Lost and Found (20 page)

“Carlos, Doctor Oliver here. Could you make sure Ms. Winterfield gets into her car with these boxes I’m going to put into the elevator?”

Once I have his assurances, I shut the phone down and grab the other boxes. I reach the elevator just in time, before Hilary can get the doors shut.

“Take these,” I say, “or I’m donating them to charity.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, her eyes just slits.

“Try me,” I say, sliding the last one in with my foot. “See what happens.”

She leans over and pushes the button for the lobby forcefully, several times, before straightening and looking up at me.

“You’re a fucking bastard, James,” she says through angry tears.

“Yeah. I’ve heard that about me.”

The doors slide shut between us.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

THURSDAY DAWNS BRIGHT AND SUNNY, the exact opposite of my mood. A headache rages as I catch a cab to work.

My day is full, starting with three different surgeries and then consults until early evening. Assuming everything goes well, I won’t be coming up for air until eight o’clock. Too late to visit Jeremy. I try not to feel guilty about being relieved.

“Good morning, Veronica,” I say to my secretary.

She smiles at me and holds out a paper. “Your updated schedule, James.”

I lift an eyebrow at that. We’ve always been on somewhat formal terms. I recall telling her she could refer to me by my first name but up until today, she’s always declined. I wonder what caused the change of heart.

“Thanks. Any surprises?”

She shakes her head. “No, just the same old, same old.” She stands and smoothes the front of a very tight skirt. It’s the exact opposite style as the one worn by that Leah Wallace person. Why her name and her face jump to mind when my secretary stands up is a mystery. It must be the leftover booze talking.

I leave the front desk for my office. “Buzz me when the first patient arrives,” I say, disappearing inside.

Leah Wallace. Leah Wallace
.

I can’t get this girl out of my head now that the memory of her has resurfaced again. Manhattan is a big place with millions of people walking around in it at any given time. What are the chances that I’d literally bump into the same person more than once?

Sure, I see some of the same people again and again over the days, weeks, and months. It’s inevitable when you live in the same area or work nearby someone. But I didn’t get the impression that this Leah person lives near me. Her clothing tells me she lives uptown. Way uptown, probably near where I bumped into her in the subway. Where was that? A hundred and fifth? I’m trying to recall the stop when my intercom lights up.

“Your first patient is here, James.”

James again? The hell?

“Thank you, Veronica. I’ll be there in a moment.”

I jump on Google maps to take a look at the subway stops. “A hundred and twenty-fifth,” I say to myself before I stand. I wonder if she lives near that stop. I have an insane flash in my mind, seeing myself standing out on the corner of 125
th
and Lexington waiting for her to walk by. Of course she’ll be soaking wet…

“James? She says she’s in a hurry.”

I roll my eyes. I probably should have gone into general surgery. They have all the luck, meeting a patient five minutes before they go under anesthesia and then once more for another five minutes when it’s all over. Sure, they make a hell of a lot less money, but when have I ever needed to worry about that? Not since birth. My trust fund remains untouched, getting bigger and bigger every year with accrued interest.

I walk out my door into the lobby and smile, showing as many teeth as possible. “Good morning, Corinne, how are you today?”

“I’m great now,” she says breezing by me into my office, her heavy perfume making my nose go stuffy immediately. “And how are you?”

I close the door behind us, ignoring my secretary’s weird expression. She looks pissed.

“I’m great. Are you ready for the big day?” I’m referring to her upcoming surgery. I always have a consult the day before, just to be sure the patient and I are still on the same page.

“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you about some changes.” Her hands flutter around her, making the diamonds she wears on several fingers flash crazily in the fluorescent lights. My mind strays to the Cartier showroom where I spent way too much money exorcising the ghost of Hilary.

“To the surgery plan,” she says, working up the courage to tell me whatever it is she has to say. I could tell her not to bother because I already know the drill, but I don’t. It’s a process she needs to go through.

“Mmm-hmmm.” I take my seat and fold my hands in lap. Here it comes…. Wait for it …

“I was thinking that I’d like to go bigger. Bigger on the breasts but smaller on the nose.”

