're are making more of him than you should, darling. It sounds to me like he behaved most gentlemanly. But what would I know?" She had laughed at that. "I don't think I've ever propositioned a gentleman."
"It was so embarrassing, S. I felt like a fool."
"You are only a fool for letting it bother you so much." Serena had lain down beside Blair on the counterpane then, wrapping her arm over her waist, her voice growing uncharacteristically serious. "I confess, B, if I could, I never would have made my first time what it was. I know I said to you it was nothing, but I was drunk and it was the first time anyone had told me they loved me, but then he acted like I didn't exist, bragging to his friends and I was too young to know it wasn't my fault. I felt horrible. If only someone had told me I might regret it." Her arm tucked closer around her. "It wasn't special. It was cheap and uncomfortable and I think I've tried to block it out ever since. I don't want that for you, B."
"I didn't think it would be like that. That Dan would be like that."
"And clearly he's not, B. Give him time. Is he coming to the Hampton's anyway?"
"I doubt it. Not now." The thought had made her bury her head back into her pillow. "Oh, S, what am I to do? I ran out on him!"
"Just leave it. If I'm right, he'll come to you. He won't be able to help himself."
"But what if he doesn't?"
"In the very unlikely chance that he doesn't, well then we'll think of something else."
Blair hadn't been able to even consider pretending nothing amiss had happened, that she could just rise above it and see Dan as usual. She rolled over again, arrested by her friends simplicity. "So what do I do when I see him next, if he does come to me?"
"You be your beautiful, collected, mysterious self and let what will be, be."
"How long do I wait?"
"As long as it takes or as long as you care, whichever comes first. Crying in your room won't get you anywhere. What you need to do is come out with me tonight and we'll look as fabulous as possible and pretend that men don't exist at all. None of them. We won't even talk of them, look at them, acknowledge their existence." And so they had. It had been exactly like old times, or as close as they could possibly get. Blair had never acknowledged to herself before how much she stored things up to tell Dan, filing them away for the next time she saw him. She caught herself a few times in the evening, eyes welling, wondering if she'd get the opportunity again. But Serena wouldn't let her dwell on it, every time she saw the quiver on Blair's lip or a darkening look in her eye, she would whisk her onto the dance floor or literally pour another champagne down her throat.
Despite Blair's lack of faith in her friends ability to have any insight into relationships, she had to admit that Serena had been right on all counts. When she had seen Dan at the foot of her staircase, his heart in his eyes, she had forgiven him entirely.
The day was beginning to grow dim, sunny warmth fading into shadow and Blair shivered, pulling her fur collar up so it framed her chin a little more securely. She checked her watch again; he was more than half an hour late. Every minute she would look up, expecting to see him running across the lawn, apologies in his eyes and on his lips but they was neither sight nor sign of him. It was impossible to believe he had forgotten, but the longer she waited the more her assurance in that thought faded. His residence loomed at her across the south lawn. It would be the simplest thing to stroll across and enquire about him. She tried to rationalise her thoughts; there was no time to go home and send her footman back with a note, Vanya would have left for the day by the time she returned home.
Blair rose from her seat and gathered her courage. It was ridiculous that women weren't allowed to call at the male dorms. The rules were so archaic, did they think they were still living in the 1800's? Her feet purposefully lead her across the lawn until she found herself at the door of his building. "I'd like to speak to Daniel Humphrey. Is he at home?" Her imperious tones made the doorman look at her with surprise.
"Sorry Miss, I don't give out information on our residents."
She smiled, trying for a softer approach, fluttering her lashes alluringly. "You see, it's really very important. I need to ask him..."
The doorman eyed Blair with reservation. She misliked the dismissive glint she saw. "You can leave him a message and I'll see it's put in his pigeonhole."
"I doubt that. Look, I'll make it worth your while." Blair reached into purse, the ten dollars in her pocket book should sway the man to her way of thinking. She held under his nose. "Now, how about you go upstairs and see if he's in?"
