The Harem

by Paul Preston

  I know I should’ve taken the nurse out into the hallway and discussed the issue privately, but part of me wanted to do it in front of Jeremy. Why? It was unprofessional. Did I want to convey to Jeremy that McAdams had no chance with me, that I was not like his wife, ready to have sex with anyone who was attracted to me? Was I trying to subtly indicate to Jeremy that, unlike his wife, I would be faithful and he could trust me? McAdams thought Jeremy was asleep, so I just said what I had to say.

  “Nurse McAdams, I know I’m just a visiting resident from Georgetown, rounding here at Potomac Fields, but Dr. Billingsley has put me in charge of four patients in his absence and you have no business questioning me, especially in front of one of them. If you wish to discuss the treatment plan, I can organize a meeting with Dr. Billingsley, but over the next month while I’m here, never again challenge me in front of a patient, or a complaint will be written up in your file.”

  Nurse McAdams cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Bichon, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Secondly, I know I am a woman in a male dominated field, and because of this I expect not to be treated equally or given the same respect as a male physician, but it was highly unprofessional of you, again, in front of a patient, to ask me out on a date. This isn’t a singles club Nurse; it’s your place of employment. Stay focused on your job. Again, I don’t wish to get you in trouble, so I will overlook your attempt to “take me sightseeing”. I don’t mean to appear rude, but here is your business card back.”

  I handed him his card back.

  “So let’s just put this little matter behind us, shall we? Please return to the Nurse’s Station so the overnight staff can update you on the new admissions. Thank you.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Butch left, tail between his legs, and I looked over at Jeremy, who had watched the scene play out though hooded eyelids.

  “So I guess this means you won’t be going on that hike with him this weekend?” Jeremy said.

  “No, I need to prepare for rounds. I’ll be meeting with Dr. Billingsley in thirty minutes. I’ll have a nurse come for you when I can arrange some time for the Doctor to speak with you.”

  “Great. Thank you, Dr. Bichon.”

  “Also, here is the material on the Seven Stages of Grief I printed out for you.”

  “Thank you very much, Dr. Bichon. I’ll be sure to study it closely.”

  When I handed him the papers and felt his fingers brush mine, I looked into his eyes, smiled and left the room.

  Thirty minutes later I was in Dr. Billingsley’s office, updating him on the breakthrough in Jeremy’s case. At first, he couldn’t believe it. He asked the other physicians on duty to do the rounds without him this morning and present the cases to him afterwards, so he could see first-hand the progress I made with Jeremy. I informed Dr. Billingsley of the specific guilt issues surrounding his father’s death and how the infidelity of his wife played a major part in this case. I finished by telling Dr. Billingsley that novel which everyone at the clinic thought was a fabrication actually existed! It was stored on a memory stick which he carried around with him in his clenched fist. Jeremy allowed me to read it last night, I told him. That was how I discovered the connection between the death of the father and the infidelity of the wife. Dr. Billingsley shook his head and smiled.

  “Ahh. The key to this case was right in front of us and no one saw it, except for you, Dr. Bichon,” Dr. Billingsley said.

  “After evaluating this patient, it is my opinion that he suffers nothing more than a mild depression and he should be discharged immediately,” I said.

  “I will call a short meeting of the physicians involved in this case and you may present your findings to them, Doctor Bichon,” the Chief of Staff said.

  Dr. Billingsley summoned a nurse to bring Jeremy directly to his office. We waited together, standing beside his desk, discussing the other cases briefly and chatting. Dr. Billingsley asked what I was doing after my rotation at Potomac Fields was over and I told him I was flying out to see my parents in Nice for the last two weeks of December for Christmas vacation. He also asked if I was doing a fellowship and I was proud to tell him I had been accepted at UCLA for a Clinical Fellowship in Addiction Psychiatry, starting next July. Dr. Billingsley stroked his chin, raised his eyebrows and nodded, clearly impressed.

  A moment later, Jeremy swept in, with an exaggerated verve and vigor, speaking with a French accent, all for my amusement, no doubt.

