CHAPTER 5.
Robert turned off the TV and watched the picture fade to black. He sighed to himself and drained the last of his wine. It had been a particularly tough day, more so than usual. Coming home to an empty house had done nothing to make him feel better. He missed his dog, Gretel. She had passed away shortly after his accident. In a way, it had been a blessing. She had been getting old – ancient in doggy terms; and if she had lived, she would have made his life even more difficult, especially with his disability.
He poured himself another glass of wine and sat in the silence of his home. He wondered whether he should sell it; did he really need three bedrooms? After all, it wasn't as if he had any friends, and there was no lady in his life, so no possibility for kids in the near future. And it was unlikely, Robert conceded, that anyone would be remotely interested in a man who couldn't even drive his car anymore. Getting rid of the Jag had been really difficult. He had bought that when he'd returned to the States from his trip to England. It'd had been a real status symbol; proving that he had reached the pinnacle of his career.
Robert thought about the possibility of selling his house and moving somewhere….. more adapted to my disability, he thought miserably. Why did it have to happen to me? Did I really deserve it? He thought about that for a bit, as he flicked on his CD player. Led Zeppelin echoed round his sitting room, thanks to the multiple speakers he'd placed around the room. Maybe he had deserved what had happened to him. He'd been living a life which was, he admitted to himself, a selfish one. He'd been answerable to no-one. He'd cared about no-one, not really. He never helped out in the soup kitchens, or given a homeless guy ten bucks. Perhaps this was God's punishment?
Nonsense, he thought to himself. What did Jessie do to deserve what happened to her? Did she really deserve to lose the use of her arm and her leg, and her husband? She wasn't a bad person; in fact, Robert thought, she was a genuinely nice person, who'd overcome adversity to make a go of her new life.
Can I do the same? He thought, sipping his wine. This bottle was a good one – he'd have to buy a few more, he decided. Perhaps give one to Jessie at the end of the six months just to say…… or, what about Lizzie! He could give her a bottle for her birthday next week. What a great idea!
Standing up, Robert walked over to the sideboard, humming to himself. He picked up the picture frame which was on the side, and looked at it for a while. It was a picture of him and Lizzie, taken several years ago, before she'd started dating Mark Greene. He'd had nothing against Mark; it had been a tragedy that he had died so young. He was younger than I am now, thought Robert. At least I'm still here to see Lizzie. He looked at the picture. Her hair was longer then (he was, he conceded, just as bald then as he was now) and she was a bit thinner, but it was still his Lizzie. She was looking at something off camera, a distracted half-frown on her brow. He was looking straight at the camera, like a rabbit caught in the headlights; he'd not been expecting to have his photograph taken. His favourite bandanna was knotted loosely round his neck, so he assumed he'd been in surgery just before the picture was taken.
Robert studied the photograph and tried to work out how long he'd been in love with Lizzie. He couldn't really remember a time when he wasn't. The last few years she'd been so much a part of his life, and yet…. she wasn't part of it at all. She'd dated Peter Benton (right under his nose – and after saying she didn't get involved with colleagues!) and then she and Mark had got married. Robert smiled, remembering when Lizzie was pregnant with Ella. How happy she'd been. He wished, suddenly and fervently, that someone would one day make him that happy. Lizzie had also suffered terribly, but he'd noticed recently that she was starting to smile again. He knew the reason. It was this Dr Dorsett.
Sneering to himself at the thought of Dorsett, Robert placed the picture back down on the sideboard. He knew now, with the arrival of Dorsett, that he'd missed his chance with Lizzie. The timing of his accident couldn't have been worse. Just after Mark had died, when he was supposed to be there for her, he'd taken his eye off the ball for one second, just one lousy second! That was all it had taken for his whole life to be hijacked, and for everything he'd taken for granted to be lost. Whipped away as quickly as his left arm by the helicopter rotor blade. And the scary thing was, that he had now accepted that Lizzie was never going to love him.
