Heart of Gold

It was the eighties and I was searching for that Heart of Gold. Living near the ocean in Manhattan Beach was nirvana. The blue skies, the ocean and miles of sand inspired me daily. Still, there was nothing like the strand where the beautiful people ran, walked their dogs or just congregated. The houses along the strand were tailor made for exhibitionists and voyeurs. At night, I’d run along strand peering into the lit bay windows. People sat in their living rooms, staring back at me. A few were jumping on trampolines, some were cooking in the kitchen Others were in bed….never mind.

The parties were something else. There seemed to be one every weekend. I tried not to miss one. The beach people were an eclectic crowd. There was a little bit of Hollywood, members of the surfing community and the occasional professional athlete. Where I fit in, I don’t know. I was just a lowly doctor in training, wet behind the ears. Each party had a hook. There were magic shows, psychics, new music and celebrity hosts. On weekends, I would wander up and down the streets off the Strand, listening for the crowds and music. Sometimes, I had an invitation, sometimes not.  No one seemed to mind or notice as I entered the apartment or house and weaved through the crowd. Inevitably, I’d have a beer or a glass in my hand and meld with the crowd.

It was at one of the parties, I met Lorraine, She was a stunning dark-haired beauty with flashing eyes and a magnetic personality. Her charisma and beauty drew me to her from across the room. She was surrounded by several guys and a few women, entertaining them with some story. Her laugh was hardy and infectious. I was drawn to her magnetically. For a few minutes, I stood at the periphery of her entourage, amused by her wit and stories. There was no way she would be interested in me, but I had to try. Her stories suggested that she was a nurse or a doctor. It was the perfect opening. As the crowd dispersed, I approached her. She smiled. Okay, maybe I had a chance.

“So, what hospital do you work at?” I asked awkwardly, hoping I had hit the target.

She looked at me quizzically but answered with a kind smile and immediately put me at ease. “Harbor General in Torrance. I work in the ICU. What made you think that I worked in a hospital? You’re not the psychic, are you?”

I guessed that it was one of those parties where a psychic was the headlined guest. With my beard and longish hair, I may have passed as a guru of some kind but cargo shorts and a running tee-shirt made it less likely. I had to be honest. “I was listening to your stories and most of them had a medical theme. Thanks for thinking I have psychic powers. I’m just a good listener. So, what do you do in the ICU?” I could tell that she was becoming uncomfortable with my questions. She was fidgety and glancing at the front of the room where a crowd was gathering.

She smiled kindly and raised her forefinger before asking: “Can we finish this conversation later. I think the psychic is starting her readings.”

What could I say? I figured I blew my opportunity, nodded and put out my hand. As she shook it, I told her my name was Rudy. She replied that hers was Lorraine and walked away. I watched as she waited in line to meet the psychic. After half an hour, I started to walk towards the door. I rationalized that I didn’t believe in psychics anyway so maybe we were not a good match. I’d have to go back to square one looking for my Heart of Gold. Besides, how could I compete with these Southern California hard bodies? No matter how much I worked out, I couldn’t get rid of my love handles. I’d rate my face as a seven, maybe six. At the beach, looks were everything. I was already assuming that Lorraine was superficial. It was my way of rationalizing rejection.

To my surprise, as I was walking through the door, I heard my name called. I turned to find Lorraine approaching with a warm smile. My throat tightened and my heart almost leaped out of my chest. Surely, I was hallucinating. I almost stumbled over the first step but managed to catch myself, make it to the sidewalk while facing Lorraine. She sat on the first step and patted the spot next to her, inviting me to join her. Wow! Neil Young’s Heart of Gold had been playing in my head since I first saw Lorraine. Now it was blaring. Maybe I was psychic, more likely psychotic. I took a seat next to her on the step and was immediately disarmed by her smile and warmth.

“I’m an Internal Medicine resident doing a rotation in the ICU. I try to keep work out of my social life. Too many make assumptions when they find out you are a doctor. I’d rather they know that I’m a runner and volleyball player. What about you?”

