Chapter Four

     Patrick smiled and waved at the bartender, Mickey, as he helped Celia to her seat at the bar. Dempsey's was already in full swing with the happy hour crowd and its usual mix of regulars and tourists. Mickey waved back, his smile widening at the sight of Cecelia, still in a her bikini bottoms but with an unzipped hoodie that Patrick had dug out of his trunk. Her foot was bandaged, but very few men were looking at her feet.

     "Paddy! Good to see you, the usual?" like any good bartender, Mickey knew all of his regulars. "and for your lovely friend?"

     "Stoli, rocks." She said easing into the barstool.

     "Sure thing, Miss. Coming right up." Mickey responded and started pouring.

     Patrick sat down beside Cecelia. "looks like the Celts are still up." he offered up lamely.

     "I can see the score, thanks." She was focused on the large flat screen TV behind the bar.

     Patrick felt off his game. He had thought bringing Cecelia here would lead to the normal evening with a tourist girl. He would buy a couple drinks, talk about the local sites, maybe plan out a trip or two, and then take the girl back to his place. Which was conveniently close by.

     Mickey came back a moment later with their drinks and shook his head at Patrick. Normally Patrick would have already moved alone to another prospect at this point, but he had already invested a lot of time in this one. And driving her to the hospital should count for something!

     "Damn!" Cecelia shouted at the TV as the Heat scored and tied up the game. "Pick up your game!" She picked up her drink and downed it in a single shot.

     Patrick felt his eyebrows shoot up and he traded glances with Mickey. Maybe the night was looking up. He motioned for another round and sipped at his drink. "this place has really killer wings." he said. "Would you like to try some?"

     Cecelia cursed again at the TV and spared him a glance, "Yeah, sure." She said.

     Patrick waved at Mickey who just nodded in reply and wrote up the order. Here we go. Patrick thought. He was starting to feel more comfortable. "So how long are you in town for?" he asked.

     Cecelia did not respond. Patrick awkwardly waited a minute until it was clear she was not going to say anything and tried again. "I said, how long-"

     "That's the line?" Cecelia cut him off.

     "Excuse me?"

     "I've been waiting all day for the line that you use on all the tourist girls. I'm assuming you have an entire game plan. You seem like the type. And the best you have is ‘How long are you in town for?’" Cecelia had not looked away from the screen.

     "And what type is that?" Patrick felt his ears start to redden.

     Cecelia's only response was a sidelong glance at him with an arched eyebrow.

     Before he could respond, Mickey came back with a plate of wings and another vodka for Cecelia. Once again, she pounded it back and waved for another, barely taking her eyes from the TV screen.

     Patrick gaped at her and took a large swig of his drink. While he sat there trying to think of a new tack, he started eating the wings. Dempseys had the spiciest wings in town. He usually ordered a pitcher of beer to help cool his mouth off, but Cecelia was downing the wings without even the ranch sauce to take the edge off.

     While he was sitting trying to think of something to say, Cecelia reached up and pulled her hair down. It was longer than he had expected. It fell in messy waves past her shoulders and she shook it out. She glanced over and caught him looking at her. A knowing smile played across her lips.

     The action threw Patrick even further off his game.

     During a commercial break, Cecelia turned to the bartender and asked, "Restroom?"

     Mickey pointed to a corner and Cecelia limped off to use it.

     While she was gone, Mickey paused in pouring a drink to flash an apologetic smile at Patrick. "Hey bud, you can't win them all."

     "The night isn't over yet." Patrick said but his heart wasn't in it. This woman was playing him like a fiddle and he knew it. It was fast reaching the point where he wanted to just take her back to the hotel and go to bed.

     Mickey just smiled again and shook his head. He wandered down the bar to serve another patron and left Patrick alone.

     "I suppose I should say, thank you." Came the voice from behind him.

     Patrick turned to see Cecelia without the hoodie standing in just her turquoise bikini and arms folded across her chest.

     "Uh, don't mention it." He stammered. He felt ridiculous.

     Cecelia bit her lower lip and seemed to think for a minute. She shrugged slightly and sat down next to him again. "One more round, please." She asked politely.

     When Mickey poured the vodka, she gave him a large smile and leaned forward on the bar pushing up her cleavage. "Thanks!" She said brightly.

     Patrick thought he heard her slurring the 's' at the end of the word.

     "You should probably slow it down a bit." He said. "You've had quite a day."

     "You should probably grow a pair and catch up. I thought you said you were from Massachusetts." Cecelia started digging into the wings.

     Patrick was starting to feel more comfortable. Drunk tourist trying to blow off steam was right in his wheel house. Even still... "Why don't we switch to water for a bit?" he asked and signaled to Mickey.

     "Thanks, Dad." Cecelia said and downed her drink.

     Mickey came back and started to pour another Stoli, but Patrick stopped him. "Thanks anyway, Mick, but I think we are going to call it for the evening. Let's go, Celia."

     "He calls me, Celia, isn't that cute? Just a few hours ago it was 'Yes, Doctor,' and 'No, Doctor." Cecelia started laughing and swaying in her seat.

     "Sure, thing, Paddy. I'll put all this on your tab." Mickey said. "It was nice meeting you, Miss."

     "I'm a doctor you know." Cecelia said back to him. "I'm very well respected. I work all the time and I never have any fun."

     Patrick was pulling her slowly away from the bar.

     "Would you like to have fun, Patrick? I can be lots of fun." Cecelia was leaning heavily on him as they walked through the bar.

     "I’m sure you do, Celia. Why don’t we go back to the hotel?" Patrick asked her as he helped her into his car.

     “That sounds like a great idea!” said Cecilia as Patrick pulled his car back into traffic.

