Separate

Chapter 6

Robert was awakened Saturday around noon by his dog Gretel's gentle nudging. He'd gotten home from the hospital at about four a.m. Saturday, and had simply fed her breakfast early and made sure the dog door was unlocked before collapsing on the bed, exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so many hours in a row at once. Hopefully, he'd have the remainder of the weekend free from work.

Then he remembered all that had transpired the night before. He honestly had to think for a moment: did that really happen? Or was it some sort of dream? Nope, he thought, as his waking mind grew rooted once more in reality. That really happened.

He quickly dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black pullover, feeling the chill of the winter air now as Gretel followed him around the room, eager to go for a walk and smell all her usual neighborhood haunts. "Okay, okay," Robert yawned, pulling on some socks and a pair of snow boots before remembering that he'd left Melora's number in his suit coat pocket. Where the hell did he leave it? He located it downstairs in the kitchen, and ensured that the cocktail napkin was safely where he'd left it. He glanced at Gretel, remembering her propensity for eating tissue paper of any kind, and shook his head reproachfully. "You are not getting your paws on this one!" he proclaimed as the Bouvier tilted her head at her owner, puzzled. He placed it far enough away from where any counter-surfing dog might reach and put on her leash. "I don't think 'the dog ate your number' is a passable excuse these days."

As he walked Gretel towards the nearest park, he mulled over the events of the previous evening, trying to see if he'd missed something that should slow his urge to pick up the phone and call Melora. True, they'd gotten off to a rocky start, but that was understandable. She'd gone quiet at the hospital, but then, that wasn't unusual for one unused to its chaotic nature. He remembered assuming that her silence was a sign of personal disapproval, but now he realized that might not be the case.

She seemed sure of herself outside of the ER, though, with a quick wit and educated mind, despite her mention of a rough patch growing up. That reminded him of what Ana had said about a 'very difficult' past, and he wondered what that had entailed. Something had happened that took her from the relative ease of suburban Milwaukee to Southside Chicago with her father. Maybe her parents split up? But then, where was her mother? Did she mention any siblings? Damn, he couldn't remember.

He'd walked all the way to the park before realizing he'd been lost in thought about this girl whom he'd only just met as if she was a puzzle that needed solving and not a real human being. Way to overthink it, he told himself. Letting Gretel off-leash to go and greet one of her favorite doggie playmates, Robert wondered just how wise it would be to try and start something with Melora. The age difference wasn't that great – she looked to be perhaps thirty and old enough to have a grasp on what she wanted from life. She was certainly independent enough and didn't seem to be the demanding or clingy sort. Would he be able to hold the interest of someone like her, he wondered. He worked constantly, and got paged away often enough for this aspect to have killed several attempts at relationships already. Then again, those had been doomed for other reasons.

He'd almost talked himself out of it, but then remembered what Ana had said: You do not see it, but she watches you, too. And he pictured her there, sitting across from him, and replayed how her expression went from smiling to sullen when he told her he had to leave. That was what made him finally decide to go ahead and given her a call. If she hadn't been interested, she wouldn't have given him her number, after all. Besides, it was just a date, not a marriage proposal. No big deal, right? Just make the call, he told himself.

So once he'd gotten Gretel home and had a very late brunch of coffee and a bagel, Robert picked up the phone and called the number scribbled on the cocktail napkin. He didn't allow himself any time to pre-plan what he was going to say; he preferred thinking on the fly. It felt more genuine when he didn't think too much about a thing.

"Hullo?" Melora answered.

Easily identifying the voice, Romano gave her his best serious voice. "Is this Ms. Weir?"

He could hear her laugh softly. "It is! Is this Doctor Robert "the Rocket" Romano, Chief of Surgery and Chief of Staff, Esquire?"

He smiled. "The same. And how are you this afternoon?"

"Barely awake. Still in my jammies, having coffee and ignoring my laundry."

"Good! You're supposed to rest that ankle."

"I would be a fool to waste such a perfectly legitimate excuse. How did your emergency go last night?"

"It all ended well, but it was a doozy. A bypass scheduled for Monday became an urgent triple bypass. It was touch and go for a while, but we got the job done. Didn't get home till around four, though."

"And your first thought upon waking was to call me!" she said playfully. "Or maybe the third or fourth. I'm guessing you don't sleep in as late as I do."