Robert sighed to himself and sat back down on his sofa. He sipped his glass of wine and let the guitar genius of Jimmy Page wash over him. His thoughts were jumbled and he absentmindedly raised his left arm to rub his forehead. When his artificial hand struck his temple, he realised his mistake. He hated his false limb, but without it he still felt a little lopsided, and he hadn't got used to the fact that he had to adjust his balance. He didn't want to walk about like Neanderthal man – it was bad enough that he was short and bald and round shouldered – no point in giving them even more to laugh at.
Robert considered again whether he had deserved what had happened to him. He had never been a particularly approachable person, and he could sometimes be a bit hard on the students; hell – and the Attendings. But, he figured, they'd never toughen up unless someone gave them hell. It might as well be him.
He wondered idly whether Jessie's report was going to save his job. What information had she been compiling over the past three months? Did he really care anymore about working at County? Was there any reason for him to stay? Perhaps he should just become a medical lecturer; or go back to school and study something else, like Jessie had done. He didn't need the money, certainly. He could easily just give his notice (although, he realised with a grimace, he'd have to tell Kerry and he could just imagine her face) and quit the hospital. Or even quit Chicago… why not? This wasn't his birthplace, he had no family here and he was sure that the one or two friends who hadn't run a mile after his accident wouldn't be too sad to see him disappear off into the sunshine. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps he should tell Jessie not to bother continuing her report; he was leaving.
No, no, Robert thought, finishing his wine. I can't leave before the six months are up. I actually want to find out the results of this assessment and by God, they're going to tell me. And besides, he conceded, his sessions with Jessie had become the highlight of his week. Even more so than harassing the medical students. He enjoyed spending time with her. She wasn't scared of him. She didn't patronise him. She gave as good as she got and she was very quick with the verbal tennis they frequently played. She hassled him continuously and bullied him mercilessly. He rather enjoyed it.
And she'd helped him enormously by telling him where to find a wine bottle opener that could be used with one hand.
vvvvvvvvvvv
Jessie turned off the TV and watched the picture fade to black. She sighed to herself and drained the last of her wine. Another week over. Another weekend on her own. Reading the Sunday papers and visiting the deli round the corner from her apartment. Feeding the ducks on the lake. Maybe I'll visit the cinema tomorrow, she thought. There's a new Hugh Jackman movie out. I wonder if Susan would like to come with me, she mused. It'd be nice to get to know her a bit better.
She poured herself another glass of wine and sat in the silence of her home. I suppose I should finish writing up today's sessions, she thought. I'd rather not have to do it tomorrow. One of the benefits of transferring to County was that she'd been allowed to dictate her own schedule. She'd opted for a five day week, but often worked a ten or twelve hour day. For someone who worked at a hospital, this was not unusual, but Jessie was still finding her feet and sometimes she was needed outside of office hours.
How about if I just write up Romano's session, Jessie considered. Shouldn't take me more than an hour and then it's still fresh in my mind. She thought about that for a bit, as she flicked on her CD player. J S Bach flowed from the speakers.
"Ugh! Far too chilled!" Jessie grimaced. "I need something a bit… . more!"
Flicking through her CD catalogue, she found the disc she was looking for and loaded the player. She had bought the CD player with some of the insurance money from the accident, and had spent a great deal of time and money adding to it, and perfecting it. The results were pretty good, she figured. The stereo was worth more than the TV, and was probably her most expensive possession, apart from her apartment.
Jessie pulled up a chair to her dining table and opened her brief case. Nodding her head in time with the music, she sipped her wine, she searched through her sheaf of notes, stopping every so often to read what she had written. Sometimes Romano could be a real pain in the ass, but today he'd been pretty good. He'd opened up a bit, and stopped scowling for about half an hour. Can't ask for more than that, Jessie giggled to herself. He can be such a jerk sometimes. I mean, I know everyone told me he was a asshole, but I thought they might have been exaggerating. How silly of me. And the weirdest thing is that sometimes he can be a really nice guy.
