Chapter Three
“Dr. Galloway,” Lara says, stepping over to me, a glass of champagne in hand.
“Ms. Weathers,” I reply. “Nice to see you again.”
“Always nice to see the man of the hour,” she says.
“Hardly,” I reply. “Just somebody trying to do something good.”
“And you're doing a lot of good,” she says. “Believe me.”
A string quartet plays on the stage, its music beautiful – although, somewhat boring. But it's the kind of music people seem to expect at gatherings of wealthy people. Personally, although I enjoy classical music, I'm more of a classic rock guy. Unfortunately, I don't see the string quartet breaking into some Pink Floyd or Credence Clearwater Revival anytime soon.
I thought – hoped, really – that after my little session with Lara upstairs, we'd be able to come down, get the ceremony over with and be done for the night. But apparently, cocktail hour stretched into cocktail couple of hours as people decided to mix and mingle a while longer.
Lara walks up to where I've been standing with a couple of guys I knew – sort of. I know that like me, they are vets. And also like me, they're doctors. I've seen them at a few medical conferences before, but it'd be a huge stretch to call them friends. Mostly, when I see them, we just talked about football or whatever sport happened to be in season at the time.
“Gentleman,” Lara says to the other two men. “Would you mind if I borrowed Dr. Galloway for a moment?”
Without waiting for a reply, Lara guides me away from them, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and hands it to me. We step out onto the balcony and into the chilly San Francisco night air. Lara shivers – not surprising, given that she's wearing a slinky, black spaghetti strap dress. Taking off my coat, I wrap it around her shoulders. She pulls it close and gives me a smile.
“Thank you,” she says. “Always a gentleman.”
I shrug. “I do my best.”
We stand at the railing and look out at the San Francisco Bay. A few others are standing out on the balcony, drinking and smoking as they chat, but nobody seems to be paying much attention to us. Lara and I try to keep our – relationship – to ourselves. From a professional standpoint, it just makes sense. She's the head of fundraising for a national veterans organization known as The Walking Wounded.
And the last thing she – or I – need is for anybody to get the idea that she's fucking me just to get me to cut a check.
The truth is, I would donate to the organization regardless of whether or not Lara and I were screwing. As a veteran – and a doctor – I believed in their mission and am willing to donate my time and money to ensure that it continues helping the people it serves.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I come from a very wealthy family and grew up privileged. But growing up in the shadow of my family's name wasn't easy. I know, poor little rich boy, right? I wanted to make my own name, so I went to medical school. But after graduating, rather than going the usual route, I enlisted in the Army.
I served in Afghanistan as a field medic for the first year and spent the rest of my enlistment patching up the wounded at the Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany. What I saw at Landstuhl was bad. But it didn't even compare with what I saw in my year in the actual shit. Not even close. I saw things as a field medic I wish I could un-see. Things I knew were going to haunt me until my dying day.
But through it all, I saw the valor and bravery of the soldiers over there. I saw them give their lives to save another more times than I could count. Hell, I'd had somebody save my ass on more than a few occasions. And because of that bravery – and the fact that I probably wouldn't be standing on that balcony right now – I feel like I have a debt to those veterans. One I can't possibly hope to ever repay.
So, no. I don't donate my time and money to the charity because I'm sleeping with Lara. I donate because I have the means and because it's the right thing to do. God knows, how terribly the VA system in this country fails our veterans – I'm just glad organizations like this exist to they can get the help they need. Help they deserve.
“Why are you so resistant to being recognized for all you do?” Lara asks me. “You're doing great works that help a lot of people, Eric.”
I shrug. “Because I don't do it for the recognition. You know that.”
“I know you don't,” she replies. “By the same token though, you shouldn't be afraid to look out into that audience and know that you helped a lot of people – and feel good about it. Eric, this organization might have folded a long time ago without your help. Both the time you put in, the pro-bono surgeries – and yeah, the checks you cut. It all helps more than you even know. More people than you can imagine. You should be proud of that.”
“Not saying I'm not, Lara,” I reply. “I just don't feel like I need to get all dressed up to make a little speech, accept some little wooden plaque, do a little song and dance, and let everybody tell me how great I am. I'm not into the ego stroking and you know that too. It's never been my scene.”
“It's actually a glass and silver statuette,” she says, a small smile playing across her lips. “It's really quite lovely.”
I chuckle and take a sip of my champagne. “All I’m saying is that I don't need the affection or adulation to do what I do.”
“I know you don't,” she replies. “Think of it as PR for our organization though. Maybe you don't need the ego stroking and adulation, but there are some people who want it more than life itself. Maybe seeing you standing up there accepting all that praise will inspire somebody else to dig a little deeper in the hopes that it'll be them up on that podium next year. Which would make it a big win for the organization.”
