What’s Opera, Doc?
Part Two
By Miesque
miesque48@hotmail.com

RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Nothing much, but maybe a reference or two to stuff that happened in S6.
STORY SYNOPSIS: Luka and Kerry enjoy their evening of high-falutin’ culture and realize that they are more than just friends.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Luka Kovac and Kerry Weaver are the sole property of NBC, Warner Brothers, Amblin, and Constant C.

PRAISE TO: Three extraordinary friends who provide continued and loyal support, inspiration, and encouragement (besides top-notch editing!).



Alberto’s Italian Ristorante was pretty typical so far as Italian restaurants went. Pictures of Rome on the walls-including a rather intriguing shot of a strutting Mussolini that Kerry noticed right off-red checkered tablecloths, and candles at each table made for fairly ordinary ambiance. She and Luka found themselves seated at a table by the window, and for a moment she looked outside at the street, watching cars go by.

“Kerry?”

She jumped, and looked at him. “What?”

“You might want to look at the menu. This place doesn’t look like much, but it’s got a pretty wide variety.”

“Oh...yes.” She snatched up her menu and began reading it over, trying to keep her cool. She was surprised to see various seafood dishes. “I can see why you like this place.”

He smiled slightly. “Yeah. It doesn’t look like it, but it’s one of the best places around for seafood. This isn’t all together a Mediterranean Italian restaurant...it’s an Adriatic Italian restaurant, too. The owner is from Pescara. Slightly different flavor, more of what I grew up with.”

“Yes. What do you recommend?”

“Hmmm...salted taralli for appetizers. I usually order lamb and orecchiette con cime di rapa.”

“And that would be...?”

“Pasta. It’s shaped kind of like an ear. With turnip greens.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What about fish?”

“There’s anchovy pie. And shellfish, lobster...”

Kerry wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like anchovies. Luka grinned. “I don’t like anchovies either. And of course there’s Calzone-stuffed pizza. Their pasta is wonderful, as are the cheeses. Burrata and smoked fagottini.”

“You know your Italian foods.”

“I know the eastern Italian types a little better,” he shrugged. “It has a lot of Greek influence. Plus there’s lobster, calamari...the baked fish with potatoes is very good...and there’s lots of shellfish, of course. Besides, I have a dash or two of Italian blood in my veins. A little Greek, some Serbian, some Montenegran, Austrian, Turkish...so I like a wide variety of foods. In fact...you should try the Shrimp San Guisto...it’s from Northern Italy, on the border with Slovenia. It has definite ‘Slavic’ flavor.”

Kerry glanced up at him and thought about her own fruitless search for her birth mother and wondered about her own heritage. With her red hair, she naturally assumed she was of Irish extraction, but that wasn’t necessarily true. The Vikings had spread red hair all over Europe. She could be nearly anything.

Swallowing, she looked at the menu again. The Scampi Imperiali San Guisto did sound very good. When the waiter came back, they ordered, and Kerry wondered if they were going Dutch. Well, of course, she thought. This isn’t a date, after all. We’re just two friends...two colleagues...attending the opera together.

“I guess seafood is one thing you really miss about Croatia,” she said quietly, and immediately regretted such a question. Croatia, she figured, must hold so many painful memories for him.

“I do miss that. The seafood, the language...you don’t hear Croatian much around here.”

“There’s a fairly substantial Croatian community in Chicago, Luka. Don’t you venture into that part of town very often?”

“No. I don’t.” He looked down, folding his napkin, uneasy. “I...I have a cousin who lives here in town, but I don’t see him very often. I do attend the church...over there...sometimes. When I’m off on Sundays. But beyond that, I don’t go there too often.”

Kerry wondered why not, but refrained from asking. It wasn’t her business to delve into his personal life, was it? But she couldn’t deny that she wanted to know more about him. He was as closed-off and reserved as her. He had scars to show the pain and grief of his past, but he was so steady, so completely centered. Well, maybe not so centered. She had seen him in less-than-stable moments. Back in May, for instance. Over the summer, she had kept her distance from him, but had been watchful. So far, he seemed to be all right. Amazing, she thought, what a person can take. It depends on the individual, that’s for sure. Some people crumble completely and turn to drugs or alcohol, like poor John. Some people withdraw from the world, like Luka. Which is worse? she wondered. And why didn’t I recognize Luka’s signals then? And why haven’t I been as supportive toward him as I was for John? This man...he so obviously needs friends, but he’s just as scared of reaching out as I am. We’re quite a pair, she thought. Two damaged introverts eating Italian food and going to the opera together.

