After tossing and turning for most of the night, Perry finally got up and stumbled to the couch. One of the things he would have done even a week ago by rote habit was turn on the side table lamp. But even in his half-drowsy state, he knew there was little point. No light was going to penetrate the darkness in which he lived.
Am I going to be blind for the rest of my life? I don't know. But I know Della; she isn't going to allow me to wallow in self-pity for the rest of my days. No, she is going to produce that cattle prod she claims she packed from Chicago, and use it on me! His lips twitched into a half-smile. I would really be in hell if it weren't for her. She's the only light I can see right now.
His thoughts turned to what she had told him the night before. She really is expecting me to come to the office later today. How will she react when I tell her I'm not going? It isn't like she can really force me; if I don't get dressed, what can she do? Drag me in there in just my pajamas and robe?
Thoughts of his pajamas being laid out for him made him smile in full. She really is a treasure. No other confidential secretary would root through my underwear drawer, organize my closet, and wait around after pretending she left . . . He pictured her the way he loved her best: full of life and enthusiasm with her hazel eyes shining, her head tilted just to the side as she was just about to land a good line at his expense. Then he frowned. I haven't given her anything to smile about lately. Even if I am blind, I have no excuse to hurt her. If only this weren't so hard!
For the next little while, as he sat in silence on the couch, he created a complete apology in his head. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until the sound of the apartment door opening brought him fully alert.
"Della?"
Paul's laugh sounded across the room. "Sorry, Pal. It's just me. But I'm sure she'll be here soon."
"Let me guess, she called in for reinforcements," he quipped, and for the first time, his voice had no trace of bitterness in it.
Paul, however, didn't note that. He sat in the chair opposite Perry. Staring at his best friend, he fought the urge to be nice. Della had warned him about Perry's declaration that he was not going to work. When she called him last night, he could tell she was crying and it made him want to slug Perry.
"I talked with Della last night," Paul hedged, easing into his duty. "You made her cry, you jerk!"
Perry ducked his head. "She wasn't the only one crying, Paul."
That steamed the detective even more. "No, but she's the important one! Just who do you think has kept everything together while you've been out of commission?"
Perry's temper started to rise. "I know all that. I don't need a guilt trip, pal. I can't change yesterday. And if I owe her an apology, it is to her I'll make it."
His friend accepted that. "Fair enough. Sorry, Perry. I just hate it when Della cries. I'm no good with female tears. You know that."
"I know," Perry's voice softened. "I hate myself for hurting her."
"So how about you start getting dressed so we can head to the office."
"I told Della and I'll tell you—no."
"You stubborn jackass. Do not make me have to bodily shove you into your bedroom. You are going to get dressed and be ready when Della gets here. You are not going to put any more pressure on her than she's already got. That poor girl is on her last legs and she's still pushing through because she…"
"Shut up, Paul!" The voice was made of velvet steel.
Della hurried into the apartment carrying Perry's briefcase and a bag of groceries. Paul, seeing her thunderous look, made himself scarce by taking the groceries and heading to the kitchen to start some coffee brewing.
Perry, meanwhile, had struggled to stand. As usual, her scent hit him first. She always smelled wonderful. Falling immediately back into rhythm, he greeted her with a warm, dazzling smile. "Good morning, Miss Street."
"Good morning, Perry." Forgetting everything but his smile, she blushed. Then the circumstances of why she was in his apartment so early returned to her and her voice took on a crisp, efficient tone. "Why haven't you started getting ready for work?"
Perry recognized the steel in her voice. He also knew that arguing with her right now would do no good. "Paul was antagonizing me. I was delayed."
He didn't need to see her to know she had raised a questioning eyebrow. He cleared his throat, then added, "I'll go right now. Would you please lay out my clothes for me?"
"No, Perry. I need to get some files from your desk. You are perfectly capable of dressing yourself. You're not a child. I've already explained that your closet is arranged by color and your dresser is the same." She watched him sigh, then square his shoulders and lift his head. A secret smile graced her lips, then vanished as she instructed, "Now please go so we aren't late getting to the office."
