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Excerpt from "Lies for Compassion". In which Claude and Fran take some much needed downtime with a friend, only to gt summoned back to duty.
“You should have seen his face. Priceless.”
“Leave it to my cousin to be too direct,” Fran said as she unfolded her napkin and daintily placed it on her lap. “How did he take it?”
“He was shocked. You’d think he never heard anyone say anything decent about him, ever.” Claude checked his phone, expecting to find a message from either one of his parents. ‘They’ll be a bit ticked that they won’t be able to talk with me or Fran on the phone tonight,’ he thought. Every week he could expect at least one of these calls from his family, just to ask about what he was up to. ‘I’ll make it up to them over the weekend when Fran and I drop by for lunch,’ he resolved as he unfolded his own napkin and looked at Fran again. “Was it wrong for her to say that?”
Fran shrugged. “Rett has very low self-esteem. He cannot always understand that people take an interest in his welfare. I think he’s been used and betrayed too many times for him to simply take a compliment for what it is.”
Claude bit the inside of his cheek as he let this all sink in. He was thankful that they had chosen a relatively quiet corner of the G-Clef cafe to wait for Torie. Since it was not quite seven in the evening, the dinnertime crowd was still conspicuously absent from the premises. In fact the band had yet to set up any guitars, drums or other instruments on the small dais located at one end of the room; the only items located on the platform were a high stool and a couple of microphone stands. The only other sounds were that of the rain still pattering on the rooftop, and of the kitchen staff going in and out of the backroom, occasionally yelling to each other in various languages.
“How do you get through to someone like Rett?” Claude asked after a while.
“The realization has to come from himself,” Fran said, reaching over the back of her chair to catch her raincoat before it fell to the floor. “Otherwise it’s not really going to take for the long-term.”
Claude winced. “How do you bring that about?”
“You lead him to it. Plant the suggestion and let him follow through. People train for years just to learn to do that---and they are called psychologists.”
“Not love doctors?” Claude asked teasingly.
Fran stuck out her tongue at him. “Careful, you’re living with one. So what’s the plan now for Rett, now that he wants out of the hill?”
“Nina is doing a search of her contacts, seeing who’d want to take him on even for menial work. I asked some of the other residents at my department too. Maybe we’ll have an answer by tomorrow,” Claude said. His gaze wandered to the still empty dais as he tried to imagine what sort of entertainment would play out there later in the evening. ‘Wonder if there will be a jamming session later,’ he thought.
Fran smiled, clearly having noticed where his eyes had wandered. “You really ought to try playing the guitar in public again.”
The young man laughed. “You really want me to inflict my music on the public?”
“No, I just am sure that if you weren’t a doctor or a biochemist, you could have gone someplace as a musician.” She leaned in more conspiratorially. “Besides it’s pretty cool when people think you’re some sort of rock star.”
Claude shrugged awkwardly. “I’m out of practice. I can’t pluck strings properly either when I have to cut my nails all the time.”
“A small price to pay, don’t you think?” Fran said, running her fingers over his, going down to the lines on his palm. “Tell you what, if you go up and play later, I’ll sing with you. Like we used to sometimes, back in med school.”
Before Claude could say anything to this, the cafe door clattered open, its knob nearly slamming into the wall. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” a sharply dressed woman greeted as she walked up. Her raven hair was styled in a pixie cut, giving a stark contrast to the bright yellow raincoat she wore over her crisp maroon suit. Though she was smiling, it hardly seemed to reach her blue-gray eyes.
“No, not all that long. We were just settling in,” Fran said, standing up to give the newcomer a hug. “How’s life been, Torie?”
“Good, just peachy,” Torie replied, carefully unwinding the white scarf she wore around her neck before it could tangle in Fran’s earrings.
“Right,” Fran said, twisting the end of her napkin.
Torie shook her head and sighed as she placed her navy blue purse on the table. “Well it could be better, especially if Peter would just stop acting like a less evolved being.”
“At least you aren’t calling him a prion,” Claude pointed out mirthfully. In his book there was nothing worse than calling them a brain-destroying, otherwise useless chain of protein
“I reserve that title only for my exes and rivals,” Torie said. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, where he is concerned.”
“Why, how has he been lately?” Fran asked.
“He’s been rather cranky, and he told me, rather rudely mind you, to get out of his face,” Torie said with a dramatic shrug. “I mean I’d understand it if he told me to get out of Addie’s face, but no, he told me to get out of his face.”
“That was the problem; you crossed his girlfriend. It’s only natural that he’d come to her defense. You know how men can be,” Fran said, elbowing Claude discreetly.
The raven haired girl sat up straight. “I’m his best friend.”
“We all know that. Don’t worry, you know whose side I’m on,” Fran said reassuringly.
