Dr. Feelgood
Marissa Monteilh
All copyrighted material within is
Attributor Protected.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2007 by Marissa Monteilh
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
All Kensington Titles, Imprints, and Distributed Lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington special sales manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018, attn: Special Sales Department, Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6856-3
eISBN-10: 0-7582-6856-4
First trade paperback printing: January 2007
First mass market printing: March 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
This is dedicated to the one I love!
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
AUTHOR’S NOTE
1 Tiffany
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Hello again! I’ve wanted to give birth to a book called Dr. Feelgood for quite some time now, and here it is, resting in your wonderful little hands. I want to thank the “doctor” who had the Dr. Feelgood nameplate on his desk when I was very young. That name stayed in my innocent memory as one who made people feel good medically, but now that I’m older, the name has a new and pleasurable meaning. And feeling good ain’t bad!
As I did before and always will, I thank God for my gift, for my journey, for my health, my family, and my relationships.
My loving children—Adam, Ron, and Nicole, my son-in-law Darrien, my heart-stealing granddaughter Alexis, my devoted brother, Greg, my wise and wonderful Ma Bette, my special Kelvin, big-F Friends—Annette, Ollie, Charles, Tami, and Pamela.
My closest and beloved author buddies—Victoria Christopher Murray, Mary B. Morrison, and Carmen Green, author and the owner of Book-remarks.com Cydney Rax.
My girl Marjorie Coley Davis at KISS 104.1 radio in Atlanta, Angela Jenkins at KBMS radio, Cheryl Robinson with Just About Books (Harambee radio.com), Radiah at Urban-reviews.com, Shunda Leigh at Booking Matters Magazine, Carol Mackey at Black Expressions, Curledup.com, Romance incolor.com.
Cherished bookstores who allowed me to add them to my tour like Black Images (a VIP shout-out to Emma Rodgers), Black Bookworm, Nubian Books, B’s Books, Howard University Bookstore, Urban Knowledge, Sepia-Sand-Sable, Karibu, Medu Books, Horizon Books, Pyramid Books, Truth Books, Barnes & Noble Palmdale, Waldenbooks CNN Atlanta, Waldenbooks Cumberland Mall Atlanta, Bernard Henderson at Alexander’s in San Francisco, Bernardsbookshelf.com.
The 2006 Make Me Hot contest participants, each and every valued Make Me Hot contest sponsor, the Make Me Hot contest winner Pamela Bell-Melton.
My charming and wonderful agent Maureen Walters and her assistants Christina Morgan and Jenny Fitzsimmons.
My phenomenal Kensington family—Karen Thomas, Nicole Bruce, Latoya Smith, Walter Zacharias, Steven Zacharias, John Scognamiglio, Stacey Barney, Adeola Saul, and Lydia Stein.
Those devoted Myspace.com readers.
Invaluable book clubs—Special Thoughts, Ladies of Color Turning Pages, Turning Pages in Oakland, Sisters on the Reading Edge in Antioch, Chapters Book Club L.A., The North Carolina Bookfest, Angel Reid and the Imani Book Club Atlanta, and Moe.
Curtis Bunn with the National Book Club Conference, the North Carolina Black Book Festival, the Antelope Valley Writers, the African American Literacy Awards for the Make Me Hot nomination.
My pastor for saying, “If you can’t get something out of it, put something into it.”
And last but not least—my faithful and down-to-earth readers—for all you do, this book’s for you!
Always and in all ways,
Marissa Monteilh aka The Diva Writer
www.myspace.com/divawriter
Prologue
Dr. Feelgood is getting his ass kicked but good, curvy Salina Alonzo Woodard thought to herself with her emotions running high as she braced herself for the worst. The sexy doctor’s engraved metal nameplate hit the speckled Berber carpet like a rubber ball and bounced faceup upon the polished hardwood entryway floor of his eighth-floor medical office. Dr. Feelgood it read.
After many years of saving the lives of other people, tall, dark and handsome, Dr. Makkai Worthy, aka Dr. Feelgood, literally begged for his own life at the hands of a muscular white man whose beautiful Hispanic wife had just been caught cheating on him with the educated, gifted doctor.
Nationally known as attending cardiac surgeon at the Cedars Sinai Medical Center, Dr. Worthy had repaired many ailing hearts over the course of his illustrious career. And over the course of his thirty-seven-year life, he had broken many as well. He was a heartbreaker extraordinaire. Only, repairing those hearts was not on his list of daily duties on this sunny morning, but perhaps, from the intensity of the firm, strangling hold around his neck, it should have been.
