″I′m going out to the truck for a spare battery, ″ he said.
While Frank was gone, June finally got the shots she wanted. Then she gave me a dressing gown and ushered me into a small examination room.
″Dr. Medina will be in to see you in a moment, ″ she said, and then withdrew, closing the door gently behind her.
I sat there reading women′s magazines. Eventually, I heard a gentle tapping on the door.
″Come on in,″ I called out.
I found myself staring into a pair of warm, soulful brown eyes. George Clooney eyes. And they seemed to be smiling deep into my core.
Oh my God. Why didn′t Evelyn tell me about those incredible eyes?
″Hello, Kate,″ the incredible man-creature who went with the eyes greeted me. ″I′m Xavier Medina. So great to meet you.″
″H-hi, Dr. Medina.″
″Oh, please just call me Xavier. No ceremony here.″
″Okay,″ I said, suddenly feeling shy. ″Thanks so much for letting me and my crew do a story about your laser technique today.″
When had I gotten so stiff and formal? That wasn′t my usual style when doing a story.
″It′s totally my pleasure-I′ve seen you on the television news, of course. Although I don′t think of you as doing feature stories about skin treatments. Aren′t you normally more of an investigative reporter? Big-time crime stuff?″
He gave me a knowing smile, as if we were both in on a clever joke. Dr. Medina-Xavier-exuded an air of confidence and competence. It was as if he already knew everything there was to know about my fat-scam series. And about me as well.
″Well, this is an investigative series of sorts, actually,″ I admitted. ″I′m profiling what does and doesn′t work in the area of fat loss.″
″I′m glad to hear it. Based on what I′ve seen of your reporting, I know you′ll be completely objective in your work. I want you to tell your audience exactly how you feel about the results of your thermal laser treatment-both the good and the bad,″ Xavier said smoothly.
He pulled up a stool. Then he donned a pair of goggles. Using a metal arm that extended with a lighted mirror on the end of it, he examined my face.
″I know we′re treating your stomach, but I just have to say that your skin is amazing,″ he said. ″Have you had IPL treatments or laser facials before?″
″No. What′s amazing?″
″Your pores are unusually small. And you have very smooth, even coloration.″
″Is that a bad thing?″
″It′s a very good thing.″ Medina leaned back on his stool and laughed. ″Women-and men, too-come in here and pay thousands of dollars to get what you′ve got.″
″Really?″
″Yes. The small pores give your complexion a creamy, luminous surface. And you have almost no sun damage. It′s very unusual, even in someone as young as you. You must not ever have been a sun worshipper.″
″Really?″
I′d obviously just turned into a parrot whose only word was Really? Really? Which really must have made me sound like an idiot.
″Yes,″ he said. ″Marilyn Monroe had your kind of skin, plus a fine layer of downy hair that caught the light just so. The effect was incredibly luminous-that′s why the camera loved her so much. But the best example is a portrait I saw on a recent trip to Florence -have you ever seen the portrait of the Venus of Urbino, by chance? By Titian.″
″I saw that portrait once on a trip after college, ″ I said. ″And I think I recall studying it in school.″
Titian had painted the Venus of Urbino full length and buck-ass naked, with a fuck-me-now look in her eye. The painting had touched off a firestorm of court gossip during the Italian Renaissance, the same way the Paris Hilton tapes would hundreds of years later. Trust me to remember all the tabloid gossip from Art History 101.
Medina smiled as if he′d intercepted the raunchy little jog my thoughts had just taken. ″Oops, sorry,″ he said. ″I didn′t mean to sound fresh. I just meant that your facial skin is like that Venus′s. And actually so is the color of your hair.″
His smile seemed to engulf his eyes as he continued, ″I should add that I haven′t seen a blush like yours in quite a while, either.″
I could feel myself beginning to relax. Medina′s compliments and gently probing questions made me feel truly looked at, for the first time in a long, long while. It was a flattering feeling. Intoxicating even. I was tempted to bask in that feeling and forget all about my story assignment.