I didn’t know whether my being an Internal Medicine resident at UCLA would be to my advantage or disadvantage, so I hedged. “I work at UCLA.” I looked down at my feet and waited for the inevitable question.

“In what department?”

I couldn’t lie. “I am also an Internal Medicine resident” I held my breath waiting for her reaction. The music in my head was fading. She was way out of my league. To my surprise, she laughed.

“It figures, I can’t escape medicine no matter how hard I try. You seem ashamed.”

“No, I just figured that your reluctance to reveal your daytime identity meant you would want to stay away from another doctor wannabe.”

“As a rule, you are right but I noticed that you are wearing a Redondo 10K tee-shirt. I ran it last year. You must be a runner. It’s a great stress reliever don’t you think?”

I smiled and relaxed. She had wandered into my wheelhouse. I could talk about running all day. It was one of my greatest passions and addictions. I nodded and replied: “Absolutely, especially after night call. I run on the strand and bike path almost every evening after work. What about you?”

“I live in Seal Beach and run on the strand and through the streets whenever I can. I am training for the Long Beach marathon.”

The volume of Heart of Gold in my head increased. “So am I, no lie!

Lorraine raised an eyebrow and guffawed. “Great line!”

I waved one hand and reassured her. “It’s true. Yeah, I know I’m built like a linebacker and not a runner but check out last year’s finishers. I’m on the list. It was my first marathon and I’m determined to do better.”

Lorraine laughed and shook her head. “Okay, I believe you. It just seems too coincidental that you are a medical resident and a runner. Next you are going to tell me you are an avid volleyball player.”

I smiled and sheepishly answered: I wouldn’t call me an avid player, but I do play beach volleyball.”

Lorraine pursed her lips and nodded. I gathered that she was ready to test my sincerity as she asked: “What are your other interests or hobbies?”

“I was an English major in college and love to read good literature. There’s always a novel sitting next to my medical textbooks. I’m also a music junky, especially but not exclusively rock and roll. I’m really into New Wave music and love to dance.”

Lorraine’s jaw dropped. “Okay, now you’re scaring me. Who do you know who knows me?”

I put both hands in front of me, palms up and claimed innocence as she continued.

“Okay, where did you go to medical school and undergrad?”

“Both in Toronto.”

“You’re a Canuck, eh? Canadians are all supposed to be nice. Can I trust you? I went to UCLA. Yes, I love reading, music and dancing. KROQ is my favorite station and Depeche Mode is my favorite group. I haven’t had much time to go dancing during my ICU rotation but that ends soon. My call starts early tomorrow so I have to leave. If you have a pen and paper, I’ll give you my phone number. “

Holy shit! Was I dreaming? The music in my head was at a fever pitch. I told her I did not have a pen but had a great memory. 867-5209. I would or could not forget it. We parted, I punched the air and ran home singing. 867-5209. As I reached my apartment, I realized I was singing a song by Tommy Tutone. Had Lorraine just put me on? Surely, her number could not be the same as in the song? I resisted the temptation to dial that night. That would be a disaster. I waited a couple of evenings and left a message and my number on an answering machine. I wasn’t sure the voice was Lorraine’s but it didn’t sound like Tommy Tutone’s either.

One week later, to my delight and surprise Lorraine called. At first, I didn’t recognize her voice. It was a lot deeper and she introduced herself as Tommy Tutone. My heart dropped and after a long silence, I heard a laugh. It was Lorraine.

“Sorry Rudy. I figured you might mistake my number for the one on the Jenny song. Most people do. Someone who is truly into KROQ and New Wave music would know that number well. It’s easy to miss that my number is 867-5209 not 5309. When I chose that number, I knew it would confuse and amuse but be easy to remember.”