"Today, I probably did. Gretel woke me up at noon." Gretel, napping on her bed by the fireplace, looked up momentarily upon hearing her name.

"Gretel?"

He realized how that might have sounded, and quickly replied, "My dog. She's pretty insistent about her walks."

Melora gasped. "You have a dog? What sort? Big or little?" She sounded almost like a kid now.

Bonus points for liking the dog. "Big. She's a Bouvier. They look sort of like giant Schnauzers."

"Fantastic! Our family had a Great Dane when I was very little. I remember taking naps with him on the living room floor." She smiled at the memory and sipped at her coffee on her end of the phone call. "Well, I just got up half an hour ago. What are you up to, now that Gretel's been walked?"

"I have a mountain of paperwork to deal with just now. But as for later…I was wondering if you have plans this evening, or if you were up for being wined and dined?"

"Wow, I don't know that I've ever been asked that particular question," Melora replied with a small laugh. "But the answer is a resounding yes. I am always up for dinner with one so 'unusual for man'," she added, complete with faux Russian accent. Truthfully, she'd planned on staying home and maybe watching a video with the girls, if they were in. But this sounded a thousand times more interesting.

So far, so good, he thought. Encouraged, he asked, "How do you feel about Italian food?"

"I feel very much in favor of Italian food."

"Italian it is, then."

"How fancy do I need to be? Not at all, moderately, or super-fancy?" She was mentally running through outfits she might wear.

"A moderate amount of fancy should suffice. I was thinking about The Rosebud on W. Taylor."

"Oooo, I like that train of thought! I've always wanted to go there."

"Great. I'll pick you up at your place at seven?"

"I'll be here. I'll even try and dress up the crutch a bit so I don't look too pathetic." She paused for another sip of coffee before adding, "Oh, and Dr. Romano?"

"Yes, Ms. Weir?"

Her voice took on a conspiratorial whisper then, just as it had back at the table the night before. "I'm so glad you called."

Robert smiled at that. "Me, too. See you later, Mel."

Damn, he thought to himself, hanging up the phone. We've already got in-jokes.

This was going to be good.

True to her word, Melora had covered the foam pads of the crutch's pillow and grip with silken black scarves, she explained, "to match my dress, like fancy camouflage." Her dress, unlike her performance costume, was not exactly Victorian, but more of a 1940's style retro black dress with velvet trim and beaded shoes that were kind to injured ankles while still looking good. Robert was also looking his best in a black suit and tie and burgundy shirt. In short, both were dressed to kill.

They'd chatted away much of the appetizers course, discussing music and hospital politics, respectively. Finally, as the main course was served, Robert decided to take a chance. "I was honestly surprised to find that you didn't already have plans tonight. Or at least several back-burnered suitors."

Melora grinned. "Confidentially, yours was not the only invitation I received. It was, however, the only one that appealed to me."

This interested Robert. "Really? And why is that?"

Melora easily replied, "Loads of reasons." She let that one sit, knowing he'd not be satisfied with it.

"One of which might be…" he led.

"You're highly intelligent. You're very funny. You exist outside of the music scene, and seem to have no interest in becoming a part of it. You have a life and a very interesting one at that. You're a responsible person and not an overgrown, self-obsessed man-child. You don't play stupid dating games. You know what you want and don't apologize for it." She paused to take a bite of her food.

"Is that all?" he deadpanned.

"Those are the highlights. Oh! And you have a dog. That's a huge bonus for me." Now it was her turn to say it all with a straight face. "I do get asked out a lot, Robert. But the older I get, the more discriminating I become."

"I don't know," Robert replied. "You say 'self-obsessed man-child' like it's a bad thing."

She laughed a little. "It does wear on a girl."

"You had a lot of fans last night."

"Most of those were friends and acquaintances. Fans are too scared to approach in person. And don't get me wrong – I'm grateful for fans, but dating one would be like…well, probably like a doctor dating a patient. Ethically questionable."

"Good thing I'm not your doctor," he replied as the waiter stopped by to refill their wine glasses. He thought he understood what she was saying.

"The music scene is no place to seek romance. Again, just as in your field. Do you like hanging out with other surgeons on your downtime?"

Robert made a face. "God, no. Save for a few that I've known for a while, not really. I respect a lot of them, and I might even admire their work. But I hate golf and making small talk with egos. It's hard enough keeping my own ego appeased."

