Chapter Text
But can you save me?
Why don't you save me?
If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks that suspect
They could never love anyone.
(Aimee Mann, “Save Me”)
1987
When he’s six and on vacation in France, Roman falls by the pool and scrapes his knee.
Gerri is the only grownup around. The nanny is trying to stop Shiv from murdering Ken for drowning her Barbie doll. His parents are yelling at each other in the orangery, and all of his dad’s other friends are pretending not to listen.
So Gerri is the one who has to check out the damage.
“You’ll live,” she declares after a minute.
Roman frowns down at his knee. Sure, it’s not much on the outside. A pretty small scrape. But it’s wrong. It’s not showing the way it really is.
“It hurts!”
“I didn’t say it didn’t. I don’t think it’s fatal. That’s all.”
“You’re mean!” Roman throws at her, the worst thing he can think of to throw at someone. It doesn’t change her expression at all. Infuriated, his knee stinging, he yowls, “You’re an asshole!”
His dad would smack him for that one.
But his dad isn’t here. Just Gerri.
“Yep,” she says, unmoved.
“Jeez,” says Dad’s friend Baird, coming over. Roman keeps clutching his injured knee defiantly. “What’s going on out here? You almost drowned out the shouting match.”
“False alarm,” Gerri says.
“My knee hurts!” Roman yells. “And she’s mean!”
“Kid,” says Baird, “don’t I know it.”
He and Gerri laugh, like that’s so funny. Roman fumes.
“Get him a bandaid,” Gerri tells Baird. “I think he could use a little placebo effect.”
Roman doesn’t know what that is, but at least it’s something.
“Come on, bud.” Baird pulls him up with one strong hand. Roman flinches, but it’s actually not too bad. Baird is just as big as his dad, but his grip isn’t hard like his dad’s is. “Let’s see where they keep the bandaids around here.”
“It won’t help,” Roman says, feeling sullen.
“Maybe not. Let’s give it a try anyway, huh?”
“Baird?” calls Gerri.
“Yeah, hon?”
“Check for Neosporin, just in case? Maybe in one of the medicine cabinets?”
He does a stupid salute at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Isn’t the girl supposed to do this stuff?” Roman asks, scowling back at Gerri.
Baird chuckles. “You better not let her hear you say that.”
“Why? Will she get mad?” Roman glances back again, nervous. It doesn’t seem like Gerri heard him.
“Nah.” Baird’s voice is different now. Nicer. When Roman looks at him, he looks sort of sad, even though he’s smiling. “Don’t worry, Rome. She doesn’t get mad.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Weird,” says Roman.