Date: Mon, 29 Aug 2005 06:38:51 +0000
From: Jeff STL <jeffstl@hotmail.com>
Subject: Office Fantasy / Chapter 7

The usual disclaimers...blah blah blah.

This story is totally fictional.  And since it's my "world" and my
"creation", I'm taking editorial license on a couple of points:  namely,
Jesse's kids.  Someone suggested that the impending divorce could lead to
other things with them, things I am neither fully cognizant of the effects,
nor do I really want to explore those areas.  Too close to home.  SO,
there'll be a couple of minor changes where they're concerned.  Your
understanding is appreciated.

Oh, and I mentioned my lack of medical knowledge, I'll also say that my
knowledge of the legal system is less than that!  :)

CHAPTER 7

I stare at the envelope for a long time, and the longer I stared at it, the
madder I get.  How DARE she?  I'm barely even out of the hospital, and
already I'm being served notice?!

With a sign, I decide I really need to straighten things out with the
parents.  Mom must be really upset with me because she hasn't called me or
anything.  I dial the number, and Dad answers the phone.

"Hello?" his pleasant voice answers.

"Hi, Dad, it's me. I..."

"Hello?"  Mom's voice is suddenly cutting through.  I wait for Dad to say
"I've got it.", but he doesn't.

"Uh, Mom...what happened to Dad?"

"Oh, uh, he...had to go to the bathroom."  she lies.  I could tell she's
lying.

"Uh HUH." I say, with some finality.  Dad's pissed.  "You told him, didn't
you?"

"Jesse, I had to.  What choice did I have?  I came home upset, and you know
your father isn't going to just let me sit there and cry without demanding
to know what is wrong."

"I guess," I reply, an all-new sinking feeling setting in.  "So, they're
letting me go home, and Marianne said she'd come up and get me.  I think she
wants me to stay at their place."

"Good," Mom says.  Maybe I'm paranoid, but I read into her voice a measure
of relief.  Greeaaaat.  "Jesse, listen, call me later.  Your dad is going
golfing, and I can talk more then."

"OK," I sigh.  "Uh, Mom?  I'm really sorry about what I said.  I was upset
and had no right to say that to you."

"I think we have a lot to talk about, and yes you upset me, but I think
we'll be ok." Mom says.  "I'll talk to you later.  I love you."

I think to myself, 'if that's the case, why did you whisper that?', but I
let it go.  Things must be tense over there.  "I love you too, Mom.  I'll
call you."

Hanging up the phone, I lie back, studying the ceiling, ignoring the
tempting call of the manila envelope, inviting me to open it up.  Slamming
my hand onto it, I pull it over into my lap.  Fuck it, I decide.  I break
open the seal.  Sure enough, it's divorce papers.  Leslie is divorcing me.
Last she said was for a trial separation.  What the hell changed?  Wait a
minute, the reason is "unreconcilable differences"...NOT infidelity!  I scan
the document.  She's not asking for child support OR alimony?  I'm no legal
expert, but this seems weird.  Suddenly too tired to deal with it, I gently
stuff the papers back into the envelope.  What is she up to?

Detective Ratchet, er Nurse Ratchet, er, LYNN comes in carrying a clipboard.
  "OK, Jesse, sir.  Time to get you out of my hair.  We can't let pains in
the butt stay around taking up bed space."  Where DOES this woman get her
energy and cheerfulness?  I wanted to slap her, but in FUN.

"Well, it's about time.  Lousy food and terrible nurses are not worth the
price of this bed!" I shoot back.

"Ah HA, ok, sir, we're just gonna have to give you another shot."  she says,
laughing.  "But seriously, here are your orders.  You're to REST, and you're
to not lift anything heavy for awhile, and you're to report to us or your
doctor if you have any sign of dizziness or pain.  You also need to see your
doctor in five days to remove the stitches from your side.  Lastly, we
recommend that you consider seeing a counselor.  Dr. Frederick -- Susan --
has outpatient appointments, or you can contact one through your insurance.
  We can't make you do this, but the doctor feels this would benefit you
greatly. Any questions?"

