by A. Turk
Garcia continued to pursue Sammie. He’d confided to Nichols that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, which she was. He’d also shown Nichols a personalized note he’d written to Sammie on her invitation: “We’ve signed our deal. Your conflict has evaporated in thin air. You must give me a chance. You’re studying the law. That means you appreciate giving me a chance. Isn’t that what justice dictates?”
Nichols figured, They are both over twenty-one, consenting adults. Why the hell not? She’s pretty enough, smart, hardworking, and from a good family. Garcia could do a lot worse. Marriage would be a stabilizing influence, closer to buying my practice.
The event at Garcia’s new home was important. Nichols was confident that Garcia would make an incredible impression on his female patients and even his male counterpart. At six feet one, with jet-black hair and deep blue eyes, Garcia would have a line forming outside the office for consults. He knew how to talk to people. He discussed with authority varied subjects, such as sports, world politics, or family. He knew how to carry on a conversation, and Nichols recognized that not everyone possessed that skill.
The plan was to have Garcia focus on surgical consults while the surgical suite was being built out, and then once it was completed, Garcia would tackle the backlog of insurance-approved surgeries. Those not covered by insurance would be cash or credit card.
Parking attendants greeted the guests and gave each one a stub to retrieve his or her car at the end of the evening. As Nichols and his wife reached the front door, the Davises and Morty came up behind them. Seeing the couple, Nichols grabbed Liza by the waist and kissed her on the cheek. He asked, “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing with such an overweight, homely guy like him?”
Liza quickly responded, “Peter, that’s a question I’ve asked myself every day for almost the last twenty years. The simple answer is pity.”
They all laughed at Davis’s expense. Davis, with his tall and broad frame, carried his two hundred and forty pounds better than most, but there was no question he needed to lose weight. Davis coped with the stress of his job by eating, and the stress never seemed to let up; neither did the meals. Nichols knew it was a sensitive subject with Liza.
Before anyone could continue the abuse, Davis changed the subject: “This is quite a house. Are you sure you’re not overpaying this kid?”
“He didn’t buy this on his salary. It was a gift from his parents, although he mentioned it’s still in his father’s name. These people have almost an air of nobility about them. Try not to embarrass me, Ben.”
Nichols was only half kidding. Davis, who’d lived in Nashville more than twenty years, still wasn’t a southerner. He was plain spoken, grounded in his New York roots, not to mention trained and taught by Morty Steine.
Morty, a man of strong character and conviction, had been a stable influence in Nichols’s life after his father was murdered. The two men had the same teacher and shared the same values. Morty didn’t put on airs for anybody. Morty had to be dragged to the party by Nichols’s special invitation. Nichols knew when the old man was not at the office, he preferred to remain at his beloved Squeeze Bottom, a 288-acre farm outside Nashville. He’d spend the night at the Davises’ home tonight. Nobody wanted Morty to drive at night, not even Morty; he recognized his limitation.
As the group moved from the marble foyer to the formal living room and dining room, Nichols was astonished at how well appointed each room was. He admired several pieces of colorful and intense blown glass. He also noticed several paintings by his favorite local artist, Ron York. Nichols wondered out loud, “How did this kid acquire all these beautiful things?”
Liza knew the one-word answer, “Money!”
The Nicholses and Davises walked through the rooms. A white baby grand piano and a fifteen-foot-high bookcase with leather-bound volumes and expensive-looking knickknacks were in the great room.
Nichols wondered, Okay, he has money, but how does a young doctor furnish his new house so quickly? He must have used a decorator, more likely a team of decorators. It also involved someone with good and very expensive taste and, as Liza says, a lot of money.
Garcia couldn’t have looked better. His suit was a light gray Armani, with a charcoal-colored Yves St. Laurent shirt and a canary yellow tie. He looked educated and rich. He had a Bond-like aura about him. Nichols wondered if Garcia would order a vodka martini, shaken not stirred.
While Nichols was deep in thought, he heard Charlie Garcia address his wife, whom he’d previously met.
