The Coffee Shop Pt. 04

"I don't know if I can do it," I admitted. "I only know that I have to try. I have to be there for Andy however I can. For his sake, more so than mine, I'll pull it off." I looked at Chuck and gave him a half smile of encouragement. I looked down at myself and realized that I'd have to change my clothes before I left. I couldn't wear my sweats to the hospital.

"Just give me a few minutes to change," I said as I headed off to my bedroom.

"Sure. No problem," Chuck called out to me in a more civilized tone.

I think I broke some type of world record for changing my clothes. I joined Chuck back in the living room in less than two minutes. Wordlessly Chuck stood up and escorted me to the front door of my apartment. We were out of my apartment, with the front door securely locked, and heading down to the garage in the elevator, thirty seconds later. After we exited from the elevator, I followed Chuck to his car. It wasn't a police car, incidentally. I climbed into the passenger seat and fasten my seat belt. Chuck strapped himself in and started the engine. The trip to the hospital with Chuck was uneventful. We sat in silence, each lost to our own thoughts. What was there to say? We were both worried sick about Andy.

When we arrived at the hospital it was a quick trip up to the waiting area for the intensive care ward. Andy was still in surgery when we arrived. The waiting area was packed with cops. There was a mixture of male and female police officers in the room, all of whom were buddies or friends of Andy's. I felt slightly out of place, especially since I was in one of my cowboy outfits. The only bright spot, if you can call it that, was that Andy's parents and other family members were not here. Well, not yet anyway. Andy's family lived in another province so it would be a day or so before they arrived. I picked out a chair that was out of the way, sort of tucked away in a corner, sat down and tried to read my book.

A few hours later I caught a glimpse of Andy on the gurney as he was being wheeled from the operating room, to one of the recovery rooms in the ward. I gulped as I saw how pale and drained his face looked. I heard the steady rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor as Andy was wheeled down the hall. It took all of the strength that I had to stay in that chair and not move a muscle towards Andy. A very large piece of my heart and my soul accompanied Andy on that gurney. I felt as if I had been torn in two.

So here I was giving the same performance that Jack Jones had played when Steven Stokes had been shot. Back then I'd wondered if I'd be able to do as Jack had done. Now, to my everlasting sorrow, I knew that I could take on that role. It was the only role available to me. "God damn society anyway!" I silently cursed at the injustice and unfairness of the world. The man I loved, who meant more to me than anyone else I knew, was lying in a room, fighting for his life, and I couldn't even go in there to hold his hand. I'd never felt so angry, confused, hurt, scared, worried, terrified and miserable in my entire life. You'd never have known it to look at me though. I let only a few traces of my worry and concern creep out onto my face. The rest of the maelstrom I kept bottled up inside of me. A part of me was amazed at my control. I guess you never really know what you are capable of doing, until you are forced in to doing it.

"How are you doing, Paul?" Asked a deep commanding familiar voice from somewhere off to my left side. It was a voice that I knew. It snapped my attention back to the present.

I opened my eyes and turned in the direction of the voice. It was Chuck, just as I'd thought. "I'm okay," I answered quietly as I sighed. "Any news about Andy?" I asked softly.

"Only that he's out of danger," Chuck answered. "I don't mean to sound unkind, but why don't you head on home? You're not doing any good here. I'll let you know the second there is any news. Frankly, Paul, you look like you could use some rest. You really look beat."

"Thank you, Chuck," I answered calmly. "But I prefer to stay here unless it's a problem for someone. Like you I'm worried about Andy. Sitting here is as good a place as any to worry."

"Actually, it is a problem, " Chuck said softly, as he looked me in the eyes. "I was nominated to be the person to ask you to please leave."

"Leave? Why" I asked dumbfounded. I was shocked and a bit upset at this unusual request from Chuck. I remained seated where I was. I was too stunned to move.

"Well, to put it bluntly, you're not a cop. We can't talk about certain things with you around," Chuck said solemnly. "It's nothing personal. It's just that you are not a member of the force. So, it would be easier for all concerned if you would please leave."

"Was this your idea, Chuck?" I asked him as I felt myself starting to get angry. I was starting to wonder if is this was more because I was gay, than because I wasn't a cop.

"No, it was mine," answered a woman's voice from off to the side.