"It's a dismissible offence to take bribes, Miss... could you tell me your name, please?" Just her luck that she would try and bribe the only honest doorman in New York.
"It's a simple request. I don't know why you have to be so difficult?"
"There's only one type of woman that comes here demanding to see a resident and we don't encourage that type of caller."
Blair clutched her hands to her sides, all sweetness of manner departing from her. "How dare you? Do you know who I am?"
"No, I don't Miss. But if you could tell me your name, I'd be happy to provide it to the housemaster for you. And if not, please leave the premises before I call campus security to escort you."
A crowd of noisy seniors pushed past her, several of them stopping to give her the eye, one even daring to give a low whistle. "Why, hello there, doll, are you here to see me?"
Her mouth dropped in astonishment, never had she been thus treated. The glare she gave the impertinent man should have withered him entirely but instead he just looked her up and down with a filthy leer twisting his lips. She whipped her head back toward the doorman. "This isn't the last you've heard of this, I demand your name."
"I've asked the same of you, Miss. How about you give me your name and I'll give you mine and then we'll see what the housemaster has to say?"
Blair shot him another furious glare. The group of students stood around her, clearly amused by the altercation they were witnessing, like she was purely there for their express entertainment. "Get out of my way." She didn't wait for the man nearest her to move, instead sweeping past, managing to knock him savagely in the arm with her purse. A collective snigger rose behind her as she stalked off. This was Humphrey's fault, his inattention had caused her to be subjected to such insults. Her rage was such that she was halfway down 116th Street before she realised the day was almost gone and she'd soon find herself alone at night on the streets of New York without an escort. She tugged her coat around her, looking for a cab but every car she saw was full. Blair eyed a tram stop doubtfully. It wasn't possible she'd been reduced to this. But there were no other options, unless she felt inclined to walk the rest of the way. Damn Humphrey, this is not what she'd envisioned when she had planned her day that morning.
If she recalled correctly, the tram number she noted should take her down Park Avenue, leaving only a short stroll to her door. Dan's voice echoed through her head, he thought her unadventurous, well he would find himself mistaken. She filed onto the car, trying to maintain a healthy distance between herself and the other commuters, but the crowd made it nigh on impossible and the jolt as the car started moving made it imperative she hold onto a rail, despite the far too apparent layer of grime that resided there.
"Ticket's please."
Blair froze. She had never noticed how Dan managed this part of their journeys together, for the most part she had luxuriated in burying her face into his broad chest, blocking out all else. She felt like a trapped cat as the conductor made his way towards her.
"Ticket, Miss."
"Uh...I don't have one?"
"Single or return."
"...Single?"
The man held out his hand. "That'll be five cents, please." Blair smiled, it hadn't been so difficult after all. She fished for the ten dollar bill so unceremoniously rejected by the doorman at Hartley Hall. It wasn't where she expected to find it, despite searching frantically in every compartment of her purse. Nor was there anything else in her pocket book. She smiled at the conductor again. "Just a minute." Her groping fingers felt around in the bottom of her purse in vain. She knew there was slim hope of finding anything; Blair hated small change jingling in her bags and Dorota was well aware of it.
"Five cents please, Miss. There's people waiting."
"I'm sorry, you see I can't find my money. I had ten dollars here and it's gone. I... uh." She looked around. No one returned her gaze, though she could have sworn only second before, every passenger in the car had been following her predicament with interest. She wasn't accustomed to being a spectacle and the experience certainly didn't please her.
"You'll have to disembark the car, Miss."
She sniffed and tossed her head. "Of course." The conductor tried to take her arm but Blair shook it off with distaste. She made her way to the car door, the juddering making it difficult to keep her balance and more than once she had to clutch at a commuter to stay upstanding. Dorota was going to have to burn these gloves when she finally got home. Every soul on the trolley was staring at her, she could feel her cheeks flushing with shame. It had never occurred to Blair that she could find herself in a situation such as this. Five cents was the most infinitesimal amount, it was impossible to believe that there was no one to come to her aid and she cursed Dan and the selfishness of the greater population of Manhattan in general. The trolley stopped abruptly and Blair lurched into the body next to hers. Now Dorota would have to burn the coat too. A pity, she had only acquired it the week before.