She folded her hands in her lap and tried to think of something to say.

Luka had ordered a bottle of white wine-they had both ordered seafood-and Kerry was surprised at it’s quality, but it didn’t taste like anything she’d ever had before. “What kind of wine is this?” she asked, looking at the bottle, relieved to finally have a topic for discussion.

“Croatian wine,” Luka answered. “Pinot bijeli. The owner is partial to Croatian wines...he claims they’re as good or better than Italian wines, but I have to wonder if he’s being honest about that.”

“Really? It’s wonderful!” She took another careful sip. “For some reason, I never thought of you as a wine drinker.”

“I’m not, really. I only ever drank Bolski plavac, but you can’t drink red wine with fish, so I always choose this variety when I come here for seafood.”

“So you come here a lot?”

“Not...a lot,” he said, looking at the other diners in the restaurant. He had been in Chicago almost two years now, and had not established himself as a regular at any eating place or pub. He wasn’t a drinker, so bar-hopping was definitely out. Fast food made his stomach lurch, so McDonald’s was out, too. He didn’t eat much at all, so dining out wasn’t really a common thing for him either. Back home, he had frequented the pub for games of darts, billiards and cards, but not much drinking (unlike his friends). Luka was always the sober one at the end of the night. He tried to recall the last time he’d actually been thoroughly plastered. Probably not long before his wedding. Nadja wasn’t a drinker at all, except for very good red wines on special occasions-she never overindulged...

“Luka?” Kerry said gently. “Are you all right?”

He looked at her, and forced a smile. “I just realized that I don’t do too much of anything...except work. Maybe my problem is too much moderation.”

She laughed. “That’s an oxymoron.”

He grinned at her. “Yeah. I guess. I used to be a little more sociable, but now...I mean, I wasn’t out on the town every night or anything...before. Rarely, in fact. I was married, had kids, responsibilities...” He looked down, sorry he had brought that subject up. He had hoped to keep this evening light.

“I...I never did really apologize to you, Luka, about what happened with those two brothers back in January...”

He shook his head firmly. “No. That’s over with, Kerry. The situation has been resolved...and I don’t want to discuss that now.”

She swallowed nervously and dropped it. “What part of Croatia are you from?” she asked him quickly, changing the subject without any need for segue.

That was a relief. Something else. Something more pleasant, maybe. “Split. I was born at Split and raised in a village on the coast, further north.”

“I hear it’s beautiful there. The Dalmatian mountains and the sea and the islands...”

“Yes. More than a thousand islands, most of which are uninhabited.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My mother was from Kornat...one of the larger islands.”

“So you’re a sea-faring man?” Kerry smiled.

“Definitely. The sea gets into your blood...I love the sea-the sounds, the smells...it’s more like home than dry land. If I weren’t a doctor, I think I would have ended up a sailor. A fisherman, at least. I used to spend days on the Adriatic with my uncles, fishing and swimming, exploring the uninhabited islands with my brother...have you ever been sailing?”

Kerry shook her head. “I’m afraid of the water,” she admitted. “I can’t even swim.”

He stared at her, amazed. When Luka was three, his father had thrown him into the water and expected him to simply swim. There was no fear involved.

“You should learn,” he said. “You never know...it might come in handy.”

“I tend to avoid situations that would warrant it coming in handy,” Kerry said.

Luka saw no reason to argue regarding someone’s phobia. He had a few phobias of his own.

Their dishes arrived, and Luka watched Kerry’s reaction to the taste of her meal. Luka only picked at his baked fish and potatoes, having no enthusiasm for eating. He hadn’t relished a meal in years, no matter how good it was. She, however, appeared to enjoy hers a great deal.

“This is wonderful,” she said. “I’ll be sure and tell everyone I know about this place.”

“Don’t do that...once people find out about it, the quality will go down. That’s what always happens with little ‘undiscovered’ places once they’re discovered. They end up with stuck-up maitre’d’s and waiters who think that you should be serving them.” He grinned at her, and she glanced at his half-eaten baked fish. “Would you like to try this?” he offered.

She smiled and took a sampling from his plate. “Mmmm...this is good too! You know, I never really thought about northeastern Italy’s cuisine, and I toured Italy when I was eighteen.”

Luka raised an eyebrow. “Really? What parts?”

“Well, Tuscany, Naples, Rome. I didn’t venture east, except for San Marino. And I certainly didn’t go north. I suppose you’ve been all over Europe, Luka.”

