Chapter 22

Jerome sat at his desk, tapping his pen on his blotter, waiting for the door to open and Mrs. Elright to announce his patient's arrival. He was nervous about this appointment with Blue, unsure quite how he would undertake the subject of the patient being intersex. Ordinarily, he didn't lack confidence in his abilities, but the issue, mixed with his concern that the patient could be far more mentally ill than had first appeared, and the fact that he had been up all night with Sela, led to a discomfort he couldn't shake.

Sela had been in a great deal of pain last night and the usual dose of the diamorphine had seemed to barely touch it. It was the first time he'd seen her cry in all these months of her torturous treatment, and he'd ended up calling her physician at three in the morning. When the on-call doctor didn't return his call, Jerome had increased his wife's medication anyway, guessing at how much would put her to sleep without making her comatose. He'd felt guilty because even though he was licensed to prescribe medication, he didn't know enough about pain management to prescribe such a powerful and potentially lethal drug. One could have made a case for incompetence if something, God forbid, had happened. But Sela had fallen asleep at last, and Jerome had realized at that moment that he would have been willing to surrender his practice, even rotted in jail, to give her just those few hours of pain-free sleep.

The sound of the doorknob turning startled him and he glanced up.

"Dr. Fisher—"

"Yes, show the patient in," he said, rising from his desk, not allowing Mrs. Elright to complete her sentence.

Blue entered the office and took the appropriate seat.

Jerome retrieved the file folder from his desk as well as his notepad and sat in the other chair. "So how were you this week?" he asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he poised his pen over the notepad.

Blue's gaze shifted to the thick file on Jerome's lap, labeled with the patient's name in bold-print letters on the tab. "I see the records arrived." It was a soft voice. Hesitant.

"Yes, yes, they did, and I must say, I wish you had told me from the beginning that you were intersex," Jerome chastised gently.

"Because it changes everything."

"No, not everything." He glanced up over the black frames of his glasses. Sela had picked out the half frames for him on the last trip she had made to the mall. The last she would probably ever make.

She had once loved shopping, but had become too weak to walk and refused a wheelchair in public. She had said the new glasses made him look scholarly. He hoped that right now they at least led to an air of credibility.

"It answers some questions, though," Jerome explained. "Especially since you are true intersex." He hesitated, shifting in his chair. "Because you possess both male and female chromosome make-up, it only makes sense that you would experience an attraction to both males and females."

Blue gazed at the expensive Oriental carpet at their feet.

"I assume you take hormone treatments."

Blue nodded.

"And there is mention of surgery, but not performed when you were a child as is generally done in these cases."

A head shake. "My... my parents refused to take the doctors' advice and choose a sex for me at birth because I had both male and female genitals. They... they thought it would be better to allow me to mature, become the person I would become, and then make a choice on my own."

"How old were you when you made the choice?"

Blue did not respond immediately, and Jerome had to fight the sense of empathy he felt for his patient. It was not the proper way for a psychiatrist to treat an individual. Usually, he had no problem controlling his sentiments, but today—no, with Blue in general—he had to constantly check himself. He supposed it was due to the raw emotions being stirred each day with Sela's illness.

"I... I suppose I was a senior in high school when I knew for sure, or thought I did. It wasn't until after my sophomore year in college that the surgery was performed."

When Blue's gaze met Jerome's, he felt the full force of his patient's anguish. He also saw a flash of anger beyond the pain. Anger so intense, so frightening, that Jerome gazed down at his notes to sever eye contact. He cleared his throat. "Well, with this development, I may need to shift our strategy slightly, but I don't want you to be concerned. I've spoken with my wife, also a psychiatrist, and she assures me there is protocol for patients such as yourself. I have already—"

"You discussed my case with your wife?" Blue demanded.

The patient's alarmed tone made Jerome glance up again. "Yes... but she's also a psychiatrist. She must follow the same rule of physician/patient confidentiality."

"Dr. Fisher," the patient said tensely, gripping the arms of the leather chair, "I made it very clear to you from the beginning that it was my utmost priority not to allow what you see here, what is in those records, to go beyond these walls. My career could not tolerate disclosure."

There was something about the manner in which Blue spoke that was eerie... almost frightening. Jerome struggled to maintain his composure. He shouldn't have come to work today, not after being up most of the night. He just wasn't himself. "I assure you, Dr. Sela Fisher is required by law to follow the very same regulations concerning patient confidentiality that I am. Sometimes it is necessary for a physician to consult with another physician. I would never, however, ever disclose your name. Not even to my wife," he promised.

"It's just that I have taken a great risk in coming to you," Blue said quietly, looking down again. "My risk increased by allowing you full disclosure of my previous treatment. My... condition."

"I understand that, and I appreciate your desire to help me help you." Jerome tried to smile reassuringly. "Now let's start the way we like to start every week. Tell me about your journal entries and we'll go on from there."

