Chapter Seventeen

Charles Monroe stepped into Roarke’s office, admiring the space, the decorating, the art work.  He sipped the coffee Roarke’s lovely admin had given him, thoughtfully studying the black and white pencil sketch of Dallas on Roarke’s desk.  Amazingly life-like, showing such strength of character in that one pose.  “Where did you get this” he asked as Roarke came in.
“Charles,”  Roarke crossed the thick carpet to shake the other man’s hand, looking down at the sketch of Eve.  “Delia gave it to me.  One of their suspects created it.”
“I’ll talk to her about it.  I’d like one of Louise.”  Charles put the framed sketch back down on the desk, went to the windows to look out at the city.  Nothing was burning.  Maybe a little smoldering, but not burning.  He turned, saw Roarke was waiting patiently.  Amused, he laughed quietly.  “Since I’ve taken up the therapy side of things, it seems I do exactly the same.  Sit back and wait, watch, ready to analyze whatever my client is going to say.”
Roarke went to get a cup of coffee, hiding his swallow of fear.  It was about Eve.  He’d thought it was about Louise, maybe Douchas, or that Charles needed money to grow his practice.  He’d have invested without hesitation.  He drank his coffee, waited, watched.  His heart was beginning to brace for some jagged thrust.  “What, or who, had you come, Charles?”
“Louise.”  He pulled himself together briskly.  He was a professional.  “I’d like to just lay it all out for you, Roarke.  I know you have a temper, I’ve seen it.  Can you hold onto it?”  Charles held his friend’s eyes.
Roarke nodded.  He couldn’t have swallowed now if his life depended on it.
“They’re going to declare martial law ended at five o’clock.  Another two hours.  At which time, Eve’s going to come home to you.  She looks bad, Roarke.  Sit down!”  Charles leaped to him, helped him sit in his desk chair.  He got water out of the carafe on a conference table, waited as Roarke sipped.  Some of his color came back.  “Louise says she’s lost more weight since she’s seen her last.  No more injuries.  She says she’s healed up in her usual almost super human fashion from when that building collapsed on her.”  Charles took a chair in front of the desk.
“Go ahead”  Roarke swallowed more water.  A part of him eased.  She was coming back home.  He stood, unable to sit any longer, he’d been unable to sit still since she’d been firmly insistent on responding to the last order of martial law, thrust his hand into his pocket, feeling her ring, her diamond, the St. Jude’s medal, along with the grey button he carried as a talisman.  She’d called them his symbols for her.  Maybe they were.  He’d never thought he had symbols.  Until Eve.
“Straight out, you’re going to have to make love to Eve as soon as she gets home.”  Charles grinned just a bit as Roarke gaped at him.  “The mess in Tokyo didn’t help her self-esteem, and now she looks like hell.  Louise says the last two times you were together didn’t work out exactly completely, and that’s weighing on her.”  When Roarke didn’t say anything, simply stared at him, Charles went on.  “You know what I do, what I used to do, so don’t take offense.  Louise says Eve’s very fragile physically, so you shouldn’t put a lot of weight on her.  You’re a big man, Roarke, so you have to be careful not to crush her.   I’m sure I don’t need to give you suggestions of positions.”
“No.”  Roarke could feel himself flushing.   He’d never thought he’d have a reason to be on the business end of Charles’ friendship.
Charles proceeded smoothly.  “I would advise against anything extended initially.  She’ll most likely fall asleep as soon as her fears are diminished.  Louise recommends sleep, balanced diet, hydration, she’s sent fortified vitamins on ahead to Summerset.  You’ll need to get them down her.”  Charles paused, waiting for any comment.  Roarke looked at him like most of the men who came to him for sex therapy;  afraid to find out that they were going to do something so that the partner they loved would be hurt.  “Don’t offer her visceral compliments.  Eve knows she looks bad.   Even if she does look beautiful to you, and I know she will, it will be perceived as lying.  That’s a path you don’t want to take, Roarke.”
