Separate

Chapter 4

Finally ready to practice, Serena and Melora got their cellos out and seated themselves next to each other; Ana stood and moved next to them, both graceful and gaunt.

Melora suggested, "Let's start with 'Faute de Mieux.' We haven't played it in public yet."

Romano raised an eyebrow, and Melora caught it, commenting, "Ah-ha! We have your interest?"

"For lack of something better," he replied, offering a tiny smile as he both answered her question and translated the phrase. Even Ana laughed at that, her tones rich and deep. He felt a little pride at having gotten an audible response from the silent Russian. "Please, go on."

What happened next was music unlike any Romano had heard before. It had the beauty of classical strings and yet a frenetic energy as the bows danced swiftly – sometimes roughly for a harder sound - across the strings. It had a definite alternative feel with poetic, intelligent, clever and often humorous lyrics and arrangements. Melora sang the first one; while the pace was quick, she carried the melody in rich lilting tones. Serena sang the next song, her own singing voice an octave higher than Melora's, creating a perfect harmony when the two women sang together. There were a few missed cues and skipped beats, but the women worked at smoothing out all the issues. Romano was catching on to what Melora meant about Ana; she had no trouble indicating her solutions to troublesome timing with music and gestures rather than words.

It was a short rehearsal, but it left Romano wondering what in hell he'd been missing all this time. Would it be worth feeling horribly out of place just to see and hear more at the show? This was the question he struggled with, and it was one he hadn't concerned himself with for many years. He'd fought for years to get to a position in life where he honestly didn't give a rat's ass what anybody thought of him. But was he willing to move outside of his comfort zone? He'd always thought of himself as an ambitious risk-taker, willing to take chances if the payoff was worth it. So far, he felt some sort of acceptance by these women, but he wasn't sure it how far it would extend out in the real world. Or rather, their world.

Still, he had to wonder what this music might sound like in a larger space, amplified and with drums. They had wrapped up by 8:30, and Melora felt almost awkward asking Romano, "So, will you come to the show?"

Did she really want him to come, he wondered, or was she just being polite? Wouldn't it potentially damage her street cred if she showed up with a balding man in a suit? Or would nobody really care? "Well, I don't know where this place is," he replied slowly, giving her a chance to seize the out.

Melora shook her head. "Oh, it's okay. I'll go in your car with you – Serena can take my cello in the station wagon."

"Thanks for asking," Serena quipped, pulling on her coat.

Melora cocked her head and asked innocently, "Oh, Serenabelle?"

"Yes, dearest Melorabelle?" Serena fluttered her eyelashes in what was clearly an established routine the two had.

"Would you mind taking the cello in the wagon for me?"

"It would be my pleasure," Serena replied pleasantly with a wink. Robert carried Melora's cello down for her after she'd put on a very warm, dry coat this time.

Once inside the car and on their way, Melora told him, "Thanks for taking a chance on us, Robert. It'll probably be a different scene for you, but I wouldn't have asked you if I thought you wouldn't enjoy yourself." She hoped he did, anyway. He was so different from her usual invited guests; nearly all of her friends were, to a certain extent, fairly alternative in look, fashion and/or lifestyle. Most had at least one tattoo visible, wore a lot of black or dark colors, and/or would not be caught dead in a nice suit. But she was growing tired of the attitude that one's dress style defined who they were. She'd had next to no money as a teen and shopped at thrift stores out of necessity, not to be hip. Now, she knew a lot of people in the music scene who paid exorbitant amounts of money to appear "punk rock" without having to adhere to any sort of personal code. Judging someone based on what they wore was as abhorrent to her as judging them based on their social class or skin color. And after seeing Robert handle himself at work, she thought he'd not be bothered by a few doubtful stares.

As for Robert, he was quiet, wondering exactly what he was getting himself into. Was this going to be like going to those torturous prep school dances where he felt compelled to ingratiate himself with the cool kids? Hell, no, he thought. Then again, he could leave if he hated it. He would be on her turf, so to speak, and he had no idea what to expect from it. But he did want to see it, and to see who she was within it.

Melora took his silence as an acceptance of her comment and asked, "So what kind of surgery do you do?"

