Romancing the M.D.

by Maureen Smith

  “So far, so good.”

  Alejandro was an engineering major at Virginia Commonwealth University. To save money, he commuted from their parents’ house in Richmond. He didn’t mind living at home since he no longer had to share a bedroom with Victor. And he never had to worry about cooking or washing his own laundry, because his mother did everything for him. With his dark hair, swarthy complexion, blue eyes and the killer grin he unleashed at will, Alejandro would undoubtedly have no trouble finding another woman to cater to his needs when he finally left the nest.

  The Aguilars’ modest brick house rested on three acres of land, a good portion of which had been converted into a scaled-down backyard baseball field. Sprawled on old lawn chairs, Victor and Alejandro watched from the sidelines as their younger brothers and cousins, along with some neighborhood friends, competed in a spirited baseball game.

  Their youngest brother, Roberto, was now at bat. The fourteen-year-old made a show of adjusting his cap over his blue eyes, scuffing at the dirt and spitting through his teeth in his best imitation of his idol, Colombian-born shortstop Edgar Rentería. The opposing players, waiting in the outfield, scoffed at Roberto’s antics and rolled their eyes at one another.

  But their taunts were silenced moments later when Roberto swung his bat, which connected with the ball with a sharp crack. As the baseball went sailing across the azure sky, the boy grinned and sprinted toward first base.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, Victor called out encouragingly, “Vamos, Roberto, corre rápido!”

  As Roberto rounded the bases and crossed home plate, Victor and Alejandro stood and cheered, then high-fived each other before returning to their seats.

  “That kid’s gonna be something special,” Victor proudly declared. “He’s got raw talent.”

  “Hell, yeah,” Alejandro agreed. “I can’t wait to see him in the big leagues one day.”

  They watched as Roberto’s home run was boisterously celebrated by his teammates, which included their other brothers Christian and Fernando, along with Luis Aguilar, who’d been coaching his sons’ baseball teams since they were young.

  Normally, Victor and Alejandro also participated in the game. But today both had chosen the role of spectator, content to enjoy the warm fall weather as they watched the competitive exhibition.

  Lazily stretching out his long legs, Alejandro slanted Victor an amused sidelong glance. “So how are things going at Hopewell General? Or should I just call it General Hospital, since that place has more drama than a damn soap opera?”

  Victor chuckled, taking a long pull on his beer. “Things are going as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

  “You think that guy is gonna win the lawsuit?”

  “If he doesn’t,” Victor said sardonically, “it won’t be for lack of trying on his family’s part.”

  “I know,” Alejandro agreed with a grimace. “They’re really pulling out the knives, aren’t they? I heard they recently did an interview where they questioned the chief of staff’s management skills and cited some unnamed source who claims the guy is a womanizer. Is that true?”

  Victor kept his expression neutral. “No comment.”

  Alejandro laughed. “Who can blame the man? You work with some fine-ass women, hermanote. Remember that time I met you for lunch and you introduced me to a couple of your fellow interns? I don’t remember their names, but damn.” He sketched an hourglass with his hands, then kissed his fingertips. “Muy bonita!”

  Victor chuckled dryly. “Their names are Isabelle and Jaclyn. And, yes, they’re both very beautiful.”

  “Even the one you didn’t introduce me to—the one you don’t like. Man, she’s a hottie, too.” Alejandro grinned wickedly, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you keep your hands to yourself.”

  If only you knew, Victor mused darkly.

  “So how’s she doing, anyway? The sexy chocolate one. What was her name again?”

  “Tamara.”

  “Yeah, Tamara,” Alejandro said, snapping his fingers. “How’s she doing? You still beefing with her?”

  “Something like that,” Victor mumbled, taking a swig of his beer.

  Alejandro’s blue eyes glinted wickedly. “You should sleep with her.”

  Victor choked on his drink. As he coughed and gasped, his brother reached over and pounded him on the back.

  Scowling, Victor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and demanded hoarsely, “What the hell did you just say?”