“Please, honey, stop it. Please, let him go.” Salina Woodard begged and pleaded with her jilted husband to release his gargantuan grip from the neck of her handsome lover. She stood nervously behind her husband, bracing herself upon her tiptoes, peering over his shoulder while pressing her golden acrylic nails into his clothing, pulling toward the back of his flexed upper arms.
With his medium brown complexion now suddenly reddish cinnamon, Dr. Worthy gagged and choked as he forced himself to speak with bugged eyes. “You have the wrong man. I don’t even know her,” he retched while Salina’s husband continued to squeeze, pressing his manly thumbs into the wealthy doctor’s Adam’s apple.
“Don’t even know me?” Salina replied with frantic coated words. Surely her ears deceived her.
She relaxed her stance, releasing her hold on her madman of a spouse. She stood up straight, adjusting her white cotton blouse, smoothing it with her hands and then straightening out her crisp starched collar, securing her leather purse strap along her shoulder. She folded her arms across her chest. A sudden blanket of numbness visited her from head to toe. She held her head up high even though her thoughts sped up. She wanted the attack to end, but she was also insulted by Dr. Worthy’s blatant denial. In an instant, part of her wanted to cheer her husband on, hoping he could snap her man-on-the side’s neck with one jolt. But, the other part of her took a quick trip down memory lane to the happy times she’d had with this heartbreaker of a man, Dr. Feelgood.
Normally, it was just about raw, bucket-naked nasty sex, but one day, one special evening just last summer, the couple held hands while walking along, checking out the shops in the popular Farmers’ Market. She and the brilliant doctor decided to sit at a tiny wrought-iron table at a little outdoor French café. He pulled out her chair with a chivalrous nature. She wiggled her ample hips into a comfortable spot and femininely lifted herself ever so gently as he scooted the chair toward the table after she sat. She felt like a regal queen, proud to be with her lover in public and happy to receive such undivided attention. A feeling she hadn’t had in her marriage in a long time.
They sipped on chilled chardonnay while feeding each other French bread dipped in warm olive oil. The night air was still and calm as he wiped the corner of her mouth with his long index finger, following up the gesture with the soft, sweet deliverance of a peck on the lips. She gazed at the good doctor as he sat looking ever so good with his jetblack, freshly tapered, faded haircut. She gave him an approving eye and smirked warmly, crossing her brown legs that were shown off so perfectly, extending from the hem of her sheer royal blue dress.
He took possession of her left hand that rested on her lap. “You’re very special to me, Salina,” he said.
“And you to me,” she replied, wearing a smile. For the first time, words of caring were exchanged while vertical, as opposed to horizontally.
They talked and laughed and flirted through dinner as though it were a first date. Then they leisurely strolled along the trendy Grove under the moonlit sky and shining stars, hand in hand together, as if she were just as single as he was.
But, the only person seeing stars now was Dr. Worthy. He flailed his hands about, trying to fend off his jealous attacker. He lay on his back upon his own oval mahogany desk in the middle of his office. Important papers flew onto the floor, as well as an array of pens, paper clips, and framed photos.
Salina snapped out of her moment of reflection, coming back to present time. Again urgency took over her adulterous mind.
“Help,” the attractive woman screeched as she anxiously glanced toward the door and then back. “Honey, stop,” she yelled, with her hands now pounding on her green-eyed monster of a husband’s wide back. At the same time, she heard the sound of a siren from the paramedic unit.
Within what seemed like two seconds, they burst into the office, and it took three strapping men to pry her scorned husband off of the prestigious doctor. Dr. Worthy squinted his dark brown eyes tightly and put his hand on his ravaged throat to chase away the raging pain and ease circulation. He leaned up with one arm as he stood from the desk and panted until he could steady his pace. And then, he propelled his fit body toward his attacker and sucker punched him dead in the face.
“Makkai,” yelled Salina.
Barely flinching his head, Salina’s husband took the blow with ease, cutting his eyes as though he wanted to chop off the doctor’s head with a meat cleaver.
Dr. Worthy shouted through his windedness, “Punk. You messed with the wrong man. You’ll never see the light of day again. I promise you.” The doctor rapidly shook out his throbbing milliondollar hand.
The paramedics literally turned the other cheek to the punch and took the man away, handing him over to the authorities who’d just arrived down the hall.
Salina simply stared at the doctor from the doorway, breathing heavily while shaking her head. “I can’t believe you denied me.”
“Who the hell are you?” Dr. Feelgood cut his eyes and leaned over his desk, massaging his cleanshaven, classic jaw, and rubbing the back of his perfect head.
“You’re the asshole.”
