Condemnation & Redemption Pt. 02

Condemnation & Redemption Part 2

Story and Music © PostScriptor 2019

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1st Gymnopedie, Eric Satie
Performed and recorded by PostScript (c) 2019
Yamaha Keyboard
Best if you have good speakers or a headset on your computer.
Click Here to listen: or . (2.5 min/mp3)

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~~* VI. Tennessee, Present Day *~~

I looked down at my iPhone at the message that had just arrived. My patient from Chicago had just arrived and he and his family were waiting in my office.

"Damn," I thought to myself, "They are 15 minutes early." I hurried across the medical campus to get back to my office.

The Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville is a nationally renowned medical facility. It is the largest single employer in Nashville, and over 80% of the employees of the University work for the hospital. It is famous for its advanced treatment centers in a number of areas, including cancer treatment, which was my area of specialty. I was, it shouldn't surprise anyone, a hematologist-oncologist; that is, I worked with patients suffering from various blood cell cancers.

I crossed 21st Street to the building where my office was located and found the family waiting for my arrival. I introduced myself to them, including the patient, a young man named Phillip Adams, who was 28 years old. His father, George, was a wealthy man who insisted that his son had to be treated by 'the best'. So their family physician had inquired with his colleagues and they had agreed that he ought to come to Nashville to have me treat his son.

Here, I must confess, the politics of being at a university medical center came into play. I had been 'requested' — read 'commanded' — by the Chief of Medicine, to handle the Adams family as diplomatically as possible. It seems that they were hoping to tap Mr. Adams for a large donation and my treatment of his son was considered to be a great opening for the moneygrubbers (pardon me: 'University Development' staff) to use. So I was going to do what I could, within reason, not simply to treat the son, but to satisfy the father.

My process starts easily enough, the same as it has for hundreds of years, truth be told. I took young Phillip into one of the rooms and took several vials of his blood. Actually, I didn't draw the blood; my nurse/phlebotomist took it for me as I spoke to Phillip.

And that was all that was needed initially. I escorted Phillip back out to his family and told them that I would have more information by late that afternoon, which I would let them know the next day.

The family, obviously anxious, asked if instead of waiting until the next day, I could join them for dinner and share my findings. Actually, I had nothing planned that I couldn't postpone, and keeping in mind the Chief's admonition, I accepted their gracious offer.

I returned to my office where, as I had expected, my nurse was waiting with the vials of blood that she had drawn.

Maria de Leon was a Latina in her mid-thirties, single and quite beautiful as well as curvaceous. She was one of my current batch of cognoscenti — the small number of people who knew that I lived an 'unusual' lifestyle, but were willing to submit to me in exchange for the rewards that I could give them.

Maria was handy for two reasons; she helped supply blood as well as other more sexual services.

"Here you go, Doc. What do you think?"

I took one of the vials and removed the rubber cap, then I sniffed it and finally put a small dab on my finger and applied it to my tongue. To my very sensitive and knowledgeable senses the diagnosis was clear.

"He has a non-Hodgkins lymphoma," I replied, "but not a terribly aggressive one. He should respond well to treatment." It was as I suspected, a cancer that any number of oncologists in the Chicago area could have easily treated, but a rich man would spare no expense for his only begotten son.

Maria shook her head. She had seen this scene often, but it still amazed her that I could smell and taste a cancer.

By the way — I wouldn't drink such blood, not because of any danger to me from it, but because it smelled and tasted rather pungent in a salty/sour sort of way. The stronger the smell and taste, the worse the cancer. To me it would have been akin to drinking sour milk.

I would still send it out to the path lab for confirmation of my diagnosis, but I had no doubts about the findings. It was a kind of 'cover-your-ass' action, plus it explained how I diagnosed the condition better than telling my colleagues 'I can smell and taste the cancer.' That might not be a complete impossibility in the future: researchers have discovered that some dogs can be trained to detect cancer.

Maria gave me a look that was filled with her unnatural desire for a drop of my blood.

"Doc, its been over a week now, if you needed me to come by and give you some blood. You know I'll do anything you want for it..."