"The kind with blood," he deadpanned, before adding, "I specialize in cardiothoracic surgery, the heart and upper torso area. But I do whatever needs to be done. And what do you specialize in?"

She laughed. "All things cello-related. Although apparently, I need to work on my ability to walk a bit more."

"Practice makes perfect," he responded. "You sounded great up there. And you're right – it really defies simple categorization."

"Thank you," Melora said, pleased that he seemed to genuinely like it. "Someone suggested we bill ourselves as avant-garde, but I think it's a bit of reach. I don't think we're art school enough for that."

"You wrote a funny song about Hieronymus Bosch, Mel. If that isn't avant-garde, I don't know what is."

The simple joke felt so natural and true that it was almost as if they'd had this very conversation before. Melora just shrugged. "Humor is allowed to be avant-garde?"

"If it's intelligent humor," he replied.

"How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was nine or ten. It took quite a while before I could play without inducing winces throughout the household. 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' was kind of my jam for a while there."

He remembered his own sister's tortured attempts at the violin, and understood completely. "You grew up in Chicago?"

"No. I grew up in suburban Milwaukee, mostly. Until I was twelve." She looked out the window, almost as if looking for a simple answer to that question. "Things were very normal for me until my dad and I moved out here to Chicago." Without allowing time for a follow-up question, she quickly asked, "What made you want to be a doctor?"

He wondered what more there was to the story, but for now, he let it go and considered the question at hand. "It was better than being a lawyer. And the family business was way too boring to get into."

"Now I have to know! What's your family into? Stocks? Bonds?" She tried to think of something even more distasteful. "Robert, were they furriers?"

He laughed a bit at that, casting a sideways glance at her. "Actually, you're not too far off."

Melora let out a surprised gasp and had to think: what was close to furriers? "Um, tanners? Slaughterhouse workers?"

He shook his head. "My mother came from old meat-packing industry money in New York. My father was a butcher when she met him and they eloped. She was nearly disowned for that, but he became something of a war hero in Korea, so they grudgingly accepted him and cut him into the family business."

"'Cut him in'?" Melora grinned at the pun.

"No pun intended," he assured her, but smiled nonetheless. "Anyway, it turned out he ended up surpassing expectations with his ability to sit in an office and delegate his duties to all the best people. Made him look good. The last thing I wanted was to follow him there, so…"

Melora wasn't sure that was the only reason. "But medicine seems like such a daunting profession."

"But it's also exciting and often ground-breaking," he countered. "Meat, on the other hand…more guts, no glory." As they drove, he tried redirecting the line of questioning. "So, were you in love with the cello from the start?"

"No!" Melora laughed easily. "I honestly hated it for the first year, and barely agreed to keep playing the second year. My mother insisted."

"So, what made you a true believer in the power of strings?"

Her smile faded a bit, and here they were again: the ugly truth. "Things kind of fell apart at home when I was twelve. The cello was the only thing I had left from my old life. Playing the music, practicing, getting better, learning more complicated music theory, and eventually writing it…it was sheer stubbornness to start, a refusal to let go. Then it became a way of escaping reality as well as a challenge. And now…now it's just like breathing. I can't imagine my life without it. Is it like that with you and medicine?"

"Yes. That's actually almost exactly it," he replied softly, surprised that she hit the nail on the head so perfectly. He couldn't have explained it better. An escape route turned challenge and now, practically an involuntary reflex."

"I think that's what's known as a calling," Melora chuckled, seeing that he was surprised at how much he fit the bill. "At least you didn't say you went into medicine to 'help people'. I mean, obviously you're helping people. But that seems consequential rather than a starting point."

"Thank you!" he agreed enthusiastically, adding, "I am so sick of reading applications from med students who go on and on about how they want to be a doctor to help people. Naturally – everyone wants to help people in their job. Even stock brokers are looking out for their investors' money, if they're doing it right. But being a doctor? It demands a lot more than a vague and squishy desire to help people."

Melora liked his use of the word "squishy" here. "So, your family's from New York, then?"

He nodded. "Manhattan. Upper East Side. You know - your basic concrete block father, nice enough mom, kid sister."

Melora knew a smokescreen when it was being blown her way. "Okay. How'd you end up out here?"

