Tuesday Afternoon/Night

Don returned to the offices around quarter to three with much on his mind. He knew Mark was right. To continue without admitting his fears to Susan would be unfair to her and to himself. We'll go out to dinner tonight, Don decided. We'll talk then. He paged Susan and made his suggestion.

"Where would you like to go?" She asked.

"When was the last time we were at Palio?"

"Not for a while," Susan answered.

"Palio it is, then." He hung up, and then called to make a reservation at the chosen restaurant.

They'd had their first date there, following Don's appearances on Ask Dr. Susan.  Susan had later discovered that first date, as platonic as it had been, had occurred on the fourth anniversary of Kathy's death. Even so, she had sensed that night when she returned home that something was happening.

She remembered Don's exact words as he had walked her to her apartment door and saw her in safely. He had taken her hand and said: "I think I said thank you for the pleasure of your company at the beginning of the evening. I say it again, even more emphatically." Then, he had looked at her seriously and concluded by saying: "Don't be afraid of a compliment, Susan. You are, you know." He had then bid her good night and departed. It was such a simple comment, but loaded in its implications. Don had seen so clearly through the emotional walls she had so carefully built up after Jack's betrayal, and yet Susan had stubbornly tried to discount what she was feeling.

Later, during their courtship, Don revealed that it was during that first radio show and definitely that night at Palio that he first began to fall in love with her.

Located in the Theatre District, the couple would sometimes plan to dine at Palio either together or with friends and take in a show afterwards. Richly paneled with European bog oak, the ground-level bar was about a 30 by 30 by 24-foot high space. Susan and Don always admired the mural Neo-Expressionist Sandro Chia had painted over the dado, depicting the medieval Palio horse race, as well as the black and white marble floor resembling the pattern of a chess board.

Upon arriving, Don confirmed the reservation and the pair ascended to the main dining room via the private elevator. On the walls of the dining space hung hand-painted heraldic symbols representing the 17 contrade, or wards of the City of Siena, and were definitely complimentary to the overall Sienese theme of the restaurant.

The maître d' took their drink orders, and swiftly returned with a bottle of Chianti that the couple decided they would share. The aroma of great Northern Italian cuisine tempted their senses, quickly reminding them why they returned so often to Palio.

Don decided on a favourite entrée, Dover sole, while Susan decided to sample one of the house specials, the artichoke ravioli. When the maître d' removed their menus, Susan asked Don how his day was.

He took a few moments before answering, slowly sipping the wine. He had to collect his thoughts, and present them to Susan as best he could in order for her to truly understand what he was thinking and feeling.

"You probably noticed I was out of the office for a while this afternoon," he started.

"Yes…Dana told me you had a lunch meeting of some sort." Susan's voice didn't betray any curiosity or significant interest regarding his absence.

"Well, I went to Kennedy's to meet with Mark…"

"Oh, really…"

"We talked over some things, and he suggested I come clean about them."

"And what are these 'things'?" Susan asked curiously.

"This…this is going to sound terribly selfish," Don faltered awkwardly, "but…I don't want you to be the one that goes first in this marriage."

Susan felt cut to the heart. "Oh, Don…" she said tenderly, reaching out for his hand and holding it as she spoke. "You know I can't guarantee that I won't die before you do…"

"I know that…and I know that you also lost someone you loved – Jack Harriman – but I need you to know that it would kill me if something happened to you."

"If this has anything to do with that damn threat-" Susan began to protest.

"No," Don interjected, "it isn't that alone. You see, I've been having these dreams…awful, terrible dreams where I find out you've been killed. I don't want to have to experience that for real. Ever."

"So this is what's been bothering you," Susan said softly. "The threat combined with those nightmares was forcing you to face your natural fears of possibly losing someone you care for deeply…"

"Namely you," Don added.

"It's not selfish of you to not want to lose me. If I could promise you anything, it would be that. But know that I also don't want to lose you."

Don nodded, and squeezed her hand softly.

The rest of the evening was spent discussing many various topics, from when they would take the trip to Italy that Don had given Susan for her birthday, to what Elizabeth would do when she finally had a grandchild to call her own.

"She'd take a million-and-one pictures and make sure all her friends knew every detail about the poor kid's life," Don laughed.

"Mother couldn't resist taking me aside at the party and mentioning that I was turning 36 – the bitter end to the really fertile years of a woman's life. All very kindly, of course," Susan smiled.

When the food arrived, they agreed that it was highly favourable, and they both felt that they were better able to enjoy the meal after clearing the air as they had done.

Upon leaving the dining room, they rode down the elevator and crossed the checkered floor, passing the full horseshoe-shaped bar. One patron sat hunched over his drink, but turned slightly as Don and Susan approached.

"Hello, Dr. Richards," he spoke in a low voice.

Startled, Don looked up. The look of surprise on his face was replaced by recognition, then by a stony expression.

"What are you doing in New York?" Don demanded with quiet intensity.

            "Business," the conservatively dressed man responded evenly. "And this must be the missus," he continued. "Aren't you going to introduce us? She's lovely."

Susan noted the tension in the air and the hostility that Don was exuding. She got the notion that it was some kind of stand-off, and decided to remain silent.

"New York is a big city," Don said heavily. "So big, in fact, that I doubt we'll meet again. In fact, I don't want to see you again, ever. Stay away from me and my wife. Understand?"

"Don't flatter yourself, doc," the man responded scornfully, "you think I'd come all this way just to make your life miserable? And let's not forget two simple, little words uttered by the jury: 'not guilty'. Stop treating me as if I were a criminal and I'll try not to take offence to your obvious dislike of my person." Catching the look of puzzlement on Susan's face, he continued. "You know, the authorities had a flawed case to begin with! So they hire this big-shot shrink/criminologist to try to make up for their own ineptitude. Well, you couldn't pin that killin' on me, and no one ever will. And don't worry. I think the Big Apple stinks. More like an apple core. I'm not going to be doing business this way again." He threw some bills on the table and stalked out.

Susan noticed Don had made fists and had a tightly-clenched jaw. She waited for him to explain about the little altercation.

"Dominic Morgan, defendant in the Georgia case. And I'm starting to wonder exactly what his 'business' here in New York really is."