He went to her studio late the next morning, just after Tony Blair left, and was totally startled by how Arabella looked. She was a woman of many faces, exotic, glamorous, childlike, a waif, one moment a beauty queen, and the next an elf. She opened the door to her studio wearing paint-splattered skintight jeans, high-top red Converse sneakers, and a white T-shirt, with an enormous ruby bracelet on one arm, and she was wearing the bindi again. Everything about her was a little crazy, but utterly fascinating to him. She showed him several portraits in progress, and some old ones she had done for herself. There were some beautiful horse portraits, and he thought the one of the prime minister extremely good. She was as talented as Mick Jagger had said.
“They're fantastic,” he said to her, “absolutely wonderful, Arabella.” She opened a bottle of champagne, she said to celebrate his first visit to her studio, the first of many, she hoped, as she toasted him. He drank two glasses with her, in spite of his aversion to champagne. He would have drunk poison for her, and then he suggested they go back to his place. He wanted to show her his treasures now too. He had some very important art, and an absolutely spectacular house that he loved and was very proud of. They found a taxi easily, and half an hour later, they were wandering through his house, as she screamed with excitement over the art she saw. He opened another bottle of champagne for her, but he drank vodka this time. He turned on the sound system, showed her the theater he had had built, he showed her everything, and by nine o'clock they were in his enormous bed, making mad, passionate love to each other. He had never had an experience like that with any woman, even on drugs, which he had experimented with lightly at one point, and never liked. Arabella herself was like a drug to him, and he felt as though he had gone to the moon and back, as they lay in his enormous bathtub together later, and she slid on top of him, and began riding him again. He moaned in exquisite agony as he came in her, for the fourth time that night, and he heard the magical sound of her laughter, as the impossible wood sprite he had discovered at Kensington Palace drove him to the edge of sanity and back. He didn't know what this was with her, love or madness, but whatever it was, he never wanted it to end.
Chapter 10
The following Friday night, Charles and Maxine managed another very grown-up dinner at La Grenouille. They both had lobster and an exquisite white truffle risotto that was almost like an aphrodisiac, it was so good. And once again, Maxine had enjoyed the meal, even more this time. She liked their intelligent, adult conversations, and he didn't seem quite as serious as he had before. He had a sense of humor after all, although he kept it in check. Nothing about Charles ever seemed out of control. He said he preferred everything in his life planned and in good order, moderate, predictable. It was the kind of life Maxine had always wanted, which had been impossible with Blake. And it wasn't totally feasible for her either, with three children and the unpredictable elements in their lives, and the kind of practice she had, where the unexpected happened regularly. But their personalities were a good fit. He was far closer to what she wanted than Blake had been, and she told herself that if Charles was less spontaneous, that was reassuring in some ways too. She knew what to expect of him. And he was a nice person, which appealed to her too.
They were in the cab on the way home, after their second dinner date at La Grenouille. He had promised Le Cirque next time, and maybe after that Daniel or Café Boulud, all his favorite haunts, which he wanted to share with her, when her cell phone rang, and she assumed it was one of the kids, looking for her. She was off call to Thelma Washington that weekend. Instead, it was her service trying to locate her for Dr. Washington, which Maxine knew meant it was something serious with one of her regular patients. That was the only time Thelma called her on weekends. Otherwise, she handled everything herself, except the situations she knew Maxine would want to be told about and participate in. Thelma's voice came on the line after the service put her through.
“Hi. What's up?” Maxine said quickly, and Charles thought it was one of her kids. He hoped it wasn't an emergency. They had had such a pleasant evening, he didn't want anything distressing to intrude. Maxine was listening carefully, frowning, with her eyes closed, and it didn't look good to him. “How many units of blood have you given her?” There was silence again as Maxine listened to the answer. “Can you get a cardiothoracic guy in right away? Try Jones… Shit… okay… I'll be right in.” She turned to Charles with a worried look. “I'm sorry. I hate to do this to you. One of my patients just came in, code blue. Can I hijack the cab to Columbia Presbyterian? I don't have time to go home and change. I can drop you off on the way.” Her mind was full of what Thelma had said to her. It was a fifteen-year-old girl she had been seeing for only a few months. She had attempted suicide, and was hovering near death. Maxine wanted to be there, to make whatever decisions she could. Charles looked instantly sobered, and said of course she could take the cab.
“Why don't I go with you? I can hang around and lend moral support if nothing else.” He could only guess how hard those cases were, and Maxine made a career of them. He couldn't imagine dealing with that every day, but he admired her for it. And medically, it was far more interesting than what he did, much more stressful, and more important in a way.
“I might be there all night. At least I hope I will.” The only reason she wouldn't be was if the patient died, which was a strong possibility right now.
“No problem. If I get tired of waiting I'll go home. Hell, I'm a physician too, this isn't news to me.” She smiled. She liked having that in common with him. It was a strong bond to share medical careers. They gave the driver the hospital's address uptown, and sped north as Maxine explained the situation to Charles. The girl had cut herself, slashed her wrists, and stabbed herself in the heart with a kitchen knife. She had done a hell of a job. And by sheer miracle, her mother had found her fast enough to make a difference. The paramedics had been on the scene in minutes. They had given her two units of blood so far, her heart had stopped twice on the way in, and they had gotten it going again. She was hovering near death, but still alive. This was her second attempt.
“Christ, they don't go at it halfway, do they? I always thought kids did it for attention and made kind of half-assed attempts.” There was nothing half-assed about this. They talked about it quietly on the way, and Maxine sprang into action the moment they walked in. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and high heels. She dumped her black evening coat, put a lab coat over her dress, found Thelma, and met with the ER team. She examined her patient, contacted the heart surgeon herself, and talked to the attending and the chief resident. Her patient's wrists were already sewn up, and the heart surgeon was there fifteen minutes later, and whisked the comatose girl into surgery, as Maxine comforted the parents. While she did, Charles and Thelma conferred quietly in the hallway.