The Awakening of Dr. Brown

very tense. There was no more mingling with crowds, no more foolish excursions into dangerous but fascinating parts of the city-which I’m sure made my parents much happier. The bike went to some kids’ charity. Since then-for the last seven years-if I want to go anywhere, I’m driven there in a car with tinted windows. My roommates are Secret Service agents-great people, and I do trust them with my life, but-for some reason they are physically incapable of smiling.”

The last was delivered with a smile of his own-wry, but real. He’d seemed determined to lighten his mood and tone with that cataloging of his grievances, Phoenix noticed, as if he felt ashamed for complaining. Something stirred within her, a strange unrest she did not, for a moment, recognize as anger because it was on someone else’s behalf rather than her own. What was this? Empathy? Highly unlikely; Phoenix had not gotten where she was by getting bogged down in other people’s troubles.

She was silent, distracted, her mind awhirl as she waited for Ethan to open the restaurant’s gaudy red-and-gold door for her. It didn’t occur to her then that perhaps the unfamiliar feelings of empathy were Joanna’s.

Later, back in the brown SUV, steeped in the warm peanuty smells wafting from the two large bags packed full of white cardboard cartons tucked in around her feet, the confused, disoriented feeling persisted. Like getting off of a merry-go-round and finding yourself on the opposite side from where you got on. Suddenly the world seemed different.

“Tell me something,” she said, when Ethan had the car started and everything seemed to be buckled in, lighted up and ready to go. “What did you want…before all this happened, before you got famous? What kind of life did you see yourself having?” The words felt scratchy and unfamiliar in her throat; it wasn’t the kind of question Phoenix would normally think to ask of anyone.

“What kind of life did I see myself having?” He repeated it with a surprised chuckle. Then he took his time answering, and when he did speak, there were no traces of the laughter. “I saw myself opening up my medical practice in a little town straight out of Norman Rockwell, some little town that really needed a doctor, most likely somewhere in Iowa. I’d have a wife and some kids and a modest house, and I’d spend my life helping people feel better.”

“And now?” And why was there an ache in her throat, and a lump the size of Kansas? She looked over at him and saw him shrug as he put the car in gear.

“That hasn’t changed.” He glanced at her, his eyes quiet and dark. Shaman’s eyes. “A wife and kids…helping people. What else is there?”

What else is there? The question screamed like a Klaxon in her mind, trying desperately to drown the timid little voice she didn’t want to hear. The voice she hated, never ever wanted to acknowledge. The voice that could not possibly exist inside her. Not Phoenix.

But it did exist, and she heard it anyway-the voice of the little girl no one thought to invite to the party. What about me? What about me?

Fear-and hatred-of her own vulnerability made her cruel. Where do you fit in his sweet little scenario? she mocked herself? The answer is, stupid-you don’t. No part for you in that play, no way Jose. A wife? Kiddies? Phoenix? Who are you kidding?

She was astonished when the voice argued, with surprising tenacity for one so timid: Why not? Others have done it-Cher, Madonna, Streisand-why not Phoenix?

The brown sport-utility vehicle rolled through quiet streets lined with old trees and old row houses made of brick and trimmed with curlicues of wrought iron. Behind iron window guards, yellow light cast welcoming beacons in the darkness. People sat on cement steps, talking or making out in the warm, humid night. Somewhere a dog barked…then another. A moment later she heard it, too-the distant wail of a siren. And in spite of the heat, she shivered.

Why not Phoenix? The answer came as it always did, in the faintest of whispers. She shrank back against the seat and tried to block it out, but of course she could hear it anyway-the uncompromising judgment, merciless…final: unworthy. Unworthy.

Ethan noticed Phoenix becoming more and more withdrawn as they drove through the quiet streets, coming closer and closer to his place, and he thought again of sea anemones. It crossed his mind that perhaps she suspected he was taking her somewhere else, some place she didn’t want to go, and that she was preparing herself, armoring herself against an anticipated assault on her emotions. But only briefly. He was too busy shoring up his own defenses in readiness for the reckoning that surely lay ahead of him.

The necessity for doing such a thing made him resentful; knowing he was completely in the wrong made him self-righteous. Full awareness of all that, understanding the workings of his own psyche, made him tense and cross. He argued with himself. True, he was a grown man, he had no business being so inconsiderate and selfish. But-he was a grown man, and if he wanted to spend an evening in pleasant intimacy with a beautiful woman in the privacy of his own home, he had a right to do so, didn’t he? Of course he did. But…

Street parking was hard to come by in Ethan’s neighborhood, since most of the row houses lacked either garages or driveways. For security purposes, however, the Service had designated and the city had so marked the area in front of Ethan’s building as a strictly enforced tow-away No Parking zone. He pulled the SUV into the empty space, stopped and turned off the motor.

“This is it,” he said. “I live on the second floor. Tom and Carl occupy the first. Third floor’s empty.”

He got out of the car and went around to help Phoenix with the food. He had the door open and was leaning over to reach for a bag when a big brown hand closed on the window frame. A deep voice snapped in a quiet Southern accent, “Watch your head.”

Phoenix’s eyes met Ethan’s, then slid past him and upward. “Aye aye, sir,” she murmured cheekily, husky with laughter.

As Ethan moved back to make room for her to get out of the car, he glanced at the Secret Service agent. He wasn’t expecting to see amusement in Tom Applegate’s impassive face, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Ah…about the car-” he began.

“Carl called.” Casting a quick look in all directions, the agent slammed the SUV’s door, then, without actually touching them, managed to herd both Ethan and Phoenix across the sidewalk and up the steps. “He’s out looking for you now.”

“Ah. Look, I’m sorry,” Ethan said, and meant it even though his voice probably didn’t sound like it. Once everyone was safe inside the vestibule, he turned to the agent and added in an undertone, “Please tell me you didn’t call my dad.”

Dead serious, Applegate replied, “No, sir, not yet. I was gonna give you another fifteen minutes.” Behind him, Phoenix smothered laughter with her hand.

“The car belongs to her sound man,” Ethan said. “Somebody’ll have to see it gets back to him. And uh…she’ll be needing a ride home…eventually.” He coughed, annoyed with himself for the twinges of embarrassment. “She, uh…doesn’t drive.”

“Sir, let us worry about the logistics.” Applegate was securing the front door.

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” Gathering up the shreds of his pride, Ethan touched Phoenix’s elbow and they started up the stairs. After a few steps, he paused and looked back at the Secret Service agent, who was now muttering to his wrist. “Listen, shall I-”

“Just knock on my door when you’re ready.”

“Uh-huh. Well…hey, listen, would you care for some Chinese? We’ve got plenty.”

“No thank you, I’ve already eaten. You have a good evening, sir.”

Good evening? As they continued on up the stairs, Phoenix looked over at him and mouthed the word. Her eyes were shimmering with laughter…and maybe something else.

“I believe he thinks we’re settling in for the night,” Ethan said dryly. He was beyond being humiliated by this sort of thing.

“Hmm,” she murmured, “I can see why this would drive you crazy.”

“Well, I look at it this way-it’s only for another year and a half.”

“A year and a half? What happens then?”

They’d reached the second-floor landing. Ethan shifted the sack he was carrying and paused with his hand on his apartment doorknob. “My father will no longer be president,” he said softly. “Nobody kidnaps the children of ex- presidents.” He turned the knob and pushed open the door, reaching for the light switch. He turned on the light,