"Maria, you know that it is too soon. You can't give any more so quickly. I am not going to put you at risk by using you too often," I explained again for the hundredth time.

"Oh man! I know you really enjoyed the ride the last time. I could do that again for you? Or something else. Anything else..."

I leaned over and kissed her forehead, and explained, "You give me great pleasure, Maria, as I think I give you as well, and I appreciate your willingness. But tonight I am spending the evening with the Adam's family."

Maria looked at me quizzically. I sighed.

"Potential donors to the University," I said rather flatly.

She smiled a sly and knowing smile, "Ah! So the good Doctor is becoming a fundraiser for the evening."

I smiled back, "At least an auxiliary fundraiser. But, as they say, 'It's a dirty job..."

And Maria joined me laughing as we both finished the saying, "but someone's got to do it!"

~~* VII. That Evening *~~

If you haven't spent time in Nashville you may not know what a fun town it is.

Of course everyone knows that Nashville is 'Music City', which is true enough. You can drive down 'Music Row' past one old home after another that have been converted into businesses, most of them involved with music production: entertainment lawyers, even a large building housing the musicians union and another "ASCAP", the American Society of Composers and Producers.

But Broadway Street in the downtown area, known informally as 'Nash Vegas' for its neon lights adorning one honky-tonk after another is the live music heart of the city. On both sides of the street, all the way down to the Cumberland River, the tourists can go into any of the bars and find world-class musicians playing. Most of them are the ones who haven't made it 'big' yet. They are amazing. Just to keep people interested in coming back on a regular basis, it isn't unusual for not just world class, but world FAMOUS musicians, to drop by and 'sit in' on a session.

Off of one of the side streets is the Ryman Auditorium, which used to house the 'Grand Ol' Opry' until they built a new facility to the east of town off of the I-40.

But you don't have to go into Nashville proper to find great dining and great music.

One place made even more famous by the recent television series 'Nashville', is the Blue Bird Café, which is located off of Hillsboro Pike road — not far south of the Vandy Medical Center, and just a couple of miles north and east of my house in Brentwood. It's very difficult to get reservations, but I shamelessly had Vandy's Office of the President use their influence to get us in that evening.

That was where I met the Adams for dinner.

We all had a marvelous time there — it reminded me that I should go out more often and take in the ambiance of this fine Southern City.

The musicians who were playing that evening, even though they were quite good, were not famous for their performances, but rather because they were composers whose music was frequently performed by other, more famous performers.

I actually enjoyed the Adams family a great deal. They were in fact an offshoot of the famed Adams who had been twice Presidents of the United States, and involved with politics and government for several generations thereafter. Their lineage was through Henry Adams, and they were delighted and astounded to find out that I was quite familiar with his books 'Mont-Saint-Michael and Chartres' and 'The Education of Henry Adams'."

"By god, Christian," George exclaimed (we were on a first name basis by this time), "I didn't think that anyone as young as you would have read any of old Henry's books. I'm afraid they rather fell out of fashion over time."

I smiled and replied, "It seems to me, now when I look back on it, as if I read it a hundred years ago!"

George laughed. "I know you're too young for that. A hundred years ago, you would have been reading a first edition; it was originally published in 1913!"

I nodded and agreed with him, all the while thinking that I ought not mention that I DID read it as a first edition, and I shouldn't let him know that it was in my library at home. George might find it a bit disconcerting to find that it was inscribed by his ancestor to a young man named Christian, who had astounded Adams with his knowledge of Normandy during the late medieval period and mindset of the people all of those years ago.

George, it turned out, was a self-made man, despite his family name.

"My branch of the family lost it all in the stock market crash of '29. So we still had connections to the old money Brahmins, we just lacked the wealth. The one great advantage I did have was an Aunt who was appalled at my family's financial condition and saw to it — that is to say paid for — that I could go to the finest schools.

"Fortunately, after getting a wonderfully useless Liberal Arts degree, it turned out that I had some talent for business. I went into real estate development and the rest, as they say, is history.