I nod and take another sip of champagne, looking out at the lights on the Golden Gate Bridge set against the darkened sky of the San Francisco Bay. San Diego is my home and I love it there, but I've always had an affinity for the Bay Area. There's just something about it – a vibrancy and energy that's hard to beat.
“If nothing else,” Lara said. “At least you get to spend a couple of days having mind-blowingly amazing sex.”
I tap my glass against hers and smile. “Which is about the only reason I agreed to attend this little dog and pony show.”
“Then let's call it a win for both of us.”
“Indeed.”
We share a moment of companionable silence, sipping our champagne, and soaking in the atmosphere. Somebody steps out onto the balcony for a smoke and the sound of the string quartet drifts out to us through the temporarily open door.
“You ever think about getting married?” Lara asks.
I turn to her, my expression curious. “No, not really,” I reply. “Why, have you?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes,” she says. “I think that one day I want to settle down with somebody. Maybe have a family. I don't know.”
I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this but I'm not thrilled with the direction it seems to be going. Lara and I share a connection – we're friends and our sexual chemistry is off the charts. But I never think about having any type of romantic relationship with her. That's just not who we've been. Not who we are. And I've always had the impression she likes it that way as much as I do.
She turns to me and her eyes grow wide for a moment before she breaks into a fit of hysterical laughter. Lara almost doubles over with laughter. I clear my throat and look around, but nobody is paying any attention to us. But when she looks at me, her laughter tapers off.
“Don't worry,” she says. “I'm not trying to rope you into a walk down the aisle. No offense, but you're not exactly marriage material.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” I ask, my tone a little sharper than I intended.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.”
I shrug. “You didn't offend me. I just don't know what you meant by that.”
She sighs. “I just mean that – look, you're a great guy, Eric,” she says. “You're a good man and deep down you've got a good heart.”
“Deep down?”
“Well – yeah,” she replies. “You hide it behind all of these huge, high walls, so nobody can ever really see it. You're always in command. You're the man in charge and you don't let people close. In some ways, you never left the military, Eric.”
In some ways, I guess what she's saying is true. I was a Captain during my Army days – used to having my orders followed. And I guess I sort of carry that mentality with me today. I have to. As a surgeon, if my orders aren't followed in the operating room, people die. It's my responsibility to see that doesn't happen.
But yeah, I guess that sort of officer's mentality might make some people see me as cold or aloof. Even if I wanted to change that part of my personality and mentality, I don't know if I can at this point. It's pretty well ingrained in me.
“It's more than that though,” Lara says.
A rueful chuckle escapes me. “There's more?”
She nods. “I don't know how to describe it really, but there's this darkness in you.”
“Darkness?”
“Well – yeah,” she says. “In a way. It's like there's this hole inside of you. I guess maybe it's because of your experience overseas. I can't imagine enduring what you did and it not leaving some sort of mark on you. God knows, I see it enough in the vets we work with.”
I take another sip of champagne and ponder what she's saying. I like to think I'm a pretty self-aware man. I know my strengths and my weaknesses. I know everything about myself there is to know.
Or at least, I thought I did.
I know I can be a bit cold at times. But I've always chalked it up to me not being the most social person on the planet. Never have been. I've always been more at ease on my own. Somebody who's comfortable enough in my own skin to not need to be around people.
Which made Lara's dissection of my personality – interesting.
“I almost feel like there's a piece of the puzzle inside of you missing,” she says. “And I know that I'm not the right person to help you find it. Just like you're not the right person to find what's missing in me. That's not what we are to each other, Eric. And there's nothing wrong with that. What we have is special and unique all on its own.”
I give her a small smile. “True. I enjoy what we have.”
Laying a hand on my cheek, she smiles. “As do I,” she says softly. “And there's no need to complicate it.”
After a moment, I nod. “You're right,” I say. “You're exactly right.”
And she is right. There isn't any need to complicate what we have. It's something we both enjoy, get something out of, and best of all, it's not bogged down with emotions neither of us want or need to deal with right now.
Even knowing all of that, I still can't help but feel a little bit stung by her words. It's ridiculous, but then, most emotions are. Which is why I try to avoid relationships that have emotional entanglements.
“Miss Weathers?”
We turn and find her assistant Adam in the doorway to the ballroom?
“Yes?” she asks.
“We're ready to begin.”
“Thank you, Adam,” she says.
He steps back into the ballroom, closing the doors softly behind him. Lara turns to me and smiles, straightens my bowtie and hands me back my jacket.
“Well,” she says. “Ready to go have your ego stroked?”
I give her a salacious little smile. “I'd rather have something else stroked.”
“Put on a good show up there for me,” she says, giving me a flirty smile of her own, “and we might be able to work something out later.”
“Well then, lead the way,” I say. “Play the music and I'll dance to it.”
She laughs as we walk back into the ballroom. All the while though, I can't help but think about the supposed darkness and missing puzzle pieces she thinks are inside of me.