I completed the exam and told Katrina her due date was October 31st.
“Halloween baby.” She smiled. “That’s nice.”
I threw away my exam gloves and washed my hands in the sink.
“Okay, you can get dressed. We’ll verify that date with the ultrasound tech. And I’ll see you again in about two weeks. Take care.”
“That went well,” Heather commented when I went back to the office to review the file of my next patient.
“Surprisingly.”
The morning went by quickly and I was surprised when lunch time arrived. I’d been looking forward to my date with Venus, who was a hoot to be around. Venus Vanderbilt, who wrote under her maiden name, Venus Goddings, was a popular, international romance novelist, with over forty books published. Originally from England, she moved to California after meeting her husband on a trip to Cannes. They’d both been on vacation, fell in love, and were married within a month. We’d been good friends since meeting at a yoga class five years ago.
Mr. Vanderbilt – as Venus and I liked to call him – was one of LA’s top luxury real estate agents. He sold a staggering amount of property each year. His first name was Vincent, but everyone else called him either Vince or Big V – maybe because he was so tall, six feet seven inches in his bare feet.
Venus was already waiting for me at our usual lunch spot, The Ivy.
“Hi, love.” Venus greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks. She looked smashing as always, dressed in a beautiful outfit with four-inch heels. Her makeup was perfect, and her long blonde hair cascaded down her back. She was tanned, had pretty cornflower blue eyes, and a slim body. She looked like one of the goddesses from her romance novel book covers.
If I had the luxury of staying home all day writing romance novels, I’d stay in my pajamas and lounge around on the bed eating chocolates, drinking champagne, and dreaming up sex scenes with hot men. That was my idea of a working romance novelist. Venus, however, did yoga and swam a hundred laps every day after writing.
“Hey, you look great, as always.” We got our usual table away from all the Hollywood power lunch types, but close enough to hear any good gossip from nearby actors and actresses.
I ordered the stone crab claws and a small house salad while Venus ordered oysters on the half shell. I teased her about her choice.
“Oysters, huh? Getting ready for a hot date with Mr. Vanderbilt tonight?”
Venus rolled her eyes at me. “No. Mr. Vanderbilt is working late again. He has some big clients in town from New York. I haven’t gotten laid properly in weeks.” Her British humor never failed to crack me up.
I laughed. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Ironic isn’t it? I write steamy sex scenes for a living, but can’t get laid by my own husband,” she whispered as the waiter brought our drinks. Iced tea for me (have to get back to work) and a mimosa for Venus (writes better when she’s had a few).
“Enough about me,” Venus said. “What is going on with you? How was your mini vacation to Puerto Vallarta?”
“The correct answer would be, ‘I had a relaxing time, lots of sun, fun, and tropical, fruity drinks.’”
“But…”
“I was bored out of my mind. Itching to get back to work the whole time.”
“Hope, you’re the one who needs to get laid. Get some fun in your life.”
“Oh, please, not you too. I already hear enough of that from my mother.”
“Mums are always right.”
The waiter brought our lunch and we dug in.
“My parents pulled a fast one on me while I was away. They thought it would be a good idea to hire a new doctor to help out at the clinic.”
“Bradley Whitford?”
I dropped my fork on my plate, startled that she knew his name.
She laughed at the incredulous look on my face. “Your mom called me while you were away and asked if Mr. Vanderbilt could help find him a place to live.”
“Am I the only one who didn’t know about this guy?” My feelings were a little hurt that one of my best friends hadn’t told me about this.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a big secret. Your mom talked like you knew that he was being hired.”
“Yeah, we’d discussed hiring a new doctor, but nothing had been decided. Or at least, I hadn’t thought so. The vacation was a ruse to get me out of the picture.”
“I take it you haven’t met the good doctor yet?”
“No. Have you?”
“Not yet. He only spoke to Mr. Vanderbilt on the phone. They’re meeting tomorrow to look at a couple of places.”