  Alejandro grinned. “You heard me. I think you should sleep with Tamara. Can you imagine how hot the sex would be? It’d be like makeup sex—all that anger and aggression and…¡Dios Mio! I need to find myself a Tamara.”

  Victor shook his head in disgust. “Culo.”

  His brother laughed. “Why do I have to be an ass just because I’m suggesting what you know you secretly want to do?”

  When Victor didn’t deny it, Alejandro laughed even harder. “I knew it! When I asked you over lunch that day why you didn’t introduce me to Tamara, you spent the next twenty minutes griping about some argument you’d just had with her, telling me what a stubborn smart-ass she was. I’d never seen you so worked up over a woman. The more you bitched about her, the more I realized you were seriously lusting after her.”

  “Vete al carajo,” Victor grumbled rancorously.

  Alejandro laughed again. “So when are you gonna bring her home to meet the family?”

  Victor frowned. “How did we go from me wanting to sleep with her,” he growled, “to introducing her to my family?”

  “I was just joking.” Alejandro grinned ruefully. “You know how Mama and Papa are. They wouldn’t take too kindly to you bringing a sister home.”

  “I know,” Victor muttered grimly.

  “It’s a shame,” Alejandro lamented with a shake of his head. “Sometimes they act like we didn’t grow up around any Afro-Colombians. Like Afro-Colombians didn’t have a hand in securing Colombian independence. I bet even you didn’t know that the hero of the Battle of Pantano de Vargas, Juan José Rondón, was the son of African slaves.”

  “Actually, I did know that.” Victor gave his brother an amused look. “But when did you become such a history buff?”

  “I’m not,” Alejandro admitted sheepishly. “This girl at school had to educate me. She’s a history major, and smart as hell. One night we were studying for an exam and got to talking about our families. I told her how my parents aren’t racist, but they’d have a problem with any of us marrying a black woman. Amani—that’s her name—got a little offended. And that’s when she started schooling me about the historical contributions of black Colombians.”

  Victor chuckled. “Good for her.”

  “I know. I’ve never felt so dumb in my life.”

  “You’re not dumb. You just need to broaden your horizons.”

  “That’s what Amani said.”

  “Smart woman.” Victor grinned slyly. “Is she pretty?”

  “Very.” Alejandro’s smile bordered on dreamy. “You know that saying, ‘The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice’?”

  Victor nodded.

  “That’s Amani all the way. Fine as hell.”

  “Uh-oh.” Victor gave his brother a knowing grin. “Sounds to me like someone’s got himself a serious crush.”

  “No, I don’t,” Alejandro mumbled, even as a bright flush crept over his face. “We’re just study partners.”

  “Study partners, huh?”

  “Yeah, man. Like I said, she’s really smart and—hey!” he laughingly protested as Victor reached over and grabbed him, putting him in a headlock the way he’d done when they were children.

  “Jandro has a crush,” he chanted teasingly as his brother tried to squirm out of his playful grasp.

  “A crush on who?”

  Victor and Alejandro looked up to find their mother standing there, her eyes filled with unabashed curiosity.

  As they rose to their feet, Alejandro sai
d quickly, “No one, Mama.”

  “No one?” Marcela Aguilar divided a speculative glance between her two sons. “Then why is your brother teasing you?”

  “You know how Victor is. He’s always teasing me about something. Is it time to eat?” Alejandro asked abruptly. “Yes. Your tía and the girls will be bringing the food outside—”

  “I’ll help them,” Alejandro offered, and strode off toward the house.

  His mother stared after him for a moment, then turned back to Victor, her delicate brows inquisitively raised. “What’s wrong with your brother?”

  Victor grinned. “Nothing, Mama,” he said, gently folding her into his arms and kissing her forehead. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Marcela Aguilar was a petite firebrand of a woman with expressive brown eyes, milky-smooth skin and dark, lustrous hair that hung nearly to her small waist.

  She angled her head back to peer into Victor’s face, an affectionate smile curving her mouth. “I’m so glad you’re here, mijo. I was afraid the hospital would call you to go to work.”

