She glanced at her kitchen clock for the tenth time since getting home. It was almost seven o'clock in the evening. She phoned Monique again and left a voicemail. The charge nurse at the Pavilion told her that Dr. Desmonde had turned over call to the senior psychiatric resident at six o'clock that evening. Alex, her frustration mounting, tried to reach Jack. When he didn't answer his cell or text, she called police headquarters and was told that Commander Françoise was unavailable. Alex pressed the watch officer for more information and declared an emergency. The officer finally admitted that the commander was out of New Orleans for the evening, working on a case somewhere either in Mississippi or Alabama. He wasn't sure. The man offered to put Alex in contact with someone else, but she refused.
After the phone call, she chided herself, thinking that Monique and Jack were spending a quiet evening alone – out of New Orleans, probably in an isolated hideaway on the Gulf Coast. That kept her satisfied for a few minutes. If they were together and she was this worried, she would probably murder them herself for not answering her frantic messages and texts.
Time wore on. Alex didn't like what she was feeling. She was so unsettled; she poured herself a second glass of wine and sat on the sofa in her living room. As her mind clicked through the events of the day, she kept refocusing on the look that Whitset had given Monique in the executive committee meeting. His behavior towards the psychiatrist had chilled her to the bone. It terrified her. It was evident that he was enraged with her. Essentially, Monique had the power to put Whitset out of work and, more than likely, Whitset knew that as well. This concerned Alex because she didn't think Whitset was normal or rational. His behavior with the Smithsons had been unnerving, particularly that singsong routine she had witnessed. Oh, if only she could reach either Jack or Monique, she would feel so much better. Besides, she knew Monique had found something in Whitset's office and her curiosity was killing her.
She jumped up when she heard a knock at her door. She ran from the living room to the foyer and felt a twinge of disappointment when she saw Robert on her porch. Well, not disappointment, but she had hoped it was Monique. She opened the door, smiling. Robert looked great. He was impeccably dressed, clean-shaven, and his eyes sparkled at the sight of her. He truly was a hot guy, she thought to herself.
"Hey, what a surprise! What's up? Have you heard from Monique or Jack?" Her voice sounded strained and she looked stressed.
Robert looked surprised at her greeting. "No, Alex, why? What's happened? Has something else happened?"
"Nothing. Nothing really. At least, nothing I know of. I've been trying to reach Monique since right after the meeting this afternoon and I can't find her. The hospital said she turned over her call. She doesn't answer her home phone or her cell and ..." Alex paused for a moment and continued in a concerned voice, "Oh, Robert, I guess I'm frightened for her. I'm afraid Whitset might go after her. He was so angry!”
Robert nodded in agreement, his face also showing concern. "Yeah, that he was. Have you been able to locate Jack?"
"No, I've tried. I pressed the watch officer at NOPD. He said Jack was out of the state, that he was investigating over in Alabama or Mississippi. I would think his cell phone would work over there, wouldn't you?" Alex paused for a moment, thinking. "I bet he found something out on Whitset. He said he was going to run a check on him in Alabama!" Alex was breathless for a moment then her face fell.
“What's the matter, Alex? If he found something out on Whitset, that's good, isn't it?" Robert looked at her intently.
"Yes, of course it is! I had convinced myself that he and Monique were off on some romantic interlude or something. I guess I'm a hopeless romantic. Heaven knows, they certainly deserve it after today."
Robert attempted to look cheerful. "Well, maybe they are investigating together. Anyway, I'm sure they're fine. Have you had any dinner?"
Alex shook her head. "No … would you like for me to make something for us? I could whip us up something simple. Salad or something."
"I’d be glad to take you out, if you'd like."
"No, Robert, thanks. I prefer to stay in. I feel better here, particularly if the phone rings and it's either Jack or Monique. How about a fresh chicken salad and a glass of pinot noir?"
"Well, you know they can reach you on your cell, Alex. But, that being said, chicken salad and wine sounds great. Are you sure I'm not imposing? We could order out," Robert ventured.
"No, no. It will get my mind off things to be busy in the kitchen. I appreciate the company. I hate to be anxious alone. Come on back to the kitchen."