For the next forty minutes, Jerome tried to engage his patient in conversation, but Blue seemed either unwilling, or unable, to participate. While talkative and relatively adept at expressing feelings in previous sessions, the patient barely said more than a dozen words throughout the remainder of the time they had together.

When their time was up, Jerome escorted Blue to the door. "I'd like to see you again before the weekend. Would that be possible?"

The patient did not meet his gaze. "I'll have to check my schedule. I'm finding my job... my personal life stressful presently."

Jerome nodded. "That's perfectly understandable. Perhaps you could check your schedule and call Mrs. Elright. I don't normally have hours on Friday, not since my wife became ill, but I'd be happy to meet you here Friday if it would be more convenient."

"I'll call if it's possible."

Trying to fight an oppressive sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jerome watched the patient leave the office. He had not brought up the subject of suicide, and he was concerned that perhaps he should have.

The phone rang as Jerome stood in the doorway, and Mrs. Elright answered it with her usual cool efficiency.

"The nurse on line three, Dr. Fisher," she said.

Jerome stepped back into his office, closing the door to take the call.

* * *

I sit in my chair watching the TV, unable to concentrate even though Fraternity Row is on and there has been a serious development at Phi Kappa Alpha. A fraternity brother, Jason, was caught cheating on an English exam and it is suspected by college officials that one of the brothers in the house provided the answers. Axel has insisted that if anyone provided Jason, who has already been expelled, with the copy of the test, then they should give themselves up. School officials are threatening to break up the fraternity and close the house.

I am sincerely interested in what will become of Phi Kappa Alpha because I know that they deserve to be shut down. They all deserve to be expelled, if not for this incident, then others they have not been caught for. I know firsthand that this is the case among all fraternities and sororities. Among students this age.

Axel is talking to his father by telephone, but Mr. Cunningham, who is an attorney, will not allow the students to tape the conversation, so the audience is only able to hear one side of the exchange.

I glance down at the pictures I have cut out from a magazine and spread across the floor. I am recording the show, as I have recorded all of them, so I will watch it later when I am not so distracted.

On the floor are several pictures that caught my eye in magazines, but the one that I cannot stop thinking about is that of a distinguished-looking African-American man. It is not as good a picture as I would like; I had to cut away an attractive female who was seated on the couch beside him.

My session with Dr. Fisher today did not go well. I feel I have made an error in judgment in agreeing to allow him to see my previous records. I should have given him more time, been more patient with myself. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he is more concerned for the state of my mental health than he was previously.

I lean over in my comfy chair and pick the picture up off the carpet. He is a handsome man, Dr. Fisher. Intelligent. Caring. Compassionate. That is obvious in the way that he is caring for his dying wife. I pity him. Losing a loved one to such a terrible disease as cancer. I know that it cannot be easy to watch a loved one die in such pain.

I shift my gaze to the collage propped against the table beside the chair. I have been smart enough to realize I could not keep the objects, at least not here, any longer: the ball-cap, the lock of hair, the ear, the finger, and the breast. They have been safely tucked away. The collage is all I have now readily available to remind me of my accomplishments.

I study the boys in the Jeep, the blonde on the bar stool, the football jock, the spectacled young man with the calculator, and the cheerleader, now reunited with the football player in my work of art. I have even added some appropriate props to fill in some of the white spaces: pom-poms, a calculator, a chilled margarita glass.

I look down at the picture in my hand, then back at my collage. The doctor does not fit.

Not tonight, at least.

* * *

Liza Jane sat on the edge of her bed in her dorm room and looked at the cell phone in her hand.

"So, are you going to call him or not?" her roommate, Muriel, said, drying her wet hair with a striped towel. "You've been sitting there for ten minutes with the phone."

"I know." Liza Jane twisted her mouth in indecision. "I was just thinking I shouldn't go."

"No way! Cam stands you up at the last minute and you're just not going to go?"

"He's not standing me up. I told you, he had something really, really, really important come up. Besides, it's not like he's my boyfriend or anything." She hadn't told Muriel about her suspicion that he was sleeping with someone. Maybe because she didn't care that much. She liked him, but she didn't like him that much.

"I know. And he has to fly to New York tomorrow and he won't be back until Sunday." Muriel frowned. "He's standing you up."

Liza Jane looked at the cell phone again, the number already called up on the screen. "Maybe I just shouldn't go. It's really not my thing, getting all dressed up, rubbing elbows with doctors, bigwigs from the college and stuff."

"You said you've been going since you were fifteen." Muriel dropped her wet towel on the floor. "Your grandfather will be disappointed if you don't go."

"I know," Liza Jane moaned. "I've just..." She jiggled her foot. "I've never come out and asked a guy out before, not like this."

"Then here, give me the phone and I'll do it for you, you chicken." Muriel tried to snag the phone, but Liza Jane jumped up off the bed, turning her back to her roomie.

