The Boy from the Band

Million Dollar Baby

I was sitting and staring at the packet of papers that the lawyers sent me, wondering how I was going to be able to remember all the names of the doctors and all the incidents dating back from 1973. I read the note that Miriam enclosed, "Don't worry about what you can't remember, we have excellent researchers who'll find out things about you that you don't even know." Ha, is that supposed to make me feel better? Always a comedian, or in this case, a comedienne, somewhere.

I scribbled in what I knew and was trying to remember which doctor did which surgery--was it the same one as the first—when the phone rang.

"Hey sexy," Rick sounded a little high and he was slurring his words though not too badly, "How's my favorite girl?"

"Am I your favorite girl?" I wanted to ask, but didn't, saying instead, "Oh, a little tired but I'm all right, it was one of those crazy nights at work. How's the gig going?" I'm trying to distract him, I think I know what's coming.

"It's going good." It's always going good if I ask that, he's got his high spirits and his cocaine to sustain him. As long as Harp is in a good mood things will go fairly well. I don't ask about the size of the club or the audience, or how much he thinks he cleared. These gigs are keeping him going for now.

"Well, I have news for you, first of all, I've gained three pounds."

"Is that all?" mock severity in his tone. He wants my curves back, "You're meant to be peaches, not bones," he tells me, but I sort of like the bones.

"Be patient, besides, I have something else to tell you, I found a lawyer who's going to take my case, and he says I'll probably get a nice settlement out of this."

Silence, then I hear him say, "What? Are you serious?"

"Yup, they didn't tell me how much but they said I'd be happy with it. It might take a couple of years, but I'm going to see money out of this. You didn't think anything would happen, did you?"

"Well, of course, I did," he lies, but I let it pass, "I just didn't think things would happen so quickly. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you." There's another pause on his end and I know what's coming.

"What are you wearing, baby?"

Here it comes, I hate phone sex but if Elizabeth does it for him you can be damned sure I will too.

"Oh, I'm wearing shorts and a tank top, why?" I ask coyly.

"Take off your shorts," he knows I'm going to play along. "Now, put your fingers on yourself and pretend it's me playing with you."

I haven't seen him in a month, which means I haven't had sex in a month, so I do what he says and I'm surprised at how my body is responding.

"Are you doing what I told you?" he asks, "Here, I'll take off my jeans and pretend I'm with you. Will you moan for me, baby?"

No problem, the sounds coming out of my mouth are all too familiar. This usually doesn't work for me but I can feel an orgasm coming and by the sounds I can hear on his end of the line, he's feeling what I'm feeling and I can hear his sighs and moans—like me, he's way beyond words.

I think we finish at the same time, I'm lying on my side, breathing heavy, wishing all my attempts at self-pleasure could turn out like this. And I'm grateful he doesn't have a girl in his room.

"I gotta go, babe," His breathing is still a little labored, "I'll be home next week, you can tell me all about your lawyer and how much money he's going to get you. I love you."

"I love you too," I answer and he hangs up.

I go to bed exhausted from my day, the paperwork, and my little phone sex session with Rick. I'm asleep as soon as I hit my pillow, then start dreaming.

And they're not good dreams. It's like he's in the bed next to me and I'm not asleep, I'm awake. "What are you talking about?" I hear myself saying, "Why in the world would you want to leave California?"

"You should leave too, it's not safe here for a woman on her own," he replies, "And besides, you have your money now, you can go anywhere you want. You don't need me, it's time..."

I wake up with a start, I sit up and press my hands against my heart to stop its pounding. Where did that dream come from?? I wrap my arms tightly around my knees, hugging myself. No, he's not going to leave me, at least not now, I can feel this, I know this in my heart and my head. When I have dreams like this they don't always come true right away, if they come true at all. Damn that Irish great-grandmother of mine who was gifted with the second sight.

I smoke some Thai stick and slowly my heart stops pounding. For good measure, I drink a little of Rick's cognac. I haven't had a dream that disturbed me like this in years. I'm always afraid that Rick's going to leave me, but our relationship works, we work really well. One thing he never does is lie to me—he's learned I can always tell so he no longer bothers. We understand each other, we suit each other, we're as comfortable together as an old married couple. And he knows I don't expect him to marry me.

I almost give in to the temptation to grab my Tarot cards, but I don't. The worse you want something the more likely you are to read it into your layout, which defeats the purpose of consulting them in the first place. I'll ask around and see if anyone at work knows a really good psychic, someone will either know of one or will know someone who knows. We are a superstitious lot.

For a while, I am afraid to close my eyes, afraid the dream will come back but eventually the cognac and Thai stick push me into a gentle, dreamless slumber and I don't wake until ten o'clock. I don't feel rested, but I'd had enough sleep to make it through work.

And a week later he's home and waiting in the parking lot of my building for me to arrive. He puts his arms around my waist and picks me up and carries me, laughing, into my apartment.

We didn't make it to my bedroom, we made love on the sofa, hungry for each other and not stopping until we felt sated. He held me tightly, whispering love words in my ear, telling me how much he missed me, how next time he was going to make sure I could join him at least once.

"I don't want to be separated from you," he said, "I know I don't have a right to say this, but I get jealous thinking of all the guys who might be hitting on you, I want you all to myself." It would mean more if I didn't know about his girlfriend, but it's nice to hear.

I sit up. "I have something to show you," I tell him and grab the envelope from the lawyers' office that has been sitting on my coffee table. I hand it to him and watch him open it.

"Wow," he says simply, and "wow" pretty much describes it. "You only have a little bit of this filled in," he observes.

"They'll take care of the rest. I've got all the consent forms taken care of, that's all I really needed to do. Rick, I can't believe this is really happening, it seems like a dream but it's not."

"All this time and it's no accident that you had all those surgeries. I've got to admit, I didn't really think you could pull this off, I guess I was wrong."

"You know what I want from this—besides the money? Closure. I want vindication, I want them to have to pay for what they did to me, because it's not my fault, it's theirs. All this time I've felt guilty, wondering what I've done. If I'd had it taken out sooner if I hadn't had it put in at all. You don't know how it feels, you can never know how it feels."

He put the packet back on the table and took me in his arms. He started stroking my hair and my back, soothing the tension out of me. "I felt guilty, too, it was me who got you pregnant and I blamed myself for putting you at risk. Now that we know it's not either of our faults we can go on from here."

But to where? I thought and wondered if there had been a message in that dream.