“Heather Googled him. She said he was gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous, huh?” Venus looked interested. “Maybe he’d be just the thing for you. But I have to say, despite your vacation, you’re looking a little tired, love. Still beautiful! But tired.”
“Yeah, well, Bethany Burke gave birth last night. Babies don’t exactly stick to a schedule. Speaking of schedules, I’m supposed to meet the new doctor this afternoon.”
“Let me know how that goes,” Venus said, with a twinkle in her eye. “So – Bethany Burke, huh?”
I told her all about the film crew fiasco during Bethany’s delivery.
Chapter 4
I made it back from lunch with ten minutes to spare before my next appointment. I settled into my office and logged on to my laptop. Time to find out a little about Bradley Whitford. As I waited for the internet to come up, my desk phone rang. Only a few people had this direct line number.
“Dr. Love.”
“Hi sugar.”
Great. My mother. I should’ve known.
“I know you’re busy, darling.” My mom always starts off our conversations with this. “But I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, mom. Can you make it quick, though? I have patients waiting.” Phone conversations with my mom were always long.
“Remember Belinda Rogers’s daughter? Rochelle?”
“Yes, mom. I know Rochelle.”
Rochelle Rogers was a few years younger than I and even though we weren’t that close, our mothers were good friends. Rochelle worked as a freelance writer for several magazines and newspapers.
“Rochelle is working on a piece about single working girls in the area for LA Style magazine. She wants to interview you. Before you say no, just listen to what she has to say.”
My mother knows me well. I like my privacy and shuddered at the idea of doing an intimate interview with Rochelle.
“I’ll think about it. Mom, I need to go. Love you.” I hung up the phone. Just as the internet pulled up, I heard a knock on my door.
Heather poked her head in. “Patients are waiting. Are you ready?”
I guess I’d have to wait and see what Bradley Whitford looked like in person. I grabbed my doctor’s jacket and checked my reflection in the mirror. I don’t look too bad for thirty-four and a half. Maybe a spread in LA Style wouldn’t be so bad.
I picked up the chart for my next patient. Hilary Jackson.
Hilary was the wife of a famous Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, Bill Jackson. Bill and my father had been friends for over thirty years. Hilary was in her late fifties and scheduled for her annual exam.
“Hi, Hilary.” I greeted her as I walked in the room.
“Hope, you look well.” We air kiss as I give her a hug.
“Everything okay with you?” I asked her.
“Yes. Just busy as ever. You know, I’m chairing the Heart Ball in February. Can I count on you for a table?”
Hilary was involved in several charities and the Heart Ball, which benefited the American Heart Association, was her baby. The table she wanted me to buy cost about five thousand dollars.
“Of course. It’s a great cause.” I snapped on my latex gloves. “Okay, let’s get started.”
I did the necessary, but dreaded, Pap smear first and then opened her gown to perform a breast exam.
“I saw your mother the other day. She said you have
a new doctor on staff.”
I looked over in time to see Heather tense up. Geez, I thought, am I the only one who didn’t know about him?
“Yes. He starts in a few weeks.” I feel around her left breast, performing the exam in circular motions.
“Well, I’m sure you need the break, dear. Take some time for yourself.”
I felt something on her left breast. “Um, Hilary. Do you perform self-exams at home?”
“Yes, why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m sure nothing, but I feel a little bump here.”
She put her hand where my finger was. “Huh. I never noticed.”
“It’s probably a cyst or blocked duct, but we’ll get it checked out all the same. You’re due for your mammogram anyway. I’ll have Heather order it and schedule an appointment for a follow-up in a couple of weeks.”
“Okay.” Hilary sat up while I wrote the order on a script.
“Nice to see you.” I gave her another hug and handed Hilary the chart.
I tried not to worry about the bump, but it hadn’t felt like a cyst. I put it out of my mind while I saw the rest of the afternoon’s patients. Before I knew it, it was almost four o’clock. Bradley Whitford time.
