*Liking someone is easy, loving them is hard, yet it is love we seek*
*
(Friday)
I wake up feeling woozy and distant. My eyes come into focus and I realize someone is standing next to me and it is not who I would expect.
"Sadri," I rasp. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on my way home from work you big dummy," she teases me. "Next time try ducking."
"How long have I been out?" I ask. I feel like I must have been out for weeks I'm so sore. I've been shot after all.
"Eddie, it is Friday evening. You've been out less than twenty-four hours," she smiles. I must look totally gob smacked because she laughs at me.
"It felt like so much longer," I groan. "Does anyone know what happened to me?"
"Nothing really," she answers, "but some detectives came by and asked a few questions."
"What do you know?" I inquire weakly.
"Well, someone shot you in the shoulder in a room at the Regis and a woman was involved," Sadri tells me. "Was it your dominatrix girlfriend?"
"Long story, but she wasn't my girlfriend," I respond.
"Since you aren't going to tell me anything I can use for office gossip I'm going to go," Sadri smiles. I give her a nod and she leaves with a look over her shoulder before the door shuts.
A little while later, I'm eating my first meal when a couple walks into the room and gives me the distinct impression I've done something wrong. I've lived a dubious enough existence to know the police when I see them.
"Mr. Duarte, we have a few questions for you, if you feel up to it," the younger man questions me.
He's maybe thirty but looks a little worn around the edges; maybe a drinking problem. His older compatriot seems bored with the whole affair.
"I wonder if you can relate to us what happened Thursday night?" he asks.
"It is not very clear. I was talking to Ms. Cook and the gun accidently went off," I lie. I'm not even sure why. I should send her to prison for a long, long time.
The guy stares at me.
"How do you know the gun accidently went off if your recollections aren't clear?" he points out.
"Nothing in our conversation leading up to that would make me believe that she meant to hurt me," I rehearse the lines I vaguely remember piecing together before I passed out.
"Why did she have her gun out?" he persists.
"I think she was rummaging in her purse," I evade. I know that is terribly lame, but as I said it was the plan I came up with while fending off shock.
"What is Ms. Cook to you?" he changes tact.
"We have engaged in a personal but non-sexual relationship," I answer.
"Is that why she was dressed the way she was when we first interviewed her?" He questions.
"Do you seriously ask to ask a grown man why he was in a room with a grown woman in lingerie?" I sigh. "We weren't sexual, but we were appreciative."
"Listen you," the second man finally speaks, "if you continue to hinder prosecution on this case we'll drag you in right now. Now answer the damn questions."
"I stand by my statements. The gun went off by accident; end of story," I state.
"Next time she'll put you in a pine box," the second man sneers. He's probably right.
The first detective hands me his card; Detective Linus Dirac. The second cop doesn't even bother. I lie back and try to get some more sleep but the doctors stop by and examine me. On the plus side all my vitals are good and I'm scheduled to be released Sunday. Crap, how often do people get shot around her that they have to toss you out on the street after only three days?
(Saturday)
I'm eating like a champ and I've even have a nice female intern come by and give me some attention; apparently getting shot is manly. It seems my supervisor; Mr. Chu went by my place (brave man) and got me a new set of clothes. My old shirt and undershirt are a total loss, my pants and shoes have blood on them, but my tie made it through unscathed.
There is a knock on the door and there stands Joyce Cook. I can't help myself.
"Please tell me you don't have a gun," I gulp. That earns me a pained smile.
"No, they don't' allow guns in hospitals," she replies.
"Come in, take a seat, and tell me what the hell happened after I passed out," I request.
"The man next door was a doctor and took care of you until the EMTs arrived. I spent the night with the police. I'm sorry about what happened. I'm surprised you aren't sending me away," Joyce whispers. "You could have ruined my career ... my entire life."
"Think nothing of it. You didn't deserve to go out that way," I wince at my own joke. "Of course had you killed me I'd have been really cross." Joyce gives a dry chuckle.
"What am I going to do with you?" she says as she strokes my hand.
"I think we have established we aren't doing anything with one another," I grin, "or do I have to be shot again?"
"That's not funny Eddie. I could have killed you," she cautions.
"Fine Joyce; no more joking; I was trying to help you and Gloria not be at one another's throats and I pressed you too hard and I'm sorry. I only want Gloria and I hope you can understand that," I reason with her. I have to believe I can fix this thing; I have my reasons.
"Eddie, I will never know how you care so deeply for her yet not see her for who she really is," Joyce assures me.
"No Joyce ..." I stop her.
She is smart enough to know this isn't an argument she is going to win today. Instead she squeezes my hand and turns and leaves. Part of me hopes that she's shot me and this is the end of it. Part of me fears that she thinks I've saved her life and she'd got to return the favor.
(Sunday)
I'm with the male nurse helping me dress and my bag ready to go when I notice someone standing at the doorway drinking me in. It is Gloria and she looks decidedly unhappy. The nurse leaves and it is only she and I.
"I need to get home," I tell her gingerly.
"I am your ride home," she tells me.