I turned to my left to see a woman in an RCMP uniform, now standing beside Chuck. She was about five feet nine inches in height, with a solid almost stocky build to her body. She looked like she could more than hold her own in any brawl or fight. She had close cropped brunette hair, that framed a very beautiful face. (Hey, just because I'm gay doesn't mean I don't notice and appreciate a beautiful woman. I just wouldn't want to become intimate with her. Easy stomach. Don't turn over, now.) Her skin was clear and smooth. Her nose was small as were her lips and her mouth. A pair of steel gray eyes gazed out from that lovely face. They were the only thing about her face which suggested that there was more to her than just good looks and a well toned body.

"As Chuck said, there are things that we need to talk about, and having you here would make that rather difficult," the female constable said to me locking those cool steel gray eyes of hers on mine, as she looked down at me. "I am sorry to have to ask you to leave, but it is necessary. You simply do not belong here."

Now I knew what it meant when cops 'close ranks' on you. If you are not part of the force, you're not part of their world. I decided not to make an issue of the request. This was not the mountain that I wanted to die on, if you follow my meaning. Besides, it might raise suspicions about me and Andy.

"As you wish," I said as I slowly stood up, turned and began walking towards the bank of elevators. After a few steps I stopped, turned about and addressed the female constable.

"Just because I'm not a cop, doesn't make me any less Andy's friend than you," I said to her coolly, locking my eyes with hers. "Because I'm Andy's friend, I'll do as you ask. I'm going to grab something in the hospital cafeteria, and will wait there for the next hour or so. If you hear any news about Andy, I would appreciate it if someone would be kind enough to drop by and tell me."

I looked at the female constable standing by Chuck for a second or two before I turned about and resumed my trip to the elevators. My ears strained to hear some acknowledgment of my request. I heard nothing. Boy when cops close ranks, they really close ranks. It was with a heavy heart, and a distinct lack of appetite that I made my way to the cafeteria.

I bought a cup of coffee a ham and cheese sandwich, and took my tray to a remote corner of the cafeteria when I arrived there. The place was about half full. Oddly enough, I found the sounds of people talking and the general clatter to be comforting. I opened my book, turned to the first page and stated reading it. This time, I actually managed to follow the story line. Slowly I became engrossed in the book and didn't notice the passage of time. I sipped the coffee and nibbled away at the sandwich as I read my book. Despite rumors to the contrary, the hospital cafeteria food was pretty good. I glanced down at my watch mildly surprised to see that about forty-five minutes had passed. It was still too soon to head back to the ICU waiting area, so I decided to stay in the cafeteria and continue reading my book.

I was snatched away from the storyline by the sound of a vaguely familiar voice calling out, "Hello there, Paul. May I join you?"

I looked up in surprise to see the pleasantly smiling face of Bernie Simpson, one of the doctors who worked at this hospital. Bernie was about 35 years old, physically fit, and appeared to be of average build, no noticeable muscles but no gut, either. Bernie was as good looking as ever with his full head of medium length black hair, neatly combed. His lean and slightly taunt face had a certain boyish youth to it that added to the aura of trust and confidence that seemed to surround him. Clean shaven, with clear and smooth skin, his face was very handsome. His lips were thin, and his mouth looked soft and sensual. Perched on his nose was a pair of sliver rimmed glasses which did not block the view of his clear gray eyes. Unlike the first time that I'd met him, those eyes were as soft, warm and sensual as the rest of his face. Right now they glowed with warmth and cheerfulness at seeing an old friend.

"Hi Bernie," I said cordially, if not cheerfully. "Sure you can join me. I welcome the company."

"It's been a while since we've seen each other, Paul," Bernie said calmly. "I'm happy to have run into like this. I was sort of hoping for another session sometime soon. It seems that we just haven't had much of a chance to get together."

"Well, there's nothing like coming to the point, Bernie," I said calmly. (Bernie, if you had not already guessed, was one of my former subjects, although in his case it was done as defensive action on my part. Bernie had tried to blackmail me and Steven Stokes. It had been necessary to teach Bernie a lesson or two. Since then we've been good friends. Bernie respects me for what I can do to guys with hypnosis, but more importantly for what it is that I don't do. Bernie even bought me a expensive gift one time: A matching cowboy belt buckle and bolo tie set from one of my favorite western wear stores. What made it all the more touching is that Bernie did this completely on his own, without any suggestion or command from me. Okay. Enough about the past.)

