Ethan did know-very well. What he didn’t know was how he was going to get word to the Secret Service agent stationed in the lobby downstairs, patiently waiting for him to step off one of the building’s three polished brass elevators. He did try to avoid putting his protectors’ jobs and his own safety at risk unnecessarily. As he lengthened his stride to keep up with Phoenix’s brisk pace, he wondered whether there might be a cell phone in that briefcase she was carrying, and what she’d think if he asked to use it. He reminded himself that he was a doctor, after all.
The freight elevator was large, utilitarian and slow, and smelled faintly of chemicals. As the doors rumbled shut behind her, Phoenix punched the button for the lowest parking level, then settled herself against a side wall a polite distance from Ethan, who was already stationed against the back. He angled a long look at her briefcase and thought again about asking for a cell phone. Instead it was she who broke the awkward elevator silence.
“You tell me, Doc-” and her voice seemed loud in that enclosed space “-what do these people want from me?”
The question caught Ethan off-guard. Playing for time, he cleared his throat then shrugged. “I don’t think I should speak for them.”
She laughed, a sharp, rude bark. “You’re their spokesman. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”
Ethan shook his head. “Spokesman? That was your idea, not mine.” He studied her, wondering about the faint pink flush that had crept into her cheeks, just below the rims of the tortoiseshell glasses. “I was just here as an interested observer. I don’t consider myself qualified to speak for anyone, much less the people who live in those buildings. I don’t have any idea what their lives are like. I don’t think anyone does.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you’ll have to find out, won’t you,” Phoenix snapped as the elevator bumped to a stop. She pushed through the gap in the opening doors, then halted, one hand on her hip, to look back. The doc was sure taking his sweet time, standing there looking around him with that funny little frown on his face. “I thought you said you were in a hurry.” What was he waiting for, a bus?
“Sorry,” he said as he joined her, looking guilty as sin, “but I really need to make a call. You don’t happen to have a cell phone, do you?”
“What, in here?” Following the direction of his eyes, she glanced down at the briefcase in her hand and was half-surprised to see it there. “God, no-this is just for show.”
Then it occurred to her-she’d all but forgotten he was a doctor, easy to do when he looked so little like one. It was hard to think of him that way even now, hard to imagine him actually saving people’s lives… “I thought all you doctors had your own phones,” she said, but in a friendly tone to show him she’d forgiven him. “Beepers and all that.”
He pulled a hand from his pocket and showed her a small black object. “Just a beeper. No phone.” He smiled wryly. “Maybe when I actually have a salary.”
“Ah.” She shrugged; financial concerns made her uncomfortable, which was why she employed Patrick. “Well, I think there might be one on the next level, next to the pay booth.”
There was. Unaccustomed to waiting for anyone, Phoenix paced and fidgeted while he made his call. It wasn’t that she minded waiting so much-although admittedly it was a whole new experience for her to have to adjust to someone else’s schedule-but much of the success of her protective coloring depended on staying in motion, not giving anyone a chance to look too long or too hard. Standing still made her nervous-another of Doveman’s sayings-as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.
“Done?” Thank God, she thought when she saw him turn from the pay phone at last. But no, now he had to stop and punch buttons on his beeper, check his watch, punch more buttons. Then…good Lord, now what was he doing, tying his shoe?
“Sorry,” he said when he finally joined her, looking anything but. Looking, in fact, maddeningly serene. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for this.”
“We can skip it if you want to.” She said it offhandedly; it was no big deal to her, was it? She was Phoenix; these people wanted something from her. Why should she bend over backward to accommodate them? But she was surprised to find her heart beating faster as she waited for his answer, astounded to discover that she cared what the answer might be.
“No, that’s okay-I think I’m ready now.” He smiled.
And because she couldn’t control the urge to smile back at him, she turned her head so he wouldn’t see it and rasped a brusque reply. “Well, okay, then-let’s go.”