Her shoe caught on the ramp as she tried to step down from the carriage to the street, the ornate heel shattering from the mistreatment. She clutched frantically behind her for the railing, for anything, but her fingers met with air and she fell instead in an unceremonious heap, half on the sidewalk, half in the gutter beside the tram. The wet mud seeped though her skirt but before she could even make a noise of outrage, hands gripped her arms and yanked her up.
"You're going to get yourself killed." The man gripping her leaned so close she could feel his breath warmly on her face.
"Get your hands off me!" She slapped at the hands and they let go abruptly. Her knee stung at the contact with the paving and she pulled herself up painfully, dismissing the offers of help with a distainful glare.
"You need to take more care, Miss. I saw a man cut clean in half, falling under a tram."
Blair wiped her soiled gloves on her coat, trying to dislodge the worst of the mud. "I don't need to take more care because there is no way in any kind of hell that I will ever be going near one of those degrading cattle cars ever again. This city is supposed to be civilised. I'm not a beast to be herded!"
The man stood back, staring at her. He wasn't the only one, the whole street seemed to be following her outburst. Blair shut her mouth with a snap and turned away as quickly as she could. She finally looked down as she tottered away on her uneven heels. The damage was even worse than she had counselled herself for. The fine ivory wool of her coat was be-splattered with mud, the left side appearing to have been literally dipped in street effluent. A tear ravaged her equally filthy stockings, blood and dirty water dripping down her leg. She reached for her handkerchief in her pocket, to at least wipe her face, and found instead the errant ten dollar bill. Every curse word she had ever heard bubbled on her tongue, directed toward every damned soul she had ever met, but especially Dan, who should be sitting with her in a movie theatre at this very time, not abandoning her to be mocked by all and sundry. Not even the cabs, which had suddenly appeared in multiples, were stopping for her despite her new found riches. One glimpse of her mud soaked clothes and they wouldn't allow her on their upholstery. There was not a good Samaritan in the entire city. She made her way home, her heels making her stagger as though she were drunk, wincing from the pain of her knee at every step. The scowl she gave her doorman when she finally reached her building just dared him to make comment, but he dropped his head, opening the door for her without a word.
Blair knocked furiously at her door when she finally reached it, entirely disinclined to reach into her bag with her filthy gloves to retrieve the key. Dorota's face appeared after what felt like an eternity. "Miss Blair, you very late. I start to worry you... oh Miss Blair... what happen?"
Blair flung her filthy coat to the floor, followed swiftly by the gloves and unfortunate shoes. "Burn those!"
"Your knee!"
"Don't talk to me, Dorota. I smell like a sewer rat and I'm taking a bath and then going to bed and do not want to be disturbed! If I even hear a peep, it will be on your head." Blair stormed up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her so hard she could hear the window frames rattling even as she started running the water in her bath. She should be making Dorota fulfil the duty but her temper was so roused she felt unable to even look at another person without venting. She stripped herself of the soiled clothes and allowed the hot water and fragrant oils to wash the worst of the mud from her person but she couldn't stand to soothe herself for long; the ring of filth forming around the bathtub revolted her.
Dorota waited in silently her room when she left the bathroom but she bore Blair's scowl imperturbably. "I not making peep, Miss Blair, I just bring you tea and wish to dress your wound." Blair sniffed but let Dorota minister to her with no comment, ignoring the offered tea and as soon as she was left alone, sunk into her bed, angry tears soaking her pillow.
She awoke to an aching knee and a simmering frustration that the thought of her busy day ahead did nothing to allay. Tossing aside her bedclothes, she made a move to step from her bed but once her leg took her weight, a flame of pain shot through her knee and she collapsed back upon the coverlet.