“Mrs. Nichols, so nice to see you again.”
Then Helen introduced Davis’s wife, Liza.
“Mrs. Davis, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Your niece has nothing but the most wonderful things to say about you. Even though you’re not related by blood, I can see where Sammie gets her good looks. It must be by osmosis.”
“Dr. Garcia, please call me Liza. My husband and niece have told me quite a bit about you and your interesting background. Your homeland sounds beautiful. Welcome to Nashville, and congratulations on your new home.”
“You must call me Charlie. May I introduce you to my parents?”
Nichols, Helen, Morty, and Davis silently followed Liza and Dr. Garcia across the crowded room, where Sammie was talking with a well-dressed couple in their late fifties.
Charlie interrupted their conversation. “Excuse me, Father. You’ve met Mr. Davis. This is his wife, Liza.”
Señor Garcia turned to Liza, and in a smooth gesture actually practiced, he bent and kissed her hand. Nichols noticed that both Liza and Señor Garcia had French nails.
As he raised his head, Señor Garcia’s mane of gray hair fell miraculously back into place. His trimmed goatee was the same color. He said in a heavily accented voice, “Eduardo Miguel Garcia at your service. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What a beautiful dress, Mrs. Davis. That color green is my favorite. May I present my wife, Maria Christina Batista Garcia. We all call her Kiki.”
The two women politely nodded to each other. Nichols had difficulty understanding Señor Garcia’s very accented English. He had a deep voice, and he spoke slowly, Nichols suspected, to be understood.
Nichols reintroduced his wife to the Garcias. They’d all eaten dinner together at Jimmy Kelly’s when their son decided to begin his medical career in Nashville.
“Mr. Davis, it’s nice to see you again. So good of you to come to my son’s little housewarming party. Thanks to you and Dr. Nichols, Charles has found a home here in Nashville.”
“You’ve got Dr. Nichols to thank for that. All I did was a little paperwork.”
“Nashville has opened its heart to my son. Charles has confided that your niece is one of the unquestioned attractions of Nashville. Aren’t you from New York originally?”
“Brooklyn.”
Nichols knew that Davis was born in Brooklyn, but he grew up in Woodbury, Long Island. Davis once told Nichols that he thought it made him sound more colorful telling people he was from Brooklyn.
“Your niece, is she also from Brooklyn? Do we have Brooklyn to thank for this great beauty?”
“She grew up in Miami.”
“Most of my wife’s family members live in Miami. They left Cuba, right before the revolution.”
Nichols was having problems following the conversation; both Davis and Señor Garcia had strong accents. Davis seemed to understand Garcia much better than Nichols did.
Charlie broke in, saying, “Father, the Davises don’t want to hear about our family history or about the revolution. Let’s not talk politics. I’d rather talk about my new life in Nashville. I couldn’t be more excited about starting in private practice and getting to hear some incredible music.”
Charlie’s family and by now, even Nichols, had come to accept Charlie’s love of country music. He revered the pioneers, Hank Williams Sr., Patsy Cline, and several others. He’d spent his nights going from one honky-tonk to another listening to great music. Every waitress, salesgirl, and temp was a si
nger/songwriter. He didn’t have to go far to hear incredible music.
Charlie gave the group the twenty-five-cent tour of the house. After the tour, Sammie and Charlie disappeared into the garden.
Nichols saw newly appointed Senator Valerie Daniels standing by the white baby grand piano and talking to a fellow Democrat.
“Congratulations, Senator. How’s DC treating you?”
The senator gave Nichols a hug and went into a tirade about the inefficiencies of the U.S. Senate. She explained that she’d been directed by party leadership not to discuss certain sensitive issues when approached by Republican colleagues. “At first I thought they were kidding, but another freshman senator confirmed the lunacy.”
Nichols was intrigued by Daniels’s story. He knew the federal government wasn’t bipartisan, but he thought they’d at least talk through the issues. She explained that she ignored her party’s directive and had several productive conversations with the other side of the aisle.
