Chapter 15 Harrison
HARRISON
Saturday.
Doctors don’t always get weekends. After all, people don’t just get sick during normal working hours. But this weekend I happen to be off the hook. I’m not even on call, so nothing can keep me away from my oyster date with Bianca this evening.
Are oysters a little on the nose? Everyone knows they’re an aphrodisiac—at least, that’s what people think. I’m a doctor, and I’ve seen no scientific evidence that they enhance sex drive. But the implication is there regardless.
Bianca and I have already had mind-blowing sex. So it really doesn’t matter what implications I make. We’ll certainly be doing it again, oysters or otherwise.
She seemed to enjoy herself as much as I did. I can’t imagine she’d say no to a round two.
But I’m more interested in getting to know who she is. It’s kind of nice that the sex part is out of the way now. I can focus on taking Bianca in as a whole and not just wonder the whole time if I’m going to get lucky.
It’s been a good day so far. I went to the gym, took a short walk, and then did some errands until lunch—a ham and cheese sandwich on sourdough.
Now I have five hours to kill before my dinner reservation with Bianca tonight at Brassica Rex.
Guess I can figure out what I’m wearing.
I sort through my closet. Normally my first-date outfit is a white button-down and khakis—a classic look for sure—but that feels too normal for a date with Bianca. Plus, Brassica is a classy place, and I want to dress the part. Make sure Bianca knows that I’m not viewing her solely as a sex object.
What would Maddox wear?
Maddox.
Shit.
I’ve been thinking of no one but Bianca since last night. I still have no idea where my best friend and the love of his life are.
Of course, if Maddox feels for Alissa even a fraction of what I’m feeling for Bianca…
I get it.
I’d run off to some tropical retreat with Bianca in a hot minute. Fuck my job, fuck my friends and family…
Christ. This woman has gotten in my head.
And the craziest part?
I don’t want her anywhere else.
Anyway, focus.
Have to figure out what I’m wearing tonight.
Maddox would say to go for something bold but elegant. Something equally over- and understated. I look through my closet, scooting hangers back and forth.
And I find it.
I have a shiny silver button-down that I purchased years ago for a galaxy-themed party. I haven’t had a chance to wear it since. I’ll pair it with a pair of black slacks and patent leather shoes. Bold but minimalist.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror next to my dresser. I look pretty damned good, not going to lie.
The top button on my shirt is undone since I’m not wearing a tie. I decide to undo the next one down as well.
It’s a bold look, and I think about adding a pop of color.
Anything except green.
I haven’t touched that color since I joined The Club. Back then, under Ray Sinclair’s thumb, I wore nothing but black. Even after I broke away from him, I never let green back into my wardrobe—it reminded too much of those damned highlights in Ray’s hair.
When I look in the mirror, I see Harrison O’Rourke.
Not Harry.
He died the day I joined The Club.
* * *
I drive down into the Loop and park my car in my reserved spot at the hospital. It’s a quick jaunt from there to Brassica Rex, and I have to keep my eyes from popping out of my skull like a damned Bugs Bunny cartoon when I see Bianca.
She’s standing outside the restaurant entrance wearing an ivory gown and sparkling pink lipstick. She’s styled her pearly blond hair into a magnificent updo. The fact that she doesn’t have wings is the only evidence that she isn’t an actual angel come to life.
She smiles as I approach her. “Good evening, Harrison.”
I take her hand and kiss it. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Same to you, stunner.”
I gesture to the front door of the restaurant. “Shall we?”
She nods. “I’d like nothing more.”
I escort her inside and the hostess greets us with a smile. “Good evening, and welcome to Brassica Rex. Do you have a reservation?”
“I do.” I pull out my phone and scroll through my emails to find the confirmation. “Five o’clock for two people. Should be under O’Rourke.”
The hostess nods and looks through her computer. “Yes, everything seems to be in order. Please follow me, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“That’s Dr. O’Rourke,” Bianca interjects.
The hostess’s cheeks flush. “Of course, my apologies.”
“Not an issue at all,” I say.
The hostess leads us into the restaurant’s interior.
Brassica Rex is one of the finest eateries in Chicago, and even though I’ve been here a handful of times, I’m still blown away by the décor.
Vaulted ceilings shimmer with hand-blown glass chandeliers, and the walls are paneled in dark walnut and brushed brass.