"Okay, okay. I'll do it." She wrinkled her nose. "You really think I should? He's older than I am."

"So's Cam."

"Okay, so he's geekier."

Muriel laughed as she began to spray gel into her wet hair and run her fingers through it. "I've got news for you, Liza. You're a geek, too. Just one with cool dreads. Now either you call him and ask him to take you to the hospital benefit ball right now or I'm calling him. You have to give the guy time to rent a tux."

Liza Jane took a deep breath. Muriel was right. She knew she was. Her grandfather would be so disappointed if she didn't go to the ball. Besides, she wanted to talk to the dean of students and see what she could find out about what had happened at Phi Kappa Alpha. Even though nothing official had been announced yet, there were too many rumors going around for people not to know it wasn't just a rumor. If the college shut down the fraternity, that might be the end of Axel and Cam's deal and the positive publicity Chesapeake Bay College would get out of it. Needless to say, the college could use some positive publicity right now. A girl who worked as a clerk in the dean of students' office told Liza Jane there'd been a big meeting the day before and a lot of shouting had been involved.

The ball would also be a good opportunity to talk with her father's new not-girlfriend about the murders at the college. As far as she could tell, the FBI had made no progress in the investigation, but she knew they were working long hours on it. There was stuff on the news and in the papers every day. Surely they knew something, and while her father might not give it up, talking girl to girl with M.K., she just might. Especially after she'd had a few glasses of the champagne that always flowed so freely at these things. Maybe she'd try to get in good with Liza Jane the way her father's girlfriends always did, but maybe Liza Jane would actually get something out of it for once.

She hit "send" on the phone. It rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Jesse, hey, it's Liza Jane."

"You go, girl," Muriel whispered loudly.

Liza Jane waved her hand for her friend to be quiet and turned her back on her.

"Hey, Liza Jane. You makin' out okay with that Internet research?" he asked. "I was thinking about calling you to ask, but I didn't want to be a pest or a jerk or anything about it."

"I haven't found a lot, but yeah, I'm doing okay. I haven't had as much time as I'd like to spend on it right now," she went on, stalling as she tried to figure how to ask him out without making him feel like he had to go with her if he didn't want to. "You know, the semester will be over before I know it, and things have been crazy at the newspaper and the station—"

"Ask him!" Muriel insisted.

Liza Jane glared at her roommate and turned away again. "Listen, Jesse, the reason I called—and you can say no, no problem, but... I was wondering. I have this benefit ball to go to. It's for the hospital and it's kind of a big deal in my family. I've got free tickets and my grandfather is in charge and, well—"

"Liza Jane, are you trying to ask me out?"

She was amazed at how different he seemed to her now than he had when they'd first started talking a few weeks ago. He said he'd just been nervous with her at first. To her, he almost seemed like two different people. "You really don't have to go with me. I mean, I know, a tux is expensive to rent and—"

"Yes."

"Who likes wearing a tux?" she went on. "I have this long gown I wore last year. I don't see why I couldn't wear it again, but—"

"Liza Jane." He was laughing, but not really at her. "Did you hear me? I said yes, I'd like to go."

"You would?"

"Sure."

"And, actually, I have a tux so it won't cost me a cent."

"You do?" She put her hand on the phone so he couldn't hear. "He has a tux."

Muriel made a face like she was impressed.

"So when is it?" Jesse asked.

Liza Jane dropped her hand. "Saturday night. This Saturday night. If that's too short a notice—"

"What time do you want me to pick you up?" Jesse asked. "Or would you feel better me just meeting you there?"

"No. Sure. You can pick me up. My dorm. Groveworth, building two, first floor, room twelve. I can drive myself if you'd rather, though."

"Where are we going and what time do we need to be there?"

"The Ashview Country Club. Um. Eight o'clock."

"I'll be there Saturday, seven forty-five."

"O... okay. Great."

"Thanks for asking me, Liza Jane."

She wondered if she ought to explain to him that the date didn't really mean anything. That she and Cam were sort of... But then she realized she and Cam really weren't sort of anything. He was too busy wrapped up in his show these days to even meet her for coffee. And as much as she hated admitting it, she did kind of like Jesse. He wasn't really what she thought he was.

Liza Jane smiled. "Thanks, Jesse. See you Saturday night."

"He said yes?" Muriel asked the minute Liza Jane hung up.

She nodded, surprised she was excited. "And now what am I going to wear?" Liza Jane tossed the phone on her messy bed.

"I thought you were going to wear that gown you wore last year."

"I can't wear that," Liza Jane exclaimed. "Come on. You have to get dressed." She reached for her backpack hanging on the end of her bed. "I know this cool secondhand clothes store."

"I have class in an how-."

"Muriel, skip class." Liza Jane grabbed her roommate's arm. "Can't you see this is a fashion emergency?"