Torie sighed deeply and toyed with the ends of her scarf. “Thanks for the moral support.”
It was all that Claude could do to listen patiently to this discussion about Peter’s rather high-maintenance and overly dramatic girlfriend of two years. “So exactly what happened? You and Addie had some sort of fight?” he asked at last.
“I confronted her about what she did to the model ship I bought for Peter as a housewarming present. Imagine that, five thousand bucks down the drain since she couldn’t take the sight of it.”
Claude shook his head at the memory. Several months ago, he and Fran had accompanied Torie to the flea market, where they’d come across an exquisitely detailed scale model of the HMS Victory. ‘As beautiful as a sailing warship was ever made!’ the seller had said. Even Claude, who was no fan of sailing ships, could not contest this opinion: every miniature spar and sail was perfectly executed, and no detail, even the bells and anchors on deck, was shoddily done. Torie had frantically placed bid after bid on the ship, matching an old gentleman peso by peso just to acquire this coveted antique. Eventually Torie had been able to bring this model ship over to Peter’s apartment, only to have Addie destroy it at the first opportunity she had. ‘We all know that Peter would know better than to just knock a model ship off the table,’ Claude mused as he signalled to a waiter to bring over some menus.
Torie pursed her lips as she surveyed the food selections. “I still can’t shake it. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” she asked, directing her question this time to Fran.
“Well not exactly, at least where Peter himself is concerned. Give him some time to get over it,” Fran replied.
“I’ve only known Peter for three years now, but I don’t think he’s the sort to throw away a good friendship over some drama like this,” Claude chimed in.
Torie shook her head. “As far as he is concerned, I am simply the daughter of his former commandant back when he was a cadet.”
Claude caught sight of Fran hiding her knowing grin behind her glass of water. “Famous last words,” he mouthed before taking a look at the menu.
Torie raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the couple. “What?”
“Nothing,” Claude said cheerily. It would not do good now to heighten the tension especially between two such volatile personalities. Still, the matter refused to leave his mind, even when his two companions had steered the conversation on to other topics. In fact he hardly dared to comment much on anything, at least till dessert was finally served.
By this time, Torie was in better spirits. “Fran, when we were in college, you were the last person I expected to go into Pediatrics,” she said as she pulled a cherry off the top of a large strawberry and chocolate ice cream parfait. “You were so impatient!”
“Yeah, the patient one here is actually Claude,” Fran said, scooping up a forkful of blueberry and chocolate cheesecake. She gave Claude an affectionate smile before speaking again. “I had to borrow some of his tolerance before growing my own.”
“I bet you draw on your memories of being a small kid,” Torie commented, waving her long teaspoon before sticking it into the parfait.
Fran shook her head. “The first memory I have is of frying doughnuts and my younger brothers stealing everything I cooked.”
“Why, that’s a good memory to draw from,” the older woman said jovially.
Fran put down her fork. “I was already seven years old then. Everything before that moment is literally a complete blank for me.”
Torie’s eyes widened. “Don’t mess with me, Fran. Please.”
“She’s not joking,” Claude said. It was a secret of Fran’s that he himself would not have known had she not chosen to reveal it to him while they were still students in their third year at medical school. and discussing neurology and the possible causes of memory loss. “I’ve asked her and she just doesn’t have any stories to tell.”
“How does anyone just not remember even just a thing or two from their early childhood?” Torie demanded. “I mean, you’re a doctor now so your memory should be perfectly sound.”
“I can’t think of a good explanation for it,” Fran said, driving her fork into the slice of cheesecake. “I’ve asked and all that Mom and Dad tell me is that I was a very cute and good baby.”
“You don’t have pictures or videos?” Torie pressed on.
“Mom said she lost almost all my baby pictures when our family moved to another house. I was seven when we moved, that I remember,” Fran replied.
“One of these days, Alexis, I’m finding one of those pictures and playing a prank right back on you,” Claude said solemnly.
Fran elbowed him lightly. “Don’t call me by my second name unless you also want me to call you ‘Alejandro’ in public.”
Torie made a disgusted face. “Save the verbal foreplay for the bedroom, you two!”
As Fran tried to stifle her giggles, Claude felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. “Hello Paul. To what do we owe this call to?” he greeted.
“Claude! Where are you now?” his fellow surgeon greeted frantically.
“At the G-Clef cafe. Fran and I are with a friend.” Even as he spoke, the young man could already feel a pit of dread forming in his stomach. He could almost guess what his friend was calling him up about. “I have to go back to the hospital, yes?”
“Pronto. Bring Fran with you.”
Claude’s brow furrowed as he caught Fran’s confused stare. “Wait, this isn’t about a surgery?”