Questions.  I have lots.  Not about the concussion, nor about the stab wound
that entered below my rib cage and sliced me open.  The door of the car
basically was forced inward, I found out, and some of the metal cut into me.
  My questions go way beyond what this hospital can provide answers for.
So, I shook my head "no".

"OK, then.  Here's a prescription for pain pills.  Only take them if you
really need them.  Sign here, here, and here, and initial here, and we'll be
just about done."

Taking the pen, I sign away as needed, and hear a knock on my door.  In
walks my sister-in-law.  "Hi, Jesse!  Are you ready to go?"

Nurse Lynn smiles and says "Just about.  We just need to get the orderly to
wheel his sorry butt out of here."

"Yeah, you wish!" I shoot back.  I'm going to miss her.  Her husband is a
lucky guy.  Hmm...her husband is probably cute, too....  I shake myself out
of my reverie as "Lurch" comes in with the wheelchair.

"WOW", Marianne gasps, as I stand up.

"What?" I ask, puzzled.

"You've lost a lot of weight, Jesse."

"I have?" I haven't seen myself in a mirror for awhile, except when I
shaved, but I did that in bed since I use an electric razor.

"Yeah, I'd barely recognize you." Marianne says.  "You look more like your
brother now."

Huh.  Go figure.   Josh is about 3-5 inches taller than me and looks a lot
like Timothy Hutton.  He gets that from Dad's side.  I've been told I
resemble John Stamos, (except I have green eyes), but I can't see it.  Maybe
now that I've lost some of the fat, that might be different.  I look more
like mom, so that maybe why we don't really look too much like brothers.

"Lurch" helps me into the wheelchair.  The stitches pull a little, giving me
a slight burning sensation.  I bite my lip, though, so they don't know it
hurts.  I want out of this place!  Marianne grabs my stuff, including that
damned envelope, and we are off.  I wave to the nurses as I go, and they all
wish me luck.  Down the elevator, and into the lobby.  Marianne goes ahead
to get their Caravan.  As we approach the automatic glass doors, panic sets
in.  I begin gasping for air, every muscle in my body suddenly tense, my
vision blurs.  My heart feels as if it's about to burst it's beating so
hard.  "Lurch" must have noticed this, and immediately paged a doctor to the
lobby.

A young doctor comes in from the ER.  He checks my wrist band and orders
someone standing by to page Dr. Adams, STAT.  He looks me in the eye
sternly.  "Mr. Corey, I need you to calm down, sir.  Can you do that for
me?"

Nearly in tears from fear, I grip the arms of the wheelchair.  People start
to gather around, but I'm in such a state that I barely notice them.  Dr.
Adams rushes over from out of nowhere.  "Thanks Phil." he says to the
younger doctor.

"Jesse, what is it?  Can you tell me what's going on?"  he asks, very
concerned.

I shake my head, and shrug.  I'm getting light-headed from hyperventilating.
  Dr. Phil comes over with a small paper bag, presumably from the gift shop.
  I hear Marianne walk in and demand to know what's going on.

"Jesse, take this bag and breath into it, slowly.  I need you to calm down,
buddy." Dr. Adams says gently.

Taking the bag, I breath in and out, feeling the light-headedness dissipate.
  He whispers something to a nurse standing by, and she nods and rushes off.
  Marianne stoops down beside me.

"Jesse, are you ok, hon?"  she asks.  I glance at her and notice the fear
and concern in her eyes.  I nod, actually feeling the anxiety start to
subside.  The nurse comes back over, carrying a syringe.

"Jesse," Doctor Adams says, "I'm going to give you a mild sedative, just to
calm your nerves.  I'm calling in a prescription also to help if you have
any more of these attacks.  I DEFINITELY want you to see a counselor, ok?"

I nod, grateful to have my heart staying in my chest instead of flying
around the room.

"Doctor, are you sure he's ready for discharge?" Marianne demands.