Robert and Alex retreated to Alex's newly renovated gourmet kitchen. Robert looked around, once again pleased at how beautifully Alex had renovated her New Orleans home. He reminded himself that he had never really appreciated her talent and abilities when they were married. He guessed he would be sorry for that for the rest of his natural life. He eyed the oak kitchen furniture appreciably and said, "I still love this furniture."
Alex smiled at him. "Yes, it's beautiful. One of our best purchases …." They both remembered the beautiful fall afternoon when they had purchased the lovely antique oak furniture during a sojourn to the Virginia countryside. They had absolutely no money at that point in time. Robert had been a resident at the University of Virginia and she was a staff nurse in the ICU at the University hospital. They had fallen in love with the honey-colored oak furniture and had purchased it on impulse. Robert had worked three straight weekends in the emergency department at Martha Jefferson Hospital and Alex had worked many overtime shifts to pay for that extravagance. It'd been worth it. They'd dined on it during their marriage and spent many evenings sitting around it talking with good friends. Additionally, the couple used the table as a desk and spent many evenings studying around it together when they were students. The table, chairs, and sideboard were so large they had practically taken up the entire student housing apartment.
Alex was again remembering their first meal together at the table, how it was followed by a night of splendid and unparalleled passion in their marriage – the night she became pregnant with the child she later lost. That seemed to start the downward spiral of what she thought was a perfect marriage. She guessed Robert was remembering the same evening. Suddenly, they were interrupted by the shrill ringing of her telephone.
Alex quickly picked up the receiver. It was Donald Montgomery. She winced at the sound of his whiny voice.
"Destephano, have you gotten Monique Desmonde straightened out? This shit is bothering me. We can't have her blabbing to the press. Not good for us. Not good at all." Montgomery was whimpering into the phone.
Alex gritted her teeth and mouthed to Robert that it was Don. "No, Don, I haven't talked with Monique. I've been calling her since right after our meeting. I don't know where she is."
"Shit, she's probably at home writing her press release. Fix this, Alex. I mean it! Your butt's on the line!"
Alex could hear the irrational anger beginning to surface in the CEO's voice. "I'll do my best, Don. Did you look at Whitset's contract?" Alex skillfully returned the ball to Montgomery's court.
"No. I had a cocktail party to go to. I'll have it on your desk in the morning." Don was whining again.
"Good. Make sure you do. Whitset's the major player here. Make sure you can control him. I'm not your problem and neither is Monique." Alex knew her voice was condescending, but she didn't care.
"Dammit, Alex! Desmonde is the problem, not Whitset!"
"Don, you and I both know that there are a dozen Whitset's for every Monique Desmonde. You need to stand tall on this. If you lose Dr. Desmonde, you will lose psychiatry at CCMC."
"I don't give a damn about psychiatry! Let the wackos go! I just don't want any bad press!"
"You'll destroy our reputation as a world-class hospital. You must have a psychiatric service to keep the world-class designation. You're going to get bad press if you don't get Whitset in line. After all, you are the CEO." Alex knew she was venturing on t
he fringe, but she didn't care. Don had already tried to fire her once this year – back in February. Her appointment by the hospital board of trustees made it impossible for Don to fire her without their approval. And, so far, they really liked her.
"All right, all right. Just fix Monique." He was backing down and his voice was contrite.
Alex rode her advantage home. "Look, Don. Think about it. Your win-win position is to keep Dr. Desmonde and psychiatry – even if Whitset and his management company have to go. Think about that."
"Okay, okay. Just keep Desmonde away from the press, promise?" Don's voice was placating now, sugarcoated.
Alex was disgusted. "I won't have to keep Monique from the press if you give her what she needs to provide safe, reasonable, standard care. Get the picture, Don?" Alex's voice was defiant.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll do what I can. You do your part." He clicked off the phone without saying goodbye.
"Bye to you too, you idiot!" Alex slammed down the phone. "I hate that Motherfucker," she grumbled to Robert.
Robert laughed. "Whoa! That's rough talk for you, Alex. Can I assume your boss hung up on you?"