  “They still might,” Victor reluctantly admitted.

  “They won’t. And if they do,” she added with a conspiratorial wink, “you won’t answer the phone.”

  Victor chuckled, and refrained from telling her that he was already treading on thin ice at the hospital. The last thing he wanted was to make her worry.

  As her soft hand tenderly cradled his cheek, she clucked her tongue. “When are you going to shave? Are you trying to grow a beard?”

  “No, Mama. I just haven’t given shaving much thought.”

  “You’re working too hard,” she fretted. “When do you have time for a social life?”

  “I don’t. But that’s not a priority right now. Getting through my residency is what’s important.”

  “But—”

  He groaned in soft exasperation. “Mama, stop worrying about me. You’re giving yourself gray hairs.”

  She looked stricken. “Where?” she asked, self-consciously patting her head.

  Victor grinned. “Nowhere. I just wanted to distract you. Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

  “Good. I made your favorites.”

  “Bandeja Paisa? Arroz con coco?”

  She smiled indulgently. “Of course, papito.”

  He kissed both of her cheeks with an exuberance that made her laugh.

  “Help me gather everyone for lunch,” she told him, “and then we can eat.”

  As they started across the sprawling backyard, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist, Marcela sighed deeply.

  Victor glanced at her. “What is it?”

  “I want you to be happy, Victor. Being a doctor is important, but so is your happiness.”

  “Why do they have to be mutually exclusive? Why can’t I be a doctor and be happy?”

  “You can, of course.” She stared off pensively toward the baseball field where the players were ending their game, the winners celebrating with hearty back slaps and high fives.

  “I know things didn’t work out with Natalia,” Marcela gently continued. “As much as I liked her, I can see why she might not have been right for you. But if you meet someone else—someone you think could be special—I want you to bring her home. Let us get to know her.”

  Victor was silent, his thoughts inexorably returning to Tamara.

  “Mijo?” his mother prompted after several moments, eyeing him hopefully. “Will you do that? Will you let us meet her?”

  “Maybe I will,” he said quietly. “Maybe I will.”

  Chapter 9

  For the second time in less than a week, Tamara found herself entering the inner sanctum of Dr. Germaine Dudley’s office. After receiving some troubling news from Dr. Balmer, Tamara had asked Jaclyn to cover for her, then had hurried upstairs to the floor that housed the hospital’s administrative offices.

  She was trying to set up an appointment through Dr. Dudley’s assistant, Mona Wells, when the chief of staff poked his head out the door to bark out a question to the woman. When he saw Tamara standing there, he frowned.

  “Do we have a meeting scheduled, Dr. St. John? Because I don’t remember seeing anything on my calendar.”

  “Um, no, sir. We don’t. But I was hoping to speak to you, if you have a few minutes?”

  He hesitated, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “Please, Dr. Dudley?” she implored. “It’s very important.”

  He wavered for another moment, then relented with a curt nod.

  Tamara followed him into the office and closed the door, but not before she caught a glimpse of his assistant eagerly reaching for her desk phone, no doubt to call one of her cronies to speculate about the reason for Tamara’s visit.

  Grimacing at the thought, Tamara walked over to the visitor’s chair she’d occupied last Friday. She didn’t miss the way Dr. Dudley’s eyes traveled over her, lingering on her breasts long enough to make her skin crawl, but not long enough to be accused of openly leering.

  With his dark skin, broad forehead and keen dark eyes, the sixty-something chief of staff was almost a dead ringer for Danny Glover. He was also married and the father of three, which meant he should know better than to subject his female subordinates to his lecherous tendencies.

  As Tamara sat down across from the man’s large desk, she said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  “If you’re here to make another appeal for the research grant—”

  “Actually, sir,” she interrupted, “I’m here to talk to you about Dr. Aguilar.”

  Dudley’s expression darkened with displeasure.

  “What about him?”