Perry heard her walk into the kitchen to help Paul with the coffee. What he didn't know was she was crying again. Having to take command of him, having to bend him forcibly to her will, was killing her. But at the same time, she was already proud of him. In just a few short hours, some of the defeating self-pity was gone. But as she entered the kitchen, Paul hugged her, offering comforting words.
"Paul, go down the hall, just to make sure he's okay. Don't help unless it's absolutely necessary. He must learn to do this."
"Okay Beautiful. But—"
She just shook her head and gave him a gentle shove. Then she turned to start fixing them all some breakfast.
Moving quietly, Paul entered the bedroom to find Perry standing in front of his closet. Leaning against the door jamb, he waited.
Perry reached out a hand, finding the first of his suits. Della had explained that the suits were arranged from black to dark blue to grey. She had also put his shirts next to the proper suits, followed by the appropriate ties. He pulled the first suit from the hanger, then a shirt and tie. Turning slowly, he placed them on the bed. Then taking careful steps, he crossed to his dresser. Again, his ever-efficient secretary had arranged things just for him. Undershirts, boxers and socks. He felt a little embarrassed and slightly aroused that Della had seen this part of him, but he knew she felt it was just part of her job. Pausing in the process of taking his underwear, he wondered if he would find her "unmentionables" drawer as neatly organized.
The sweetest smile crossed his face as he took a brief moment to sigh. Face it, Mason, Della is a keeper. Not just as your personal secretary. If only I could say something to her! But with me being blind, what do I have to offer . . .
Quickly banishing these thoughts from his mind, he started dressing. With only minor problems, he found that if he forced his thoughts away from the task, he could dress himself without trouble. But when he was ready to do his tie, his hands fell to his sides. That was a problem since he always used a mirror. Taking the item in his hand, he headed for the living room.
Paul beat a hasty retreat, making sure Perry didn't bump into him.
"Della," Perry called, "may I please ask your assistance for a small task."
Turning from her chore of setting the table with breakfast, she nodded to Paul, who gave her a pleased smile.
"Of course. What can I do for you?"
Perry thought of at least ten answers to that question that wouldn't be appropriate at all. His face flamed red and he had to resist the urge to shove his hands in his pants pockets. When he was back in control a few seconds later, he requested, "Could you please assist me with my tie?"
"Of course, Chief."
And there it was, one of his favorites of her pet names for him. When he had discovered that he loved the way she called him that, he couldn't say. But he longed to hear her call him "Chief" at least once every day. Sometimes, even when he didn't really have a work-related question to ask her, he'd call her on a weekend just hoping she'd say it.
Dear Lord, I am ridiculous, he thought ruefully, then banished the entire thing from the forefront of his brain.
Della stood in front of Perry, letting him put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself. She deftly tied the silk, slipping her hands around his neck to fold his collar down. Perry stood as still as a statue, breathing in the scent of his lovely secretary. He knew with the slightest pressure he could bring her into his arms and . . .
"There you go, Chief. Now let's have some breakfast."
And with that she moved away from him to seat herself at the table. When he didn't move, Paul started forward to help but Della shook her head.
"Four steps straight ahead, Counselor."
Perry obediently took four steps, his foot connecting with the chair. He cautiously sat, pulling the chair into the table.
"Fork on the left. Coffee at ten o'clock, juice at 2 o'clock. Eggs on the right side, bacon on the left. Would you like some toast?"
"No, thank you."
Paul noted the business-like monotone in Della's voice but her expression and her eyes told a different story. He knew she could barely stand to watch him and not help. It was in that moment Paul realized just how deeply she was in love with Perry. He had already noted the color coming and going from his best friend's face when he was standing at his underwear drawer. There was no doubt Perry was in love with Della. But with the current situation, it was going to be impossible for the two of them to find each other.
Perry had trouble keeping the scrambled eggs on his fork but soon learned that stabbing them worked best. And only a few drops of juice spilled as he reached for the glass. When his fork hit an empty plate, Della asked if he'd like more eggs, letting him know that his plate was empty. When he declined, she cleared the table. In the kitchen, she stood at the sink, trying to control her emotions. She knew this was just the first day. How many more lie ahead?