*
I sat anxiously in my office, reviewing test results that had come in for various patients. But I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My eyes kept darting to the clock on my wall. At 3:57 someone knocked on my office door. I took a deep breath.
“Come in.”
My dad poked his head around the door.
“Hi, honey. Can we come in?”
“Sure.” I stood up and ran my fingers through my ponytail.
“I want to introduce you to Bradley Whitford.” My dad stepped aside and the infamous doctor walked into my office.
He wasn’t as tall as I’d imagined, probably about 5’10, but he had a nice smile, kind eyes, and dark wavy hair. He was dressed in a blue pin-striped shirt, no tie, and navy blue pressed trousers. Professional, but not too stuffy. Heather was right…he was kind of cute.
“Nice to finally meet you, Hope.” Bradley stuck out his hand to shake mine.
“Hello, Bradley.” I shook his hand. He had a nice firm grip but I was still unsure of this new doctor.
“Please call me Brad.”
If my dad noticed the heavy tension that hung in the air, he didn’t show it. We sat down around a small conference table.
“Brad has an impressive background in fertility treatments.” My dad started off the conversation talking about Brad’s experience. “I know he’ll make a great addition to our team.”
I just nodded my head.
My dad went on and on about Brad’s credentials and I acted like I really cared – which I didn’t. I resented him being here as I didn’t need any help with my practice. I know that I shouldn’t feel that way, but since my dad retired, this practice has been my baby. I don’t want to share it with anyone else. Especially Dr. Cutie-pie.
Brad sensed my hesitation. “Hope, I’m really impressed with your office. Things seem to run rather smoothly.”
“Yes, they do. No need to change things,” I responded with a little more bite to my voice than intended.
“Of course not. I’m excited about joining a successful practice.” He looked to my dad for help.
“It’ll take some time to get used to, but you’ll be glad for the extra time off you’ll have.” My dad gave me a stern look that I hadn’t seen since I was a teenager.
I decided to take this up with my dad later. I’ll find an alternative to this situation. I know Dr. Jay Kelso, who is the other OB/GYN that we share on-call time with and who backed me up when I was on vacation, was going to retire soon. Maybe Brad could take over his practice after working with me for a while. I made a mental note to suggest this to my dad since he and Dr. Kelso are close.
“Brad and I are going to have a drink. Would you like to join us?”
“No, thank you.”
My dad raised his eyebrow at this, but let it slide.
“It was nice to meet you Hope. See ya in a couple of weeks.” Brad shook my hand again.
I couldn’t wait to get out there. I drove straight home and immediately opened a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio. Forget glasses. I drank straight from the bottle.
Chapter 5
The next morning my phone rang at five o’clock. It was the hospital calling to let me know my seven o’clock surgery had been cancelled. My patient had the flu, so her hysterectomy had to be postponed. The cancellation opened up my morning, since that was the only surgery I had scheduled.
I decided to take a well-deserved shopping trip. Since I didn’t have to be in the office until after lunch, I took my time getting ready.
After dressing in a pair of Lucky Brand distressed jeans with a BCBG beige sequined silk tunic and ballet flats, I got into the Cayenne and headed for Rodeo Drive. My cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. PRIVATE CALLER. I ignored the call. If it’s an emergency, the office will handle it, I thought.
I pulled into valet parking and took a private elevator into Jimmy Choo, my favorite shoe store of all time. As soon as I stepped into the lavish boutique, I breathed in the luscious smell of leather. It was intoxicating. Clara, the sales associate who always waited on me, greeted me cheerfully. “Hope. So good to see you. Wait till you see what we got in yesterday!”
My passion is shoes. I had a special closet built in my house just for my collection of hundreds of shoes.
“Blue, strappy, three-inch heels with python inlay,” Clara said as she held up a gorgeous pair.