Shaking her head at her the contradiction, Jessie began to compile her notes into an orderly fashion. She was determined to present a thorough report at the end of the six months, and wanted desperately to be impartial and see the situation from both sides. Of course though, this was easier said than done. She enjoyed her sessions with Romano. He was certainly a character. Not a likeable one, admittedly, but he was intelligent, and funny. Sometime it wasn't quite so much fun, though. But Jessie thought that she was beginning to see inside his mind, finally, after three months. His… what was it Kerry had said? Desires and frustrations, that was it! Jessie grinned to herself as she wrote a few notes in the margin of the paper.
She wondered what Romano's desires were. She knew he had a major thing for the English doctor with the curly hair. Is that just a crush, or is it the real thing? Jessie mused. She shook her head. Who knows? She thought. I just wish someone would look at me the way he looks at her when he thinks no-one is looking. Well, used to look at her, anyway. He's not been looking recently. He must have realised she was seeing that tall surgeon. Oh well, Jessie thought – there's no accounting for taste. She'd met Dr Dorsett and he'd been charming to the point of sleazy. Not her cup of tea at all.
Jessie sighed into her wine glass, and moved over to the sofa. There was no possibility of finishing that report tonight. It would just have to wait. Curling up on the sofa, she drank her wine, and used the remote to turn up the volume of her stereo. Closing her eyes, she let Robert Plant's soaring vocals wash over her. I'd better not drink all of this, she thought, finishing her wine, and pouring another glass. This bottle was a good one – she'd have to buy a few more, she decided. Perhaps give one to Romano at the end of the six months just to say..….. say what? Sorry I got you fired? Sorry you got to keep your job? Thanks for making sure I made my rent? Oh and by the way, I'm going to write a paper on you that'll get me a shed load of kudos? Would he still even speak to her after she'd submitted her report?
Jessie stood up and sauntered into the kitchen, wincing a little at the twinge of pain in her right knee. Despite it being mid August, it had not been a particularly warm day. Sometimes, especially when the temperature dropped, her joint ached and she became more aware not only of her desire to move to sunnier climes, but also of her disability.
Although it had been a long time, Jessie could remember the accident as if it had been yesterday. The squeal of tyres, the sound of metal against metal; it was as loud as it had been on the day of her accident. Some things weren't meant to be forgotten. In comparison, Alex was easier to forget. She had loved him so much, at first. He was captivating: exceptionally clever, fiery, adventurous and not a little bit crazy. He had black hair, which he'd worn long at Oxford, like so many of the students did. It made him look like a Goth. As an American, he'd been noticed, but he wasn't unusual. He'd been a post graduate, ten years older than her naïve nineteen; and worldly wise. She had loved him instantly. It took her six months before he admitted he felt the same way. By then she was in so deep, there was no getting her out.
Jessie shook her head at the memory and began to fix herself some salad. She thought about her date the previous evening, with Craig, the architect. They'd gone to a lovely little Italian restaurant and she'd eaten too much food. They'd talked a lot, and she'd spoken a bit about her accident to Craig; but she'd sensed that he wasn't comfortable talking about it and so she'd only skimmed over the story.
Somehow it was difficult explaining what it was like only having half your limbs to someone who had the full set. Jessie realised that it had never bothered her before. She liked Craig, they'd been on a few dates, but she had a feeling he didn't understand what had happened to her and how to deal with it. And she'd had to explain to him that she couldn't see him this weekend because she'd had to work on Romano's report.
"Damn it!" She exclaimed, a smirk touching her lips. "How come Romano manages to ruin my weekend? It's bad enough that he ruins my week!"
She carefully picked up her salad and took it back to the sofa. Sitting down, she flicked off the stereo and turned on the TV. I love these universal remotes, she thought. What a genius idea. Nearly as good as a wine bottle opener that could be used with one hand!