“Yes. I have. Paris, Rome, London, Berlin...Europe is really very small and...uh...human-sized compared to America. A simple train ticket and you’re going across northern Italy, then Switzerland and the next thing you know you’re in France. Takes a lot of mental gymnastics to remember which language to speak. In North America, the languages don’t really change. Accents do, but it’s either America, Canada or Mexico. In Europe, you go west from Croatia and it’s German, Italian, French, Dutch, English...go east, it’s Greek, Turkish, Russian... You have to learn how to at least order a meal and not say the wrong thing in a bar.”

She laughed a little, intrigued. Dr. Malucci often called Luka the ‘International Man of Mystery’, and that title certainly did fit. “So you speak all those languages?”

“Not really...just bits and pieces. A ‘smattering’ here and there. I can carry on a conversation in Russian-it’s enough like Croatian that it’s easy to manage.”

Kerry watched him as he spoke, noticing how coolly elegant he was. His table manners were flawless-she wondered for a moment if he was a member of some dispossessed noble house of Croatia. It was a possibility, she figured. Then again, he had mentioned having a mother who raised him to be a gentleman. And he was that. A gentle man. So totally masculine, so in command. And it thrilled Kerry, deep down. She would never have admitted it out loud to a soul, but she enjoyed being...what was the word? ‘Dominated’ wasn’t a word that appealed to her. ‘Overwhelmed’, maybe? He didn’t intimidate her, but she sure as hell knew she didn’t intimidate him.

He was overwhelming. There was such a power to him. Not a domineering, controlling, bossy kind of power. His way was far too subtle for that. Maybe even totally subconscious.He probably wasn't even aware of it. He doesn’t use that power on people, like that poor little jerk, Robert Romano. Luka doesn’t seem to have a manipulative bone in his body

But Kerry knew he was an Alpha, just like her. It made her stomach tighten a little now, to look across the red-checkered tablecloth at him, taking in his striking looks, his manners, his quiet strength. She knew he was in charge here, and that thrilled and intrigued her at once. It was unfamiliar territory for Kerry.

“What would you like for dessert?” Luka asked, his voice cutting into Kerry’s musings.

“Oh...uh...I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, so I’ve never actually ordered anything like that here.” He signaled to the waiter and asked for a dessert menu. In moments, they were scanning over their choices.

“Zuppa inglese!” Kerry said. “My favorite.” She ordered the dish, but Luka only ordered a scoop of orange sherbet.

“You really don’t have a sweet tooth, do you?” she asked.

“I have a bad stomach,” he shrugged. “Nearly anything can set it off.”

The bill arrived, and before Kerry could do anything about it, Luka picked it up.

“Luka, you don’t have to pay...” she objected.

“Kerry, my mother would roll over in her grave if I didn’t pay for a lady’s meal,” Luka answered her calmly. “I’m very old-fashioned about that, so just indulge me, all right?”

She shrugged and nodded. “Uh...do you have any...any surv...I mean, any family back in Croatia?”

“My brother,” Luka answered, handing the waiter his credit card and a tip. “Anton. But he lives in Rome.”

“Rome?”

“Yes. He was going to be a priest. But on his way to seminary in Rome he met Angelina at a little bistro and...well, the rest is history.”

“So he isn’t a priest...”

Luka gave her a look and then rolled his eyes. “I knew a woman in New York...I hate to say any woman is stupid, but my God, she was such a nitwit. She asked me once about the Pope. Why we always see him driving around in his PopeMobile but we never see his wife. I told her that she stays home at the Vatican, taking care of their kids.”

Kerry put her head down and giggled. The waiter returned with the receipt, and Luka and Kerry headed out. She noticed several women at the restaurant staring at Luka. Young or old, they were all stunned by him. Kerry fought an urge to hook her arm through his. She heard one of them whisper, “Oh my God!” as they walked by.

Out on the sidewalk, Kerry watched several people in elegant dress heading toward the Civic Opera House, which was just two blocks away.

“That was a very good meal, Luka. Thank you,” she said, her voice shaky.

“You’re very welcome,” he nodded. “Are you ready for some opera?”

She laughed. “What’s opera, doc?”

“Very funny. Rigoletto...hmm...let me see if I can remember the story at all...” They started walking toward the opera house, and Kerry was amazed at how easy the conversation flowed between them. He was animated but still so controlled, so...so damned sexy it scared the hell out of her.

“Rigoletto’s daughter...what the hell is her name...Gilda!...gets mixed up with the sleazebag Duke of Mantua, who seduces her, so Rigoletto plots revenge but it all goes wrong...as if it would go right in an opera. Gilda hears about her father’s plan to kill the Duke and has herself killed in the Duke’s place. An all together happy tale.”