He pulls her over to the side and confers with her for a few minutes as I
slowly realize that there's a gaping crowd.  "Lurch" speaks for the first
time and says "OK, people, come on give the guy a break."  As if suddenly
realizing that they're all gawking idiots, they realize they have lives
elsewhere.  I know they're being concerned, but I couldn't help but think of
how people have to slow down on the highway to see a car accident.  Car.
Accident.  Oh god.

Marianne comes over and we proceed out the door.  I'm amazed at the clean
smell of the air.  It's been so long, and it's a hot day, but the heat feels
good to me.  They help me into the passenger seat in the Caravan, and Lurch
reaches across me and buckles my seat belt.  I lean back into the seat, my
eyes feeling very heavy.  Darn them doctors and their drugs.

The trip home was uneventful.  Yeah, right.  Every bump and hole in the
roads sent new messages across taut stitches.  I keep my eyes closed the
whole trip home, imagining myself back in my nice safe hospital bed.  I
feign sleep so Marianne won't try to talk to me.

Finally, we pull up in her driveway.  Jason, their 15 year old son, is
playing with the dog in the front yard.  He comes running up "Hey, Uncle
Jesse!" he says.

"Jason, help me help your uncle out of the car and into the house, will
you?"

"Sure, Mom." he says.  Together, they help me get out of the van and walk
the 10 miles (ok, 10 feet) to the sofa in the family room.  The A/C feels
good.

Marianne comes in, and begins putting away groceries that she must have
picked up before she came to get me.  Groggily, I ask her, "So what did you
and the doctor talk about?"

She comes over and sits next to me on the sofa.  "Well, he was very
concerned about your attack in the lobby.  What happened, hon?  Do you know
what got you so worked up?"

Lying through my teeth, I say "No, I don't remember."  I lean back against
the comfortable cushion and close my eyes.

The next thing I know, I hear Jason and his little brother Robbie, who just
turned 11, arguing over their Game Cube game they're playing.  "Hey!" I say,
with a weary voice. "You're making it hard to sleep here."

Robbie comes running over to me. "Hi, Uncle Jesse!  Guess what?  I'm going
to get to play the Clarinet when school starts!"

I smile weakly.  "That's great, kid!"  He runs back to his brother and they
resume their argument/debate.  Marianne peeks around the corner from the
dining room then looks back and says "I think he's awake."

I feel someone sit next to me on the sofa.  "Hi, Jess".

My eyes fly open, and there's Leslie.  "What are YOU doing here?" I demand,
fueled by anger.

"Jesse, we need to talk." she says.

"OH?" I ask sarcastically.  "I figured the PAPERS said it all!"

Marianne says "Boys, let's give your aunt and uncle a little privacy, ok?
How about you go up to your rooms and get your dirty clothes together for
the laundry."  They all depart the room.

"Papers?" Leslie has the gall to ask.

I reach over to my overnight bag and pull out the envelope and basically
toss it into her lap.

"Oh SHIT!" she exclaims.  "You weren't supposed to get these YET.  Damn
them!"  She grabs her cell phone, leaving me frowning in puzzlement.
Dialing angrily, she gets up and walks over to the sliding door.

"Sheila?  Yeah, it's Leslie Markham-Corey.  I just found out that my husband
got the papers served?  I ASKED you to WAIT until I had a chance to talk to
him?   Well, tell Paul that he had better be prepared to take some
consequences.  This is totally NOT what I told you to do.  Save the
apologies, Sheila.  I may have to reconsider my representation!"  With that
she flips the phone shut, hanging up on dear Sheila.

She comes back to the couch, and sits beside me.  Looking at me sadly, she
says "Jesse, I wanted to talk to you first, I swear.  They screwed up and
didn't do like I asked."  Like that makes me feel better.

"Look, Jess, we need to be totally honest."

"Where are the boys?" I ask, out of the blue, hoping to change the subject.

"They're at their dad's.  I wanted to be able to talk with you alone."

"Fine.  Talk." I say without emotion.

