Separate

Chapter 3

Melora followed Romano out and back down to the garage. "Is it always like that?"

"No, not always," Romano responded as they got into the car. "But I'm glad I'm not in the ER anymore." He shook his head. "I'm much better at dealing with patients who have been stabilized and are completely unconscious."

Once out of the hospital and on the road, Melora told him how to get to her flat, which was quite close to the hospital. "It's . . . modest, but just big enough for us."

"Us?" Romano wondered if there was a boyfriend or a husband, then reminded himself that this was irrelevant. She was beautiful and funny and spirited and clever, but she may as well be from another planet. He was pretty sure he wasn't her type, so he didn't get his hopes up. And the fact that he might even want to be in her league baffled him.

"Me, Serena and Anastasia," she replied, surprised that he was interested enough to ask questions. "They're the other cello and violin in Metronome."

"Anastasia?" Romano queried. "Russian?"

"Wow, Criswell, that's pretty good!" she laughed. "Yeah, she's been in America for about ten years, so on the few occasions she actually speaks, her accent is a symphony," Melora told him, sweeping the air gracefully with her hand. "Unfortunately, she doesn't really speak."

"Why not? Doesn't she speak English?"

Melora shrugged. "She can, she just doesn't. Not much, anyway. She doesn't really need words to communicate. She has very expressive eyes. It's mostly when she has something important she wants to say that she actually speaks out loud." Melora told him, a thoughtful look on her face. "They'll probably be at the flat now, wondering what happened to me, not to mention my ankle. You'll see what I mean about Anastasia."

Melora looked down at her ankle then, and a look of concern washed over her face. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Romano asked.

"I won't be able to work this weekend," she sighed heavily. "I wait tables, and the weekends are the big money nights. It's not much, but it helps pay the rent."

"Well, how much does it pay?" Romano asked, wondering if he should offer to compensate her for the inconvenience. Even if she was the one who dashed in front of me, he told himself.

"Like I said, not a lot," Melora replied glumly. "It's only Thursday, early Saturday and Sunday. I get around $150 a week if I'm lucky, but in the winter it's more like $125."

He briefly shot a disbelieving look of horror at her. "Christ! How do you eat?"

She gestured towards the back seat. "My wooden cash box and my overwhelming talent," she told him, a faint smile returning to her face. "It won't be so bad. I do about two shows a week for tips at coffee houses doing classical with the girls, and of course the Metronome shows. Plus, I just landed a long-term gig playing solo at a country club or something la-di-da like that. It's for Sunday brunches. It's only three hours a week but it pays enough for a week's worth of groceries."

He gave her a quizzical look. "Country club? What's it called?"

"Oh, Park something."

"Parker Aimison?"

"Yeah, that's it. I knew it had a park in there somewhere. Guess I should really remember who the hell I work for, huh?" When he didn't respond, she asked, "What? Oh, are you a member or something?"

"Or something." He did smile a little then. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. "I'm on the membership committee."

Melora laughed briefly, amused at the image of him sitting at a long table with a bunch of old white men in suits. "Aren't you a little young for that?"

"Thank you," he replied. "I'm 43. I guess that's old enough."

"But…when do you go out? You know go to the opera or whatever it is you do for fun."

The opera? He had to laugh a little. "I'm 43, Ms. Weir. I'm not a bore."

Melora thought she saw some cracks in the wall, and decided to pick at them to see if she might get through. "Hey, I like opera."

"Do you?" Romano sensed she was looking for something to run with, and decided to have a little fun with it. "Name your favorite."

"That's easy: Madame Butterfly. Puccini. Second favorite: Turandot. Also Puccini. Next question?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Huh. Good choices. I thought you were bluffing."

"Why would I do that?" Melora asked. "I compose and play music, some of it classical. I went to the Music Conservatory. Did you think I was humoring you?"

Romano shrugged. "I thought you were backpedaling from implying that I was a dull old man."

"Oh!" Now she understood. "No, no. If I wanted to imply that, I'd have been more blatant. I was just defending opera's good name and trying to figure out what you like to do."

"For fun."

"Yes. Exactly."

Romano thought for a moment. Fun? What was that? There were plenty of social outings like the one he had planned on attending tonight, but fun? Hardly. "When I'm not working, I'm usually trying to grab a few hours of sleep or walking the dog. Oh, and desperately searching for a really great historical cello band."

"Ha!" Melora really did laugh then. So there was a sense of humor hiding in there. "When you say it like that, I guess I understand why it hasn't caught on."

