Chapter Twenty-nine: Why Do Drunks Make Phone Calls?

Jim's warm, brown eyes and warm, toothy smile greeted me at the airport. He hugged me.

"I am so sorry about everything," he whispered into my hair.

"Do you know about Aaron, that is, Dr. Michaels?" I asked.

He nodded as he led me to the luggage carousel. "House called me. He's worried about you."

"How is he?"

"He sounded okay. Reserved, but okay." Jim's voice was strained.

"You're worried about him," I accused.

"I'll be glad when he gets here so I can talk with him," he admitted.

We gathered my bags and piled them into Jim's car for the drive to the townhouse.

"Zelda's okay?" I asked.

"I've checked on her everyday. She's gaining weight like an athlete in training. Do you want to stop by the hospital and see her?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. I know it's late . . ."

"I'd be happy to take you there," he said.

As glad as I was to see Jim and as excited as I was to be heading to hold Zelda, I was still preoccupied with my worries about Blue Eyes. I was exhausted, so I told myself not to jump to any conclusions about him or about his emotions and motives. My own emotions were the troublesome ones, the contemplation of which I couldn't escape.

My milk wouldn't let down, not even with Zelda's energetic sucking. She seemed larger than when I had left, and more alert. Her pale hair had a reddish cast and her eyes were still an unknown darkness. The nurse brought me a bottle, and I held it while Zelda ate, hungry and strong. Tears escaped my eyes; I knew she would be my only child, and I wept for the loss of the ability to nourish her. I watched as the tiny droplets dripped onto her perfect face. I looked at the cameo ring on the hand holding her bottle. One day I would give it to her. I wouldn't wait until I was dead to pass on a thing of beauty. I wanted to give her, every day, the beauty I had missed. I wanted her to always know of her own value and her own, immutable, beauty.

Jim waited for me in his office. I stopped just outside the cracked door, wiping my eyes, because I heard his voice. He was on the phone; I didn't want to interrupt. I started to walk away when something Jim said caused me to stop.

"House. You're drunk. Go on to sleep," Jim said sternly.

There was a pause before Jim continued.

"Don't do something stupid just because you're afraid of how you're feeling."

I was rooted to my spot, unable to walk away.

"Go to sleep, House. We'll talk when you get here."

I heard Jim replace the phone receiver. Since my days as a nursing mother had just ended, I didn't bother to disguise my unhappy demeanor. I knocked lightly on the open door and walked inside.

Jim looked up from his desk, his mouth set in a grim line. "Audra. How's Zelda?"

"Refusing to nurse. It appears my days as a wetnurse are over."

He hurried around his desk to wrap me in a friendly hug. I didn't mean to start crying again, but I couldn't control it.

"Oh, hell, Jim. I'm getting your jacket all wet," I sobbed as I pulled away from him.

"Let's go home, to the townhouse," he said as he guided me into the hall. "I've been staying there while you were gone. Would you mind if I continued staying there a while longer?"

I laughed. "Jim, you would make me very happy if you continued staying at the townhouse. Honestly."

As soon as Jim had carried in my bags, I took a hot shower, and he made hot chocolate, lacing it heavily with rum and crème de cacao. I curled up on the edge of the sofa and sipped it. It was near midnight.

"Audra," Jim started quietly, "would you mind if I asked you something personal?"

"Feel free, Jim."

"Well, you've had a traumatic time these last several months. Have you considered seeing a therapist? I'm not trying to offend you, here, but you've lost a lot of weight, and I know you don't sleep much. I was just thinking . . ."

I interrupted him. "You're right, Jim. I hadn't really thought about it, but I haven't been feeling particularly chipper lately. I'll call Dr. Castillo for an appointment tomorrow. I'm sure she can refer me to someone. Unless you have a suggestion?"

Jim shook his head. "I think Angela would be the best person to advise you."

My cell phone started vibrating and playing Black Oak Arkansas's "Jim Dandy," which was the ringtone for Blue Eyes.

Before I answered, Jim said, "I'll go to bed while you talk to him."

I smiled in farewell and answered the call.

"Where're you?" he slurred. He was drunk.

"Are you okay? Blue Eyes, you're not driving, are you?" I panicked.

"No. In bed. No you."

"You need to go to sleep."

"Are ya mad a' me 'bout the perv?"

"No, Blue Eyes. Now, please go to sleep. Please?"

"D'ya still love me?"