"Dorota!" That put an end to any plans she had had for the day. "Dorota! Attend to me." She was growing tired of having to scream like a fishwife for her companion.
The door opened to reveal Dorota in her modestly long white nightgown and mussed braids. "Miss Blair, it only 6.30 in the morning."
"Dorota, get me a pen and notepaper, I find my knee is worse and can't move from my bed."
Dorota did as she was bid but once Blair had settled the pen to paper, she started to harass her with questions about her leg. "Shh, I can't think with you pestering me. Let me write this."
I don't know what excuse you think worthy of standing me up yesterday, but it inconvenienced me greatly.
I will be at home today due to a slight incapacitation and will be unable to give you an opportunity to express your most abject apologies until 6pm, when I will await your visit.
Blair
She folded it crisply between her fingers. "Get Vanya to take this note to Hartley Hall."
Dorota took the folded paper, noting the Mr Daniel Humphrey marked heavily on the top. "Vanya not here until seven o'clock."
Blair gave an audible sigh. "Very well, send him in cab with it the minute he gets here. I mean it, do not let him even take off his coat before you turn him around and send him on his way. Tell him not to bother to return unless he has a reply. Now, go and wait at the door in case he's early."
"Let me look at your knee first."
"Dorota, do as I say! Don't bother me until he comes back." Blair tried to pass the time while she waited for Vanya's return from her bed. For all intents and purposes she appeared to be absorbed in the book before her but if anyone had been there to watch her they would have noticed that she hadn't turned the page for the past 20 minutes. Dorota's soft knock at the door broke the spell.
"Is Vanya back?"
"Yes and..."
"Does he have a message for me?"
"No but..."
"What do you mean? It's not even 8.30 now, Dan doesn't have an early class, he had to be there. Would he not see Vanya?"
"Miss Blair, listen. Vanya say the houseman tell him that Mr Dan unwell and must stay in bed."
"What do you mean unwell? How unwell?"
"Sick enough for doctor to be called in everyday."
"What?" Blair felt aghast. "Fetch Vanya, it's impossible to get any sense out of you." She pushed back her covers and wrapped her robe around her pyjamas. Once she was alone again, Blair found her feelings had made a complete reversal. She'd been cursing Dan and all the while he had been suffering alone. The last day she'd seen him he'd been unwell but she hadn't imagined it could be still affecting him, it had been four days hence. Vanya cleared his throat uneasily at her door, clearly unhappy to be so close to her bedroom.
"What took you so long? Surely you thought this news would necessitate a certain haste?"
Vanya looked lost, as if trying to tease out the meaning behind so many words he didn't understand. "I...I had to wait, Miss Waldorf. They'd sent for a doctor and no one knew anything."
"Well, tell me what you know, for God's sake, Vanya."
"Miss, what Dorota already told you. The houseman I spoke to said Mr Humphrey has pneumonia and his fever is through the roof. That's all he knew."
Blair felt a pang of fear. "Pneumonia?" She had school mates who had lost family to the illness and she knew that despite the advances in medicine it could sill be deadly. "I'm going there, Vanya, call for a car and Dorota, the green jersey ensemble, now."
"Miss Blair, you not go to male boarding house."
"Don't be ridiculous, Dorota, that doesn't matter now. He needs me."
Dorota folded her arms across her matronly chest. "Miss Blair, no one need you when they sick. You most unhelpful. And Mistress Eleanor would not like."
"I don't care what mother would or wouldn't like, I need to find out how he is. Dorota, do as I say!"
"No, Miss Blair, you not going."
Serena's head peered around the door from the bathroom. "This is an almighty racket for so early in the morning."
"Serena, make Dorota see reason. She won't let me go to Dan but he has pneumonia and I have to know how he is. You'll come with me won't you?"
"I'd go anywhere with you, Blair, of course. Though it will make talk." The blonde girl tossed her unruly head. "Nothing I haven't heard before of course."
"It's so ridiculous! Dorota, telephone the Hall and demand to speak to someone."