"Hey, you don't know that's not true, Ms. Weir." He was actually really enjoying this. She could dish it out and she could take it. That was rare. Looks and brains? Maybe Corday didn't corner the market on it, after all. Just in the surgical department, perhaps.

Melora rolled her eyes dramatically. "Look, if you don't stop calling me Ms. Weir, I'm going to start calling you Rocket, and you wouldn't want that now, would you?" She was relieved when she saw him fighting a smile. "Come on, it's easy. Me-lor-a. Try it, Melllorrrraaa. Or Mel for short."

"Mel, huh? Yeah, I guess I can see that, even though you don't resemble a cantankerous diner cook," he remarked, looking at her. "Okay. Mel. There, was that okay?"

"Oh, so very." She applauded. "Anyway, look for me at your next Club brunch. I'll be the one with the overgrown violin."

"Not in Victorian bloomers?"

"Only by special request." Feeling proud that she'd managed to get a smile at that, she said, "So since you're not my doctor anymore, can I call you Robert? You don't look like a Rob. Definitely not a Bob. Yuck." She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

"Good instincts. Robert it is," he conceded. "Look, where are we? Melora?"

His face remained stony, but after just a few hours, Melora had learned how to pick jokes from his even tones. "We're almost there. It's around the corner here."

They pulled over and parked in front of a closed deli. Melora raised her eyebrows. "Rock star parking! I never can find a spot this close." She pointed above the deli. "That's our flat, upstairs." They got out and Melora, upon opening the door, looked at the stairs before her dejectedly. "Ugh. This is going to be fun."

Romano shut the door behind them. "It's not so hard, Ms. We – Melora. Just take it one step at a time, obviously putting your best foot forward."

Melora rolled her eyes at the joke and saw the deadpan face. "My goodness, Robert, you have quite a sense of humor on you." She slowly struggled up the stairs, Romano right behind her, carrying her things for her. Melora figured he wanted to make sure she could do it herself, and just stand by in case of emergency.

The door at the top of the stairs was flung open by a petite young woman with long curly blond hair and round, serious face. She was dressed for the show in black tights and a long sleeved, close-fitting top under a cotton Victorian morning dress and black waist corset. "Jesus God, Mel, we've been waiting for over an hour." She looked down at Melora's foot and then at Romano. "Oh my God, what happened? Who's he?" she asked, helping her friend into the flat and pointing towards Romano, who followed them into the flat.

"This," Melora replied, gesturing towards Romano while the small woman helped Melora slide into a chair in the living room, "is both my assailant and my savior, Dr. Robert Romano."

Romano looked uncomfortable in these strange surroundings; the flat was small, dimly lit and warm, with candles all around. The walls were a deep burgundy with black trim. Books and records and CDs covered the shelves and antique-looking furniture decorated the room. Slow, dirgey music played softly on the stereo, and a tall, gaunt looking woman with very long, straight, black hair sat on the sofa in a long burgundy velvet dress and big black boots, tuning a violin. She reminded Romano of Morticia Addams. He waved a brief hello as he removed his hat, coat and gloves. "Uh, hello." He felt out of place here, a jarring feeling that he wasn't really used to.

Melora pointed to the small blond woman and said, "This is Serena Moray, fellow cellist and lead singer of Metronome. And that lovely creature over there," Melora continued, pointing to the tall woman, "is Anastasia Glushkoff – or Ana – our violinist." Anastasia bowed her head, smiling, as Melora turned to her friends. "I knocked right into him with my cello case. That's how the ankle thing happened."

Serena sighed, "Again? I told you if you didn't look where you're going, you'd kill someone. And you almost killed yourself."

Melora shrugged. "Not unless they start making the pavement out of knives. Anyway, he's a surgeon over at County, so he took me in and patched me up personally. And he brought me home to change, too."

Romano replied, "Well, it looks as if you've got things under control, so I'll be on my way." Feeling as if he was intruding on a scene that wasn't his, he stood.

But Melora would have none of it. "But don't you want to see us practice? You know, see what you're missing?" She stood up then, with the aid of her crutch. She wasn't sure why she wanted him to stay, but she did. The idea that this sharp-witted man who was so different from all her other friends was about to walk out of the door forever alarmed her far more than she thought it would. "At least wait until I have a chance to take a quick, very hot shower and change before you go. I'd hate for your last vision of me to be in scrubs."

