Calm, Cool, and Adjusted (15 page)

He coughs. “You just don’t hold back, do you? Is that perhaps why Morgan Malliard is uncomfortable with your dating choices at her wedding?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Jeff stands up and helps me to my feet from the nearby chair. “You should have gone to medical school, Poppy.”

“I beg your pardon. I do what I love, and I heal people.”

He just nods.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Why do you assume everything I do or say has motive?” He pauses for a minute. “What I meant is that your natural health mantra might have a little more credence with a medical degree behind it.”

“Like chiropractics?”

“Touché.”

“Silicone stops the flow of energy, you’re right. It’s not a conductor.” It’s an attack and totally ill timed. I feel guilty after I say it, but it certainly didn’t stop me from saying it, did it?

“We both want people healthy and happy. Can we agree on that much?”

But I don’t quit here. Something within me keeps attacking. “Don’t you ever feel sort of like Frankenstein? You know, ‘
It’s alive! It’s alive!
’”

“I don’t, actually. If you stepped outside that peaceful place you inhabit and smelled a little smog, you’d know there are people who carry lifetime pain in the words of some childhood taunt. I can take away what’s stopping them from moving on—at least the physical aspects. I had a patient today who underwent gastric bypass. All her life she’d been known as “Fatty Patty,” but she’s not that person anymore. She’s the person she’s felt like her whole life, locked inside a body that was just hers since childhood.”

Is it just me or does this sound like a lead-in on
Extreme Makeovers: Home Edition
?

“She only has to undergo this last step—removing the excess skin—and she leaves those taunts in her past.”

“Do you really believe that, Jeff? That she can just look better and it will fix everything?”

“I don’t think it fixes everything, but I do know it makes them feel better when they have confidence. To become who you feel like on the inside is powerful.”

I look at the sincerity in his expression and it’s clear he believes it. I’m sure his work does help people, but I’m living proof the exterior means nothing. Childhood taunts are never forgotten, only dulled by time and circumstances.

“It’s a journey. Life is a journey. The physical may help, but it’s not the core and looking good on the outside doesn’t fix a thing.”

“I imagine you’re not in the mood for sushi anymore?”

I laugh. “Oddly enough, I’m not. I doubt I ever will be again.”

He slides his hand down my back. “Let’s go. My work is done here.”

This is such an odd night. I’m with a man I have nothing in common with, he’s told me he’s stealing my office space for all intents and purposes, and yet I feel no anger or strife. Just a small thrill that I have acceptable date material for Morgan’s wedding. Perhaps I don’t set my standards in life high enough.

“I have to say, you do know how to show a girl a good time, Dr. Jeff.”

“No one’s perfect.” He winks.

“Until they come to you?” I grin.

“At all. No one is perfect. I’m well aware of that fact.” Jeff lifts his bag to say good-bye to the waitress, who is clambering to see us fed. Jeff is shaking his head, and that seems to satisfy her. “So I know that no one is perfect, Poppy. The question is do you? Miss Triathlete?”

And what I’d do for a run right now. Jeff is much more perceptive than I’ve given him credit for, and it’s unnerving. I’d give anything to be under my eucalyptus trees stretching and running until I forgot this conversation ever happened. I got what I came for, and I suppose he did too.

“I don’t know why you want to expand anyway,” I say as he opens the door to his little can-opener car. “Everyone in Silicon Valley expands, and then they work more, and then they have even less of a life, and they pay people to have it for them. It’s all so blasé and expected.”

He laughs. “It’s blasé to succeed?”

“No, what they call success here is passé. You know: nannies, maids, trainers. Gourmet kitchens for resale value, but no actual usage. It’s like we build the perfect habitat, but no one’s actually living in it. Like hamsters on that wheel. We just live in a constant hurry, going nowhere.”

“You, who run everywhere, are telling me I live too fast?” Jeff asks.

I draw in a deep breath. Slivers of serenity rain down upon me. “I live slowly and methodically. I may not get ahead, but I don’t get behind either.”

“I see,” Jeff says.