I tried them on and loved the way they felt on my feet. “What other colors do they come in?”
“Sunset – which is a pale orange, and Harlequin – which is beautiful yellow-green color. I’ll get them for you.”
My cell phone rang again. This time I picked it up when I saw who the caller was. Venus.
“Are you busy with patients?” Venus asked, before I could even say hello.
“No. My surgery was cancelled, so I took the morning off. I’m indulging in retail therapy.”
“Uh, huh. Didn’t things go well with Dr. Whitford?”
“Long story.”
“Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight? Mr. Vanderbilt is having dinner with clients. Mabel could cook up some steaks and macaroni and cheese before she leaves today.”
Mabel was Venus’s chef from southern Georgia and made the best comfort food ever. I salivated at the thought of her delicious steaks and creamy mac and cheese.
I didn’t have to think twice. “Sure.”
Clara came back from the stock room with an armful of beautiful, beige shoe boxes. My heart skipped a beat. “Look I gotta go. See ya tonight.”
“Sure. Around seven.”
I bought the strappy sandals in all three colors plus two handbags from the new fall collection. I was paying for the purchases when my cell phone rang again.
PRIVATE CALLER.
I ignored it again. Telemarketers, probably. They always got my number, no matter how many times I changed it. If it was an emergency, the office would call me.
I walked out of Jimmy Choo feeling good and headed over to La Perla. I needed some new bras.
My phone rang again. PRIVATE CALLER. I ignored it again. It kept ringing, over and over.
Dammit. I answered the call.
“Dr. Hope Love.”
“Dr. Love. Thank God. It’s Janessa Myers. I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”
“Hello, Janessa.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice as I wondered how she got my number. The office was strictly forbidden from giving out my cell phone number. They only called me for emergencies.
Janessa Myers was an up-and-coming actress who had gotten her start in Lifetime movies and was now a regular on Days of Our Lives. She was also a high maintenance patient and a hypochondriac, who called my office every time she sneezed or had a cough. I kept referring her to a family physician f
or her common ailments, but she wanted to see only me.
“I need you to come over right away.” She sounded out of breath.
“Janessa, you can make an appointment with my office.” I struggled to keep my tone neutral. “I’ll be in later this afternoon and will have the office squeeze you in.”
“No, you don’t understand. I need you to come over now. Please, it’s an emergency.”
So much for retail therapy. Janessa’s house was on the way to the office and it would be easier to deal with her there. So I relented.
“Okay. Give me twenty minutes.” I was glad I’d taken the psychiatry rotation during residency. The training came in handy when dealing with the drama. Janessa had probably stubbed her toe or something.
I drove up to the gated residence and announced myself on the speaker box. The wide gates swung open and I crept up the circular drive and parked my Cayenne out front.
As I walked to the door, I could hear the annoying yap of Janessa’s Chihuahua, Lulu. The bark was a typical greeting of any household in the Hills.
Janessa opened the door in her pink Juicy tracksuit, her face scrubbed clean, and her trademark red hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Dr. Love, thank God you’re here,” Janessa said, in her Texas twang. Janessa was from Dallas and she’d worked hard with a voice coach to get rid of her accent. But when she was stressed, it came back with a vengeance.
“What’s wrong, Janessa?”
“I think I’m…pregnant,” she said, in a whisper.
“Is someone else here?” I glanced into the living room. White pregnancy sticks littered the floor, coffee table, and couch. I made a mental note not to accept any dinner invites to her house.
“Just the maid,” Janessa answered.
I followed her into the living room. “Just how many tests did you take?” I asked, carefully picking up one. It had two pink lines down the test center, indicating a positive result.
“Fifteen, I think,” Janessa said, sheepishly.
“Then I think it’s safe to say that you are pregnant,” I said. “But let’s get you into the office and do a proper exam.”
Janessa shook her head. She plopped down on the couch and started crying. “You don’t understand. I can’t have this baby.”
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