Love is Blind
The moment Paul closed the door behind him and Della was alone in her apartment, she let out a long, forlorn sigh that expressed, better than words, how she was feeling. She stood in the midst of her living space, looking at nothing in particular while all the emotions of the day passed through her system. She had been on such a rollercoaster since coming into the courtroom. First had come Mr. Burger's direct examination, and then, Perry's cross. And because he liked to surprise her as much as he loved to shock the prosecution, he hadn't given her any sort of heads-up about it. Then had come lunch, and his instruction for her to steer clear of the office. At least he had hinted Tragg would be arresting the real killer.
I wasn't there when he needed me most, she sighed again, and why? Because that wonderful man was trying to save me from a dangerous situation. And then he goes and gets himself shot!
She interrupted her own thoughts to walk into the kitchen. Selecting a goblet, she poured a nice amount of her favorite wine and carried it to the couch. While she sipped and savored it, she let her mind wander to what lay ahead for Perry's recovery. When the wine was gone, she took a hot shower and then, clad in only her towel, she flung herself on the bed and sobbed.
How on earth am I going to get through this? How is Perry going to handle this? I know Mark is going to line up some help for me, but . . . I might not be enough! And Perry must get better. Not just because of his clients or our jobs, but because of who he is! I know how he is. He'll grieve his sight, and he'll pitch a tantrum, and he'll even go through a period of self-pity. But if this is going to be his way of life for the next few days or weeks, I'll have to be tough with him.
The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts. Drying her eyes, she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Miss Street?" The voice on the other end of the line was male, and unknown.
"Yes," she affirmed guardedly.
"My name is David Miller. Dr. Baxter contacted me and asked me to call you. Is this the best number for you? I'm with the Los Angeles Center for the Blind."
Everything became clear.
"Yes, Mr. Miller. Dr. Baxter told me he would ask someone to contact me. I didn't realize how quickly that would happen!"
He laughed quietly. "We aim to please! Miss Street, I wonder if you could meet with me tomorrow morning. The sooner we can discuss a treatment plan, the better equipped you'll be for what is coming."
She was dubious, but realistic. If Mark had lined this man up to help her, and he had taken the time to place the call right away, there was no reason to let moss grow under her feet. The sooner he trained her, the sooner she could help Perry.
And that's what really matters, she reminded herself. Aloud she said, "Alright Mr. Miller."
"Fine. My office at nine."
After receiving the address and instructions on how to get to the office, Della called Paul and arranged for him to pick her up in the morning.
I sincerely hope this visit will help. I will do anything to help Perry through this.
With her tears dried and gone, she slipped into her loungewear and set about getting dinner for herself.
The offices of the Center for the Blind were surprisingly cheerful, although Della wasn't sure what she expected. She was greeted by a perky blonde and escorted down a long hallway. Della saw rooms on either side where people were reading what she assumed were braille books, another where a young boy was walking with a white cane and yet another with two people walking with guide dogs.
Is this his future? Della wondered, picturing her strong boss and best friend in a similar place. Her heart clenched at the thought that this might await him. Will he accept this? Knowing him, probably not!
Finally reaching a closed door with David Miller's name embossed in gold lettering, the blonde knocked once and then opened the door, allowing Della to enter, closing the door behind her.
David Miller rose from his seat. He was a tall, sandy-haired man of about 35, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater. He was also wearing dark glasses. Coming around his desk, he offered both a smile and his hand to her.
"How nice to meet you, Miss Street. Please, sit. May I offer you something to drink—coffee, perhaps, or tea?"
Della blushed unconsciously. "No, thank you. If you don't mind an impertinent question, are you . . . Ah, I mean, can you see?"
He laughed and returning to sit behind the desk, removed the dark glasses. "No, Miss Street, I know what you mean. Let me set you straight. I can see." Another chuckle escaped, but it was directed toward himself. "I just came in from outside and it takes my eyes a little while to adjust to the fluorescent lighting. But to be honest, I forgot I left my shades on!"
Della smiled, noticing his eyes were blue. Not the cerulean blue of Perry's, but almost turquoise.