Kerry laughed. He was walking slowly to accommodate her handicap, so it took them a while to get to the opera house doors. But soon, they were inside the Grand Foyer, and she looked around, admiring the architecture and decor.

“Is this any comparison to European opera houses?” Kerry asked Luka.

“It’s pretty impressive,” Luka admitted. “And there’s no point in comparing them. It’s the acoustics that matter most. This is very nice, though.”

She half expected him to light a casual cigarette, but instead he gently lead her up the steps toward the elevators that would take them to their balcony seats. “First balcony, row ‘D’...” Luka said. He shook his head in amazement. Seats like these would have cost him more than a hundred dollars each.

“Only the best, huh?” Kerry said. Luka helped her into her seat, and sat down beside her.

“Mr. Tate was apparently quite the opera fanatic,” Luka said. “Or he had hearing problems and liked to be as close to the performers as possible.”

“Did you bring opera glasses?” she asked.

“You’d hardly need them, Kerry. The stage isn’t that far away. We can probably smell the performers’ breath from here.”

She laughed again, and wondered if she had drunk a bit too much wine. But she was enjoying herself. This was the most fun she’d had in years, actually. Sitting here at the opera, in a balcony with no one else to disturb them, being offered champagne by a young man wearing what looked like a toreador’s outfit...she felt warm and excited and remarkably comfortable.

During the performance, she found it easier to watch Luka. He seemed to be interested in the goings-on, but she could tell he was critiquing every actor with an experienced eye.

“Ah...did you hear that?” Luka said.

“What?” she asked, startled out of her admiration of Luka’s left ear.

“She messed up her Italian.”

She covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “You speak Italian?”

“Better than her, I think...” Luka said, shrugging. “Of course, I can’t imagine that many people here speak it fluently. For all we know, she could be telling him she’s just been evicted from her apartment due to non-payment of rent. The tenor is very good, though, isn’t he?”

At intermission, Luka and Kerry headed back to the Grand Foyer and took glasses of champagne from waiters. Kerry ate a canapé, but Luka showed no interest in food. He was too busy watching her. When her back was turned to him, he couldn’t keep from admiring her figure. Doing some quick math, he figured she was around his age, possibly a little older but not much. She looked beautiful tonight-far prettier than he had ever imagined. Or, maybe he had realized how attractive she was and had subconsciously ignored it. She was his boss, after all. Sort of.

Luka had to admit that he wasn’t in the least bit impressed with her position as ER chief. He respected her a great deal-more than anyone else in the hospital-but he had never allowed anyone to push him around before, and no matter how hard Kerry might try, he still wouldn’t bend to her. He had seen her do battle with other staff members before-particularly Mark-and invariably win, but unless Luka could see a reason to concede to Kerry, he otherwise would stand his ground. In the past few months, they had argued sometimes about patient care, but it did dawn on Luka suddenly that only in a few instances had he allowed her to win an argument. But only if he agreed with her.

Mark would only argue with Kerry. Period. Carter would immediately cave in. Benton was such an egomaniac that Luka would be shocked if the man ever listened to anyone else’s point of view, much less Kerry’s. Luka could see no reason to argue if there was no chance of winning-and he was used to winning arguments; he had learned how to use his height and his presence as an advantage. He had heard the nurses call Kerry the Alpha Bitch of the ER, and while he thought such a term was highly disrespectful, he realized that the title wasn’t necessarily derogatory. Kerry was the top female of the pack.

Luka didn’t think about it much, but he knew he was an Alpha Male. He always had been. Among his friends in school, he had been the unchallenged leader-and their defender as well. Bullies did not last long around Luka-he did not tolerate their presence. Any new person who came in was sized up immediately and placed in his appropriate niche. But none had ever achieved Luka’s status. Later, as a resident and as an attending, Luka had maintained that same rank. The only person who had ever really challenged Luka’s authority was Peter Benton, and Luka felt absolutely no fear of that man. Rank and position weren’t the issue with Luka anyway. It was command. Kerry had plenty of command, but Luka never felt subservient to her.

Watching her still, Luka suddenly found himself wondering about how her skin felt-if it was as silky as it looked. For half a second, he wondered if her hair was soft, and how she would feel in his arms...