I nod. She’s not done yet. I know because I go through this at least once a week with one patient or another.

“I was talking to my friend Angelique and she was telling me that if I don’t get at least a double D, I’m going to regret it.” Corinne reaches up and twists one of her diamond earrings around left and then right. She’s nervous. I don’t know why, but apparently I intimidate the hell out of people here in my office. I’ve been told it enough times over the years that I believe it.

“Is Angelique a physician?”

“No, but…”

“Is she an artist, by any chance?”

“No.” Corrine frowns at me. “Why would that make any difference?”

“Because an artist’s eye can be trusted with proportion and perspective more so than a non-artist’s.” I smile as I wait for her to catch up.

“Are you saying she has a bad eye?”

“I’m saying that as a professional plastic surgeon who’s successfully transformed more than three thousand noses and two thousand sets of breasts, I have a pretty good eye for what will look good and what will look … shall we say … unnatural.”

She gets a bitchy look to her face. “Welllll, isn’t anything different from what you were born with unnatural?”

I shrug. “Not necessarily. Subtle differences can make all the difference to a person’s perception of his or her beauty. It’s usually not in my patient’s best interests to make drastic changes. In your case, I definitely wouldn’t recommend it.” I get up from my chair and come around to her side of the desk, taking the seat next to her.

“Why? What do you mean?”

I turn my seat to face hers and lean over, touching her brow. “You have beautifully arched, full eyebrows over a nicely proportioned brow ridge.” I touch the bridge of her nose. “This small bump is something you got ice skating when you were younger, and I understand why you want to get rid of it, but to take your nose down smaller than just a fraction would make it out of proportion to your eyes. The upper part of your face would look too heavy if I took your nose down, say, more than three millimeters in height and two in width.”

“Millimeters? But that’s so small.” She’s weakening, I can tell from her voice. I’m relieved because I’d hate to say goodbye to this patient a day before her big surgery. Sometimes I do have to do that when I think someone is making a big mistake. My malpractice insurance premiums are already too high as it is.

“It’s really not,” I assure her, “when you consider the overall size of a normal human nose.”

She pouts. “But my nose is not normal at all. It’s
huge.”

I pull my hand back and smile. “Your nose is not huge, and you know it. It’s bigger than you want it to be, and I get that. But please don’t compare your features to faces and noses that belong on people who look nothing like you. You have German ancestry, I can see it in your bones. You’re never going to look like you come from China, and you shouldn’t try to. You have a beauty that many women from all over the world would kill to have. Please don’t take that away from yourself. Enhance, don’t change. That’s my professional credo. Trust me, it’s the best way to go.” I glance down at her chest. “And with respect to your breasts, I don’t want your skin to end up as thin as paper. It’s not attractive to any guy. You’ll have to take my word on that.”

A smile comes, albeit a bit shaky. “How is it that you’re the most successful plastic surgeon in Manhattan when you spend half your time talking people out of surgeries?”

I put my hand on hers and pat it a few times. “I’m honest and I care about my patients, not the money.”

“Does that mean I can have a discount?” she asks as I stand.

“Do you mind if I hire a less experienced doctor to operate on you in my place?”

She chokes out a laugh. “Uh, yes, I mind quite a bit, actually.”

I shrug after I sit. “Then I guess you have your answer.”

She sighs heavily. I can hear the defeat there and it makes me happy.

“I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve convinced me that Angelique is wrong. About the nose and the boobs.” She looks down at her chest.

“She is wrong, trust me. I have to do reconstructive surgeries every month on people who come from other doctors who I won’t mention by name. It breaks my heart to have to try and remedy the fallout from other people’s bad choices.”

“Does it cost more to have mistakes fixed?”

“Yes, it does, as a matter of fact. I usually have less to work with and a lot of damage to try and turn back into workable tissue.”

She puts her hands on her boobs. “Ouch.”

“Yes. Ouch.” I open up my agenda where Veronica’s schedule is resting between the pages. “So we’re on for tomorrow, eight a.m. sharp at the clinic, right?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.”