"I can't recall the last time you phoned me for a session," I commented to Bernie as the last of those thoughts flashed through my mind. "Been kind of busy, have you?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bernie agreed emphatically. "That's one of the reasons I could really use a session with you. I need to let go and not feel in charge any more, if you know what I mean."

"Maybe someday soon," I said halfheartedly. "I'm not in the mood right now."

"Of course not now, Paul," Bernie said cheerfully. Then Bernie looked closely at my face and a look of concern crept over his face. "Paul, what's wrong?"

"Nothing you can help me with, Bernie," I said, avoiding a direct answer to his question.

"Come on, Paul," Bernie persisted. "Someone else who didn't know you as well as I do might buy that line. Something's really bothering you, I can tell. Care to talk about it? It might help you feel better to talk about it."

"A friend of mine is here in the hospital," I answered with a sigh. "I'm waiting for news about him."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing serious. Waiting in the cafeteria seems rather strange to me, Paul," Bernie said with a doubting look on his face. "Most people would wait in the waiting room. That's why it's called a waiting room, you know."

"I am well aware of that, Bernie," I said coldly to him, and then looked away from him. His faint attempt at humor was most unwelcome.

"Hey, Paul, I'm sorry," Bernie said contritely. "I don't know what's wrong, but I'm always here to listen. You should know that. Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, Bernie," I apologized as I turned my head back towards Bernie and looked at those gray eyes of his that were overflowing with concern and compassion. "I really can't talk about it here in public."

"Oh, I see," Bernie said thoughtfully. "Well, I'm on my dinner break. We could go to my office and talk in private if you like."

"Yeah, I think I'd like that," I agreed quietly. I felt the need to talk to someone about how I felt, and I was touched by Bernie's offer. "Lead the way."

"Come on, then," Bernie said as he stood up and gestured for me to stand up.

I climbed to my feet and quietly followed Bernie out to the bank of elevators. The trip to his office was quiet and silent. Bernie knew that I wouldn't talk before we got to his office. As for me, I knew that I could trust Bernie. He was easily controlled by me, and if I ever told him anything that I did not want him to remember, I could easily remove that knowledge from his mind, or block him from remembering it. In all the times that I had hypnotized Bernie, though, such steps had never been necessary. Bernie and I had developed an unexpected and deep friendship over the past year or so. I helped him out with his stress and frustration from his job, and he was my totally willing and obedient hypnotized slave. Not because I asked him or commanded him to do that, but because he wanted to.

Bernie was one of those guys who enjoyed being hypnotized and then being made to serve and obey. It was a complete role reversal for him. In his job as a doctor, he was always 'in charge' and had a mountain of responsibilities and duties to deal with. It was a profound relief for him to let someone else take over all the decision making and to just go along with whatever was asked of him. Over the months I had proved to Bernie that I would never ask him to do anything that he might have seriously objected to. I also made it clear to him that I wasn't interested in having sex with him. Bernie was certainly good looking enough, but my promise to Andy overrode any lustful considerations. I shoved that thought roughly aside. Any thoughts about Andy were painful right now.

We arrived at Bernie's office a very short while later. I made myself comfortable in one of the leather overstuffed chairs while Bernie closed and locked the door.

"Paul, we're alone now," Bernie said quietly as he sat down opposite me in another of the dark leather overstuffed chairs. "We have all the time in the world. I'm all ears."

I looked up at Bernie, torn between the desire to keep my feelings to myself, and to open up and pour out my troubles to him. Bernie waited patiently, letting me move at my own pace, my own speed. I sat in that chair unsure what to do. I just looked at Bernie, letting the confusion and indecision lie clearly on my face.

Bernie reached over and gently took my right hand and held it in both of his. "Let me help, please," he pleaded softly, his voice soothing and reassuring. "It's what friends do. You are one of my closest and dearest friends, Paul. You've always been there for me when I needed a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on or just someone to listen to. Now, it's my turn to help you. So, please, let me help. Tell me what's wrong."