"So where do we start? Mark said you would help me to deal with Mr. Mason's blindness."
It didn't escape his notice Della's use of the doctor's Christian name. Obviously they were close. For an unaccountable reason, he was bothered by that. Tabling that for the moment, he refocused on the purpose of the meeting.
"I understand in Mr. Mason's case, it's possible he may regain his sight. I sincerely hope so. However, for the time being there are several things we can do which will help him adjust."
Della straightened in her seat. Her hazel eyes took on a steel look as she asserted, "I will do anything and everything you tell me. I need to be able to help Perry through this. So, let's start."
There it was again! She used her boss's given name this time, and the way she said it, David Miller knew this relationship was going to remain a business one. No one had ever said his name that way. Seeing the determination in her eyes and hearing the passion in her voice, he hoped Perry Mason knew just how lucky he was to have this woman.
After a week of testing and seeing Perry become more and more agitated, Dr. Baxter finally decided to release him. He left instructions for Della and Paul on how to treat him, from keeping his head wound clean to treating his eyes with special drops. He also warned Della one of the side-effects could be blackouts.
During that long, unbearable week, Della, with Paul's help, had gone to Perry's apartment to rearrange some furniture and to remove obvious obstacles from his path. At David Miller's suggestion, she also went into his closet and sorted his suits, shirts and ties in order. She also did the same with his dresser.
When Paul picked Perry up at the hospital, both Dr. Baxter and his nurse wheeled the patient out to the car. Perry was less grumpy, but Paul knew his friend well; under his "optimistic" outlook lurked a deep fear that he wouldn't be back to normal ever again. Perry was terrified by the idea he was helpless, and Paul, not one to blow smoke in his face, refused to sugarcoat the situation. Nevertheless, he was far from eager to discourage him, either. So the drive to Perry's apartment was in relative silence.
When they drew up at the apartment complex, Perry got the door of the car open and was out before Paul had a chance to come around to open the door. After one step, Perry stopped and uttered a loud curse. When Paul touched his arm, Perry jumped.
"Damn you Drake! You need to put a bell around your neck."
Paul chuckled. "Glad to see your humor is still intact." He took a steady grip and coaxed, "Easy pal. I know how hard this is. We will help you get through this."
Perry covered Paul's hand. "Sorry, Paul. Mark warned me my temper would be short. You and Della are going to be putting up with an unpleasant man for a while."
Paul grinned, but naturally Perry didn't see it. "You're worth it, Perry."
"Well, we best get me inside before I start drawing a crowd."
Slowly the two men entered the building. The ride up in the elevator was taken in stony silence. When the bell dinged, Perry surged forward, knocking the side of the elevator with his shoulder. He swore, then apologized to the metal frame. The operator smiled, but checked his chuckle. Della had already informed the staff of the situation with their most famous and private tenant.
A short trip down the hallway led to his apartment door. Paul hesitated, then handed Perry the key.
"I can't see the lock," Perry reminded him.
"You want to be independent again, Perry? It starts with unlocking your own door. Use your hands."
Perry took the key, muttering under his breath. But secretly, he appreciated the tiny gesture from his friend. If Paul believed he could handle this, then he would prove he could. The door swung open, and with that small success, all of Perry's energy fled and he felt exhausted. Paul helped him to the couch, where he seemed to collapse.
"You can go now, Paul. I'll be fine."
Paul looked to where Della stood, already in the apartment, watching with tears brimming in her eyes. She nodded silently to him.
"Sure, pal. Get some rest. I'll see . . . I'll be back tomorrow."
With that, the detective beat a hasty retreat. Della moved quietly across the floor to seat herself in a chair opposite Perry.
Perry tilted his head, processing everything through his other senses unconsciously. Then he said with a trace of sardonic amusement, "You can quit sneaking around, Della. I know you're here. Peonies, remember."
She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't sneaking. I just didn't want to startle you."
Perry gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh yes, mustn't scare the blind man."
"Perry, please!"
"Della, what do you want from me? I can't just turn this around. My world is dark right now, and I can't really see any reason to pretend differently."