“You had me going there for a minute. How was call?” I was glad she couldn’t see me blushing. My palms were sweating, my hands was trembling, I was anxious. This was my dream girl, and I did not want to blow it. Smart, beautiful, a sense of humor, a runner, reader and a New Wave fan, I had died and gone to heaven!

It was the first of many phone calls. I soon learned that she rarely dated. She had been a serious student since grade school and had no patience for superficialities. Her last boyfriend lasted three years during college but left for a medical residency at Mass General in Massachusetts two years ago. Long- distance relationships did not work for her. Fortunately, I wasn’t going anywhere although we both planned to apply for fellowships in two years. She came from a large family. Her father was Mexican and her mother was Italian. It would explain her high cheek bones and olive colored skin. Her parents were divorced, and she had five brothers. Both parents lived in Long Beach twenty minutes away.

Soon we started running together several evenings a week either in Seal or Manhattan Beach. When were not on call, we spent the night together. We discussed cases and books and shared music. Sushi had become the rage and we loved California Sushi in Hermosa Beach. The fish was fresh and New Wave music blared overhead as the sushi chefs danced and toasted guests with a loud ‘Gumbai!’ Usually, we were both pleasantly drunk after a few sakes and toasted the chef in return. Fortunately, it was a short drive back to my apartment.

The music scene exploded in Los Angeles and most weekends, we visited several music venues. Madame Wong West in Santa Monica was cozy and featured many new groups. The dance floor was small, but we danced with abandon, trying to avoid knocking over other dancers. We had accumulated a lot of stress from work and left it on the dance floor.

The Palace was an elegant theater with a huge dance floor and stage in Hollywood. It had a red carpet at the entrance, a balcony, overhead lighting, and strobe lights on the dance floor. There were small tables with standing room at the edge of the dance floor and a bar as you entered the main auditorium. Everyone seemed to be ‘freakified’ with piercings, leather and occasional mohawk haircuts. I wore my leather jacket with ‘hundreds’ of zippers and Lorraine dressed completely in leather. I noticed that on those nights she wore several earrings in each ear. She had piercings done years ago but wore no jewelry to work. The Palace featured the hottest acts and the best music. We danced well into the night.

Occasionally, we would go to the Crush Bar in West Hollywood which featured recorded Motown music. It was a fun change with a fun crowd. The Music Machine and the Mint in West L.A. featured soul music and blues respectively. We liked them both.   We attended The Greek and Hollywood Bowl for jazz, classical music and really hot rock and roll concerts. Plays at the Pantages very infrequently filled out our social calendar. I was having the time of my life despite working long hours and studying as much as I could. I was also falling in love. We were soulmates. I hated the term but could not think of any other way to describe it. Still, I continued to think she was way out of my league. I waited for the other shoe to drop. Then it did.

We were coming to the end of our medical residency and applying to fellowship programs. Lorraine wanted to study infectious diseases especially at the NIH. She planned to work with the indigenous populations in the U.S. or in impoverished areas in Africa. She was interested in exotic diseases. Each time she mentioned her plans, Heart of Gold started up in my head.  I was applying to various endocrinology fellowships.

As expected, Lorraine placed at the NIH and I placed at UCLA. The night after we received our notices, Lorraine suggested we go to the Ivy restaurant in Santa Monica to celebrate. Over dessert, she asked me what I thought of long distance relationships. My heart sank. I remembered that she broke up with her last boyfriend when he moved out of state. Surely, I was different. We were soul mates. I decided I had to make my move.

“I love you, Lorraine!”

“I love too Rudy but are you ready to make a commitment just before starting your fellowship and career? Relationships are hard enough but long-distance ones are impossible especially when you’re trying to establish yourself.”

I did not want to believe that we couldn’t make it, but she was right. I wasn’t ready for a marriage proposal or a permanent commitment. I had too many roads to travel first. The evening ended with tears and frenzied lovemaking. We saw each other several times over the next several weeks. Then Lorraine moved to Maryland.

Weeks later I was walking up the streets from strand on a Saturday night searching for that Heart of Gold.