"Jesse, I don't like where things have gone, but I think we both know we'd
be happier apart than together.  Let's face it, the last four years or so
have been pretty much you and I just doing our own things.  I need a husband
who's attentive to ME and my needs.  You've been a great provider and the
boys enjoy being with you, but there's something missing.  Something Mike
and I had together before we had our problems.  The fact is, Jesse, I will
always love you, but I need someone who's IN love with me, and yes, before
you say it, I'm sure you were at one time.  But I need more, and it's time
you face the fact that YOU need more too."

That surprises me.  "Jesse, you know as well as I do that you're gay.  Come
on, just admit it."

"OK, OK!  I'm gay.  I'm a fucking queer." I snarl.  "Are you happy?  Does
your precious papers say THAT?"

"No," she says quietly.  "That's why I'm just filing it as "unreconcilable
differences."  I don't want you to get dragged through the mud like I was
when Mike and I divorced."

"What DO you want, then?  I mean, you're asking me to end our marriage, our
life?"

"Well," she pauses.  "I know this may not help, but I'd like us to be
friends, Jesse.  I don't want you out of my life completely.  I know it may
be hard at first, but I'm hoping that we are adult and mature and
intelligent enough to get past the issues and just be friends."

Hmm.  Friends.  Just not married and living together.  Interesting concept.
Can it be done?

"I don't know, Leslie.  It starts out trying to be amicable, but every
divorced person I know always talks of horror stories."

"I know.  That's exactly why I want us to NOT battle it out.  Look, we're
both doing well in our careers, so I don't need alimony.  (Oh!)  And I don't
expect you to pay child support for my kids, that's Mike's responsibility.
(OH!)  I think we should sell the house and split the proceeds and divide up
the bills so we do that evenly, and we each take a car..."  she stops,
realizing what she just said.  "I'm sorry, Jesse, I wasn't thinking..."

"It's ok, Les.  I'm not going to be able to drive for awhile still, anyway."

"Well, you'll get the settlement from the insurance, so you can get a new
car, ok?" she says.

It all sounds good...on paper.  Can it be done, I wonder?

"Sounds like you got it all planned out.  Must have been working on it for
weeks.  What do Jake and David say about this?"

"No, Jesse, I've not been working on this for weeks.  It's not hard to
figure out what we owe, what we own, and divide it in half.  I'm not going
to screw you out of anything.  You have to trust me on that.  We can get
this over with quickly and painlessly if we don't contest this.  And the
boys only wanted to know if they could still get to see you.  I said that'd
be up to you.  They understand the step-dad thing, you know."

It's true.  I'd never tried to be their dad, just their friend.  They adore
their biological father.  For all the nastiness between Mike and Leslie at
the end of their marriage, he doted on those boys.  He's an excellent dad.

"OK, Leslie.  I give up.  I'm too tired to fight.  This is obviously what
you want, and I'm not going to stay where I'm not wanted."  She winces at
this, and it feels good to twist the knife, just a little!  "But I'm going
to have Josh look this over, if you don't mind, just to have another set of
eyes.

"Fine, Jesse.  That's a wise thing to do.  Call me if you have any
questions.  Oh, and please call the boys and let them know about what we
talked about.  I'll talk to you later."

And with that, she's out the door.  The shutting of the door symbolically
also shuts the one in my heart.  And yet...this could be a new beginning.  I
suddenly think about Mark.  Digging out his business card, I call his
number, only to get his voice mail.

After the beep, I leave the message "Hey, Mark, this is Jesse.  I'm out of
the hospital, and staying with my brother.  Give me a call if you get a
chance at 314-555-2968."

Hanging up the phone, I lay back on the couch and snooze.  I feel strong
hands come over and gently turn me so I'm lying on the couch, and a blanket
placed over me.

It's daytime, and I'm driving along I-55 on the way home from work.  I must
be doing about 120 mph.  It feels good, going so fast.  A glimpse of red
catches my eye.  It's coming over the median wall!  It lands on my car,
crushing me flat....

To be continued....