You've always been the strong one in the family. Well, face it girl, now you're the strong one in this partnership. He needs your strength and if you fall apart at every little problem he'll never get better. So buck up and be his girl Friday or guide dog or whatever else he needs.
"Hey, Beautiful. Are you about ready?"
"Coming."
Drying her eyes, she pasted a smile on her face and joined the two men.
Once they arrived at the Brent Building, Paul hurried ahead to make sure the elevator operator was clear on how to treat Perry as usual. Meanwhile, Della was helping Perry count the steps from his parking spot to the front door, then inside to the elevator.
The operator nodded to Della. "Morning, Mr. Mason, Miss Street. Great to have you back."
"Morning, Jerry," Perry greeted in his usual tone, relieved he didn't look or seem anything other than his normal self. It was nice having a routine untouched by his present condition.
Della quietly counted the steps out for Perry, guiding him into the elevator, then gently placing one of his hands on the rail for support. Once they reached the ninth floor, Perry again counted the steps to his office door.
He reached up his hand, tracing the letters he knew were there. PERRY MASON: ATTORNEY AT LAW. Some things never changed. Apparently the Brent Building hadn't kicked him out yet.
Della waited by his side, letting him have the private moment. When it turned into a full minute, she suggested, "Try the door handle, Perry. It won't bite."
He laughed, more at himself than her little joke. "I'm just working up the nerve."
As soon as he stepped foot into the outer office, Gertie bounced out of her chair, looking to Della for her cues. Della mouthed for her to say 'good morning' and nothing else.
"'Good morning, Mr. Mason, Della."
"Good morning, Gertie," they said in unison. Perry even managed a welcoming smile. "Not bad, huh?"
He stopped, turning toward where he thought Gertie's desk was. "Gertie, I would appreciate it if you would cancel any appointments I have today. I'm going to need, uh, some time to refamiliarize myself . . . You understand?"
"Of course, Sir."
Perry then continued through Della's office and into his own, again counting the steps. When he reached the center of the office, he stopped.
"Okay, Della. Now what?"
"Where's your desk?"
"Straight ahead." He nodded in the general direction.
"Where's the conference table?"
"To my right. The couch is on the back wall, in between the law library and the door to your office. Paul's chair is to the right of my desk if I'm sitting down."
"Very good. But I did move the chair a little so—"
"So I wouldn't trip," he finished.
"Okay, Chief. Let's see you navigate around the office."
Perry walked from the door of his private entrance to the door leading to Della's office, over to the conference table, to his desk, seating himself in his usual position.
"I didn't even trip! Of course, doing it once is nothing. I admit, I might have forgotten to count every step."
"Very good, Perry. You are going to get this."
"Yes, but now what?"
He heard the rustling of papers, felt Della take her normal seat beside him. Her nearness reassured him.
"There are some documents in front of you that need your signature. I'm going to put a blank sheet of paper down and I want you to practice signing your name until you're comfortable."
"Della, I think I know how to sign my own name."
"Perry, just do it, please."
Perry reached out his hand to where he thought his pen was but missed. Having gripped nothing but air, he turned his face to her and waited.
"Two degrees right and three degrees up."
Following Della's calm instructions and moving his hand slowly, his fingers closed over his pen. With his left hand resting on the sheet of paper to hold it steady, Perry began to sign his name. He signed it five times, each time feeling more confident that he had done a good job.
"How was that?" He flashed her his best, pleased-with-himself dimples.
When Della didn't reply, Perry reached out his hand to her. He felt her fingers close around his.
"It's okay. We don't have to do this now."
"What's wrong? Did I misspell my name?" He was teasing just a little, because he was more afraid of the answer.
"No, your spelling is fine. But . . ." she trailed off, chewing on her lower lip.
"For heaven's sake, Della, just say it! You promised to help me."
"You slanted the words either up or down."
"Oh. Well, how do we correct it?"
Della grimaced at his flat tone. How was she going to help without making him feel helpless? Finally, she stood and moved behind his chair. Leaning over his shoulder, she put her right hand over his, and her left around his shoulder for balance.
"Now, sign your name once more, just let my hand guide you."
Her warm hand on his, her voice low and sultry in his ear, made it almost impossible to think, let alone make his hand move.