Roarke pushed away his defensive anger.  “What else do you suggest?”
“I hate to pry, but what’s an average week for you two?”  Charles held up a hand.  “I’m not being a jackass here, Roarke.”
More than anyone I’ve ever been with, and if she wasn’t so obsessed with her job, I’d never let her out of bed. Roarke clenched his teeth, paced to the windows.  “I’m not telling you about my and Eve’s sex life, Charles.”
“Fine.  I’d recommend you up whatever it is a bit, as a form of reassurance.  Keep positioning in mind, and that you’re trying to get some weight back on her, so exertion shouldn’t outweigh her nutritional intake.  She’ll need some psychological reassurance, since the verbal won’t hold much weight.  Gifts are typically subtle shows of appreciation.  Don’t bother to shower her with jewelry, Eve’s not that type.  A simple bouquet of flowers, some chocolates.  Consider cheaper things, Roarke.  Silly things.  Louise told me you bought her a stuffed cat that looks like Galahad, and that she treasures it.  Those kinds of gifts will lift her self-confidence in this area faster than you can know.”  He watched Roarke pace, felt that sympathetic compassion he imagined if their roles were reversed.  “Ask me questions, Roarke.  Before you have to go home and face this.  You don’t want to fuck this up, my friend.”
“I don’t know what to ask.”  Roarke went to get brandy, realized that was absolutely the wrong thing to do now, and went to get more coffee.  “Should I take her away?”
“In the current situation, she won’t be able to go.  Make your evenings fun.  Not society parties, you know those aren’t fun for her.  Have friends over.  Louise and I can come tomorrow.  Just dinner and some vids.  Tuesday, invite Peabody and McNab, maybe play some comp games after dinner.  Then Mira and Dennis, and so on.  Louise and Mira have already spoken to Whitney, he’ll keep things easy at work for her.  You do the same at home."
His intercom beeped quietly.  “Roarke, Eve is on line one.”
Roarke pounced on his desk link.  “Hello, darling Eve”  he studied her in the screen’s frame, frowned.  “Where are you?”  Alarm began to flicker.  Her gaunt face was stressed, brown eyes strained.  She was somewhere with little lighting.
“I’m hiding in a droid service closet,” Eve’s voice was a thin whisper.  “Roarke, you have to come get me.  I’m at Trina’s salon and I think she’s going to try and pierce some part of me.”
“Tell her I said no.”  He was relieved enough to sit back down.  “How did you get there?”  He glanced at Charles, got an approving nod.  Roarke wondered what he had said that needed approving.
“We’re going off of martial law at five.  Whitney kicked me out and Peabody ratted me out to Mavis, and somehow I ended up here.  Roarke, I feel like a dress up droid.  I don’t want to have to stun all these people to escape.”  Sincere desperation came through his link.
Right now, Roarke couldn’t think of one thing that he would deny her.  “I’ll create a diversion.  Can you get to your vehicle?”  He cued into the security system at his Palace Spa.  Ruthlessly killed the over-rides.  “I’m going to show an alarm for a burglary attempt.  You ready?”
“Yes.”
“All right, darling Eve.  Sixty seconds and counting.  I’ll meet you at home.  I love you.”  He could see her slump in relief, eyes closing, a long sigh.
“I love you, too.”  She ended the transmission.
Roarke looked over at Charles.  Charles stood, idly straightened his tie, held out his hand to Roarke.  “Do the best you can.  If you need me, you know my number.”  He held out a prescription bottle, a silent offer.
Roarke looked at it.  His pride immediately pulled up anger, rejection.  Again, he controlled it.  This was for Eve.  Her friends, his friends, had been worried enough to send Charles to offer advice.  He wouldn’t need a pill to pleasure Eve.  Still … he shook Charles hand, put the bottle in his jacket pocket.  “Why don’t you and Louise come for dinner tomorrow night.  Seven?”