I'm Only Sad In A Natural Way
I've been standing outside the heavy wooden door to his place for some time now. I haven't knocked for two reasons: a) I'm feeling too intimidated by him to get it off my chest, and b) I hear his stereo playing "the Paris Match" and him playing his piano along with it, and it's so beautiful, I feel like I'd be breaking a spell if I interrupted it.
Then I hear him singing.
"I'm only sad in a natural way
And I enjoy sometimes feeling this way
The gift you gave is desire
The match that started my fire"
His voice joins Tracey Thorn's and it's so sweet it's like butterscotch. It's heart-breaking.
I wait until the song's over and gently knock on the door. I hear him yell, "Just a sec!" He doesn't sound annoyed, at least that's something.
He opens the door and quirks an eyebrow in my direction. "What are you doing here?" He looks puzzled rather than pissed off, placing emphasis on "you", as if he expected someone else. Maybe Wilson?
"I was just in the neighborhood, checking on a depressed patient and wondered if you wanted some company." Total bullshit. None of my patients lives anywhere near here. He gives me the fishy eye. I'm a good psychiatrist but a crap liar and I think he knows I just think he's damn attractive. "You play really well."
He smiles slightly. "Your timing is very interesting. I was actually considering calling an escort." Is he kidding or trying to shock me or is he serious?
"You wouldn't have to pay me." I do not believe I just said that. I slap my forehead. His azure eyes get even wider than usual at this.
He grins devilishly, leans against the door frame and twirls his cane around in an almost cartoony attitude. "Oh, is that so?" He hooks the cane handle around my arm and tugs me close.
His stubble feels tickly, and his mouth tastes very strongly of single malt. It occurs to me he might be drunk.
I don't care.