Unaware of his inward struggle, she urged, "Perry?"
Slowly he signed his name, feeling the oh-so-gentle pressure Della was putting on his hand.
"Now you're in a straight line."
"Thank you." He smiled, although it wasn't out of any sort of pleasure. "So let's get these documents signed. Please just hold my hand like you did before."
Can I sound more helpless? Just hold my hand? What am I, a toddler? I want her to hold my hand, but not for this! I can barely focus today! What is my problem, anyway? I'm used to her being beside me! It isn't like I haven't known for ages how I feel about her. So why is today so different?
With Della holding his hand to guide him, the documents were soon signed and ready to be sent or filed.
"Okay, Chief. I need to get these squared away. Are you up to talking with Paul?"
"Of course. And Della?"
She looked at him quickly, then away. "Don't worry about it. I'll send Paul in."
She quickly left his office, signaling Paul to go in. Taking care of the business matters first, she then sat at her desk, head in her hands.
How much longer can I do this? I need my Perry back. I need . . . oh God, I need him!
"Della?"
A gentle hand on her shoulder brought her head up to find Hamilton Burger staring down at her, concern written all over his face. Lt. Tragg stood just behind him.
"Oh! Hello, Mr. Burger. I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. What can I do for you?"
"I should be asking you that question. Are you okay?"
She put on her best smile. "Of course. I'm just a little tired. Long night."
Hamilton knew her statement was far from true. The pallor in her face only accentuated the dark circles under her eyes. But he also knew that now was not the right time to mention it.
"I was wondering if I might have some time with Perry."
"Of course. Paul's in with him, but I'm sure he'll appreciate the company."
She stood and rounded her desk, opening the door.
"Excuse me, Perry. Mr. Burger would like to talk to you."
Perry frowned. "I didn't hear the telephone."
She laughed softly. "He decided to pay you a call in person."
Understanding, he worked up a grin. "Have him come in."
As Hamilton walked past Della, he squeezed her arm. When she had closed the door, she turned to see Lt. Tragg smiling at her. The last of her steel resolve crumbled. The older man put his arms around her, gently patting her back as she shook uncontrollably.
"It's okay Della. Let it out. I'm here."
A few minutes later, having finally controlled herself, she sat as Tragg held her hands.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I guess I'm just a little more tired than I thought."
"Della, if you'll forgive a cop's observation, you're exhausted. You need some time for yourself. You can't go on like this. It's not good for you or for Perry."
"I know. Believe me, I know. But I must be strong or he's not going to . . ."
"Della, listen to me. Let Drake and Burger deal with him for a while. They can keep him occupied and I'll take you to lunch. We can go to Clay's. That isn't so far away."
Della genuinely smiled for the first time in days.
"How can I ignore such a wonderful invitation from such a handsome gentleman. Let me get my things and tell Gertie."
Sitting in their normal booth at Clay's, Della and Tragg shared a quiet meal. Tragg was trying to make Della smile with a story about how Sgt. Brice slipped while washing his car. Fortunately he was uninjured, but a change of clothes was most definitely in order.
Della was only half listening and finally Tragg gave up and reached across the table to take her hand.
"Della, please tell me what I can do to help. Believe me, you will never understand how guilty and helpless I feel. If only I had been more accurate in my aim!"
"No, Arthur. You did what you needed to. If you hadn't fired, Jaffrey would have killed Perry."
Tragg acknowledged that silently. He stirred his tea with a straw, then met Della's eyes directly. "I want you to know I'm going to hand in my resignation."
"Oh no! You can't do that! Please, this city needs you. Perry needs you." She squeezed the hand still holding hers. "I need you."
"No," he refuted, "Perry doesn't want me anywhere near him. He actually asked Burger to issue a restraining order against me."
"I know. He was in shock. I'm sure he doesn't blame you. Not now that he's had time to process what happened."
Della was about to say more when Hamilton joined them.
"Della, I think you should head back. He was asking for you and we didn't want to tell him you were with . . ."
Della nodded. "I understand." She stood and leaned over to place a kiss on Tragg's cheek.
"Don't you dare leave me, understand? I need you, more than you could ever know."
The older man smiled and caressed her hand. "Yes ma'am."