Melora gestured in a there-you-go sort of flourish. "Let me ask you: what prompted you to break with habit and ask me out instead of going to sleep at a reasonable hour after a long day of sorting through paperwork?"

Because I'm not dead, he thought to himself. "Can I take a page out of your book and say it's because you're different?"

She had to smile at that. Robert noticed that when she smiled and laughed tonight, he could see it travel to her eyes. He hadn't noticed that last night. "Different isn't always a good thing."

"Why the hell not?" He wasn't sure if she was being serious. "Difference is challenging, sure, but it can be eye-opening, too."

"Example?" she prompted, taking a sip of her wine.

"Well, let's say – just for the sake of argument - that one person lives in a world of science, facts, numbers and medicine. And they meet someone entirely by accident who lives in a world of art and culture and music. It might just seem like a breath of fresh air to both."

This seemed to satisfy her. "Huh. Well put. I accept your hypothesis."

"Plus…corsets."

Melora laughed then, not expecting that bit of honesty. "I agree. There's a lot to be said for a well-worn corset. I have no idea how women wore them daily back in the day, though. It's a miracle if I can get through half an evening in one."

"Fainting rooms."

She looked at him quizzically. "Excuse me?"

"Most of the upper class homes back then had fainting rooms for visiting women whose corsets were taking a toll on them."

Melora blinked at him. "You know about fainting rooms?"

"Of course I do. What can I say? I'm interested in architecture."

Melora, having recovered from hearing this, replied, "The fact that you know any of that, Robert, convinces me that I was one hundred percent correct about you."

Now it was his turn to look surprised. "Yeah? About what?"

"That you are full of surprises," she replied simply, helping herself to more pasta. "I suspected as much."

He raised an eyebrow at her and leaned back, nursing the one glass of wine he had allotted himself with dinner. "I know a lot of things that might surprise you."

"Oh, I bet you do." Melora wasn't sure what to make of this man. Last night, she had gone from being certain she knew exactly who this man was to suspecting that she didn't and wanting to know more. Now, she was catching glimpses of what looked to be an excellent verbal sparring partner…and hopefully more. "I'm counting on it, actually."

Good answer. This was going really well, Robert thought. So far, he apparently hadn't overstepped any boundaries, and she still seemed to be wholeheartedly on Team Romano. At this point, he just hoped he could keep the ball rolling in a positive direction. "Okay. New topic: after dinner."

"Am I supposed to complete the sentence?" she grinned, playing along. "Um, okay. How's this: After dinner, I suspect you have something planned. Eh?"

"Not bad," he conceded. "But also, not very imaginative."

"I feel safe in assuming that you are not going to suggest going to the Skeleton Key."

"And you would be safe in assuming that. Keep going."

Encouraged, she said, "I also feel safe in assuming that you do not have tickets to ride the Ferris wheel at Winter Wonderfest."

"With this wind chill factor? Again, you'd be very safe."

"Okay, well, I could do this all night. So you want to give me a hint?"

Robert gave her a look that suggested she was disappointing him. "Consider the few things that I know you like, and go from there."

Melora gave it some thought. What had she told him she liked last night? Well, from simple observation, he'd know that she was a fan of the cello. And corsets. "Please tell me we're not going to a Dickens fair or anything like that? Despite my love for weird Victorian trends, that is really not my scene."

He adopted a look of horror. "And if it was, that would be the end of our date. It's not mine, either."

She thought about it harder. "I know there's no Bach Cello Concertos happening around town tonight. So I'm stumped-" And then, she remembered the other thing she'd mentioned. "Oh, Robert. You didn't! The opera?" She stopped eating, staring at him disbelievingly.

He smiled, knowing she'd get it sooner or later. "It's not Turandot, but it's the best I could do on short notice." He produced two tickets to the Chicago Opera from his suit coat's pocket and handed them over to her.

"The Magic Flute!" she gasped, smiling like a child on Christmas. He noticed how the smile went straight to her eyes, full of joy. "I've never seen it before, but I've always wanted to!"

"Well, lucky for you it's actually playing in town, as opposed to some Wagnerian epic."

Melora rolled her eyes. "Ugh. No. This is much more my speed." She handed the tickets back to him, adding, "You are an excellent judge of taste, Dr. Romano."

"Well, look who I'm dining with, Ms. Weir," he replied.