On the other end of the line, Paul took a deep breath as if still trying to calm himself down. “We have to go to Trovatore Hill.”
“You should have seen his face. Priceless.”
“Leave it to my cousin to be too direct,” Fran said as she unfolded her napkin and daintily placed it on her lap. “How did he take it?”
“He was shocked. You’d think he never heard anyone say anything decent about him, ever.” Claude checked his phone, expecting to find a message from either one of his parents. ‘They’ll be a bit ticked that they won’t be able to talk with me or Fran on the phone tonight,’ he thought. Every week he could expect at least one of these calls from his family, just to ask about what he was up to. ‘I’ll make it up to them over the weekend when Fran and I drop by for lunch,’ he resolved as he unfolded his own napkin and looked at Fran again. “Was it wrong for her to say that?”
Fran shrugged. “Rett has very low self-esteem. He cannot always understand that people take an interest in his welfare. I think he’s been used and betrayed too many times for him to simply take a compliment for what it is.”
Claude bit the inside of his cheek as he let this all sink in. He was thankful that they had chosen a relatively quiet corner of the G-Clef cafe to wait for Torie. Since it was not quite seven in the evening, the dinnertime crowd was still conspicuously absent from the premises. In fact the band had yet to set up any guitars, drums or other instruments on the small dais located at one end of the room; the only items located on the platform were a high stool and a couple of microphone stands. The only other sounds were that of the rain still pattering on the rooftop, and of the kitchen staff going in and out of the backroom, occasionally yelling to each other in various languages.
“How do you get through to someone like Rett?” Claude asked after a while.
“The realization has to come from himself,” Fran said, reaching over the back of her chair to catch her raincoat before it fell to the floor. “Otherwise it’s not really going to take for the long-term.”
Claude winced. “How do you bring that about?”
“You lead him to it. Plant the suggestion and let him follow through. People train for years just to learn to do that---and they are called psychologists.”
“Not love doctors?” Claude asked teasingly.
Fran stuck out her tongue at him. “Careful, you’re living with one. So what’s the plan now for Rett, now that he wants out of the hill?”
“Nina is doing a search of her contacts, seeing who’d want to take him on even for menial work. I asked some of the other residents at my department too. Maybe we’ll have an answer by tomorrow,” Claude said. His gaze wandered to the still empty dais as he tried to imagine what sort of entertainment would play out there later in the evening. ‘Wonder if there will be a jamming session later,’ he thought.
Fran smiled, clearly having noticed where his eyes had wandered. “You really ought to try playing the guitar in public again.”
The young man laughed. “You really want me to inflict my music on the public?”
“No, I just am sure that if you weren’t a doctor or a biochemist, you could have gone someplace as a musician.” She leaned in more conspiratorially. “Besides it’s pretty cool when people think you’re some sort of rock star.”
Claude shrugged awkwardly. “I’m out of practice. I can’t pluck strings properly either when I have to cut my nails all the time.”
“A small price to pay, don’t you think?” Fran said, running her fingers over his, going down to the lines on his palm. “Tell you what, if you go up and play later, I’ll sing with you. Like we used to sometimes, back in med school.”
Before Claude could say anything to this, the cafe door clattered open, its knob nearly slamming into the wall. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” a sharply dressed woman greeted as she walked up. Her raven hair was styled in a pixie cut, giving a stark contrast to the bright yellow raincoat she wore over her crisp maroon suit. Though she was smiling, it hardly seemed to reach her blue-gray eyes.
“No, not all that long. We were just settling in,” Fran said, standing up to give the newcomer a hug. “How’s life been, Torie?”
“Good, just peachy,” Torie replied, carefully unwinding the white scarf she wore around her neck before it could tangle in Fran’s earrings.
“Right,” Fran said, twisting the end of her napkin.
Torie shook her head and sighed as she placed her navy blue purse on the table. “Well it could be better, especially if Peter would just stop acting like a less evolved being.”
“At least you aren’t calling him a prion,” Claude pointed out mirthfully. In his book there was nothing worse than calling them a brain-destroying, otherwise useless chain of protein
“I reserve that title only for my exes and rivals,” Torie said. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, where he is concerned.”
“Why, how has he been lately?” Fran asked.
“He’s been rather cranky, and he told me, rather rudely mind you, to get out of his face,” Torie said with a dramatic shrug. “I mean I’d understand it if he told me to get out of Addie’s face, but no, he told me to get out of his face.”
“That was the problem; you crossed his girlfriend. It’s only natural that he’d come to her defense. You know how men can be,” Fran said, elbowing Claude discreetly.
The raven haired girl sat up straight. “I’m his best friend.”
“We all know that. Don’t worry, you know whose side I’m on,” Fran said reassuringly.
Torie sighed deeply and toyed with the ends of her scarf. “Thanks for the moral support.”