"You bet he did. Slime ball!" Alex was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Robert, I'm going to tell you the truth. I don't know how much longer I can stand working with him. He's an absolute idiot, a model of incompetence. He's the Peter Principle personified. I have a very interesting opportunity on my desk at the hospital. A large, managed care group is looking for a corporate attorney. Of course, I would have to leave New Orleans …" Alex demurred a bit. "I'll never understand why the board keeps him here."
Robert gave her a matter-of-fact look and said, "Sure you do, Alex. For all of his faults, we all know why they keep Don around. Montgomery is a financial wizard. Crescent City is one of the few hospitals in New Orleans that is financially solvent. No one cares that he's rude, inappropriate, and non-appreciative of nurses, physicians, and other providers. No one cares that he's insensitive to needs of patients, staff, and families. They only care about money. We are making money and that is ultimately what it's all about – the bottom line, like it or not. CCMC has held together when other hospitals have gone out of business or have been bought up by conglomerates. Don will skillfully maneuver CCMC through health care reform. He understands the health care portability act better than the politicians that wrote it. That, my dear, is very simply Mr. Montgomery’s strength."
Alex sighed. "Yeah, I know, Robert. But Don truthfully doesn't give a rip about the care that patients receive. He doesn't even know about clinical care. It seems unlikely that his success will continue."
Robert shrugged his shoulders. "Rest assured, it will continue as long as he keeps giving the physicians the technology they crave and the raises they deserve. I hate to give the man any accolades, but he's doing a fairly good job, all things considered. Even the nursing salaries are competitive, I hear."
"Yeah, but the quality of care is dropping and the working conditions suck. The nurses have absolutely no support. Bette Farve treats them like street workers, not like professionals. Money is important to nurses, but so is professionalism, research, and continuing education – important aspects of a nurse’s role that Favre refuses to recognize. Motivation and morale is almost zilch at CCMC among nursing staff." Alex shook her head, "It's actually very sad because CCMC has some of the best nurses I've ever seen."
"Yes, a fact which the physician group is profoundly concerned about. None of them like Farve." Robert paused for a moment and winked at her, "Don't say anything to anyone, but I think Farve may take a fall in a few months."
"Robert," Alex's voice was gleeful, "That's the best news I've heard." She ran over and hugged him.
"Shish. Don't say anything. It is definitely in the making. I've just come from a medical staff meeting and Ms. Farve’s leadership, or lack of it, was the topic of discussion. I'm sure it will happen. Just be patient. Besides, I don't want you anywhere other than New Orleans!"
Alex smiled to herself. She was enjoying the feel of being in his arms again. When she broke off the embrace, Alex literally danced around the kitchen making a gourmet salad of lettuce, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and fresh chicken breast. She even pulled out her food processor and made Robert's favorite salad dressing, a creamy vinaigrette, for old time's sake.
Robert knew what she was doing and was secretly pleased. Once again, he could kick his own ass for divorcing her.
"Robert, let's set the table in the dining room! It's been a long, lousy day. It deserves a good ending. No shoptalk at all. The china is in the linen press. I have a bottle of barrel-fermented Virginia chardonnay that should go well with the salad. It's great! Estate bottled at Windy River Winery, a new winery close to my grandparents’ home in Hanover County. Grand shipped me four bottles last week. She's impressed with the quality – what do you say?"
"Why in heaven's name would I argue with such a beautiful lady? I'm on my way to set the table." Robert was feeling happy and lighthearted as he moved into Alex's formal dining room. He switched on the brilliant crystal chandelier. It glowed magnificently against the pale blue moiré of the wallpaper. He adjusted the dimmer switch to a low light level until Alex's antique silver service glistened in the light. The silver candlesticks and fresh flowers were beautifully set against the antique mahogany and cherry of the dining room furniture. Robert sighed in appreciation as he looked around the room. The Sheraton banquet table gleamed in the light of the chandelier. Again, he was awed by Alex's taste. He wondered briefly if Mitch Landry had been a part of the house’s renovation. A flicker of jealousy flowed through him. Then he realized that Mitch couldn't have been. He remembered they had started seeing each other three months after Alex had moved in to the renovated townhouse. The flat was obviously Alex's creation alone. For some reason, that pleased him.