"Thank goodness that I had the money to send Phillip to an Ivy League school myself when the time came, because my Aunt had long since passed and the rest of the family didn't look kindly on an Adams making his fortune in 'trade' as they called it! Well, I may not be a billionaire developer like Trump, but I'm worth enough to keep my family comfortable and the rest of the family can lump it!"

Then George turned to his son, Phillip, and put a hand on his shoulder. Phillip looked happy, even though somewhat thin and drawn, presumably as the result of his illness.

"And Phil here is even better than I was at his age!"

Phillip smiled, pleased at his father's praise before he looked at me to speak.

"Don't take Dad too seriously about my being better than he was. If I am, it's only because of the training I've gotten at Dad's hands.

"When I was growing up, Dad never pushed me in any particular direction as far as future career."

Phil kind of chuckled, "In college I must have changed my major, what, Dad? Four times?"

George laughed at his sons self-deprecating confession, but nodded his head in agreement.

Phil continued, "But in the end, I came back to Chicago and couldn't imagine doing anything that interested me more than working with Dad in real estate."

At that point, George turned to me with a serious look on his face and asked the question that I knew would come eventually.

"So, Doc, what is Phil's prognosis?"

I put on my 'serious thoughtful wise' Doctor game face before I replied, "Based on the initial results from the tests that I could do in my office, I think the outlook should be good. I think that his cancer is very treatable. I should be giving you all of the disclaimers as well, but I'm fairly certain of my diagnosis." Like hell! I was sure of my assessment.

"But we should wait on getting the lab results back tomorrow, and we'll discuss his treatment regimen in my office. His youth is in his favor and as I said, I think his cancer is one of the more treatable varieties. That said, I don't want you to think it will be easy. Radiation and chemo is hard on even a young strong body."

I looked at Phil, who had quite a mop of black curly hair on his head. He was a slender and to my eyes somewhat effeminate young man with soft hands and gentle eyes. But now, with the cancer, he was almost gaunt and looked tired, even early in the evening.

"And one of the warnings I've got to give you now is: you will very likely lose those curls that I'm sure help you reel in the women!"

Phil actually smiled at me, despite my warning, and put his arm around his Dad's shoulder — then pointed up at George's head. It was bald with a fringe of what might have been at one time dark curls.

"I figured it was only a question of time anyway!"

Finally his mother, Alice, who had been sitting silently observing and I though giving me a more than once over, finally spoke.

"His hair will grow back in after he's completed the treatments won't it? I hate to think what his fiancée will think if he loses it all permanently."

I shook my head, "No guarantees in this business, but I would expect it to grow back. And Phil? As far as your father's hair is concerned — genetic male pattern balding comes from your mother, not your father. So Alice, tell us, was your father bald as well?"

She smiled at us all, "Nope! He had a full head of hair until the day he died."

"There you go, Phil. No reason to think that you'll go bald permanently."

I could see this discussion was, despite its light tone, reassuring Phil.

"Thank goodness. I wouldn't want Steph to dump me because she could see her reflection on my shiny head."

Alice made a dismissive sound.

"Stephanie is NOT a trivial sort of person. She is very perceptive. A man's hair (or lack of it) would not make a difference to her. She looks for the inner soul of the man. That's why she is still single. Until she marries you, of course.

"Mom, I was just joking, for goodness sake!"

Phil then turned to me.

"I don't want you to get the wrong impression. My fiancée, Stephanie, is a very serious woman. She is a brilliant scholar, an intellectual powerhouse and, as it happens, one of the most beautiful women in the world!" Phil grinned at me, "But don't take my word for it. She'll be here in Nashville soon and I'm sure you'll get a chance to meet her."

We had finished our meal and the nightly show was going to begin in a short time. Phil pushed his chair back to get up.

"I think that I'll hit the restroom before they start playing again," he said and turned away to find the restrooms.

Alice quietly hissed at George, "George, go with him. You know that he's been having dizzy spells recently."

George didn't respond, he just nodded his agreement and got up and headed after Phil, leaving Alice and me at the table.

I had been aware that Alice had been looking at me during the meal in a more than casual way. She had very likely noticed that I hadn't really eaten with them. I'd pushed a small salad around on the plate and had drunk a sip or two of wine, but nothing more. Our eyes had met on more than one occasion and I semi-expected what came next. Call it my vampire intuition.