He pointed that same long index finger that had lovingly dabbed the olive oil from the corner of her mouth, the one that had penetrated her depths on many an intimate evening. He thrashed his words her way. “Get out of my office before I press charges against you, too.”
Salina squeezed her stare through tight eyes. She spoke with authority and certainty and promise. “I speak for all of your dick-whipped flock when I say this. One day, you’ll pay for what you do to women, Makkai Worthy. One day, you’ll pay all right.” She sliced him with her eyes and gave an about-faced, runway pivot just before his vengeful words stabbed her in the back.
“You were just another pussy that got hooked. Get over it.”
Chapter 1
Georgia
I love me some Dr. Makkai Worthy. “Mommy, can I have some Junior Mints?” my oldest daughter, curly headed Treasure, asked with a major clump of sleep in her eyes. Considering it’s just after six in the morning, I don’t think so.
With a large mug of my full-strength, morning wake-up brew in one hand, I stood in the kitchen wearing leopard baby doll pajamas and fluffy black house slippers, stirring a simmering pot on the stove with my other hand. “No, it’s time for breakfast. Now go ahead on and wake up your sister so you two can eat this oatmeal while it’s hot. And then go wash up your faces. Now go.”
Treasure flashed an innocent, hurt, eight-year-old pout. Her three-year-old, big-eyed sister was in zombie-mode as if sleepwalking as she came out of her room wiping her right eye with one hand, dragging a Dora the Explorer blanket with the other.
“Mommy,” she cried with a soft, slow whine. “I wanna watch SpongeBob.” With her long, jet-black hair and Indian skin, cranky was her middle name until the time of day hit double digits, which would be nearly four hours from now.
I banged the ceramic mug down on the tile counter and scooped two big spoonfuls into their bowls, adding some brown sugar and butter. “No, not this morning, now don’t play with me. We’re running late. We only have time to eat and get dressed. Now, come on and get in your high chair.”
“I want the big-girl chair.”
“Sit somewhere, just come on.” I pointed in the direction my youngest needed to place herself right away.
My heart-shape-faced baby’s name is Love Jones, named after her tired-ass daddy, Rydell Jones. I still can’t believe I actually gave her his last name. He acts like he’d rather see us on an episode of “Maury Povich” than say one word to me ever again in life. After being with him for years, he accused me of some tired-ass shit two weeks before I found out I was pregnant. Once we broke up after a dramatic and almost violent scene, I only contacted him when Love was born to ask him to sign the birth certificate. He did, but then called up here starting some mess, trying to deny paternity once he saw the girls and me in the Del Amo mall with Makkai. We’re always ending up in the same places. Whatever. Makkai named her, even though he’s not her father.
I met mister fine and studly Makkai when I was four months pregnant while coming from a doctor’s appointment at Cedars Sinai hospital.
“How are you?” He was wearing his black designer suit like it was a ten-thousand-dollar-bill. He lifted his five-hundred-dollar pair of smoky-gray sunglasses and presented me with a strong, lingering handshake. His wink lingered, too.
I replied, “Fine, and you?” The blush I’d applied earlier that morning was no longer necessary. I sucked in my belly and poked my chest out all in one fell swoop.
He nodded and looked me up and down, glaring at my che
st. “Not as fine as you.”
That’s normally one tired-ass line, but this man walked and talked and smelled and looked like he was somebody. Before I knew it, I handed him the digits and it was on.
He seemed to get off on doing me with a baby on the way. He’d back me up and hit it from behind, digging in deep while I lay on my side. And then he’d love to suck on my wide, tender nipples, trying his best to milk me like I was a dang cow. My poor baby would be jerking like she was having a conniption fit. I think doing that man on the regular brought her on eight weeks early. I’m blessed to even have her. She only weighed three pounds.
At first, he was right there. He was even in the delivery room. He checked in on my older daughter when she stayed with my mother while I was in the hospital. My mother seemed to fall in love with him.
“Now that is a good man,” she’d declare like she’d have dibs on him herself if she could do it without stabbing me in the back.
Yes, he can charm us all, young, old, gay, straight. But, being that I was on screw lockdown for six weeks after Love was born, I didn’t see Makkai much.
Anyway, enough about my kids. Right now I’m not even trying to focus my energy on telling you anything other than what Dr. Makkai Worthy is all about.
See, by the time Love was maybe three months old or so, Makkai and I got back to our regular routine of him coming by after work, usually around midnight or one in the morning while the girls were sleeping. He’d crawl into my bed and work his magic. Like Charlie Wilson, he’d perform his tricks on me.
Dr. Feelgood Page 1