“So tell me, is there a method to this expansion? Or are you just watching Dr. Connors up the street?” I see by his flinch that has something to do with it. “You already work fourteen-hour days, at least. What happens with a bigger patient load? What happens when you can’t give them the care you think they deserve? The care you always told yourself you’d give them. What can more building bring you?”

“Security. Reputation. Don’t you want to be the best chiropractor there is?”

“I am the best chiropractor there is.”

“And so modest too. I mean, don’t you dream of leaving a legacy? Like the Dr. Poppy Clayton Center for Alternative Health Clinic?”

I look at him with my face crinkling. “Why would I want that?” I allow him to shut the car door and wait while he puts the bag back into the trunk and reappears in the driver’s seat.

“I admire you for knowing yourself so well. It surprises me, though, for someone who is so goal oriented that you’re so content with a simple office. I see them lining up over there, waiting to get their herbs and back crackings.”

I think that’s meant to unnerve me, but it doesn’t. “I don’t use the cracking method. Well, except on one client who needs more force. I believe in gentle chiropractic and acupressure, using the body’s own energy meridians.”

My mind drifts to Simon, and how I wish he was here to defend me. I know it’s all so Neanderthal to think of a man rescuing me, but just by his mere size I would think he’d be able to speak for the attributes of chiropractic. And if he couldn’t, he could at least intimidate Jeff. It might not help my cause, but it would make me feel better.

There is a chemistry with Jeff that is undeniable. But like I say, lesser living through chemistry. Sometimes, it’s just best to ignore what you can’t explain. That goes for UFOs and attraction to the wrong men.

chapter 10

Miles run: 6

Laps swum: 20

Desperation scale: 7 (
Date with Devil, the Sequel
, pending)

N
atural medicine is like an onion. You have to peel away the layers of troubles to get to the core or central issue. Medical doctors generally treat the symptoms, drugs generally treat the symptoms, but with alternative medicine, it’s all about the root and digging it up as one would pull a carrot from the soil. Like a treasure hunt, I know with each layer I get closer to the cure.

Once upon a time, when I dreamed of going premed, I found my fascination with the natural side of healing had become my passion. It was probably my mother shoving all that organic, free-range chicken soup down me as a child. How I wish she’d done the same for herself.

I turn on the blender in my small staff room and whip myself up a grass-green superfood shake, but when it comes time to drink it, I can’t swallow it. Not today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am craving a chocolate shake. Which would probably make me sick, and yet, somehow right now, it all seems worth the risk.

“How can you drink that stuff?” Emma asks.

“I can’t today. There’s some kind of blockage I’m having.” Which is, of course, my body speaking to me, so I put the shake down.

“Taste buds, maybe? Yours might have started working again. What did you eat for dinner last night?”

“Very funny.”

“No one but a rabbit should eat something that color. It’s the color of baby grass. I don’t think of that as edible.”

“You eat healthy,” I accuse.

“I do. I eat healthy. I don’t force inhumane substances down my system and expect it to be happy like you do. That will make your nose twitch.”

“So it will twitch,” I tell her while I plug my nose and try to gulp the shake. I can’t let it go to waste.

“Your dad called while you were in with the last patient. I told him you’d call him back.”

I sputter and smack my tongue to get that taste out, drinking an Odwalla orange juice to cleanse my palate. “All right.”

Of course, Emma has more information, being the encyclopedia on my life that she is. “He told me that if you couldn’t find a date, your high school boyfriend said he would go with you—that you’d gotten hot in your older years.”

“The married one?”

“I wondered. Your dad didn’t sound too thrilled about it. Maybe it was a joke.”

I just shake my head. “You know, I love my father, but sometimes, he’s just not aware of normal-people emotions. He is like the relationship Rodney King: ‘Can’t we just all get along?’ Rachel didn’t get along with Leah, and I don’t think my high school boyfriend’s wife is going to be particularly fond of this brilliant idea. She already looks like a direct descendant of Lizzie Borden. Anyway, could you type up these reports?” I hand her several folders.

“Yeah. Morgan’s on line one. She wants to know how the date went.”

I sigh aloud.

“That’s what I figured,” Emma says. “It didn’t seem like an exceptionally good idea. You both looked like you couldn’t wait to get it over with last night. Even if you do want each other.”