  “Dr. Billingsley, Dr. Bichon! Bonjour, Mademoiselle! Bonjour, Monsieur! Not only did Dr. Bichon cure me while you were gone, Dr. Billingsley, she taught me a few words of French!”

  Jeremy took Dr. Billingsley’s hand and shook it with gusto, smiling at us in a warm charming fashion. Dr. Billingsley sat back down at his desk, astonished.

  “Well, it is good to see you talking, Jeremy,” Dr. Billingsley said, leaning back in his chair and smiling.

  “So how was your conference, Dr. Billingsley? We missed you here,” I said.

  “It was fine, Jeremy,” Dr. Billingsley said.

  “You left me in very good hands with Dr. Bichon. She put me at ease right away. Really, it was due to her that I was able to open up. She’s an exceptionally skilled therapist and is helping guide me through the seven stages of grief over my father’s death. I’m facing my issues head on now, Dr. Billingsley, rather than retreating from them in silence.”

  “That’s good. Very good, Jeremy. I’m so happy to hear that.”

  “I wanted to thank you, Dr. Billingsley, for all the work you did with me over the last month. I was so unresponsive with you, but you never gave up on me. Even though I seemed like I was in another world, I was listening to what you said to me, as well as the other patients in group, and I did benefit from it. I want to thank you in words, but also in deeds. If you don’t mind allowing me to give my mother a quick call, I wanted to get her approval on a six figure family contribution to support the work of Potomac Fields. I’ve noticed several sections and rooms of the hospital are named after various benefactors. If there are naming opportunities available, I’d like to have a room or section named in memory of my father.”

  “Well… Yes, Jeremy… If you wish to make a contribution, that’s something I’m sure we can discuss. And please use my phone to call your mother. Just hit 9 to get an outside line. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear from you.”

  Jeremy dialed the number and smiled at me. I couldn’t help but smile back. Dr. Billingsley looked up at me, impressed.

  “You’ve done more here with Jeremy in two days than my entire staff was able to accomplish in a month. It’s remarkable, Dr. Bishon. Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Billingsley,” I said, feeling guilty about taking all the credit for Jeremy’s recovery, when he wasn’t too sick to begin with.

  It occurred to me Jeremy was only doing this to get Dr. Billingsley to be impressed with me and it worked. I also knew at that moment, despite our Doctor/Patient relationship… I realized I liked Jeremy. He is a sweet man. Of course, given my position, I’ll never be able to act upon my feelings with him, ever. I listened in on his side of the conversation with his Mother.

  “Hey, Mom, guess who? It’s your crazy son! Hi! Yes, I’m fine. I’m perfectly well, Mom. I’ve gotten some great care here and I’m looking forward to coming home. I’d like to spend Thanksgiving with you, if the doctors here feel I’m ready to leave. I want to apologize to you, Mom. I know I embarrassed you after the funeral at the house in front of all of your friends. I was just so mad that Dad didn’t tell me about his heart condition and that he was out in the yard physically exerting himself when I should’ve been the one out there doing the yard work. I can’t explain it, Mom, I just wanted to destroy that old rusted red mower, rip it to pieces with my bare hands. So I lost control, cut myself. I know… I know now that it wasn’t my fault… Don’t feel guilty, Mom. No, Mom… No, it wasn’t your fault either. It was just his time to go. I know.
I wish I would’ve been there too… Mom… Mom, don’t start crying now. Come on, Mom…”

  Dr. Billingsley gave Jeremy a box of tissues as tears leaked out and dripped down Jeremy’s cheeks.

  “Ah, Mom, I wish I was there to give you a big hug. I’ll be there soon. Stop crying now or you’ll make me cry and they’ll keep me locked up here longer. Come on, Mom, no more tears. I’m on Dr. Billingsley’s private phone so I should probably go. OK, I love you too. Before you go, I wanted to give a donation to Potomac Fields in memory of Dad. Around $100,000. It’s a good cause. Are you OK with that, Mom? Through our charitable foundation? OK… You’ll work out the details with our accountant? Sure. OK. Love you too. See you soon. Bye… That felt good to talk to her, thanks, Doctor.”