He continued to think about the relationship between Mitch and Alex, as he removed the heavy silver from the drawer of the sideboard. He'd known Mitch for years and had been a little perturbed when he had learned that Mitch and Alex were dating. Of course, Mitch had been charming. He was sincerely sorry at the way things had ended. But, to be honest, it did allow him an opportunity to win Alex back. Oh, and how Robert wanted her again. He had been such a fool – young and foolish, a real macho idiot. He could admit that to himself now. Monique had helped him see that.
He had wanted Alex to be a typical haus frau, a stay at home wife and mother. That was what his mother had been. Of course, his mother had always done civic and charity work. She was a proverbial do-gooder. Back then, that was what he thought all men wanted, a wife that stayed at home and cared for the home and children. He never thought a man wanted a professional wife, one who shared his world. Looking back, he guessed it was a culture thing. He'd just recently realized that marriage in the world he lived in was very different than the world his parents shared.
Thank goodness for Monique Desmonde! Now, due to her influence, he saw things differently. He wanted Alex, just as she was. Actually, since he had gotten older, Robert had learned that his mother had given up her professional career for his father. She had been a well-known classical violinist. Of course, it hadn't been all bad. She was the first lady of Louisiana when his dad was governor, and now she was a ranking senator's wife. Still, Robert realized, his mother had made considerable sacrifices throughout the years, missed opportunities she could never regain.
As Robert opened the antique linen press, he felt a little maudlin. The china was the same. Alex was still using their wedding china. It was English Aynsley, the pattern, Capistrano. He hadn't liked the china when they were married. He had considered it too busy, garish in fact. Now he thought the colors were beautiful and the birds magnificent. What a purist he had been in those days! He'd wanted china that was white, with a platinum ring around the edge. He had possessed no imagination at all back then, only a preconceived notion of what a wife, a woman, should be.
Alex had fought him on the china decision, telling
him continually that if the Queen of England dined on Aynsley, so could they. He had acquiesced, but had never liked the china with its colorful birds and flowers. Now he touched the plates fondly, as if trying to atone for his former dislike. He loved the china. It was beautiful. It was so very Alex, beautifully designed, etched, and colored. He had just finished setting the table when Alex appeared in the doorway with the salad in a large cut glass bowl and a silver basket full of French bread.
"Robert, you did great! When did you learn to set the table? Good job … I'm impressed." Alex really was pleased. Before and during their marriage, Robert would never have helped her in the kitchen, much less have set the table. She looked around. The silver, china, wine and water goblets were perfectly placed on the table. She continued, "If you light the candles, I'll get the wine. It's chilling in the silver ice bucket in the kitchen."
Alex was thinking about how much Robert had changed, as she returned to the kitchen. He was a wonderful man. Kind, good, even tempered. A healer. Would she ever recover from the distrust and feelings of abandonment he had left her with? Maybe, just maybe, she could. She felt her heart beat pick up. Maybe they could get back together. She knew Robert was interested. She believed Robert loved her and always had – but he did have a lot of baggage. He had been an excellent surgeon prior to his injury earlier in the year, and while he seemed to be coping well with his limitations, Alex knew he was prone to depression. Of course, what man wouldn't be? He had been at the precipice of national fame prior to his injury and had pioneered several surgical techniques that were now written in the medical books. After all, it was quite possible that a brilliant surgical career had ended in a gun battle at the Endymion extravaganza during Mardi Gras.
Alex also remembered that Robert was a wonderful lover. She briefly allowed herself to think back to their married years and, as her heart quickened, she felt her legs weaken. Even when they weren't getting along, they had always had a consuming passion for each other. They had been great lovers. She felt a little nervous about the dinner. What was going to happen? What would she do if one thing led to another? Well, she made up her mind. She would just savor the day. Wasn't that the avant-garde thing to do? Besides, it'd been so long. There had only been one other man in her life since Robert, a physician in Texas. She and Mitch had never been intimate sexually. Why, it'd been over two years. No wonder! Alex's heart began to flutter.
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