Floor-to-ceiling aquariums glow softly between tables, and marble-topped oyster bars curve through the space.
The hostess leads us to a booth outfitted with plush velvet benches.
I wait for Bianca to take her seat before I take mine, and then I glance at the menu.
Bianca’s eyes widen. “Goodness. There are certainly a lot of options here.”
“I’ll make it easy for you,” I say. “Stick with the oysters. At least to start. That’s their specialty.”
“I was already planning on that, but the oysters section is so…exhaustive.” She sighs, puts the
menu down. “Okay, be honest. What do oysters actually taste like?”
I smile. “It depends where they’re from.” I open the menu and tap the section labelled East Coast Court with the back of my spoon. “These guys—Blue Point, Beausoleil, Island Creek—they’re briny. Sharp. Clean and salty, like seawater.”
Bianca winces. “So like…drinking saltwater?”
I laugh. “Sort of. But it’s a lot tastier. Think sea spray instead of a swallow of salt.” I go on, tracing down to the section marked West Coast Court. “Now over here—Kumamoto, Hama Hama, Shigoku—you’re in gentler territory. Sweeter. Creamier. Kumamotos especially.”
She squints. “How can an oyster be creamy?”
“It’s hard to explain. You’ll just have to try them and find out. And Shigokus?” I tap the name. “Those are tumbled in the tides every day, so the shells are deep and the meat’s firm. Crisp texture, cucumber finish. Little flash of melon if you pay attention.”
She leans back in the velvet booth, folding her arms. “This has to be the most poetic tour of an oyster menu anyone has ever experienced.”
I shrug. “Just trying to do the little buggers some justice.”
She traces her finger down the menu to the mixed-coast platter, titled The Emperor’s Flight. “This appears to be a sampler.”
“I’d definitely recommend that for a first timer,” I say. “You get a mix—the bite of the East Coast, the play of the West Coast. Plus a wildcard.” I chuckle. “The last time I came here, they slipped in this Fanny Bay from British Columbia—it smelled like driftwood and tasted like fog.”
She laughs. “I don’t know if you’re going to convince me with that.”
“Have no fear. I won’t steer you wrong.”
She grins, peering again at the elegant script before setting the menu down. “Well. I’ve never had oysters before, so I’m still not sure what the best fit for me will be.”
I meet her eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Our waiter appears. He’s a young man with short blond hair wearing a dark vest over a white button-down.
“Good evening, and welcome to Brassica. My name is Hans and I’ll be assisting you this evening.” He leans down. “Have you been here before?”
“I have, but my lovely companion this evening has not,” I say.
Hans nods. “Great. Would the lady like a tour of the menu?”
“The gentleman has already talked me through it,” Bianca says. “Are there any specials tonight?”
Hans nods. “Our chef has prepared a fabulous blackened sea bass, and we also have Irish soda bread pudding for dessert in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.”
My blood runs cold at the mention of the upcoming holiday—and my birthday. But I’m not going to bring that all on Bianca right now.
“I think we’re actually ready to order right now, if that’s all right.”
Hans pulls out a pad. “Of course. Any drinks?”
I look over to Bianca. “Would you like a cocktail or something?”
She shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine with water. Maybe a nice dry white wine with dinner, depending on what the gentleman orders for me.”
Hans grins, turning to me. “And what would you like to start with, sir?”
I give the menu a final onceover. “The lady will have the Emperor’s Flight, the sampler. And I’ll have…the Black Pearl Reserve.”
Hans nods. “Both excellent choices, sir.”
I pick up the wine menu from the center of the table. “Do you have a recommendation of a wine that will pair nicely with those options?”
“Yes, sir.” Hans leans over my shoulder and points. “If you like your wines on the dry side, I recommend the Muscadet Sèvre-et-Maine from the Loire Valley in France. It’s quite dry, with a splash of acidity to brighten it back up. Should wash those oysters down with a clean finish.”
“Excellent. We’ll have a bottle of that, served with the oysters.”
“Wonderful.” Hans tucks his notepad into the pocket of his vest. “If you need anything else, please feel free to flag me down.”
“Thank you, Hans.” I nod to him as he whisks away before turning back to Bianca. “While we wait for the oysters, tell me. How did you decide to pursue a singing career?”
Her cheeks pink at my words. “The classic answer to that question is that the career chose me.”
“Is that accurate?” I lean in.
