Blue Bloods

Jesse looked across the emergency room just in time to see a ragamuffin figure slip in through the sliding glass doors. The woman wore slightly tattered sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt with the hood up, and mirror shades. Jesse’s first impulse was to go take the woman in hand. If she was a victim, she needed help and encouragement. If she was unstable, she needed guidance. If she was dangerous, she needed to be watched.

Jesse took herself to task. This wasn’t her classroom, where she had to maintain order in the face of recalcitrant teen chaos. This wasn’t the weekend program where she introduced troubled teens to wildlife. This was the hospital emergency room, and her job was to drive the ambulance. Still, if the woman needed help…

Then the unknown woman turned, and Jesse’s tension drained away to be replaced by a mix of humor and exasperation. The broad yellow letters spelling out the word ‘POLICE’ across the back of the sweatshirt told her who had just arrived for the party.

“Hey, Drew!”

Drew’s head swiveled around like it was on rusty bearings. She zeroed in on Jesse, stood motionless for a few moments, then trudged toward the door to the break room where Steve still sat watching the television and making snarky remarks. Jesse waited patiently until Drew made it to normal conversational distance, and then shouted to her again.

“So, Drew, you hung over or something?”

Drew winced, her glasses falling askew when she did. One hand moved slowly up to rub a knuckle against her temple. When she replied, her voice was hoarse, like she’d been screaming. “Yeah. Something like that. Migraine. Only without the drinking.”

“You really know how to get decked out for a party, don’t you?” Jesse said in a more normal tone. “I mean, I normally expect to be wearing filthy police sweats out of the trunk of the cruiser after I’ve gotten drunk and lost my clothes.”

“Not funny, Jesse.”

“Yeah, well. Neither is coming to the party dressed like a bag lady.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah.” Jesse wrinkled her nose. “You haven’t washed those clothes in how long?”

“I wore ‘em home from work yesterday.”

“Did you shower?”

Drew’s voice slurred a little. “I knew I forgot something.”

Jesse reached up, real concern overwhelming her irritation. “Oh, jeez. Are you sober? We weren’t really going to be drinking heavy tonight, you know.”

Drew worked her mouth. When she wiped it on her sleeve, Jesse could see blood mixed with the spit before it all soaked into the fabric. “Yeah. I kinda figured partying on the roof meant we were gonna be making it a near-beer and cola night.”

“Drew. What’s wrong?”

Drew’s voice was bitter, self-recriminating. “I nearly got fired, ok? I’m on indefinite administrative leave.” She stopped, the rest of her news dragging its way out of her. “At least until I finish the stupid anger management course.”

Jesse’s concern spiked, but she kept her voice steady. “Are you going to be ok? Do you need some money or a place to stay?”

Drew’s laugh was harsh. “You think I can’t make the rent on that little rat hole I live in? Nah. Thanks, Jess, but I’ll be ok for at least a few months. If I can’t play nice for a week given two months to try, maybe I’m not cut out to be a cop.”

Jesse knew how long her friend had studied, how hard she’d worked. Hearing her cut herself down like this was just too much. “Do you want to ditch the party tonight and go our drink on?”

“Nah.”

“We could get dressed up for reals and get our crazy party girl on down on Delaware Ave…”

Drew’s growing smirk vanished suddenly in a wave of self-loathing and embarrassment. “Uh. No. I’m not wearing these ‘cause they’re the cleanest thing I’ve got.”

“Huh?”

“Look, I’m not really in any kind of shape to show any skin, ok?”

Jesse’s concern spiked again. “Drew? What the heck happened?”

“I got a little beat up, ok?”

“YOU got beat up?”

Drew had the grace to look abashed. “Look, I’m really not in the mood to talk about it. I just wanted to hang with you guys and chill, ok?”

“You’re at least going to have to take the sunglasses off.”

“I wasn’t kidding about the migraine.”

Jesse put an arm around Drew’s shoulders and pulled her over to the break room. “Let’s get you some painkillers and a quiet place to sit then.”

***

Grace lowered the bow from her cello, her gaze downward, unfocused, as it had been for the entire performance. The moment her bow touched the floor, the applause began. It thundered through the room, echoing through the near-perfect acoustics. Long habit forced a smile onto Grace’s face, forced a polite bow to the audience, forced a longer bow when the applause continued.

She didn’t really hear any of it. Part of her recorded it for later reference, as always, but most of her just tried not to wince. In her mind, she heard the performance again from beginning to end. She almost missed that note again, fumbled her timing, and scrambled through the rest of the performance, desperately trying to complete the piece without breaking down completely.

After her second bow and a simple “Thank you”, she left the stage. Her manager, Phil, waited for her.

“Grace! Where are you going?”

“I’m heading home.”

Phil’s voice sounded like she’d suggested dancing nude on the street. Check that, he probably thought that was a good promotional gimmick. “Whoa! Grace! You need to get out there for an encore. This is your big homecoming concert!”

“I’m done, Phil. I’m heading back to the States. Just set it up, ok?”

Phil’s voice took on the wheedling tone she’d come to hate. “Grace, sweetie, we’ve got six more concerts booked!”

She ought to put more disbelief into her voice, but long habit controlled it, kept her voice dull and even. “Since when?”

“Since halfway through your performance. You were perfect, baby!”

“No, Phil. I wasn’t. I don’t think you can comprehend how far from perfect I was.”

“Look, I’ve seen artists get down like this before. You’re just nervous. Last time you were here, you were property of the state. Now you’re in the driver’s seat, Grace! You can write your own ticket!”

“If I’m in the driver’s seat, I’m driving me home.”

“I’m telling you, Grace, you just can’t do that!”

Grace finally raised her weary gaze to meet Phil’s overexcited one. What she saw there would have terrified her as a girl. Now, after years of dealing with worse than Phil, it just made her tired. “OK, Phil. But no more tonight. I need a break; I think I might have strained something.”

Now Phil oozed solicitousness, greasy in her ears. “Oh, sure, Grace. You need to keep yourself healthy, or you won’t be able to finish the tour. Let me take care of things, and everything will be fine.”

Grace forced another professional smile. Getting out of Hong Kong was near impossible last time, but she’d done it. This time she had a Visa, a bank account, and a lifetime’s experience. How hard could it be?