“Excellent.” I shut my book and stand. “Unless you have any other questions, I think I’m done here.”

“Nope, I’m satisfied.”

I walk her to the door and out into the foyer. “Remember, no food or drink after eight tonight. I want you in there with an empty stomach. That includes no water, no coffee, no nothing.”

“Got it. And I have the special soap for my shower.”

“Great.” I shake her hand and smile. “See you soon.”

Once she’s out the door, I turn my attention to Veronica. She’s up from her desk and headed towards me.

I back up a step, fearing the look in her eye. She’s never been so … enthusiastic before.

“Can I get you anything, James?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine. When’s the next patient?”

“A half hour. We have time to chat, if you want.”

She follows me into my office. I resist the urge to walk backwards so I can keep an eye on her.

She stops next to my desk as I sit down. I now have the perfect view of her crotch. Her skirt is so tight, I can see the V where her legs meet her pelvic area. I’m trying to block the image out of my mind right now with only limited success.

“I heard you kicked Hilary out,” she says. Her tone is sly.

My eyes narrow. “I thought you were friends.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder and then props a hip up on the corner of my desk.

I wheel my chair over to the left, acting as though I have something very important to find in my far desk drawer. The only thing I keep in there is gum, though, so I fish around for only two seconds before I’m done.

“We were friends before, but not so much now. She was really unfair with you. I just wanted you to know you have my support.”

I take a piece of gum out and pretend like unwrapping it is a real time-consuming event. “Thanks, Veronica, that’s very nice. Would you mind taking a few minutes to find a housekeeper for my sister?” I’m hoping this will get rid of her, but no such luck.

“Already done.” She gives me a big smile and tucks some hair behind her ear. It’s like she knows I’ve told Hilary a hundred times how much it gets to me when women do this.

“They’re probably already there right now,” she says.

“Great.” I pick up a file and page through it. “Thanks.” I leave my eyes glued to the papers in front of me, hoping she’ll get the hint.

“Do you need anything else?” she asks, swinging one leg up into the air.
 
Is she going to bend down and run her fingers from ankle to thigh now? I feel like I’m watching a lady shaver commercial.

“No, that’ll be all,” I mumble.

Feeling trapped in my own office is pissing me off, but good secretaries who can keep their mouths shut about high-profile clients are hard to find. If she’s not friends with Hilary anymore, that makes her twice as valuable, so long as she can get rid of the idea that she and I will ever get together.

“Okay, well, just call me if you need anything. I’ll be right outside your door waiting.” She hops off the desk and does a model runway walk out the door. I never noticed before how long her legs are.

I let out a huge stream of air after she closes the door behind her. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with already; now I have to worry about beating my secretary off while also not offending her.

My mind flicks back to that ring flying through the air and landing in the water. I’m seriously tempted to go take a piss in that fountain so I can get rid of this bad luck that keeps following me around.

Chapter Forty

I OPEN THE TAXICAB DOOR and reach in to pay the cabbie as Jana unhooks our niece’s carseat buckles.

“Thanks, bro,” she says, lifting Cassie from her confines.

I take the carseat out of the cab and let it dangle from my left hand as I pull my girls into a one-armed hug. “Don’t mention it.”

Jana hands me a giant bag that I assume holds all of Cassie’s necessities.

“She sure carries a lot of stuff for such a small girl.”

Jana laughs. “Just wait until she’s a teenager.”

That sobers me up quick. I can’t imagine what we’ll be doing if Jana’s still taking care of Cassie fifteen years from now. I send up a silent prayer to whoever’s listening that my brother will still be alive on that day.

I guide them into the building that houses our attorney’s office. “You ready to do this?”

“Heck no,” Jana says, blowing her bangs up off her forehead.

“Me neither,” I mumble, nodding to the people at the security desk as we walk by.

Two people rush over to help us with the elevator. For some reason carrying a baby makes us look handicapped. When I try to maneuver into the elevator, I realize why. I look like some kind of comedy show, bouncing back outside as first the carseat and then the bag blocks my entry.