The Awakening of Dr. Brown

He’s leaving, Phoenix thought, and was bewildered by regret so sharp it was almost pain. Seized by a panic that was totally alien to her, she unfolded her legs and rose from the couch in one strong, fluid motion, waving her bottle like a flag. “Have another?” And to her own ears her voice sounded too high and just off-key.

“Thanks, but I’d better be going.” His voice was off, too-his voice, his smile-everything seemed wrong.

“Stay and have dinner with me.” She hadn’t meant it to sound like an order, dammit. But she wouldn’t beg. Phoenix does not beg. She strolled toward him, making the movement of her body graceful, fluid, subtly inviting.

He watched her come, smiling in a way that for some reason made her throat ache. “It’s tempting, but…” His eyes revealed a sadness she didn’t understand. “It’s been a long day.”

“Well-” she drew herself together and halted, her arms folding across her body in a way that felt defensive and unfamiliar to her “-why don’t you give me a call or come by tomorrow? Maybe I’ll have some information for you by then.”

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes in that way he had, as if the light had suddenly become too bright. “Can’t tomorrow-my EMS ride-along night.”

Anger flared inside her like a Fourth of July star burst. “Fine,” she said silkily, looking away from him… dismissing him, “make it the next day, then. Or whenever.” He was of no consequence to her. She didn’t give a flying fig what he did or did not do.

He nodded and picked up his bottle, lifting it to her in a little salute. “Thanks for the beer.” He set it down again and turned and left her standing there.

Phoenix stood absolutely motionless until she could no longer hear even the squeaking and creaking of the elevator. Then she lifted her bottle to her lips and drank the last of her beer. It burned like acid going down. Burned so, it brought the tears to her eyes.

Even after he noticed the young Doc Brown had gone on his way, Doveman stayed at the piano in the studio. Working. Playin’ around. Waiting.

It was maybe fifteen, twenty minutes before he heard that old elevator creak and groan its way up…then back down again. “That good-lookin’ doctor left mighty early,” he said a few minutes later to the silent presence in the shadows. “I take that to mean things are not going well.” He cackled, secure in knowing he was the only person alive could get away with talking to Phoenix like that.

Ignoring the jab, she came to the piano and slid herself onto the bench beside him. “Hey, Doveman, what you doing here so late?” She sounded tired.

“Oh, you know… ‘Hard Sayin’ Goodbye.’ I been tryin’ out some new harmonies…thought maybe a minor key…” He played a few bars for her.

She listened a bit, then jerked her shoulders impatiently, like a child. “You ever think,” she said suddenly, “maybe it’s the whole premise of the song that’s wrong? I mean, ‘Hello is easy’? Sez who?”

Doveman played a minor chord and left it hanging. “Hello is easy, girl. You and the doc, you done said hello already, and it was so easy you didn’t even know you was doin’ it.” He played a few more chords, switching back and forth between major and minor. “It’s what comes after-what happens between hello and goodbye-that matters. Hard, easy, good, bad-makes all the difference in the world.”

She watched him for a while, not saying anything or singing, or humming along like she’d generally do, just watching his bent old fingers travel over the keys. When she finally spoke it was in a voice so low he had to stop playing to hear it.

“Doveman? He scares me.”

Doveman shrugged. “Stay away from him, then.”

She didn’t reply, and after a while he added, “But you aren’t going to do that, are you?”

He was laughing softly when she left him, his old heart light with hope and a whispered “Hallelujah” on his lips. The girl-child he loved like his own was hurtin’, and he didn’t think it odd at all that this should make him feel so glad. It was, after all, what he’d been praying for, oh, Lord, for so many years.

The lights were burning late that night in the master bedroom suite at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.

“If you’d call more often,” the president of the United States was saying, “maybe you wouldn’t give your stepmother and me a heart attack.” He broke the connection, cradled the telephone and settled back into a bank of pillows, while the First Lady came to snuggle against him.

“What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” Dixie asked in the Texas drawl she mostly saved for him alone these days.

Rhett ran a hand through his hair-a habit he’d tried hard to kick and seldom indulged in anymore, except in private family moments like this. “Not sure,” he said, frowning. Figuring out his son never had been easy for him; times like this it seemed well nigh impossible. “You know Ethan. He doesn’t say a whole lot. It’s hard to know what in the world is going on with him.”

“He called,” Dixie pointed out. “There must be something. Something big.”

Rhett nodded, still feeling bemused. “He wants me to pull some strings-see if I can get some information for him.”

“Wow. Must be something really big. If that boy is even willin’ to acknowledge he’s related to the most powerful man on the planet, much less take advantage of that fact…” Dixie was laughing when Rhett leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“Hush, woman. Wait’ll I tell you what he wants me to find out.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s about a woman.”

“Oh, my Lord. A woman.” Dixie’s eyes were wide. “You’re kiddin’ me.”

Rhett was solemnly shaking his head. “God’s truth. He wants me to find out everything I can about…are you ready? Phoenix.”

“Phoenix? You mean the singer?”

“That’s the one. Remind me to ask Mrs. Oxford tomorrow, will you? She’ll know how to go about it.”

“I’ll take care of it, if you want me to,” Dixie offered-as he’d hoped she would. Well, it was more or less her bailiwick, after all.

Rhett put out his arm and Dixie came into its curve with the sweet ease of long habit. “Didn’t we meet her?” he asked as he reached with the other arm to turn off the lights.

“Yeah, we did. In Dallas, remember? Mama and Daddy’s ‘Feed The World’ benefit. I thought she was…” she searched for the word “…dynamic.”

“Hmm. Not at all Ethan’s type, I wouldn’t think.”

“Hmm…well,” Dixie murmured, “I know a whole lotta people wouldn’t’ve thought I was your type, either.” She giggled, and he felt a surge of familiar delight as his mouth found hers.

Ethan had chosen to go back to the studio on Thursday. He told himself that. He told himself he had no reason not to, his evening was free, and, he thought, he might even get some more information to pass on to Frank and his committee. He told himself it was simply the sensible thing to do. That it was also the adult thing to do; staying away just because Phoenix had all but ordered him to come was the kind of childish game-playing he abhored.

He told himself those things over and over again, repeating them in his mind like a difficult formula he wanted to commit to memory. He said them also like a mantra, trying to block out the other reason-probably the main reason, possibly the only real reason-for being there. Because. He wanted to.

He’d wanted to see her again. She was in his mind, and he couldn’t get her out. She’d invaded his solitude like the noisy neighbors who’d lived downstairs during his student days, playing music at all hours of the day and night, never loud enough to warrant a complaint, just loud enough so that it was always there, eating away at his concentration, robbing him of the sleep he’d needed like an addict needs his drug. She tried to invade during his working hours, too, and the effort it took to hold her at bay left him feeling drained, every bit as exhausted as he’d