Then she changed the subject: “Your new protégé is quite a charmer. I’ve heard you’re expanding by adding a surgical suite to your building.”
“We’ll be offering a whole new set of services. Charlie’s an MD, and he’s qualified to perform facial cosmetic surgery. I’ve got not only the cost of construction but also all new equipment. It’s an investment in the future.”
“Will you be hiring more clerical staff?”
“Yes, clerical and nursing staff.”
The senator’s face dramatically changed. She became somber, and her voice softened. The transformation in demeanor was immediate. In a single moment she went from being one of the most powerful women in the room to almost a subservient posture.
“I need a big favor.”
“Ask away, we go way back. Besides you’re now a mover and shaker in the party. That’s what we do, give and receive favors.”
Daniels lowered her voice even more, “It’s not that type of favor. I need to get Robyn off the road. She’s been touring, drinking, doing drugs and God knows what else. I want her to move in with my family in Nashville at least till she gets on her feet. My husband and kids can keep an eye on her at night, but I need someplace safe for her to be during the day. She needs to be kept busy. You’ve known her all her life. Can you give her a job? I need someone I trust to keep an eye on her. With your help we can straighten her out.”
She was obviously beaten down by her problem. Like so many in a similar situation, she loved her addict but didn’t know how to deal with her or change her.
“It sounds like you need to have an intervention. She needs to be confronted and thrown back into reality. If you’d like, I could participate. I’ve known Robyn her entire life. You need to gather a group of people whom she respects and those who have influence over her. I wouldn’t waste any time. Intervene, and then get her in a good twelve-step program, off the touring road and on the road to recovery. We get her in the program, and she could start the first of next month as a file clerk/substitute receptionist. Robyn is an exceptionally beautiful young woman. She’d make a good receptionist with some training.”
Relieved, Daniels gave him a hug and acknowledged that she owed him one.
Nichols was in his element, and he decided to enjoy himself. Most of the guests were his patients as well as clients of Morty, then Davis. After several Jacks, Nichols joined Dolly Parton at the piano and sang a duet. They had sung together before in a commercial promoting his practice. Ms. Dolly then sang a solo, “I Will Always Love You.” It was directed to her longtime attorney.
At midnight Helen dragged her husband out the door; she drove because he couldn’t. Davis, Liza, Sammie, and Morty left at the same time. Even in his condition, Nichols noticed that Sammie was different. When he first saw her at the event, she looked striking in a strapless evening gown. Upon leaving, she had the entire top half of her body covered by a shawl, and she looked hunched over. It struck Nichols as odd.
He took a deep breath as Helen drove them home. He thought the evening was a resounding success for the newly employed Robyn Eden, the practice, himself, and the irresistible Dr. Charles Garcia.
CHAPTER NINE
A REAL CHARMER
Thursday, December 14, 1995
Dr. Charles Garcia began offering consults to Nichols’s patients and the general public on December 7th, a date that had lived in infamy.
Almost overnight Garcia was the talk of Nashville. Nichols carefully reviewed his patient list and photos to determine which ones would be good candidates for Garcia’s services. He’d been treating many of these women for years; he’d performed various cosmetic dental procedures on them and knew which ones would be susceptible to Garcia’s good looks, charm, and skills to make them appear younger.
Nichols and Garcia wanted high-profile women in the community as patients. These women were fashion and social leaders and could act as walking billboards for Garcia kissable lips. Garcia surgically figured out how to create plump lips that could be marketed to women as attractive to men. Nichols coined the phrase “Garcia kissable lips.” He thought it had a nice ring to it.
They’d spent time and money marketing the practice. Garcia, who was artistic, designed a new logo that was mounted proudly behind the receptionist’s desk. It also appeared on their stationery. Garcia’s name was proudly set below Nichols, where it reported that he was licensed to practice medicine in both Tennessee and New York.