"Miss Blair, I go myself. I the Countess Kishlovsky, is fine for me."
"We can go with you then, it's perfectly proper."
"No, I take Vanya. Even if you were his fiancé you should not go. Is not right."
"I hate this!" It wasn't often that Dorota managed to thwart her will, but for once she was immovable. If not for her injured knee Blair doubted she would have capitulated so easily. "I'm getting up, no, Dorota, don't touch me. Serena, can you help me to my study? I can't just lie here."
Dorota and Vanya followed their slow progress to the room and Blair settled into a chair before the hearth, brushing off any other offers of solicitude. "Dan should be here. I can't fathom the level of care he would get at Hartley, at Hewitt one would be lucky to get a second glance if one was ill. Can't we make up the guest room for him?"
Serena began to agree but Dorota shot her as forbidding a look as she could muster. "Oh, Mistress Eleanor would be happy with that, yes?"
"I told you, I don't care what Mother thinks."
Serena sighed. "B, Dorota is right, there's nothing you can do but wait."
"But who's to look after him? You saw him when he was here? He can't afford to lose more weight. He'll end up in a sanitorium and then I'll never... "
Dorota pointedly cleared her throat. "Miss Blair, I make basket to take."
Blair couldn't believe she was being railroaded in such a fashion. She tried to subdue the passion in her voice. "I suppose that will have to do. If anything happens to him, Dorota, the fault rests firmly on your head. I hope you can live with yourself."
"I make him my dumplings, yes? And chicken soup?"
"Yes, and send Vanya for grapes and oranges and… and a pineapple." She paused, trying to recall the things Dorota used to do for her when she was sick as a child. "And a hot water bottle and that liniment…I can't remember what it's called. You used to rub it on my chest. Why aren't you writing this down?"
"Miss Blair, I think I know better than you..."
"Don't talk back to me. I never should have let him go out that night. He's all alone, like Keats in Italy, sick and friendless. I'll never forgive myself if something..." Blair's face crumpled. "Dorota, what if if something does happen to him. We need to send another doctor, not some god forsaken quack that will probably bleed him half to death. He should be here where you can properly care for him!"
"Miss Blair, calm down. People not get bled anymore."
"But people die from pneumonia, Dorota, you're not taking this seriously."
"Miss Blair, I take this very serious. I nurse my brother through pneu...pneum...same thing. He very sick, but my kreplach cure anything."
"I'll believe that when I see it. Why are you just wasting time then? Go and cook your miracle cure. He could be dying and you're just standing there...hurry!" Dorota looked to the ceiling, her lips moving in a supplication to heaven at the impatience of her erstwhile mistress before turning toward the door. She called Vanya after after her to send to the markets with a long list of requirements to procure.
Once Blair had collected a pile of books for Dorota to take to Dan, hopping between the bookshelf and her chair, she felt at a loss. She arranged the stack in the order she felt he should read them in, putting some back and changing her mind so often she felt ready to scream. She couldn't recall exactly how many times she had had to shout down the stairs to speed Dorota, wondering aloud why everything had to take so interminably long.
Finally Dorota stood at her door, so laden with baskets and parcels that Blair would have laughed if she was capable of finding amusement in anything.
"Take him these books as well. He's read everything he owns, probably thrice over, he'll start going insane if he has to stay abed with nothing to do." She looked for a space in Dorota's already overladen baskets to place the bundle.
Her companion gave a long suffering sigh. "Miss Blair, I ready to break already. I not a Polish peasant to carry my own weight in baskets. I take tomorrow."
"Make Vanya to carry something then, isn't that what we employ him for? And here's some money for a cab and for some flowers, daffodils I think. And don't dawdle, I need you home as soon as possible to tell me how he is. And don't leave until you've seen him eat and spoken to the house master to find out how he really is. Dan will probably pretend he has nothing more than a chill."
"Miss Blair, enough!" Blair started at the tone of her voice. "I worry that you start to care too much for this man."