It was all that Claude could do to listen patiently to this discussion about Peter’s rather high-maintenance and overly dramatic girlfriend of two years. “So exactly what happened? You and Addie had some sort of fight?” he asked at last.
“I confronted her about what she did to the model ship I bought for Peter as a housewarming present. Imagine that, five thousand bucks down the drain since she couldn’t take the sight of it.”
Claude shook his head at the memory. Several months ago, he and Fran had accompanied Torie to the flea market, where they’d come across an exquisitely detailed scale model of the HMS Victory. ‘As beautiful as a sailing warship was ever made!’ the seller had said. Even Claude, who was no fan of sailing ships, could not contest this opinion: every miniature spar and sail was perfectly executed, and no detail, even the bells and anchors on deck, was shoddily done. Torie had frantically placed bid after bid on the ship, matching an old gentleman peso by peso just to acquire this coveted antique. Eventually Torie had been able to bring this model ship over to Peter’s apartment, only to have Addie destroy it at the first opportunity she had. ‘We all know that Peter would know better than to just knock a model ship off the table,’ Claude mused as he signalled to a waiter to bring over some menus.
Torie pursed her lips as she surveyed the food selections. “I still can’t shake it. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” she asked, directing her question this time to Fran.
“Well not exactly, at least where Peter himself is concerned. Give him some time to get over it,” Fran replied.
“I’ve only known Peter for three years now, but I don’t think he’s the sort to throw away a good friendship over some drama like this,” Claude chimed in.
Torie shook her head. “As far as he is concerned, I am simply the daughter of his former commandant back when he was a cadet.”
Claude caught sight of Fran hiding her knowing grin behind her glass of water. “Famous last words,” he mouthed before taking a look at the menu.
Torie raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the couple. “What?”
“Nothing,” Claude said cheerily. It would not do good now to heighten the tension especially between two such volatile personalities. Still, the matter refused to leave his mind, even when his two companions had steered the conversation on to other topics. In fact he hardly dared to comment much on anything, at least till dessert was finally served.
By this time, Torie was in better spirits. “Fran, when we were in college, you were the last person I expected to go into Pediatrics,” she said as she pulled a cherry off the top of a large strawberry and chocolate ice cream parfait. “You were so impatient!”
“Yeah, the patient one here is actually Claude,” Fran said, scooping up a forkful of blueberry and chocolate cheesecake. She gave Claude an affectionate smile before speaking again. “I had to borrow some of his tolerance before growing my own.”
“I bet you draw on your memories of being a small kid,” Torie commented, waving her long teaspoon before sticking it into the parfait.
Fran shook her head. “The first memory I have is of frying doughnuts and my younger brothers stealing everything I cooked.”
“Why, that’s a good memory to draw from,” the older woman said jovially.
Fran put down her fork. “I was already seven years old then. Everything before that moment is literally a complete blank for me.”
Torie’s eyes widened. “Don’t mess with me, Fran. Please.”
“She’s not joking,” Claude said. It was a secret of Fran’s that he himself would not have known had she not chosen to reveal it to him while they were still students in their third year at medical school. and discussing neurology and the possible causes of memory loss. “I’ve asked her and she just doesn’t have any stories to tell.”
“How does anyone just not remember even just a thing or two from their early childhood?” Torie demanded. “I mean, you’re a doctor now so your memory should be perfectly sound.”
“I can’t think of a good explanation for it,” Fran said, driving her fork into the slice of cheesecake. “I’ve asked and all that Mom and Dad tell me is that I was a very cute and good baby.”
“You don’t have pictures or videos?” Torie pressed on.
“Mom said she lost almost all my baby pictures when our family moved to another house. I was seven when we moved, that I remember,” Fran replied.
“One of these days, Alexis, I’m finding one of those pictures and playing a prank right back on you,” Claude said solemnly.
Fran elbowed him lightly. “Don’t call me by my second name unless you also want me to call you ‘Alejandro’ in public.”
Torie made a disgusted face. “Save the verbal foreplay for the bedroom, you two!”
As Fran tried to stifle her giggles, Claude felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. “Hello Paul. To what do we owe this call to?” he greeted.
“Claude! Where are you now?” his fellow surgeon greeted frantically.
“At the G-Clef cafe. Fran and I are with a friend.” Even as he spoke, the young man could already feel a pit of dread forming in his stomach. He could almost guess what his friend was calling him up about. “I have to go back to the hospital, yes?”
“Pronto. Bring Fran with you.”
Claude’s brow furrowed as he caught Fran’s confused stare. “Wait, this isn’t about a surgery?”
On the other end of the line, Paul took a deep breath as if still trying to calm himself down. “We have to go to Trovatore Hill.”