"Oh, the road to Chicago was littered with detours and potholes. The main reason I came to Chicago was a fellowship at Mercy Hospital in my specialty, and from there, I got a surgical residency at Cook County General."

"Well, that certainly is a skeletal story," Melora remarked with a chuckle.

"Hey, you asked how I ended up in Chicago." He knew how to answer a question completely but minimally.

Melora rethought her question. "Okay. So what was it that made you think, 'Wow! Cook County General is totally where I want to be'?"

Robert did smile then. "I had it on good authority that I'd be able to write my own ticket there. And if I played my cards right, I might make Associate Chief of Surgery in a few years. Turns out it only took three or four to make Chief of Surgery and Chief of Staff. So…whether that's a good or bad thing remains to be seen. Nowhere to go but sideways…or down."

Melora wasn't sure what that meant, but she was at least learning how to craft questions that would yield more satisfying answers. "And what does it mean to be Chief?"

"Chief of Staff? Or Surgery?"

Melora shrugged. "Both."

"It means endless amounts of paperwork. Reports, statistics, budgets and more meetings than anyone should have to attend. But it also means I get dibs."

"Dibs? On what?" She thought she was getting close to the crux of it.

"Just about everything that matters. Research projects, picking the best team members, schedules, equipment. I can make sure that I get the surgeons on my teams who aren't afraid to take solid risks and make good judgment calls. I get dibs on being the best at this job. The guts and the glory, so to speak. I mean, it wasn't easy to get to where I am. People don't like me much. And I honestly don't care – it's not a popularity contest. But it's worth it."

Melora wasn't sure if he was saying he wanted the best for his patients or he loved being the best at his job. Sounded like a little bit of both. "Okay, so here's what I've really been wondering."

He couldn't resist. "Yes, this is my real hair."

That got a laugh out of Melora, but she asked anyway. "So how do you do it?"

Robert furrowed his brow. Did he miss something? "Do what?"

"Operate on people! Like, actual humans. It sounds terrifying to me. And when somebody doesn't make it, like earlier…"

Robert hadn't really ever considered what surgery might seem like to regular people. He shrugged. "The idea of surgery itself has never been a problem for me. I always thought of it as fairly straightforward. If you know your anatomy and prepare for your procedure, and if you have good teachers, it doesn't need to be terrifying. As long as you can separate the surgeon from the man, and the patient from the person."

"Separate?" She looked at him dubiously. "Those things sound like they're quite entangled."

Robert thought about it. "Maybe physically. Sure. But not, you know, mentally. Emotionally." Ugh, did he just use the word "emotionally"? Quick, say something else! "Look, when you cut into someone, you only have part of the story. When you open them up, you can see what is actually happening. And a lot of times, it's not what you expected to find. Sometimes, especially in trauma cases, it doesn't matter how good you are. If there's too much damage to support life, you have to let it go. And you have a harder time doing that if you think of the patient as a real person with a life and hopes and dreams. That would actually probably be terrifying. When I operate, it's on a patient. End of story."

"Are there cases that haunt you, though?"

Robert thought it over. Of course, there were tons! But he wasn't sure if they defined "haunted" in the same way. "It's often tempting to ask yourself what you might have done differently to achieve a better outcome, and it's a good thing to do if what you're attempting to do is learn. But trying to save dead patients in your head is a fool's game, Mel."

"So you do your best and hopefully save a life," Melora concluded. "But when they don't make it…" She thought of how angry he'd been after losing a patient in the ER earlier.

"If they don't make it, it can be intensely frustrating. I can remember thinking so many times, if only I had more hands and a little more time… but you have to know when to call it and move on. You get to a point where it just becomes clear that they're gone, no matter how much you want things to be different. You just can't let yourself get emotionally invested. That's what I mean by keeping it separate. There's me, and there's the surgeon."

She nodded. It made sense. She wanted to ask more questions, but she knew they were getting close to the club now and it probably wasn't a great idea to keep on the deep and dark this close to showtime. So she wisely opted for humor. "You know, I read once that many surgeons who are very good at compartmentalization are often just highly functional psychopaths."

He glanced at her, saw her grin, and deadpanned, "Damn. You caught me."

Melora laughed then, before seeing the club up the block. "Oh, slow down! Here it is!"