That made him stand up straight. He had been so numb in the past few years, but in May things had started to wake up again. He had found himself admiring the opposite sex sometimes-not touching, not ‘putting on the moves’ or anything so unseemly as that-but just looking. Thinking. Remembering. Imagining. At night, he had found himself wishing for a warm body beside him in bed, for arms around him, legs tangled up with his own, soft skin to touch, silky hair to run his fingers through. It had been years since Luka had allowed himself to really think about sex. Before his world had been annihilated, he had possessed a strong sex drive and he and Nadja had enjoyed a very satisfying physical relationship. But nine years...now he found himself awakening to women.

It alarmed him to find them staring, and it alarmed him even more to find himself staring at them-when they weren’t looking of course, which was rare. It seemed like they were always looking at him. Before, he had been unaware of their reaction to him. He had always been fairly confident in himself and his sexuality, but so many years of grief had done so much damage to his ego and his psyche. Luka was unaware, however, that his sexuality had remained the same-that he still used that boldness to his own advantage. If someone had pointed that out to him, he would have been appalled. But he couldn’t help it. It was in his nature to be not only dominant, but protective and gallant toward women. His wife had been as much an Alpha as Luka, though at the time he wasn’t aware of that. She had possessed such fire and passion, along with an iron will.

He was so old-fashioned, though, and somewhat shy, that he had never become a ladies’ man in any sense of the word. For Luka, ‘dating’ was more than just going to the movies, eating dinner, and maybe heavy petting in the front seat of a car. Love and marriage had followed, then babies. Not the other way around. In fact, thinking about it, Luka couldn’t remember ever actually proposing to Nadja. They had just known that they’d get married, and it surprised neither one of them when it just happened.

Kerry turned around and faced Luka, who took a step backwards, embarrassed to have been caught staring at her. He glanced at the clock. “Intermission’s almost over,” he said. “We should get back to our seats.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Just like before, he guided her back up the steps. In the elevator, Kerry noticed two young women staring, enthralled, at Luka. Instinctively, Kerry moved closer to him, making it clear to the two girls that he was off limits. The women looked at each other, then looked at Luka, who wondered what they were staring at. It didn’t matter how often it happened, but when a woman stared at Luka he felt an urge to look behind him. Looking at himself in the mirror before leaving his house, he had not seen anything spectacular or worth gawking at. He was getting older, his hair was greying...he had a limp for God’s sake...he was covered with scars that would certainly scare the hell out of the average woman.

But a sudden realization hit Luka: Kerry was not an average woman. He knew she had seen his scars in the lounge today, and it apparently didn’t seem to worry her. Or maybe it did worry her, but she had accepted that part of him. Not once had she treated him as though he were nothing more than a victim of horrible tragedy. She treated him like a human being, and he appreciated that.

Back in their seats again, Kerry tried to concentrate on the performance, but her gaze kept trailing back to Luka. He was watching everything with alert eyes, leaning forward ever so slightly, not particularly awed, but interested. He was taking in everything, forming his own opinions and ideas about everything he saw and heard. Sometimes, he would point out something he liked or disliked about the story, and Kerry would have to get her mind back in gear again and stop staring at him.

The performance ended before Kerry knew what was happening, and she felt a little guilty about having not paid much attention.

Walking down the steps into the Grand Foyer, Luka asked Kerry if she enjoyed the performance.

“Oh...yes...very much.”

He nodded and looked away for a moment, distracted and suddenly uneasy. He was still holding her hand in his, and it was not a protective gesture at all. They both suddenly sensed this, and pulled away from each other, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s pretty late,” he said. “I have to be up at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Yes. I have to be up at seven,” she said. Damn it, Kerry...what, do you expect him to spend the night with you?

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, and finally he nodded. “Then let’s go.”



Luka watched as Kerry fumbled for her keys, wondering what he should say. They were standing on her front porch, she looked beautiful, and he was at a total loss for words. Well, that was pretty typical of Luka Kovac. He wasn’t much for small talk anyway.

Finally, she got her door to open-she had started to wonder if perhaps she was using the wrong key-and looked up at him.

“Thank you, Luka. I had a...a good time. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the opera.”

He nodded. “Me too. I mean, I had a good time, too, Kerry. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

I didn’t enjoy the opera, Kerry admitted to herself. I enjoyed his company. I enjoyed being with him. I enjoyed memorizing his ear and the line of his nose, his cheekbones, his hands...

Luka looked down for a moment. He had fought all evening to keep from staring at her. In the few instances when he had been able to really study her, he had been impressed with how beautiful she looked. He had taken the time to memorize her delicate features, the curve of her shoulder, the auburn shade of her hair. It all came together very nicely. There was fire in Kerry Weaver. Nothing bland about her, nothing predictable. Yet again, Luka wondered how she would feel in his arms, what her skin would taste like...