I held up my left hand. "See this ring?" I asked him. Bernie flicked his eyes to my left hand noticed the ring encircling my left ring finger, and nodded his head. "I'm involved with someone, a man who is very dear and precious to me. He's in the hospital, this hospital. But because we're gay I can't visit him openly. We're.we're both still in the closet. It's kind of complicated." I paused and swallowed. I didn't want to say any more.

"And?" Bernie prompted me after a few minutes of silence.

"It's not fair!" I blurted out, as the pent up anger, frustration and fear flooded out of me. "All I want to do is to go into his room, hold his hand and tell him how much I love him, and I can't BLOODY WELL DO THAT! All I can be is a concerned friend! I was even told to leave because I wasn't a cop! IT'S JUST NOT FAIR!!" I whaled in frustration and anguish.

"I can't see him! I can't hold him! I can't tell him that I love him, and that I'm worried about him!" I screamed out into the quiet of the room as I vented my frustration and anger at Bernie. "He's lying there in a hospital bed, probably wondering where the hell I am! Wondering if I even care about him! All because of his GOD DAMN JOB! JESUS FUCKING CHIRST!! IT'S JUST NOT GOD DAMN FAIR!!!" Several huge sobs racked my frame as I fought back the urge to cry like a baby. It was a difficult fight, but I won. I kept control and didn't start bawling. Still it was a near thing, a very near thing.

"I'm sorry, Paul," Bernie said soothingly, in the now quiet room. "For all the bigoted, closed-mined people in the world, I'm sorry. You can take a swing at me, if it'll make you feel better."

I looked at Bernie, who was sitting in front of me and pointing at his chin with his right index finger. I stared at him for a second or two and then broke out into laughter at the absurdity of his suggestion, and pose he had struck. As if I would hit Bernie because of the social conventions in society. My laughter was short, but very therapeutic. "No, Bernie, I don't think that's going to be necessary," I chuckled, as I leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the left side of his face. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Feel better?" Bernie asked as he let go of my hand. Bernie had not reacted to my kissing him on the cheek. He had not flinched, or drawn away from me. He had accepted the kiss for what it was intended as, a sincere thank you. Bernie was a my friend.

"Much," I answered. "It doesn't change the situation, but at least I don't feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore. I guess I should have expected something like this. Andy did warn me after all."

"Constable Andrew Anderson?" Bernie asked me, softly. "He's your partner?"

"Yes, but how did you know?" I asked stunned.

"He's the only male police officer, with the first name of Andy, who has been admitted to the ICU ward in the last few hours," Bernie answered.

"Oops. I guess I slipped up there," I admitted. "You weren't supposed to know that he's gay, you know."

"Don't worry about it, Paul," Bernie said warmly. "My blackmail days are over. However, I might just be able to solve your little problem," he continued as a thoughtful look crept over his features.

"Say what?" I asked stunned at Bernie's implication.

"I am working on that ward, so I might just be able to pull a few strings, and get you in to see Andy," Bernie said enthusiastically. "But, it would have be outside of normal visiting hours. Can you meet me here Saturday night at say 7:00 PM?"

"Here in your office?" I asked totally confused as to what he was planning.

"Yes, here," Bernie confirmed. "Just write down what size clothes you wear, your shoe size and your hat size, before you go."

"Go? Go where?" I asked feeling more lost than ever.

"Home," Bernie said confidently. "You look like you need to get some rest. I have a few things to check out, and some things to take care of to get ready for Saturday night. Now you just take a cab home, unless you'd rather have me drive you home."

"No, that's okay. I'll take a cab home," I answered as I stood up and walked over to Bernie's desk. I snagged an empty writing pad and a pen. "Just what is it that you have in mind, Bernie?" I asked him, point blank, while I wrote down the information that he'd asked me for.

"Trust me," Bernie said with a confident smile. "It's nothing illegal, although I may have to bend a few hospital regulations." And with that Bernie telephoned one of the local cab companies, and asked for a cab. Bernie shooed me out of his office with an injunction to be on time Saturday evening. His only response was to 'wait and see', when I repeatedly asked him what he was planning.

The cab ride home was uneventful. I got home at about 10:30 PM. There was a message on my telephone answering machine from Chuck. It was short and to the point. Andy was out of danger, and was doing as well as could be expected. The doctors were not letting him have any visitors for the next three days, so I didn't need to go to the hospital.