Alice was a very attractive woman in her early-50's. She had kept her figure with her years adding to her breasts and derriere. She knew that she was attractive, and as far as she knew, she was planning on hitting on a younger man — that is, me. I don't know if it was my natural looks or if I exuded some sort of pheromone, but certain women did seem to be preternaturally drawn to me. Perhaps Alice was one of those.

As soon as George was halfway across the room, Alice had leaned over towards me, the better to whisper her desires to me.

"This is embarrassing to me, but I have to confess that I feel a strong attraction to you. I know that I'm older than you are, but Christian, if you are interested...well, let it suffice to say that I will be spending time here in Nashville while Phillip is receiving his treatments."

I looked at her, appraising her and enjoying what I saw, but for some reason, I held myself back. For one thing, I had all of the submissives that I needed at the moment, and adding another was always taking a risk.

"Alice, you might be surprised at my age. I'm not nearly as young as I look, according to what people tell me, anyway. But there are some 'ethical' issues and concerns that could arise, if you are offering what I think you are." I smiled at her in such a way as to assure her that I was not just blowing her off.

"We'll talk about it when we have more time," I told her as I stroked her leg under the table. It was like a jolt to her system as she suddenly straightened in her chair. Her eyes were wide open as she looked at me before calming down and smiling.

But as much entertainment value having Alice as a play toy might be, there was a feeling of disquiet that came me with this Adams family — an unsettled feeling of a sort that I never ignored. Change was coming, and I hoped it was for the better and not a precursor of disaster.

The rest of the evening was anticlimactic — pleasant, entertaining music and the Adams returning to their downtown hotel and I to my mini-estate.

~~* VIII. fevrier 1689, Versaille *~~

"J'ai faim!" Aurora exclaimed to me, as if this should be some sort of surprise.

"My love — you are always hungry anymore," I laughed. "That is the way of women in your current condition! You're eating for two."

As she entered into the ninth month of her pregnancy, even my loving, patient and sweet Aurora was often, shall we say, a little short tempered. And always peckish.

"If I remain like this for much longer I will die from eating too much and being shut up in these apartments!" She turned her face to me and I could see the look of despair in her eyes.

"Can't we at least go out into the gardens for a walk? Anything but sitting here in my misery. Christian, how can you possibly love a woman who has grown to twice her size? You are going to leave me and I'll never have another man again!"

"Dearest — it is too cold outside for a walk and with the ice on the ground it is too slippery to be safe in your condition.

"It will only be a little while longer now before you will give birth and much of your suffering will be behind you.

"And for your information, I love you even more now that ever. You have grown, but it is because you are carrying a gift for us. And I will never willingly leave your side, so put that from your mind."

That seemed to calm her, at least for the present, and she lay back and closed her eyes.

Aurora was awaiting the birth of her child sans her husband, the Comte, because Louis had taken his close male confidants to the Palace of Fontainebleau, in order that he could engage in a mid-Winter hunt for wild boar. Louis, although he lived mainly at Versailles, still spent a fair amount of time at Fontainebleau as well -- regularly hunting there in both the Spring and the Fall. He had proclaimed his keen desire to take a wild boar to justify his visit, although some cynics felt that the fact that his long-time mistress was occupying her apartment there might have played a role, as well.

Nevertheless, it allowed me to spend precious hours with my pregnant lover in the days prior to her delivery. Each minute was a joy to my soul.

I knew that it was merely a question of days; indeed, Aurora's time could come at any moment. As a court physician, I had arranged for an experienced midwife to perform the delivery.

I preferred the midwives to most of the physicians of the day, because the midwives were more fastidious. Clean sheets, hot water and soap, even the use of alcoholic spirits to clean their hands, and the inevitable rips and tears that came with the entry of a new babe into the world seemed to me to have a beneficial effect on the survival rate of their patients.

Most of the physicians of the time thought differently and found my own desire for cleanliness to be laughable. I would reply to their taunts that, "While butchers are also covered in blood as they work, they don't expect their charges to survive!" In this area, history would prove me right.

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