While Medina excused himself to speak with June the photographer, who had knocked on the door to announce that she was struggling yet again with her camera, it occurred to me that I hadn′t mentioned Jana to anyone at the office. Jana had been a patient of Dr. Medina′s, plus she′d seen him the day before she was killed. I was dying to ask him about their last appointment. I knew he probably wouldn′t violate doctor-patient confidentiality by saying anything about it. Still, it wouldn′t hurt to ask. Maybe I′d learn something new.
Medina was an interesting guy. And he certainly was attractive. Was it possible that he was this friendly and charming with all his patients? Maybe he was putting on a charm offensive for me so that I′d do a positive news story about him. That was always a possibility.
If he acted this way with everyone, I′d be surprised if the women of the Newbodies weren′t sending their underwear to him by Priority Mail. I noticed he wasn′t wearing a wedding ring.
Or maybe… maybe he was being this charming because he liked me. That thought squirted a jet of heat into my cheeks. Then the heat spread to a new location, this one completely inappropriate, given the clinical circumstances.
I′d just broken out with a severe case of Hot Pants Fever for Dr. Xavier Medina.
Chapter 34
How to Wear Your Coats
Here′s the trick to putting on mascara: Coat the top of your lashes with mascara first, with a downward stroke. Then coat the bottom of your lashes with an upward stroke.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
″You′re such a sucker for men′s eyes, Kate,″ Evelyn said. ″But really, you should have checked out his ass, too. Dr. Medina′s butt is the absolute most awesome thing about him.″
″If he hadn′t been wearing a long white coat, believe me, I would have.″
Actually I didn′t care all that much about men′s butts. I′ve never understood why women talk about them so much. To me, sexual attraction is all about a look in the eyes. Give me the right look in the eyes, and I′ll follow you to the ends of the Milky Way.
Evelyn and I were having a late dinner at Christina′s, a hole-in-the wall restaurant near my house in Trinity Heights. I loved the restaurant′s aroma of hot garlic bread and fresh-made pasta. I even adored its unabashedly tacky décor, including the arbor of plastic grapes that hung in bunches from the ceiling.
″Okay, so here are some vital statistics about Dr. Medina that you should know,″ Evelyn said, spearing a frilly-edged leaf of escarole with her fork. ″He′s single, he′s straight, and all the women in the Newbodies are totally gaga over him. But the word around the group is that he never dates patients. Believe me, I′ve tried. He just humors me.″
″Technically speaking, Evelyn, I′m not Medina′s patient. I′m a reporter doing a feature about him. That puts me on a slightly different footing.″
″My, aren′t you the little player?″ Evelyn said with a roguish grin.
″No, not at all. This is a totally new feeling for me. I got the sense that Dr. Medina thinks I′m actually beautiful in a… in an ideal way. He actually compared me to the Venus of Urbino.″
″To the what?″
″Titian′s portrait of Venus. It′s called the Venus of Urbino. He said I look like the painting. Did he ever say stuff like that to you?″
″You mean like Venus and Mars? Just kidding, ″ Evelyn said. ″No, he never said I look like a painting,″ Evelyn said. ″The only thing he said bef
ore he did my boob job was that my left breast is a little bigger than the right one. He fixed that, though.″
″I′ve never had a guy tell me that I look like an ideal beauty before. And he′s an objective expert on the subject of looks, right? So he should know.″
″Right. But sex isn′t about being objective.″
″I′m not talking about sex. I′m talking about surfaces-pure, unadulterated looks. Why did Medina, a plastic surgeon, compare me to a goddess of beauty? I have to believe he means it.″
Evelyn waggled her fork at me. ″Kate, you simply have to stop being surprised when men tell you you′re gorgeous,″ she said. ″I′ve been telling you that for years. So have lots of people. You just never believe us. The whole thing′s getting to be a little disingenuous. Frankly, I′m annoyed by it.″
″Sorry, but can you blame me?″ I said. ″Jona than left my ego completely shredded. I′m a burned-out shell-I′m a walking straw woman, and he tossed a match on top of me. When I was in Medina′s office and he said what he did to me… I don′t know. It felt like he was rubbing a soothing balm into my soul. It was like he actually thought I was hot. Do you know what I mean?″
″I do know,″ Evelyn said. ″We all need to feel sexy to our guys. It′s a prerequisite. If it weren′t for that, we′d probably be happier being with a gay guy. They usually make better friends.″
″I used to tell myself that it was okay that my relationship with Jonathan was so reserved, because I knew underneath that he loved me. And anyway, I was the one who wouldn′t let him in the shower when he asked to come in. I have to take responsibility for that.″
I felt my chest heave up and down. A sob was trying to punch its way through my wall of self-control.