The opera itself had bored him a little, except for the little glitches he’d caught. Rigoletto calling Gilda a duck at one point, for instance. That had kept his mind from wandering a little too far regarding Kerry. But there was no distraction now, except for the sound of a car passing on the street.

For just a moment he contemplated kissing her. She was still standing there, looking up at him, an intriguing expression on her face. She had a very kissable mouth. In fact, everything about her was...

“Good night, Luka,” she said hurriedly. My God, she thought. I want to kiss him. Hell, I’d like to grab him and drag him inside. She knew he would be good-underneath that carefully controlled, steady exterior was a smoldering passion. She knew that he would easily soothe away her loneliness, and that maybe she could heal some of his wounds as well.

“Good night, Kerry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She nodded, backing away from him. In a moment, she was closing the door behind her.

Luka stood on Kerry’s porch for a moment, thinking. Everything felt different. His life was taking a different turn now, and while he wasn’t sure of how things might end, he wondered if maybe this was finally the upswing he had been looking for. Things had been so awful lately-the loneliness, the hunger for some kind of companionship, the ache for simple contact. He wanted a woman in his life so badly that he often woke up in the middle of night, aware of the painful lack of perfume and lace and soft white skin in his life. He missed all the female comforts of a woman in his world-flowers on the kitchen table, silk negligees on the floor, stockings, rose-scented soap and shampoo, hot meals when he came home from work, cups of coffee in the morning. Sure, he missed sex in itself, but companionship was the most painful loss. He wanted that again. He needed it. There was an emptiness in his heart that needed filling.

Back in his townhouse, Luka looked around for a moment, greeting a sleepy Val at the front door. The dog padded away, toenails clicking on the kitchen tile. This place was so empty. So lonely. Not even Val filled that void for him, though the dog-for all his lack of enthusiasm-was friendly in a stately kind of way.

“It wasn’t a date, Val,” he told the dog. “But God...when is this going to end? I hate living alone. No offense, Val, but I would much prefer a warm woman in my bed than a hairy Australian shepherd who sleeps beside the bed. Besides, you don’t talk back. I need somebody who’ll talk back. Who’ll even argue with me. I need that, Val...or I swear I’ll go bonkers.”



Kerry leaned against the door a moment, listening for a while until she heard him step off the porch. In a while, she couldn’t hear his footsteps any more and she made her way to her kitchen.

Maudie was on the kitchen counter again, and Kerry shooed her off. She hoisted herself up on to a barstool at the counter and sat for a long time, sipping coffee and staring around the empty room. “You know, Maudie...I hate this life. I really do. I hate being an ER chief. I hate not having a man in my life. Yes, that’s me saying such a...blasphemous thing. I, Kerry Weaver, who has always called herself a liberated, independent feminist, am lonely and I want a man. I want a man in my life, in my bed...I want a baby, I want... I want something better. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

The cat ignored Kerry, licking her paws instead.

“I wonder if you’d get along with a dog named Val the Impaler?” Kerry wondered. “I get along pretty well with his owner. I had a good time with him tonight...he served me Italian food, white whine, champagne...he treated me like a woman, not just a...”

She took another drink of her coffee. “He treated me like a person, Maudie. No one does that for me. Not very often. But if Luka Kovac ever shows even the slightest bit of interest in me, you can have the stuff in my ‘fridge-even the smoked salmon-and I’ll eat your cat food.”

Sighing sadly, Kerry crutched back into the living room, grabbed a stack of papers to read, and curled up on the couch. She turned on the TV and found, to her surprise, ‘Wuthering Heights’ playing on one of the local stations. Maudie jumped up and lay on the back of the couch, purring.

“No offense, Maudie, but you’re not enough. This existence...it’s not enough. Why do I do this? What’s the point?”

The movie ended, and Kerry turned the TV off. She grabbed the stack of papers, which still needed to be read and reviewed, turned off the lights, and headed upstairs for a hot bath and an empty bed.

A few miles away, Luka listened to the sound of Val’s breathing from across the room, and only felt lonelier. He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling until he simply couldn’t stay awake.

It was just the beginning.

TO BE CONTINUED...

--
Giving money and power to government is like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys.
~P.J. O'Rourke, "Parlaiment of Whores"
If a man watches three football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead.
~Erma Bombeck
You can't have everything. Where would you put it?
~Stephen Wright