He is laid back and physically unassuming and completely not what I expected in a Beverly Hills cardiologist.

When he sees on my chart what I do for a living, he engages me in a conversation about Hollywood, jazz, politics, film and the state of cultural arts in Los Angeles because although he is a cardiologist by day, he is a jazz pianist by night.

What has brought me to his office on a rare grey Elizabeth Kubler Ross L.A. day is the constant pain in my chest; it is ceaseless and I have convinced myself death is on the horizon because I am prone to fits of melodrama and would hate to think the years of practicing my Camille had been for naught.

I am snared in his web of affability and find I tell him things - personal things - about my life - that are none of my goddamn business, by which I mean, that somethings are best left unsaid because by giving them voice it lends credence to the possibility they may be (wait for it...) true and altogether depressing.

We talk about Marilyn McCoo and jazz and the life of a musician versus the life of a physician, and I can tell he is restless and sad, "Tell me about the pain," he says, and I comply and tell him it never leaves me - never abates.

"Sometimes it feels like the whole world's heart is breaking," he says, and I nod in agreement.

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Tags: break, doctors, end, heart, jazz, of, the, world

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Comment by Joe Gensle on September 18, 2011 at 2:38am
Another read. Now favorited. And, as a long time fan, I notice that this brilliant and compelling story is sequined with capital letters! :: chuckle::  
Comment by Gita on September 17, 2011 at 10:26pm

What they said PLUS: why did the name Marilyn McC00 pop into your head for this piece? I heard her sing Laura Nyro's "Bill," just the other day and thought, "Miss her."

Not as much as I miss you, though.

Comment by Michael Brown on September 17, 2011 at 10:10pm
What a voice you have. You could be the jazz vocalist accompanying his piano, and he, by the way, via your words, sounds very listenable, too. I wish we could read you more often, but then, that's the way of jazz, isn't it? We must savor what's on offer, and you know how to leave us wanting more.
Comment by Angela on September 17, 2011 at 8:40pm
I am fascinated by those moments in which the curtain parts and we find ourselves face to face with someone who unexpectedly chimes our tune.  These moments can sustain.  Your last line is a fine one, and every word prior to it was a fine lead in.
Comment by shauna mcclure on September 17, 2011 at 8:26pm

You guys are so nice and give me a warm, fuzzy feeling...much needed.  It is fiction, though...not exactly sure why I chose first person last night except maybe too much wine and a heavy dose of feeling sorry for myself.Technically, my heart is just fine.

 

Comment by Teresa on September 17, 2011 at 5:54pm

I adore this.  ADORE it.  Besides being well written (DUH, it's you) you got personal, vulnerable, and even more beautiful.  I wonder if you'd ever be interested in writing a memoir, a slightly name-dropping story of L.A. and all that is "none of my goddamn business".  And by the way, read Emma Forrest's Your Voice In My Head.   It's amazing and will make you feel oodles better.

 

I'm assuming the heart pain is stress singing a sad jazz tune in lonely chambers.  I certainly hope so and please hang out with us for a while.

Comment by Mike Handley on September 17, 2011 at 2:10pm
Fancy meeting you here. You don't come often enough. This is why I want more. Exquisite.
Comment by Brad Rose on September 17, 2011 at 11:02am

This is beautiful.  It resonates for me a number of ways.  I love the idea of a MD who plays jazz by night.  And especially one who says the "Sometimes it feels like the whole world's heart is breaking.."  I grew up in LA, and have for he last two years found myself writing a mock novellette about characters in Hollywood. (Shameless self-advertisement

http://lola-loves-richard.blogspot.com/ )

   "A Kubler Ross LA day" is friggin brilliant not just because it captures the character's mood and fears, but it describes perfectly that sad, low gray (but glittering) city. I also really like the idea of the speaker confessing personal things "that are none my goddamn business..." 

 

This is really a very nice piece of writing.

Comment by Joe Gensle on September 17, 2011 at 5:36am
I've been jonesing for your writing for sooooooooooo long. And now that I've got it, I'm snarling because it's so freaking good but nonfiction. I think that trust born of affability and soul-baring is going to get you the best care he and everyone around him can provide ;) As Mr C says below, great piece.
Comment by Robert Crisman on September 17, 2011 at 3:14am
Great piece.

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