Out on the sidewalk, she paused for her usual paparazzi sweep. All seemed clear, except-her heart gave a lurch as, down at the end of the block, a very tall black man in a dark business suit came flying around the corner of the building as if in hot pursuit of someone or something.
But…no, it was okay. The man lurched to a halt-apparently the cab he’d been trying to wave down was already in service-and resumed a more normal pace, heading their way but without any obvious signs of interest. He seemed to be avidly watching the street, in fact, probably hoping for another cab. Good luck. Anyway, Phoenix told herself, he was too well-dressed to be paparazzi. And she’d seen no sign whatsoever of a camera.
Still, on the two-block walk to the restaurant a few heads did turn their way. More than a few. Phoenix was beginning to worry that she was losing her touch, until she realized the stares weren’t directed at her at all.
“People are looking at you, Doc,” she said in an undertone. “I think I’m being upstaged.” But she felt amused rather than resentful. Even, in an odd way, proud.
The doc, however, was definitely embarrassed. He gave an uneasy laugh and said, “Nah-it’s just because I’m dressed all wrong. Like you said-should have worn a suit and tie.”
Lord, was the guy adorable, or what? He actually looked guilty, as if he thought she might mind that people were paying attention to him and not to her. She didn’t know what surprised her more-that, or the fact that she didn’t mind.
Phoenix was still chuckling as they went together into the restaurant, the doc holding the door for her like a natural-born gentleman. But what she was thinking about was how odd it felt, being out with a man who made more heads turn than she did. A doctor, moreover, someone with a life-and responsibilities-more important than hers. It gave her a strange, unsettled feeling.
Dammit, she’d thought she had everything under control with this tenement fiasco, that she knew just where she was going. Now she was beginning to wonder if she’d made a wrong turn somewhere, because nothing where she was now felt familiar to her.
The restaurant was Bonelli’s-basic Italian, not great food but popular with the downtown business lunch crowd and well off the tourist track. Phoenix had been there a couple of times with Patrick, as his client, and dressed as she was now, and no one had recognized her. Business people, Phoenix had found, were too involved with their own affairs to have much interest in who happened to be sitting at the table next to them.
The maitre’d remembered her, and even asked politely after Mr. Kaufman when he saw her unfamiliar companion. Then he did a huge double take and for some reason seemed to become quite flustered. Must be gay, Phoenix thought, amused at the man’s reaction. Chalk up another conquest for the doc.
As she turned to follow the maitre’d, she noticed that the man in the dark suit, the one who’d tried unsuccessfully to flag down a cab, had come in just behind them. Moments later, she saw him being led to a table close to theirs. But he seated himself with his back to them, facing the entrance, and she stopped worrying about him.
“See?” she said smugly as she tucked the briefcase neatly beside her chair. “What’d I tell you? Nobody notices you when you look like everybody else. Works every time.”
There was only a murmured response from her companion. The doc had already disappeared behind his menu, and looked up just long enough to order a glass of water from the waitress who had appeared to take their drink order. When Phoenix asked for the same, though
, he lowered the menu and leveled his calm, shaman’s gaze at her over its edge.
“If you want a drink, don’t let me hold you back. I’ve got a long afternoon and evening ahead of me at the clinic, or I’d be tempted myself.”
She shook her head, smiling a little. He said, “What?” in a mystified tone, his own smile hovering tentatively. When she didn’t answer right away, he folded the menu and laid it aside, giving her his undivided attention.
She almost wished he hadn’t. Lord, those eyes…
“Believe it or not, I’m a working girl, too, Doc.” Her voice felt huskier than usual, but she didn’t try to clear it. What was it about this man, that he could shake her confidence so, just with a look? “Maybe lives don’t hang in the balance, but I do occasionally have some people depending on me to show up on time and sober.”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he said quietly, “I never thought you didn’t.” And in some indefinable way, she felt ashamed.