I wasn't sure how to answer. I figured he wouldn't remember the exchange, much less my answer, in the morning, so I let my heart seize control.

"Yes, Blue Eyes, I love you."

"Why?" He just couldn't leave it alone; he had to pick at that scab.

"Because you're caring and funny and . . . "

"And a god in bed."

I laughed. "Yes, for all of those reasons and many more. But go to sleep now, okay?"

"Okay. Buh I need you here for sleeping." His voice trailed off and the call disconnected.

I finished my lukewarm chocolate and climbed into my familiar bed, although I was alone for the first time in awhile. I didn't like it at all. I wanted Blue Eyes. And, for the first time, I considered that I was, really and truly, in love with him.

Jim had been right; I wasn't sleeping well. I was up and showered long before he headed to the kitchen. I had already made the coffee, but he offered to cook my breakfast. I declined.

"I want to go see Zelda before I descend on the university. I suspect today will be a day of battles."

Jim smiled encouragingly at me. "Go get 'em, Tiger."

I laughed at his use of Blue Eyes' nickname for me. "Do you know when he thinks he'll make it back here?"

"He said he was aiming for tonight, but that will be a long drive."

I hugged Jim and kissed him farewell on the cheek. "I'll beat you home, so I'll take care of the cooking," I told him.

"Audra," he stopped me. "Call Dr. Castillo. If she can see you this afternoon, go and don't worry about supper. I can always whip up something."

I turned back and embraced Jim with all my strength. "You are such a wonderful friend," I cooed. "Jim, do you think Blue Eyes could remember something I said last night?"

"While drunk?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you say?"

I looked away. "Nothing important, Jim. I'd better run." And I ducked out the door before he could question me further.

Zelda took to her bottle with an energetic zeal. Dr. Chase dropped by to tell me she was making progress and could, with any luck, go home by the end of February. A month away. I left her in a hopeful, excited mood. I needed to find a carseat.

I got to my office before Cindy or Troy. On my desk, next to the orchid Jim had given me for the program's debut, was a container with five flowering spikes of white symphony orchids. They were exquisite in their perfection, gracefully fanned out in an arch over their simple, green enameled container. I unclipped the card and read it:

Dear Audra,

I offer you my sympathy on the loss of your mother. Rather than send you an arrangement for the funeral, I elected to help you celebrate the life you still have to live as you raise your darling daughter. She and you are every bit as beautiful as these precious flowers.

David

I appreciated the gift, but I wondered if he had chosen orchids because he had seen the ones Jim had given me. Was he, needlessly, competing with Jim? I was greatly amazed at the lack of rationality of men. I was also, now suspicious of what role David had played in my program during my absence.

I sat at Cindy's desk and checked the online classes. All of the writing modules had been updated and graded. Everything, in fact, looked perfect. I was sitting there, my chin in my hand and lost in thought, when Cindy and Troy came in together, laughing and giggling.

"Ms. Jeffrey," Cindy said with concern, "How are you?"

I got up to give her back her seat. "I'm fine, Cindy. How have things been going here?"

Troy answered. "I've continued updating the writing modules and grading the completed ones as you directed." He hesitated a moment.

"What is it, Troy? Go on," I encouraged.

Cindy, acting as the mother hen, said, "Ms. Jeffrey, Dr. Mebane has been stopping in regularly. We tried to keep your door locked, but he always had an excuse for getting in there. Troy and I are a little concerned about what he might have been doing."

"What excuses did he use for getting into my office?" I asked.

"He told us he needed to keep an accurate record of the hits on your writing modules. We offered to give him the updated numbers we keep, but he said he had to check them himself. He acted as if he didn't trust us," Troy answered defensively.

"I trust you, Troy, and that's all that matters. This program doesn't answer to Dr. Mebane. It answers directly to Dr. Jacobs. Let me get into my office and see if I can figure out what he was up to. If you two have any ideas, please, please tell me. Everything between us is in confidence."

They both nodded at me, obviously reassured.

I spent several hours checking and rechecking the use of my computer, but I could find no evidence David had entered any files other than those having to do with the online developmental program. Nevertheless, I had a very uneasy feeling about his snooping in my computer. I started glancing around the office, looking for something, anything, he could have snooped through. I didn't see anything. Cindy and Troy left for lunch, promising to bring me a salad, and I moved the white orchid to Cindy's desk; I didn't want to keep it in my office.

I had just accessed my research files on my computer when David walked in.

