The Awakening of Dr. Brown

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