And so it was somewhat defensively that she asked, “What do you think, Doc? About me. Me as a person, I mean.”
His eyes narrowed the way she’d seen them do before, as if a bright light had flashed suddenly. Again he didn’t answer right away, and in the silence she suddenly realized that her heart was beating way faster than it had any reason to.
It seemed an age before he said in his off hand way, “I’m not sure I ever have, to tell you the truth. Thought about you as a person. It’s not an easy thing to do, you know, you being…who you are.”
Phoenix made an impatient sound and leaned back abruptly, while he broke off to nod a thank-you to the waitress who’d just brought their water glasses. For some reason, when he did, the waitress flushed bright pink. And for some reason, Phoenix was beginning to find that not quite as amusing as before.
“It would probably help,” the doc said after the waitress had fled, bringing his eyes back to her, “if I had something to call you besides Phoenix. Which I’m willing to bet money is not the name your parents gave you.” He waited for her reply, and when it didn’t come, nodded toward her. She felt his eyes briefly touch the gray flannel that covered her pounding heart. “You want to know what I think?”
She murmured, “Doc, I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
His gaze was unwavering, his expression detached but kind-the doctor delivering his diagnosis. “What I think is, that name and everything that goes with it is like another disguise to you. The Rock Star. People see what they expect to see-isn’t that what you told me? So, people look at you and all they see-all they know-is the rock star. And…” She caught her lip between her teeth and held it, waiting. “…I think that’s the way you want it.”
The silence this time was measured in heart-beats…drumbeats. Phoenix counted them off in her head like beats of music, one bar at a time…and when the timing seemed right she heard her own voice murmur the lyrics: “Well, Doc, if you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
And how long that silence might have lasted she would never know. Something intruded-a polite cough-and the world came crashing in on her in a torrent of sound. A waiter was there, ready to take their orders; beyond him, diners spoke in murmured conversations, dishes clattered and silver clinked. Somewhere out in the city a siren wailed. Phoenix shuddered.
The waiter took their orders and went away. Phoenix wasn’t sure what she was having; she’d simply seconded the doc’s choices. She devoutly hoped it wasn’t the eggplant. Lord, she hated eggplant.
The cocktail waitress was back, hovering at the doc’s elbow.
“Please,” the girl whispered, so nervous and jittery that, if she’d been a character in a comic strip, Phoenix thought, she’d have those little drops of water flying off her. “I’m sorry to bother you…please don’t tell anyone. I’ll probably get fired for asking, but- Oh, God. I’m so nervous. I’ve never done this before. Please-” and she slapped her order pad down in front of him “-could I just have your autograph?”
Oh, Lord, it was too funny. Phoenix made a strangled sound and clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back the laughter. The doc threw her a desperate look.
The waitress was suddenly mortified. “Oh-God. You are him, aren’t you? Ethan Brown? I was so sure… Oh, God, I feel really stupid…”
Ethan? Ethan Brown… Where had she heard that name?
The doc was smiling at the poor girl and saying in his quiet way, “No, no-that’s all right. I mean, you’re not wrong. And it’s okay. Here-I’ll sign that for you if you want me to…” He took the pen from the waitress’s trembling fingers and scrawled something on her order pad, then handed both pen and pad back to her.
“Oh, God…thank you. Thank you so much.” The girl all but dropped a curtsy. She was whispering as she scurried away, “Ethan Brown…my sister is just going to flip out when I tell her…”
And the doctor turned slowly back to Phoenix, wearing that same guilty look he’d had stepping out of the elevator in the parking garage. Very much like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Ethan…” she purred, low in her throat, a smile hiding the shock, the cold, trembling anger that had come on the heels of revelation. “So…that’s the name you didn’t want me to know. Ethan Brown. Okay, my next question is-were you ever going to let me in on your little secret?”
Chapter 4
“It was never a secret,” Ethan said, squirming in his chair. “I don’t go around announcing it.” But he felt completely fraudulent.