Evelyn reached for my hand. ″Oh, sweetie,″ she said. ″You′ve been through such a hard time. On the plus side, your depression must be lifting if you′re obsessing about Dr. Medina. Just keep in mind that you′re a woman on the rebound. I don′t want you to set yourself up for more hurt.″
″I′m not going after Medina,″ I said. ″The whole idea is ridiculous. Besides, it would be completely cliché to fall for one′s doctor right after a major breakup.″
I hadn′t fallen for Medina -not yet, anyway. For one thing, it was much too soon in the wake of the total demo-ing of my heart and soul by Jonathan and Gi.
But something about my encounter with the plastic surgeon the previous day had left an impression on my spirit-not to mention on my libido. Medina was definitely a hottie.
Evelyn giggled. ″So what was your final verdict on the thermal-laser wand?″ she asked. ″Did it melt anything? You waist looks a little thinner, I think. Let me see.″
I glanced around us. The only diners nearby were an older couple. They appeared to be completely absorbed by a plate of artisanal-looking bread and cheese.
″The jury′s still out on the thermal-laser wand,″ I said. ″Right now my stomach′s still kind of swollen.″
I lifted my blouse to demo my raw, still-healing midriff. It looked like I′d been hugged by a giant boa constrictor.
″Wow.″ Evelyn peered at my skin. ″He did that with a wand? That′s more bruising than I got with my implants.″
″Aw, jeez. Really?″
The wand had actually been surprisingly painful. Even with the softening effect of a local anesthetic, it had felt like getting zapped by a cattle prod. The first time I′d felt the touch of the wand, I jumped and let out a yelp. Frank had gotten that on tape, of course. It was certain to be the highlight of the marketing promo.
Talk about reporter involvement. If a shot of me squealing like a stuck pig and flopping around on top of a skin doctor′s table didn′t satisfy Beatty, nothing ever would.
Chapter 35
Sunscreen-the Best Skin Cream Around
There′s only one skin cream in the world you need to use, and that′s sunscreen. Make sure you wear it every day; put it on before you leave the house. Don′t forget to put it on your hands, neck, and exposed chest areas-they get as much sun as your face!
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
Two hours, two orders of tiramisu, and a shared bottle of Chianti later, Evelyn and I were rehashing the latest developments in Jana′s murder.
It was nearly nine thirty. My news story about Belmont Miller′s allegations-that his sister′s body organs had been stolen-was scheduled to air that night on the eleven o′clock news. I′d spent the entire day fleshing out the story (if you′ll pardon the expression) with records from the firm that Belmont had hired to do the private autopsy on Jana, showing that her heart valve had been removed. I didn′t use the video of her body that the firm had attached to an e-mail. Even if we blacked out her face, the video was far too gruesome. I wouldn′t have used it even if Jana had been a total stranger.
My report had ended with my stand-up, in which I relayed a snippy ″no comment″ I′d gotten from the medical examiner′s office in response to the organ-theft allegations that I was reporting.
As I told Evelyn about my story, her eyes went wide.
″Who would steal a heart valve from a dead person?″ she asked. ″And what would they do with it, anyway?″
″They probably sold it to a medical school someplace in exchange for some quick cash,″ I told her. ″They′re circling the wagons over at the ME′s office, so it′s hard to get access. And the police aren′t talking to me right now at all, because I′m on the bottom of their shit list because of the story we ran about Antoine Hurley. They think I′m a traitor to the prosecution.″
But I knew one guy who could find out what was going on over there.