She exhales sharply through her nose. “Not really. With some people in the industry, you hear these stories about how they were discovered by a college professor at an open-mic night, told that they simply had to join their program. For me… I just always enjoyed performing. Ever since I was a little girl.” Her eyes droop slightly.
“Taking on a role offered me a chance to escape the real world. Pretend I was someone I wasn’t. ”
“I get it. I think that’s why people love to go to the theater, too. It gives them a chance to escape too.”
Come to think of it, I started going to the theater not long after my initiation into The Club.
I begged my parents to buy me tickets. I never put two and two together until right now, but I was definitely using it, at least partially, to distract myself from the memories of that horrible day in the Dimpsey house.
I shake the thought from my head.
I’ve gotten pretty good at that.
“When the time came to choose a college major, musical theatre was the only option I found worthwhile,” Bianca continues. “I went to Oklahoma City University, got a BFA there.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oklahoma City? I wouldn’t think they’d be especially known for Broadway stuff.”
She shakes her head. “Actually, they’re a very well-known school. They have lots of successful alumni. You’ve probably heard of Kristin Chenoweth.”
I scratch my head. “She was the original Glinda in Wicked, right?”
“Correct. And she’s done a host of other stuff. She’s a graduate of OCU. She still comes back every so often to give the students master classes.”
“That’s wonderful.” I reach across the table and cradle her hand in mine. “Truly remarkable that you get to live your dream career.”
She bites her lip. “I mean, I’m not exactly living the dream. But I’m working full-time as a singer, so I can’t complain.”
“Did you live in New York?”
She nods. “For ten years after graduating. Took every audition I could, landed a few gigs with regional companies across the country.” She frowns. “But I never landed Broadway. Not even off-Broadway.”
“Their loss.”
She sighs. “There are a million girls just like me in New York City, all chasing the same dream I was. My story is hardly uncommon.” She fiddles with her napkin. “I had hit… I guess you’d call it a low point when Rouge took control of the club and offered me the position of the singer in Hearts.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Five years this summer. And it was a godsend.” She offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Like I said, it’s not exactly the dream I had in mind, but it’s close enough, and it’s steady.”
I return her smile. “And you’re the best singer I’ve ever heard.”
She blushes. “You’re very kind to say that.”
“Bianca, I don’t give people compliments to make them feel good. I only say what’s true. You were fantastic last night. Truly a transcendent performance. I wish I could have stuck around for your later sets.”
“It was just more of the same.” She looks down.
“I’d gladly listen to more of what I heard earlier in the evening.”
She blushes. “Thank you, Harrison.”
“My pleasure.”
I do the math in my head. If she went to New York right after college and then lived there for ten years, and she’s been singing at the club for five years after that, she’s in her late thirties at least.
Damn, she’s older than I am. I’m thirty-five. She’s at least thirty-seven, if not older.
She looks twenty-five. If that.
I know Rouge is her older sister. She’s probably three or four years her senior.
I have no difficulty believing Rouge is in her forties.
She’s gorgeous, but she carries herself with the austerity that comes with middle age.
Not at all the case with Bianca. She’s elegant, almost ageless in her perfect beauty.
“But that’s enough about me,” Bianca says quickly. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Yeah. I grew up with six brothers.”
Her eyebrows nearly fly off her head. “Six?”
“Yeah. My parents were like jackrabbits. I was the second youngest. Harold, Harrow, Harvey, Harker, me, and Harlan.”
She blinks. “How…alliterative.”
“Our babysitters had their work cut out for them.” I lean back in my chair. “I come from an Irish Catholic family. My parents were encouraged by the church to reproduce as much as humanly possible, and they took that command to heart like no other.”
“They must have had their hands full.”
“They did.” I swallow. “We didn’t exactly grow up in a mansion. Money was pretty tight my entire childhood, and my parents drank quite a lot.”
She bites her lip. “I unfortunately empathize. Do you stay in touch with your siblings?”
I frown. “Not really. Weddings and funerals. I don’t have a lot in common with the rest of them.
They love hunting, fishing, watching football with their wives after church every Sunday, a beer in each hand.
I’m the only one who left the little town we grew up in.
The only one who went to college and then medical school after that. ”
“I see.”
“But while we’re on the subject of siblings…” I tilt my head at her, narrow my eyes. “I’ve got to know. What was it like growing up as the younger sister of Rouge Montrose?”