Phoenix made a soft breath sound that wasn’t quite laughter. “You must think I’ve been living under a rock.” She said it lightly, but Ethan didn’t believe it for a minute.
She must feel like a fool, he thought. I’ve humiliated her. He had an idea that wasn’t something this-or any-woman would easily forgive.
“Not really,” he said, leaning toward her, eager to make amends for having deceived her. “It’s understandable. I’ve tried pretty hard to-” he smiled wryly “-keep a low profile.”’ He waited, but she didn’t smile back. He cleared his throat and ploughed on. “It helps that the tabloids are easily bored, and the mainstream media know better than to intrude-if they want to keep on good terms with the White House, that is. So it’s been a while since my picture’s been in the papers or the six o’clock news…” He was babbling.
He forced himself to meet those incredible eyes…an incredible risk, he knew. For a moment he felt as if he were balanced on the very edge of a high diving board, and vertigo one scant breath away. He had the impression of something lurking beneath the shimmering surface of her eyes but didn’t trust his balance enough to look closely to see what it was. Hoping it might be forgiveness, he gestured toward his beard and smiled.
“And then, I guess I have my own little ways of disguising myself. You said it-people see what they expect to see. And the president’s son would have to be about the last person you’d have expected to run into in a meeting with a committee of slum tenants.”
“True.” But she was brittle, still. Unmollified. Her eyes shimmered through the curtain of her lashes like sunlit water through a forest. “All the more reason you should have warned me, don’t you think?”
“I was trying to keep-”
“-a low profile. I know.” She leaned sharply forward, like a cat pouncing on a mouse. “Tell me, Doc-or I guess I can call you Ethan, now-what else were you trying to do?”
“I beg your pardon?” The suddenness of her anger was as shocking to him as a slap.
“What is it you’re after? Is it some kind of political thing?” She was braced on her forearms, shoulders hunched and eyes shooting cold blue fire. “If it’s the publicity-”
“Publicity would be the last thing any of us want,” Ethan countered in a voice as cold as her eyes, but much, much softer. Because it was his way, when faced with violence of any kind-actions or emotions-to retreat to his calm, quiet place, he said, oh, so calmly…oh, so quietly, “What I’m trying to do is exactly what I said I was
trying to do, which is help some people get their apartments fixed up. And hopefully stay out of the news in the process.” He paused, which was a mistake; he could feel the walls of his quiet place creaking under the pressure of the emotions they were trying to hold at bay. “I didn’t ask you to pick me out of that group. Why did you do that, by the way?” And he could hear the tension in his voice, now. “What, exactly, were you trying to do?”
The question left behind a ringing silence, like the crash of cymbals in a stunning finale. As Phoenix listened to its dying echoes she was conscious of an overwhelming sense of frustration, even failure. It was the same way she felt when the perfect word, the perfect lyric, the perfect golden note eluded her…which made no sense at all.
What was it she’d expected…hoped for? With a few exceptions, she was used to either intimidating men or exciting them. She was used to seeing lust, awe, even fear in a man’s eyes. She didn’t know what to do with this man, this doctor who seemed neither intimidated nor excited, who gazed at her with his shaman’s eyes and spoke to her without any nervousness at all. Like Patrick, she thought. Except that, unlike Patrick, with this man she had no doubt in her mind that the emotions were there. She knew it…felt it, like a tremor beneath her breastbone…like a knot in her stomach.
With their eyes locked and all senses focused with laserlike intensity on each other, it was a moment or two before either Phoenix or Ethan noticed the waiter. When he announced himself with a discreet cough, they sprang back from each other, straightening, Ethan thought, like two tied-down saplings when the ropes binding them are sliced through with an axe. They sat in a twanging silence while their plates were set before them, murmured identical automatic thank yous and barely noticed when the waiter asked if there was anything else they required and, unanswered, went away.
The Awakening of Dr. Brown Page 6