After Dorota's departure, Blair could hardly contain herself. She retreated back to her bed but not even the floods of tears she allowed herself to indulge in made her feel any better.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
It felt as though his room kept growing bigger and bigger, the walls shimmering like a mirage. Voices would echo in his mind, sometimes talking so fast that he would want to scream to beg them to stop and sometimes so slowly one word would drone through his brain for what felt like hours. He felt like he had been running trying to find something important, if it was so important why couldn't he remember what it was? Faces would swim before him and then recede and then loom over him again. He'd reach but his fingers would find nothing. He would then be running again, a weight on his chest so heavy that every crushing breath was an agony. The sense of loss and fear and crippling anxiety so overwhelming it could crush him. Turning and turning in his bed trying to find somewhere cool to rest, feeling like the burning fever was going to consume him in his entirety.
Until it finally stopped, his head blissfully emptied of thoughts and visions and he could fall into dreamless sleep.
Dan finally awoke with the feel of something cool, yielding and dry on his forehead. It was the first cool thing he had felt in days and he relaxed under it before cautiously opening his eyes to find the source. Dorota's round, slightly concerned eyes peered at him. The image was so unexpected he closed his eyes again convinced it was just another manifestation of his fever. But when the hand withdrew and he opened his eyes again, she was still there with a small smile on her face.
"Hello, Mr Dan. I bring soup. You should eat while still warm."
He took breath to speak but it just released itself in a paroxysm of coughing. He lifted the towel beside him to his mouth, trying to clear his chest. "Shhh. No talking before you eat. You too bony. Miss Blair make me come. She would come too, but I say no."
Dan shook his head, trying to breathe, finally getting the spasms that painfully racked his chest under control. "…Thank you. She shouldn't come here."
"I think not." Dorota fished into her capacious basket, removing various items before unwrapping a covered tureen and placing it beside him on the small table. "Now you eat. I make you kreplach. Make you well, no?"
Dan sat up, a little embarrassed by the disreputable state of his pyjamas. He hadn't exactly been prepared for company in them. He tucked the shirt around himself as best he could and pulled the bedclothes up high enough to cover the missing buttons before reaching for the soup. It smelt amazing and, as Dan couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, he didn't need any further prompting to pick up the spoon she provided for him. It tasted even better than the delicious aroma had promised. The soft dumplings floating in the soup could just about be the best thing he had ever eaten.
Dorota looked at him, satisfaction on her features at the obvious pleasure he was taking in her cooking. "You like?" He nodded, unable to find the breath to express himself properly. She nodded smugly. "I never met a man who not like kreplach."
She opened her basket again and started placing things in the room. A smaller basket was set out on his desk and she began to fill it with fruit. The sight of the pineapple made him laugh, making another bout of coughing erupt from his chest. What he was to do with it he had no idea, he'd never even tasted one before. He had to clutch the bowl in his lap to stop it spilling and Dorota shot him a look of caution. She finished filling the basket of fruit and then began supplementing the array of medications on his side table with a random of collection of jars and bottles. A fresh towel was put next to him and his water jug refilled with a cloudy liquid that looked like the lemon barley water he could remember his mother making him when he was small. Finally she laid a collection of books on his desk.
He could only feel dismay that Dorota would see him like this. His austere room and threadbare belongings, but she seemed to take no notice, only bustling around his room, tidying his desk and rehanging the clothes that lay on the floor. A few she examined closely, making small clucking noises at a hole in his sock or a missing button on a shirt. She piled a collection of items in her basket. "I take these to wash and bring back tomorrow."
"Dorota, it's unnecessary. I can see to it."
She laughed. "You not stop me, Mr Dan. Eat."
The broth and rich dumplings had filled his shrunken belly, even though the bowl was still half full. "In a minute. What day is it?"
"Wednesday."
"How..?" The sudden exclamation set off his coughing again and he clutched the fresh towel to his face as Dorota patted his back. He finally found the breath to finish his sentence. "How can that be?" The last thing he remembered was standing in the newsroom at the offices of the Daily News, the walls seemingly closing in on him.