It nearly killed her, but she forced herself to sound hurt and angry. "Alright, Mr. Mason! I'll leave you to wallow in your pity. Call me when you're ready to start living again!"
Perry heard the door slam and his fist came down on the arm of the couch. "Damn! Della—I didn't . . . Damn it to hell!"
Why did I take out my frustrations on the one person who matters the most to me? The one person who I can't afford to lose?
Della stood watching him, seeing the struggle he was going through. Again, the tears threatened to fall but she fought them down, knowing they wouldn't solve anything. She saw Perry stretch his hand out to search for the phone he knew should be on the table beside him. His hand struck the lamp, causing it to tip. Della caught it, setting it upright. Then she placed Perry's hand on the phone.
"Won't do you much good to call, Chief. I won't answer."
Perry caught her hand when she would have pulled away. "I'm sor—"
"No." She cut him off. "No, Perry. I don't want to hear you say it."
He was silent for a long minute, then decided to ask, "Please, will you sit by me?"
Della withdrew her hand from his and moved around him, settling on the opposite end of the couch.
"Can we start again?"
She smiled, but he naturally couldn't see it. Aloud she said, "Of course."
Perry turned toward the sound of her voice. It was husky, yet musical. The first time he had heard her speak, way back when she first interviewed for the position of his confidential secretary, he had been struck by the sweetness that unlined her throaty voice. When she sang along with a favorite song on the radio, it took on a sultry quality. He liked it when she became animated about a key piece of evidence, or when she latched onto his train of thought with a case. It soothed him when he was upset or rattled, and it had the power to enthrall a room or quiet an upset client. He loved her voice.
But right now her voice was flat, lifeless.
I did that to her, he mourned inwardly.
Steeling his nerves and tabling his pride as best he could, Perry made his own voice even. "I know Mark has special instructions for you on my care and feeding. And that's exactly how he phrased it because he said I was a bear."
She hid her laugh with a cough. "A grizzly, if you must know. And yes, I have my instructions. But you should know I've also had some training from a very nice man at the Center for the Blind."
"A nice man," he repeated dumbly, "a nice man?"
This time she laughed outright. "They do exist, you know."
He smiled ruefully. "Touché. But if this training involves a white cane and glasses, you can just forget it. I'm not going to . . . ."
She leaned over and took his hands in hers. Pressing her lips close to his ear, she said in a quiet but no-nonsense voice, "Perry, I want you to listen to reason. I want you to listen to me. I understand you're confused, angry and prideful, but I'm going to help you through this, just like I help you in the office, or on a case. And Paul will help, too. But if you are not willing to let us do this, then this time I will walk out that door. Your choice."
He felt her breath on his face, her delicate hand trembling in his, and he suddenly realized what all of this was doing to her. What a fool he was being, not understanding that he wasn't the only one affected by this!
"Are you going to be my guide dog?"
Now she laughed outright, the tension of just a moment ago, broken.
"Woof-woof."
Perry raised her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her palm. Della was almost glad he couldn't see because the look of love in her eyes would have embarrassed them both.
"So, my dear secretary, where do we start?"
"That's my guy!"
Della had shown Perry how to get around his living room without bumping into things. By counting steps from his door to the couch, to the chair and to the fireplace, he could spatially memorize the layout. It took some time, but before they moved into the kitchen, he felt confident he wouldn't trip over anything and humiliate himself.
They did the same with the kitchen. Perry's biggest regret was realizing that though he knew where his utensils were, he couldn't very well cook anything because he'd never be able to tell when something was done. And he certainly wasn't going to wait around for his nose to pick up the smell of burning food!
Then came the bedroom. Della explained how she had taken a few liberties with his closet and dresser, then went over the organization she'd established. She waited for a moment, afraid he would be upset she had moved into his private quarters and taken command without his say-so, but he smiled at her ever-efficient manner.
"Miss Street, you amaze me! To think, I might have worn gray pants with a green jacket! Only Paul could get away with that combination!"
Della had laughed, relieved he was lightening up and showing some humor.