Chapter Three

     The nurse wheeled Cecelia through the busy Emergency Room. Patrick lingered a couple of steps behind, doing his best to look like he belonged in the procession. Once they arrived in one of the private triage rooms in the back of the ER, Cecelia climbed out of the wheelchair and lifted herself gingerly onto the bed.
     "Just make yourself at home!" said the nurse as he headed for the door, "the doctor will be with you soon."
     Patrick paced around the room, examining the sterile surroundings. He tried his best to avoid the critical glare of the grumpy doctor, as he tried to figure out a way to cut the tension in the room. Obviously, his charm was not going to be much help. Thankfully, there was a TV mounted against the wall in the corner of the room.
     "Nice place." said Patrick as he walked over to the side of the bed, "At least we have some privacy..."
     Patrick leaned in over the side of the bed, tracing his hand along the edge of the railing. He leaned in close to Cecelia's face, and paused for a moment as a confused look glinted in her eyes. Before Cecelia could realize what was happening, Patrick scooped up the remote control that was lying on the bed, plopped down on a chair in the corner, and turned on the TV.
     "Excellent!" said Patrick as a basketball game flickered onto the TV screen. "Classy hospital. They have ESPN."
     The Miami Heat were playing the Boston Celtics in downtown Miami that night, and Patrick waited for the score to be displayed. He saw that Boston was up by eight points, and decided to change the channel before Cecelia got bored. He started flipping through the channels, looking for something that she might like.
     "What the hell is wrong with you?" Cecelia shouted.
     "Pardon?" asked Patrick.
     "Put the game back on!" demanded Cecelia.
     "Oh, sorry." said Patrick as he changed the station. "I didn't realize you were a Heat fan."
     "I'm not." said Cecelia.
     "You like the Celts?" asked Patrick, "Seriously?"
     "Of course I do," said Cecelia, "I'm from Boston."
     "Huh." muttered Patrick, surprised. "Me too. I grew up in Newton."
     "Roxbury." said Cecelia.
     "How about that?" said Patrick as he turned up the volume on the basketball game. "Let me guess, you played center in Med school?"
      "You're real witty for such a dumbass." replied Cecelia. "And for the record, I played guard."
      Patrick stared at Cecelia, confused.
      "My father was a high school basketball coach for 25 years." continued Cecelia, "He taught me to play when I was little. I used to go to all of his games. My mother worked, so I spent most of my childhood in the gym or on the playground under a hoop.
     Cecelia sat on the bed, and continued telling her story. She never took her eyes off of the television screen. Patrick sat and listened to the doctor telling her personal history to a complete stranger.
     "I played basketball all through high school and got a basketball scholarship to Syracuse." said Cecelia.
     "So why did you give it up?" asked Patrick.
     "What do you mean, give it up?" asked Cecelia.
     "You didn't want to go pro?" asked Patrick.
     "Are you kidding?" shouted Cecelia, "Do you have any idea what the salaries are for rookies in the WNBA?"
     Patrick stared at Cecelia blankly.
     "I'll spell it out for you." said Cecelia. "The opportunities for women athletes are still pretty sparse when you get to the pros. Sure, you can go out for the U.S. Olympic team and try to get some endorsement deals, but I didn't want that life."
     "So how does a brawny basketball player become a doctor?" asked Patrick.
     "Brawny?" asked Cecelia.
     "Kidding." said Patrick. He grinned and waited for Cecelia to continue the story.
     My father got badly hurt during my junior year, lost his balance during a practice scrimmage. Tore his knee cartilage all to hell." said Cecelia. "The doctors told him he would have  to have knee reconstruction surgery, but he didn't like the idea and procrastinated for two years. I saw the pain that he was in before the surgery, and I was amazed at the difference after he had the surgery and healed up. He was like a different person. That's when I decided to go into sports medicine."
     "So that's what you do now?" asked Patrick.
     "Nah, once I got to college, I realized how much I hated being around career athletes. When I got to med school, I realized that I wanted to specialize in Orthopedics, so I could help people like my father."
     "Yeah, seems like a good way to meet older men" said Patrick.
     Cecelia shot Patrick a glare, and he almost saw a smile cross her lips. Before Cecelia could think of something to say, the doctor walked into the triage room.
     "Good evening, Dr. Shanahan." said the doctor. "I'm Dr. Hernandez. Let's see if we can get your foot stitched up now, shall we?"
     Cecelia and Patrick waited while the doctors took care of Cecelia's foot. It took another half-hour for them to clean and examine the wound, then stitch it up and dress it properly. Cecelia and Patrick sat there, watching the basketball game as the doctors did their work. By the time Cecelia was discharged, it was already early evening.
     Patrick helped Cecelia walk out of the hospital. She could walk by herself, but she had a very noticeable limp. He held her by the elbow as she waddled back to the car. Patrick helped Cecelia into the car, then got in and turned the engine on.
     "Well, Dr. Shanahan," said Patrick, "I'll be happy to take you anywhere you'd like to go, but my shift ended about an hour ago, and I don't know about you, but I'm kind of hungry."
     Cecelia nodded her head nonchalantly.
     "There's a bar up the street that has really good seafood." said Patrick. "It's a local joint, a bit of a dive, but the owner is from Boston, and they always have the games on when the Celts play. We could get some dinner and catch the end of the game if you like"
     "Sure," said Cecelia, "Lord knows I could use a drink right now."
     Patrick pulled out of the parking lot and started heading down the busy boulevard.
     "And please call me Celia. Between the hospital and everyone calling me Dr. Shanahan, I feel like I'm back at work" said Cecelia.
    "I wouldn't worry about that." said Patrick, grinning. "I heard people say that Dempsey's Bar reminds them of lots of places, but I've never heard anyone say that it reminds them of work."