  “You’re welcome, Jeremy. Now that I see you conversing coherently, expressing your emotions, making eye contact, let’s reevaluate things; say on Thursday, shall we? I’ll meet with the team and see if there’s anything more we can do for you here, or if you can be released.”

  “OK. I feel a little guilty taking up a bed when there are more serious cases coming in. I heard some crying in the ward last night.”

  “Yes, we had a few admissions. Well, I suppose Dr. Bichon and I should join the others rounding, unless there’s anything else.”

  “Well, yes, there is one thing. At the session today, if you don’t mind, Doctor, I’d like to say a few words to the three other members of our group. I feel like I’ve kind of blocked them out emotionally up until now, and I wanted to look them in the eyes and speak with each one, in a supervised setting. I assure you what I say will be appropriate and positive. Hopefully my words of support will leave all three feeling good and with greater hope about the process of their recoveries.”

  “I don’t see why not? Dr. Bichon?”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” I said.

  “OK then. We’ll see you after lunch at 2, Jeremy. Again, I can’t express how happy I am for your remarkable recovery here.”

  We walked out of Dr. Billingsley’s office and started down the hallway. Dr. Billingsley shook Jeremy’s hand and said bye. Jeremy extended his hand to me and I touched his warm hand for the first time. While holding my hand, he lightly brushed his index finger on the inside of my palm, sending shivers up my arm.

  “Rendezvous a duex, oui?” Jeremy said.

  I smiled, my skin tingling, still holding his hand. I breathed in and out softly, once.

  “Oui,” I said.

  Jeremy let go of my hand before I let go of his.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jeremy

  At group, Dr. Billingsley started the session by commenting about my personal breakthrough and went on to lecture on the steps involved in the recovery process. The Doctor was making perfect sense, but he delivered the information in such a dry academic manner the three women in my group weren’t listening. As he droned on in his monotonous voice, their eyes darted around the room or they would fix on a point in the distance that only they could see. They would then go inward, looking at nothing in particular, tuning in and out of the chaos going on in their own minds. Dr. Bichon watched over the group, including me, with an intense curiosity.

  I had no idea if what I had to say would sound like useless drivel to them, but I had to talk to the three women. I owed them a great deal; so much that I felt I would always be indebted to them. They inspired the three fictitious women in my novel, Sapphire, Cynthia/Sindee and Eve. They helped lead me out of the darkness, which their flesh and blood counterparts were still shrouded in. I could not shake the feeling I had used them for my own psychological gain.

  Perhaps I could make it up to them in reality. Since I assumed I would be leaving soon, this was my way of saying goodbye. When Dr. Billingsley turned the meeting over to me, I tried to make eye contact with Sara first. She never wore a bra and I could not help but notice the shape of the nipple rings protruding under her T-shirt.

  “Hi, Sara.”

  “Look. He’s not mute. He can talk.”

  I smiled.

  “Yeah. Sara, I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet up until now. I appreciate you letting me talk to you for a minute. I know all you want to do is get released from here and go back to Tony’s and get high again, right? Have you ever thought about why you like to smoke crack? You get high, it gives you a sense of euphoria, makes you feel really good, right?”

  “If you’re trying to talk me out of being a drug addict, you’re doing a really shitty job.”

  “But the feeling doesn’t last, it’s not real. You come crashing down and you feel shittier than ever, then you need more of the drug to make you feel good again.”

  “So what’s your point, J?”