Once they had completed the circuit of the apartment, Perry asked Della to watch while he walked around. With one or two small missteps, he was able to navigate the entire apartment. She clapped, praised him, then bit her lower lip when he collapsed on the couch.
"You did great, Perry. But I think I should leave now."
Perry reached out for her hand only to realize she was too far away from him. "Della?"
She stepped over to him, taking his outstretched hand. "Still here, Counselor. What is it?"
"I was thinking about dinner. But unless you want me to burn my apartment down, I was hoping you'd stay and . . . well, supervise."
"Of course, Chief."
He followed her into the kitchen, then leaned against the counter. She looked at him, then understood exactly what was running through his mind.
But what can I say that isn't going to sound like pity? He loves cooking. This is going to be a tough break for him.
Sending a prayer skyward for inspiration, she hesitated, then opened the door to the refrigerator.
"Well, I've got some bad news," she sighed exaggeratedly, "Since you've been lounging around in the hospital, things in here seem to be ready to walk out by themselves."
He grimaced. "Sorry! Next time Tragg shoots me, I'll make sure the hospital staff knows to make stocking my fridge a priority."
Closing the door a little harder than she should, she turned back to him. "How about I call Clay's and order us something edible?"
"I love you, Della," he informed her with a sweet smile. "You have the answer to everything." Perry held out his hand and she stepped to him, placing her hand in his. Pulling her a little closer, he brought her hand to his lips. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you, Della."
Glad that he couldn't see her furious blush, she gently pulled her hand from his.
"Not necessary, boss. I'm just not sure I want food poisoning. Now I'm going to call and get us some dinner."
Perry heard her heels as she hurried back to the living room. The lingering scent of peonies floated back to him, and he was, for the first time since coming home, content.
After they had consumed roast beef sandwiches, potato salad and Clay's special tea, Della made sure to lay out a pair of pajamas and robe so that Perry could get some much-needed rest.
"I'll be back in the morning to collect you for work," she informed him as she gathered her belongings.
"No, Della. I'm not going back to work. I can't do . . ."
"Perry, please don't make me bully you. If I have to enlist the aid of Paul and Hamilton, they won't be nearly as nice as I am. Your robe and pajamas are on the bed. Now get some rest and I'll see you in the morning." She wanted desperately to kiss him on the cheek, but she resisted. Instead she said simply, "Goodnight, Chief."
She opened and closed the door but remained in the room. Perry stood where she had left him.
Perry was very still for a minute, trying to decide what to do. Now that Della was gone, he felt completely lost. He knew he was facing the hallway leading to his bedroom. But did he really want to go to bed?
Della doesn't understand. How could she? I know she wants me to be as normal as I can be, but I can't go to work. I can't be a lawyer when I can't see a client's face, can't read his eyes to know whether he's lying or telling the truth. I can't go with Paul to chase down clues. I can't—I can't go into court and feel the way a jury is reading my cross examinations, and I can't very well review case law if I can't see. The limitations are too great, and I can't . . .
Moving forward slowly until his foot hit the chair, he sank down into the soft leather, placing his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. His big body shook as the tears came.
Della stood trembling, putting her hand to her mouth to keep her own sobs quiet. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but she also knew it would do no good. He had to let his emotions out. He had to deal with this. Dr. Baxter had told her it was possibly the most important part of his recovery. Grieving for what his life had been like and mourning the loss of his normalcy. But Mark had also reminded Della the situation was most likely temporary. And because of that, she had to exercise even more patience than if the situation were permanent.
When his sobs finally quieted, Perry stood and carefully, slowly walked down the hall to his bedroom. She tip-toed after him, making sure he could find the clothes she had put on the bed.
Once she was sure he was able to get ready for bed, she slipped quietly out of his apartment.
Tomorrow is going to be an even more difficult challenge, she admitted to herself. And I know I need to let Paul handle the first wave of the battle. Still, he started to come around. And he had no trouble feeding himself once he learned to view his plate like a clock. Even if this turns out to be his new way of life, Perry will eventually thrive. He just has to . . .
And with those thoughts circling in her mind, she left the building to seek her own respite.