  Tamara hesitated, swallowing nervously. She knew she was taking a huge risk by coming here like this, but after what she’d just learned, she’d felt that she had to do something.

  Dudley made an impatient sound. “I don’t have all day, Dr. St. John.”

  “Sorry.” She took a deep breath, willing her stomach to stop churning with nerves. “Dr. Balmer informed me that you might be taking disciplinary action against Dr. Aguilar. So I came to ask you to reconsider.”

  The chief stared at her as if she’d taken complete leave of her senses, which she probably had. “I beg your pardon?”

  Refusing to be cowed by his imperious tone, Tamara bravely forged ahead. “I don’t know what sort of disciplinary measures you’re considering, but I think it would be a mistake to kick Dr. Aguilar out of the residency program.”

  “Is that so?” Dudley’s tone was faintly mocking. “You think it would be a mistake?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. Dr. Aguilar is a gifted doctor, one of the best—if not the best—in our group. And I say that as someone who doesn’t always agree with his approach to medicine.”

  “Based on what I’ve heard,” Dudley interjected, “you never agree.”

  “Well, let’s just say we often agree to disagree,” Tamara countered diplomatically. “But whatever differences I may have with Dr. Aguilar doesn’t change what I just said about him.” She paused. “Are you familiar with the saying ‘Iron sharpens iron’?”

  He frowned. “Of course.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel about most of my fellow interns. We encourage and support one another, but more than that, we sharpen one another. Dr. Aguilar makes me a better doctor. So not having him around would be…well, it would be a tremendous loss.”

  Dr. Dudley leaned back slowly in his chair, his hands steepled in front of his chest, his eyes narrowed on her face in shrewd speculation.

  “I’m not condoning the way he spoke to you,” Tamara hastened to continue. “I think he was out of line, and I told him so. But I understand where he was coming from. He was disappointed and frustrated—”

  “So were you,” Dudley interrupted tersely, “yet you managed to keep your emotions, and your tongue, in check. What’s Dr. Aguilar’s excuse?”

  “Maybe it’s that passionate Latin blood running through his veins?” Tamara offered meekly, spr
eading her hands as if to say, What can you do?

  Dudley was not amused. “Let me make sure I understand you correctly, Dr. St. John. Are you asking me to tolerate Dr. Aguilar’s insubordination because—what? You’ll miss him if he’s gone?”

  Heat rushed to her face. “No, of course not. And I’m not asking you to ‘tolerate’ anything. I’m just asking you to give him a second chance. He’s passionate about his work, whether he’s treating patients or lobbying for more money to advance his medical research. He genuinely cares about people, and it shows in everything he does. He belongs here.”

  “With all due respect, young lady,” Dudley said curtly, “I’ll determine whether or not Dr. Aguilar belongs at Hopewell General.”

  Tamara held his stern gaze for a long moment, then said with quiet conviction, “Whether he’s here or somewhere else, Dr. Aguilar is going to be a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon. If I were in your position, sir, I’d want him here, playing for my team.”

  Dudley glared at her. “Are you finished?”

  “I suppose I am.” Slowly she rose from her chair. “Thank you for your time.”

  The chief said nothing.

  She had reached the door when his voice stopped her. “Dr. St. John?”

  She turned to look at him.

  “You should know that I had already made a decision regarding Dr. Aguilar’s future,” he said levelly. “But now, in view of this enlightening conversation we’ve had…well, let’s just say you’ve given me even more food for thought.”

  Tamara swallowed hard, searching his face for some clue that would give her insight into the decision he’d reached. But his impenetrable expression betrayed nothing, much to her chagrin.

  Had she helped Victor’s case? she wondered. Or had she made things worse for him?

  Dismayed at the thought, she turned and walked out of Dr. Dudley’s office.

  Later that evening, Tamara, Jaclyn and Isabelle were having coffee in the break room. One moment they were discussing the vagaries of HMOs, which they’d already grown to detest as doctors. No sooner had that conversation ended than Isabelle turned to Tamara and blurted, “So why’d you turn Victor down when he asked you out?”