“What?”

“You both can’t stand your weakness for each other. It’s obvious.” She lowers her voice to barely above a mumble. “And don’t even get me started on you and Simon.”

I just roll my eyes. “I’ll take the call in my office.” I sit down at my desk. “Hi, Morgan.”

“Well?”

Well? How do I answer that oh-so-simple question. “I looked good, but Jeff was more interested in my office space than my own personal real estate. So the good news is that my reputation is intact, and the bonus was that I got to see what it’s like to sew back on a body digit. Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln . . .”

“So was it worse than the guy who bragged about never once cleaning his bathroom and it still being clean?”

“It was better than that,” I admit. “But I never really got the point of the date.”

“Does there have to be a point?”

“If it’s to decide if you want date number two, I guess we did accomplish that much. He’s coming to your wedding.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d be proud of me. I secured my own respectable date.”

“You and the plastic surgeon.” Morgan starts to trill her light, dainty laugh. “No, really.”

“I’m serious. I made a deal, and Jeff is coming to your wedding, and he has agreed to your no-health policy and we will not be discussing any surgeries, cures, or ailments that day.”

There’s a box of chocolates that someone gave the office as a gift, and I open it, tear through the packaging, and start munching on a dark chocolate caramel. I feel guilty immediately, but I don’t stop eating. Chocolate is good for my endorphins, and baby, they’re singing.

“So you do give in now and again.” A man’s voice interrupts my chocolate binge, and I turn to see Simon with his hands on his hips. I try to wash my teeth clear of the caramel, but I’m like a dog eating peanut butter. I just keep licking and licking and it won’t go away.

“Simon,” I say with a full mouth. “Morgan, can I call you back?” I don’t wait for her answer and hang up on her.

“Dr. Poppy has her vices. It’s good to know. I knew that perfect exterior had its Achilles heel.”

“Simon, what are you doing here?”

“I came to harass you about Hawaii.” He holds up a string of freshwater pearls and dangles them in front of me.

I cross my arms. “You think I’m crossing the ocean for a trinket.”

“Trinket? These are certified, gen-u-ine freshwater pearls.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “There’s more where this came from.”

“Ah, the dreaded pirate Simon is going to see to all my needs, is that what you be saying?”

He drops the pearls on the counter. “It was worth a try. I knew I should have brought the bikini. But I thought you’d read too much into it.”

“A bikini? For you or for me?”

“Very funny. You don’t want to know my body-fat percentage, and you most definitely don’t want to see it in skimpy swimwear.”

Simon is self-deprecating, but he’s got the barrel chest of a linebacker and the charm of a classic movie actor. I imagine in Silicon Valley, the width of his wallet doesn’t hurt either. I’m sure that’s what Blondie is thinking. He does seem to date rarely, though, as he was dumped pretty harshly when his fiancée requested his net worth before their marriage. He refused to give it to her, and in return she refused to marry him. A decision I silently cheered.
Bimbo didn’t deserve him.

Simon said it wasn’t her interest in the money, but her lack of trust in him. Personally, I think it was a sixth sense kicking in for him. Little did she know, Simon would have kept her in diamonds and caviar for a lifetime if that’s what she wanted. He’s one of those men who has a gift for paying attention. Too bad she didn’t.

“What would you do if I actually said yes to Hawaii? What would your girlfriend think of such an arrangement? And what’s with the new girlfriend and you not flaunting her in my face and telling me it could have been me? You must truly like this one.”

He shrugs. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Then who was that woman who kissed you in my office the other day?”

“The blonde?” He laughs. “I’m flattered you noticed.”

“She kissed you in the foyer. There’s not a whole lot of PDA that goes on in chiropractic offices, but maybe you haven’t noticed that. So, who is she?”

He chuckles in his amiable way. “I don’t know who she is. I met her in the parking lot and paid her fifty bucks to pose as my girlfriend at 9:07 a.m. She did a good job and she was right on time. I didn’t think you’d buy it. I should have given her seventy-five.”

“I suppose this is a crazy question, Simon, but why on earth would you do that? If you’re looking for a good charitable cause, I can set you up with a natural health fund for patients who can’t afford it.”