"You very sick, Mr Dan. Housemaster say pneum….pneumo…very bad chest and fever. You sleep for a long time."
Dan groaned. Only a few weeks into his new job and he has to ruin it all by getting sick. There would be no way he'd keep his position now. "How did you know I was sick?"
"Miss Blair send Vanya when you not meet her yesterday. She angry first and then she worry. She rant about someone called Keats and so I come."
Dan had to suppress the laugh her words encouraged, learning caution after his last attempt. "Did she send me a message?"
"Mr Dan, I not talk until you finish soup."
Dan did as he was directed, focussing his attention back on the food before him. Dorota took a seat on his desk chair drawing it up to the bed, her eyes following the path of the spoon between the soup and his mouth until he'd emptied the bowl. "There, thank you, I couldn't think of anything I would have rather eaten."
"Good. I bring more tomorrow."
"Dorota, I thank you for your concern but I'll be fine. I already feel so much better."
"Oh no, I must. If I do not, Miss Blair insists she will come."
Dan could just imagine Blair forcing her way into the dormitory. He could also imagine the scene it would cause and thanked everything he could think of that she'd been prevented. As much as he wanted to see her face, it would make trouble for her. And he couldn't imagine her ever wanting to visit him again if she found him in the state he was in. "Did she give you a note or anything for me?"
"No, but she send books to you. Very heavy books." Dorota took the bowl from him, wrapping it in a cloth and stowing it back in her basket. "I go now so you must sleep." Her brow creased. "Mr Dan, Miss Blair like you. I like you too but wish you to be careful."
"I…I am, believe me. And I like her too...more than like her." Dan couldn't believe he was spilling his heart to Blair's companion. Her face was so warm and motherly that the words came unbidden. "And believe me, Dorota, I understand whatever regard she has for me can't last."
"She softer around you and…" Her words trailed off and she gave him a troubled look. "Mr Dan, Miss Blair very expensive. And now I say no more."
Dan couldn't stop the laugh erupting, which again turned into another painful bout of coughing. Dorota patted his back again, waiting for him to quieten, before speaking. "Now to sleep. Tomorrow I bring pierogies. Make you fat."
"Can you wait for a moment while I write Blair a note?" He reached for some notepaper and pen that always sat on his side table, leaning on the back of a textbook to write.
Thank you for Dorota and her soup and everything else you had her bring me. Especially the pineapple, I've always needed one of those. It will make a fine paperweight.
I'm sorry to have worried you and please know that you don't need to send Dorota to check on me. I'm on the mend and will, with little doubt, soon be well enough for you to rain fire and brimstone on me for standing you up. My sincerest apologies for that.
And now Dorota is getting impatient with me, so I'll write no more except to say that I think of you always.
Dan
He folded the note and passed it to the waiting Dorota. Once she had left, he reached for the pile of books, hoping to find a message for him there. He picked up the book on top, is 5, by E.E. Cummings, which he had read in it's entirety but only through snatching a few verses here and there while perusing bookshops, before the glare of the store clerk became too apparent and he'd have to put it back. He opened the cover to find the note he was so sure she would send him.
I didn't know what you might feel like reading so there is a selection of everything. Don't put them face down, don't dog-ear the pages and DON'T even think about eating while you're reading, on pain of permanent disfigurement.
Get better soon. I now have to organise Nate and your party for both of you, singlehandedly I might add, and could use your assistance. If you're not better by then, please refer back to the first paragraph to find out what the consequences will be.
And, in case you were wondering, illness is for the weak, Humphrey. If you think it's a good excuse for standing me up, then you will find yourself gravely mistaken (see above).
Blair x
Dan enjoyed the shrewish note far more than he would have any flowery missive, although, as he thought about it more, said missive would have been very welcome. But the simple x she ended the note with was enough to sustain him, for weeks if necessary.