She left me when I was ten. I had a dozen nannies and babysitters in her absence, who all doted on me, but they also left. I had a string of failed relationships before I met Maureen, and maybe three years of happiness before I was swamped with work during my residency and our marriage started to suffer from neglect.
I never saw it coming when Maureen did leave me. Her words that day wouldn’t register. I heard the sounds they made, but it was like they didn’t penetrate my brain.
I’m leaving you, Drake… I can’t live with you any longer.
I don’t love you any more and I’m damn sure you don’t love me.
I don’t think you ever did.
You don’t know how to love anyone but yourself.
I spent the following month in a funk. Maureen moved out of our apartment and within a month, had moved in with Chris. She obtained a temporary restraining order to keep me from contacting her. I had to take time off from work because I couldn’t concentrate. I spent days in my sweats, drinking myself into a stupor each night in order to fall asleep. I came really close to losing my privileges at New York Presbyterian, but luckily, had a sympathetic boss.
Lara saved me from total breakdown, helping me to see that my marriage was fated to fall apart because Maureen and I were not sexually compatible. That I was a Dominant, and wouldn’t be happy unless I had someone sexually submissive as a partner.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to, because there was nothing I could do about the past. Now, my life was well-ordered, and everything was clear, delineated, predictable. I was in complete control of everything in my life. It was perfect.
Really.
CHAPTER FIVE
On Friday afternoon, once my last case of the day was done, I left the OR and spoke with the wife of my latest patient. After that, I dictated my notes on the procedure and looked over the cases on my slate for Monday. If I left right away, I'd get home just before seven, shower, eat a light meal, then I'd make my way to the fundraiser Ethan was hosting – one of the first Friday evenings I'd had off in … I didn't know how long.
A night off to mix and mingle with power elite in the philanthropic circles in Manhattan – maybe drum up some donations for my father's foundation. I'd leave the fundraiser, go home and change, and then we were scheduled to play at O’Riley’s at ten. A busy day and night as usual.
I was meeting Brent Jameson, a colleague of mine in Neurosurgery, for a drink after work to discuss an upcoming convention where we would both be presenting papers. We usually met at The Horn and Crown, a brew house a few blocks from the hospital and so I drove home for a quick shower and to change clothes before the fundraiser. I'd grab something to eat at the bar and then make my way to Ethan's for the event.
The Horn and Crown was a regular haunt for staff at New York Presbyterian and they had a bottle of my favorite brand of vodka – Russian, called Anisovaya. I picked up a taste for it from my father, a Sovietophile who loved all things Russian. A strident socialist, my father idealized the Soviet union under Gorbachev, and I suspect he was actually sad when it collapsed, the Berlin Wall falling. He'd made dire predictions about lawlessness there, and they'd come true.
We disagreed on most things political. As a teenager with a penchant for Libertarianism, I did not see eye to eye with him on the subject of Russia or politics in general. I was happy to see the Soviet union crumble. He mourned it, spending even more time on his old Russian car, a Lada, which was held together with duct tape and love.
The night the Berlin Wall fell, he poured us each a glass of Anisovaya and we shot them back. I was only thirteen but it seemed as if I graduated to being a man in my father's eyes on that night. The anise-flavored alcohol had been my favorite ever since.
When I arrived at the bar, Brent was already there. The bartender recognized me and was on top of things, pushing a shot of Anisovaya towards me.
I shot it back and sighed. While I enjoyed tequila shots now and then, and a beer or two on occasion, vodka was my drink. I ordered a martini and Brent and I caught up on things, discussing cases, and then our papers. Finally, the bartender pushed an iced martini towards me, a twist of lime as garnish just the way I liked it. I checked my cell and before I knew it, it was almost time to go to the fundraiser.
I glanced around the bar and as my gaze moved over the crowd, I caught sight of a couple of attractive young women standing at a table along the periphery of the bar next to a small dance floor. One of the two I recognized from NYP – a pretty blonde nursing student that I'd seen around during her surgical rotation.
The woman with her was brunette and on the petite side, with a nice rack. Our eyes met momentarily, and I smiled. She wasn’t my usual type, but there was something about her. An innocent look that was in direct contrast to the sexy little black dress she was wearing that barely held in her cleavage. I wondered if she was a nurse as well but I hadn't seen her around NYP.