  “I just wanted you to know how much I learned from your struggle, about myself. I think most addictions are similar. I don’t know how much the three of you know what happened to me, but I was married to this actress, Debbie, and the day my dad died of a heart attack I caught her fucking an actor she was rehearsing a play with.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I flipped out and ended up here. But I was addicted to a false sense of euphoria too. I was addicted to my wife, Debbie. She was the crack I smoked, Sara. Every time I did something she liked, I felt this happiness inside. Every time she was pissed off at me, my world caved in around me. Rather than spending time with my father, I was catering to her every need. At the end, she’s lying on a bed on the stage of the Rockville Civic Center with her legs over her head getting fucked by that actor, and my father is gone and will never come back… So, whatever your drug of choice is, it does make you high, but it will fuck you over in the end, guaranteed. You can try to escape the childhood memory of your mom locking you in that roach-infested closet by using crack, but after a week-long binge, you feel like those same bugs are crawling all over your body, again.”

  “That’s enough. Dr. Billingsley, do I have to listen to any more of this sh—”

  “OK, Sara. OK. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know how beautiful I think you are and if there’s anything I can do on the outside, take you to an NA meeting, give you a place to crash to get away from your drug friends, loan you some money to get you set up somewhere new, whatever I can do, I’m there for you. My personal contact info will be here if you ever need me, no matter where I am. OK?”

  “I think I liked it better when you kept your fucking mouth shut, actually.”

  “I mean it, Sara. You have a friend in me. You call me if you need me. Anytime, day or night...”

  Sara looked away from me. I checked my watch. There wasn’t much time left in the meeting.

  “Hey, Carolyn.”

  “You have mispronounced my name. My name is Caroline, as in, I’m so fine,” Carolyn said.

  I had forgotten that when Carolyn was wearing her long red wig she was immersed in the persona of her imaginary sister. She passed her fingers through the strands of her hair and refused to make eye contact with me.

  “Caroline, of course.”

  “Do I know you, sir? Are you a friend of my twin sister, perhaps? People often get us confused. I’m the skinny one.”

  “Yes, it’s true. I’m a friend of your sister. Could you pass on a message for me?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Could you tell her how sorry I am for not having talked to her over the last month? I wish she was here so I could tell your sister how great she looked when I saw her the other day. Since I’ve been here she’s lost so much weight. I bet she’s gone down two or three dress sizes already. She’s nearly as skinny and pretty as you are, Caroline.”

  “I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear you say that.”

  “Tell her from me to forget about the Flaccid Bastard. He’s not worth thinking about for a moment longer. He was very rude to her, wasn’t he?”

  “I would never have gone out with a guy like that.”

  “I just got cheated on by someone, so I know how much pain she must be i
n. Can you tell her that if she ever needs anyone to talk to, please tell her she can talk to me. When she gets released from Potomac Fields, we could exercise together on the outside if she wants. Dr. Billingsley will have my phone number. Tell her to call any time, could you pass that along to her?”

  “OK. You’re very nice. What was your name again?”

  “Jeremy.”

  “OK, I’ll let my sister know everything you’ve said, Jeremy.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  I looked at Eloise who sat quietly in her chair. As I spoke, she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, without making eye contact with me. She seemed to me to be the saddest one in the group.

  “Hello, Eloise. I also want to apologize to you too for not talking until now. I just wanted to tell you how sweet and pretty I think you are. I wish I could make you see that what happened to you was not your fault. Your parents made you feel ashamed of your natural feelings. You did nothing wrong with the boy you were with. Nothing, Eloise. It was completely natural to want to be with your boyfriend like that.”

  “God punished me for having premarital sex. My parents were right to be so ashamed of me. I bled all over my bed sheets.”

  “The boy forced himself inside you before you were ready. You were nervous on your first time. That’s the only reason you bled so much. If your parents hadn’t made you so ashamed and the boy knew how to arouse you, it wouldn’t have been—”

  “I disappointed Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior when I let that boy do that to me.”

  “One day, Eloise, you’ll meet someone, fall in love, get married and you’ll see how different it can be with someone you love, someone that loves you and cares about you. You’re a beautiful person, Eloise, inside and out. If you ever want to talk to anyone, I want you to know you can always count on me. Dr. Billingsley will have my cell phone number, if you ever feel like talking. OK?

  “I don’t need to talk to you. I’ve already confessed my sins to Jesus Christ and he has washed me clean of my sins…”