I needed to put in a call to Fish.
The message light was blinking on the answering machine when I got home that night.
I hesitated before checking the message, wondering whether it might be Jonathan. He seldom called me on the landline, but leaving a message at home is just what I′d expect if he wanted to leave a message without danger of my picking up.
I could already feel the anger prickling in my fingertips as I punched in the numbers to retrieve the message. But the call was from Dr. Medina.
″Hi, Kate. I hope you don′t mind me calling you at home,″ Medina′s message began. ″I just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed our interview yesterday.″
After a pause, he continued, ″And hey. I was just wondering if you might like to have lunch or dinner with me this weekend, or whenever you′re available. I don′t know if you have a rule against dating the subjects of your stories, but I would really enjoy getting to know you better. I don′t mind admitting that I′d like to see you.″ At the end of the message, he left his private cell number.
I wrote down the doctor′s number. Then I replayed his message five more times, savoring each syllable of it.
I′d like to see you, his message had said.
Oh my God. Dr. Medina wants to go out with me. Medina must be attracted to me. To me.
No palpitating heart of a fifteen-year-old could have been launched farther into orbit by a guy′s unexpected call. If a NASA space technician were to describe my emotions in strictly technical terms, he′d say I was jitterbugging on Jupiter.
I didn′t even consider calling Medina back right away. That would come off as too eager. Let other women play the dating game according to modern rules by calling a guy back right away or even-no way!-calling him first. I preferred to wait. That was the way my mom had raised me, and she died before I got old enough to rebel.
Next I indulged in a completely adolescent girl-crush exercise. Sitting at my laptop in the dining room, I Googled Medina′s name. I was looking for every tiny bit of information about him that existed out in cyberspace.
Most of the links that popped up were already familiar to me. I′d already researched Medina′s background for my story about his thermal-laser-wand procedure, so it was hard to get anything new. But I did find a few interesting tidbits. Along with a handful of oth
er doctors and medical personnel, he made yearly flights to Bolivia, Uruguay, and other impoverished parts of the globe to perform surgical operations for children. Medina specialized in correcting facial deformities in very young children. The charitable medical operation that he worked with was called Global Docs for Humanity. A news photo showed Medina posed against the backdrop of a mountaintop village, surrounded by children and smiling adults.
That′s impressive, I thought.
From that point on, my fantasies took the brain helm; I was off and running to the Libido Races.
I tapped in a search for Titian′s Venus of Urbino. My fingertips left faint sweatprints on the keyboard.
Articles and pictures of the famous reclining-nude painting flashed across the screen. I studied them for a while, absorbing some of the excerpts. Some reviewers of the painting conjectured: Was Titian′s Venus a goddess? A courtesan? An archetype of the Renaissance Everywoman? This Venus had a look in her eyes of bold and uninhibited sexual desire. Her eyes dared the viewer to approach. She had one cheek nestled into her hair, which was a delicate cascade of reddish blond curls that spilled over her bared shoulder. After almost five hundred years, the Venus of Urbino remained an enigma. She was an object of desire for men for the ages.
The flushed feeling I′d first felt in Medina′s office washed over me again.
Did Medina look at me like that? Did he see me the way Jonathan looked at Gi in the photo I′d seen of the two of them together? Jonathan had looked at Gi as if he′d wanted to rip her clothes off and do her, right in front of the camera. I hated the way Jonathan had looked at Gi.
Clearly I was overdue for a romantic sea change. I′d been focusing on Jonathan like he was Moby Dick, when there were tons of… ahem… fish in the sea.
Right at that moment, I gave myself a brand-new set of marching orders:
1. Stop whining about Jonathan.
2. Return Medina′s phone call the next day.
I was washing my face in the bathroom when Elfie, who′d been rubbing against my ankles, suddenly froze. She shot out of the bathroom and dove under the bed.
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