Romano, reassured that he wasn't intruding, shrugged. "I won't argue with that."

Serena smirked, "I was going to ask, so – hey, where are your clothes?"

"In here," Melora told her, handing the bag to Serena sadly. "Estimate the damage while I'm gone." She moved off in the direction of the hallway, ducking into her room to grab some clothes before heading for the bathroom.

Serena dug through the bag and pulled out the soaked corset, the custom-made garment fully water stained. "No!" she gasped sadly. "Oh God, do you know how much this cost?"

"Four hundred dollars?" Romano ventured, sitting down on a large overstuffed chair across from Anastasia.

Serena squinted at him. "How did you know?"

Anastasia, without looking up, gestured towards the bathroom before going back to stringing the A string on her violin. Serena said knowingly, "Ohhhh, Melora told you."

"Yes," Romano replied. "She was hoping to salvage it."

"Well, good luck," Serena groaned. "Oh, she will be pissed. Not a pretty sight."

"I know. I've seen it." He had an idea then. "Look, I can have it replaced."

Serena shook her head. "It was doomed before it ever got to the bus. She should have known better than to wear it outside in the rain in that sorry excuse for a raincoat," she sighed, setting down the bag of wet clothing. "At least the rest of this stuff will be okay. Eventually."

Romano shook his head. "At least as a gesture. For the ankle. And the money she'll lose not working."

Anastasia looked up briefly, her eyes shining with a smile to them. Romano looked down again quickly, as though she was seeing something she should not have. She diplomatically returned her gaze to the violin, plucking out a chord and turning the peg until it was in tune.

Serena finally said, as he got out his checkbook and gold pen, "Look, don't feel responsible. Like I said, it's her own fault. You don't need to –"

"I know I don't need to, Ms. Moray. But I can afford to be without $600 more than she can. That's how much I spend eating out in a month." Romano continued writing out a check to "cash". "So just replace the corset, and be sure that this money covers her expenses for the next week. And – " He looked up then, as if to emphasize his words, "- make absolutely certain that she takes it easy on her ankle. Even when she plays."

Serena reluctantly accepted the check. "Okay, okay."

Romano saw a tiny smile twitching to free itself at the corner of Ana's mouth, but she did not look away from the violin and then the twitch was gone. They heard the water stop and the hair dryer come back on in a few minutes. Serena looked at him more closely. "You realize she's going to try and give it back."

He did know that, and said, "Just cash it. Make something up. Surprise tax refund, low-paying lottery ticket, whatever. As long as she makes rent and has enough to eat till she's better."

Serena once again looked at him. "Just don't get any ideas, Doc."

"What ideas would those be?" He knew, but it was kind of fun verbally sparring with these women.

Serena laughed once. "You're really not expecting anything in return?"

"Not if it's kept anonymous. Otherwise, I'd have just given it to her directly, Ms. Moray."

This seemed to satisfy Serena. "The name is Serena. And if you call Ana Ms. Glushkoff, she will wordlessly smack you, guaranteed." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you're a surgeon? Sounds intense." She smiled a little, as if thinking of something amusing. "Bet you didn't imagine you'd be here tonight!"

"I did not," Romano conceded, although he had to admit to himself that in this case, the unexpected turn that the evening was taken was more than welcome. If he'd seen these women walking down the street, he'd have never thought them half as interesting as he did now, after being more or less forced to interact with them.

Eventually, Melora came out, cheeks rosy from the warm shower, dressed in black tights and a black, long-sleeved dress that came a bit lower than mid-calf, and a sort of white, gauzy pinafore over it. She still wore slippers, however. Her long, platinum hair was down now, the light curls at the ends restored and a small bit of hair on either side braided together at the back. The light make-up she wore emphasized her better features, and the dark red lipstick she wore was the only truly outstanding difference. "I couldn't figure out if these were okay to wear. Robert?" She held up yet another pair of boots.

She's asking me? he thought to himself, looking at petite woman before him as she casually inquired about shoes. She was beautiful, and she had his attention. But why was she…oh, he thought, she must want to know what would be best for her ankle. "Uh, yes. Shoes…"

He took a moment to answer, once again causing Anastasia to look up and briefly study him as he looked at Melora. "Yes, those should be fine." They all looked at him strangely then, and he added, "As long as they're not too tight, boots will be supportive." He took a second look at the ankle to make sure it was properly wrapped.

"Let's finish you up and go over the two new songs before we go. I want to make sure the timing is right."