"Welcome back," he said smoothly. He was still handsome, smiling and familiar.

"Thank you, David. And thanks for the orchid. It's lovely."

He glanced around the room. "Yes, the orchid. Where did you hide it?"

I smiled politely. "I moved it to Cindy's desk to show it off. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," he said, still smiling. He sat in one of the chairs before my desk. "I trust everything went well in Alabama?"

"Yes. It was sad, of course, but it was a good trip."

"Well," he continued, "it is good to have you back. I tried to stop in periodically to offer whatever assistance I could to your staff, but they appeared to have everything well in hand."

"Yes, David, they told me you made yourself available for them. Quite frequently, in fact."

He shifted slightly in his chair. "I know how important this program is to you. I didn't want anything to go awry."

Awry. An interesting word.

"I was wondering," David began, leaning forward in his chair, "if you were interested in seeing Tom Stoppard's new play, The Coast of Utopia?"

"The one on Broadway?" I stuttered.

He laughed. "Yes, the very one. I happen to have two tickets for a Saturday night performance in two weeks. I was waiting on your return to invite you. Since he is one of the playwrights you work with . . ."

Tom Stoppard. Broadway. My mind had ceased functioning.

"Tom Stoppard?" I repeated.

"Breathe, Audra," David coaxed, chuckling. "I'm serious. It's for real."

"The Coast of Utopia? With the Tony Award winners? Not some high school production?"

"The real thing, Audra. And I have reservations at the Ritz-Carlton Central Park."

My mind hiccupped. "Spend the night? Overnight?"

He laughed good-naturedly. "Of course. The play won't get out until late, and we'll want to go somewhere fabulous for an after-theatre dinner. Spending the night is the only sensible thing to do."

I worshipped Tom Stoppard. I had been toying with various articles on his plays, but to be offered the opportunity to actually see a Broadway production of one – I was seduced. I was almost willing to prostitute myself for the opportunity, which is what appeared to be necessary.

"Consider it a congratulation weekend for your article."

My article on Butley would, indeed, be published that very week. My first published article.

"David, I'm breathless. I don't know what to say." I was stalling for time.

"I know a lot depends on Zelda and her health, so I won't demand an answer today, but at least promise me you'll think about it?"

"Yes," I answered too quickly. "Yes, David. I so appreciate your invitation. If you could let me think about it . . ."

He rose to leave. "Of course, Audra. Think. But I sincerely hope you'll be my companion on this adventure."

"Oh, David, you have dangled the Holy Grail in my face. I'm not sure I have much choice."

"Good," he said as he went through my door. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

I was overwhelmed. David was clever; he knew the way to my writing modules was through my love of playwrights and plays.

Troy entered bearing a tuna salad. "For you, my teacher," he sing-songed.

"Oh, Troy, thanks." I took the bag and motioned for him to have a seat. "I want to ask you a question, but I want you to be completely honest."

He nodded dutifully.

"When Dr. Mebane was here, while I was in Alabama, were you ever worried about what he was doing? I mean, did you have any concerns about his mucking around?"

Troy, always compliant around me, wiggled uncomfortably in the same chair David had just occupied. "Ms. Jeffrey, to be frank, I don't know what he was doing on your personal computer. It's none of my business, but anything we did with the program was accessible if he knew your password."

Now I had my clue. David would have had to secure my password, which wasn't readily available. I dismissed Troy and considered any possible indiscretions by David. I finally glanced at my watch and called Dr. Castillo. Fortuntely, kindly, she took me call.

"How are you, Audra?" she asked in her professional voice.

"Dr. Castillo, I have some issues I feel I need to discuss with you." Even as I talked to her, I began tearing. "Zeld has rejected my breast once I returned from my mother's funeral." I couldn't continue.

"Audra, can you come by here around five?"

I agreed eagerly.

After a tearful conversation with Dr. Castillo, I trusted her prescriptions of Wellbutrin and Klonopin. She also prescribed Ambien for sleep on a limited trial.

"Audra, let me know if you have any unusual side effects from the Ambien. It will take a few weeks to guage how successful the Wellbutrin will be."

I nodded to Dr. Castillo and headed home.

By the time I made it home, I entered to the smells of chicken breast roasting on the Viking grill.

"Jim," I said as I inhaled the delicious aromas, "whom are you cooking for?"

"Just you, Audra," he replied, a pleased smile on his boyish face.