Robyn had a successful intervention on November 26th, and after two weeks in rehab, she sat at the helm of the ship. She’d been hot boxed at her sister’s home. Nichols and Morty, who’d known her since birth, participated. They brought poor Sammie along because she was about the same age and maybe Robyn would identify with her. Davis had refused, arguing that he added nothing to the equation. Two high school friends of Robyn, both of whom had husbands and families and had achieved traditional success, filled out the group. After the five-hour process, Robyn agreed to enter Cumberland Heights for a tune-up and then enter a twelve-step outpatient program. She also accepted the position of receptionist/file clerk at Nichols & Garcia, under the watchful eye of Peter Nichols. It was Robyn’s second day, and she was scheduled to leave early enough from her job to make her meetings.
After her first day, Nichols and Garcia, while brainstorming, realized that Robyn was the perfect first candidate for Garcia kissable lips. She was beautiful, and since she already sat in reception where the patients contemplating the surgery would sit, she was an effective advertisement.
Nichols raised the issue of her recovery and that she’d be given anesthesia during surgery and would probably need some form of painkiller after surgery. In response Garcia, who was unaware of her addiction, argued that she’d have no recollection of the administered Versed and that they could carefully monitor her use of narcotics after the surgery. Nichols insisted that before the offer was made, he’d discuss the proposed surgery with Senator Daniels.
Valerie Daniels had some reservations about her sister undergoing surgery. She was already beautiful and already preoccupied with her looks. In the end, though, she was an adult, and Daniels admitted that the decision was her sister’s to make.
Robyn didn’t need convincing to have the surgery. It was free, and Robyn was already self-conscious about her looks. Although a competent receptionist, she still saw herself on stage performing, and she knew that the more beautiful she was, the greater that possibility. She signed the appropriate waiver, a surgical suite was rented, and Robyn was transformed. She healed quickly, and in about a week some promotional and marketing material handouts with Robyn’s improved lips were sent to Nichols’s patient base. On the back of Robyn’s photo there was basic information about the surgery, but the focus was the promotion of Dr. Charles Garcia as a surgeon and a caring professional and person.
Life was good. As anticipated by Nichols, Garcia’s practice broke out of the gate like a racehorse. Garcia kissable lips were appearing throughout the Nashville elite at a rapid pace
. His schedule began to fill up, and Robyn had to tell patients it would be a month before they could get a consult. It was almost contagious; one housewife told another, and before long, the entire book club scheduled consults.
A shrewd businessman, Nichols knew he needed to figure out how to effectively market his new employee and this groundbreaking procedure. Smartly, under Garcia’s employment contract, the professional corporation owned the trademarks. Nichols made an appointment with Jean Stokes, a publicist, to map out an advertising campaign for Garcia kissable lips.
Garcia was working sixty-five hours a week. The first consult was a sales job, the second was a planning session to set goals and determine how best to achieve those goals, and the third appointment was the surgery itself.
Nichols kept a close eye on Robyn. He required that she provide him an attendance slip from each meeting she went to. By his count, she was averaging between three and four meetings per week. Robyn’s recovery and the practice were both going well.
Nichols and his wife planned to vacation at their place in Highland Beach, the town adjacent to Delray Beach, Florida, after the surgical suite was completed.
Nichols and Davis kept the pressure on the contractor, Tim Tisdale, to complete construction of the surgical suite by the agreed-upon January 18th deadline. The rear of the office and the parking lot looked like a war zone. Thick plastic sheeting separated the working office from the dust and debris.
Mrs. Denise Alder, age fifty, had been waiting thirty minutes. She was a first consult.
“Mrs. Alder, I’m Dr. Charles Garcia. So sorry to keep you waiting; it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hello, Doctor, I’m a friend of Randi Franks. You’re going to do her lips and chin in February. She told me that you showed her computer-generated photos of before and what she’d look like after the surgery; she’s absolutely thrilled. She was very impressed by you, and she insisted that I schedule a consult.”
Garcia gave Mrs. Alder a big smile and thanked her for the compliment. Their eyes met, and he looked deep into her soul. Garcia had more than charisma; he had a Svengali effect on women. He mesmerized them, and Mrs. Alder was not able to resist his focused attention on her.