Box. Part 36

Nurse Janet gushed, "What an amazing little girl! She absolutely refused to die!"

To me she said, "I'm filing a grievance against you for s.e.xual hara.s.sment and verbal abuse."

"That's ridiculous," I said. "You've worked with me before. You know how I am."

"Never again. I'm done."

"We just saved a life here. Do you really care about a few cuss words?"

"You're getting worse."

"How?"

"You're a complete psychopath. You called me the C-word. You barked like a dog."

"Which C-word?"

"All of them. You called me things that didn't even make sense."

"I was in a zone!"

Nurse Margaret said, "She's right. I've never heard such vile language. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

She shook her head. "And the things you said to that poor child? And the names you called her?"

She crossed herself.

Then said, "You cursed like a drunken sailor, speaking in tongues."

IX.

HOURS LATER, DESPITE the warnings, Jordan Calfee tracked me down in my office, threw her arms around me and said, "OmiG.o.d, you saved my daughter's life!"

Jordan had looked beautiful that morning. But now, standing in my office, she was positively radiant.

"Dr. Box! Gideon! You've given us a beautiful, healthy baby to raise!"

"Who let you in to see me?"

"Your secretary."

"Lola? Seriously?"

"Your fee, whatever it is, isn't enough. How can I possibly repay you?"

She seemed sincere.

I said, "Would you consider a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b?"

Jordan paused a moment, as if her ears momentarily betrayed her. Then she slapped my face full-force, stormed out of my office, and reported me to Administrator Luce. She followed that up with a written statement to the hospital's board of directors, effectively earning me a four-day suspension and six months' probation.

We all would have preferred a harsher ruling, but there were two patients in the cue who would die if I'm not on duty when they're strong enough for surgery. One is Lilly Devereaux, whose parents, Austin and Dublin, offered to donate a wing to the hospital if I save their child's life.

Since Lilly's surgery will likely take place in five to seven days, the board voted to suspend me for four days, which would give them time to bribe our existing nurses to work with me, or hire new ones away from our compet.i.tors.

Secretary Lola said, "Now you'll have time to see Shelby Lynn."

"Who?"

She handed me a letter and said, "It's from the stack of fan mail I placed on your credenza last month."

"I've got fan mail?"

"You do."

I look at the letter. "You've read this?"

"I read them all. It'd do you good to read them, too."

"Why's that?"

"You're loved by many."

"Right."

Lola shrugged, left the room. I sat down, read the letter, then went home and booked the next flight to Cincinnati.

Cincinnati, Ohio.

Thursday, 9:15 p.m.

Firefly Lounge.

"DUDE!" WILLOW SAYS, approaching. "Where've you been all my life?"

She stops two feet away, wearing a smile and very little else.

"Glenlivit 21, thirty bucks a shot, right?"

I glance at the dark amber liquid in my gla.s.s, then back at her.

She says, "We don't serve many of those. By the way, I'm Willow."

"Chris," I say. "Chris Fowler."

She laughs. "We don't use last names in here, Chris."

I nod.

"You're in the chair," she says. "Will I do?"

"Sure."

Of course she'll do. Willow's by far the cla.s.s of the place. The problem is she knows it.

She flashes me the smile that earns more in tips than hookers get for a toss. It's a spectacular smile, well worth the fortune her parents must've spent on braces a few years back.

I wonder how proud they'd be to see Willow giving lap dances.

She hikes a leg over mine, taking care not to injure me with her five-inch stiletto. Her panties, blood-spatter red to match the shoes, hug her crotch so tightly they could pa.s.s for spray-on. Her cropped tee is bright white.

She's on my lap now, facing me, our eyes two feet apart. Mine black, hers, goldenrod.

I sip my drink. "Want one?"

"What, a Scotch?"

She laughs. "I wouldn't know it from lighter fluid."

I place the drink on the table beside us.

Willow says, "You want me facing, or turned away?"

"Facing. I like your smile."

"Then we're good."

She closes her eyes half-mast, pouts her lips, shows me her sultry look.

"You ready?" she purrs.

"What, no music?"

"DJ's cuing it. I could've waited another thirty seconds, but you're too cute. One of the other girls might've stolen you."

Right, stolen me.

Because I'm so cute.

To keep the conversation going I ask, "What do you drink?"

"Vodka cranberry."

"Can I buy you one of those?"

"Not here. You know, it'sa""

"Against the rules?"

She laughs. "Against the law, actually."

"Why's that?"

"I'm underage. For liquor, anyway."

"Seriously?"

"I know," she says. "Weird, right?"

The music starts. Willow arches her back, lifts her chin, lowers it, raises it again, licks her lips seductively, then removes her top.

"Show time," she says.

She puts her hands high over her head and gives her t.i.ts a shake. Then leans into me, brushes her nipples across my lips and says, "You like that, sugar?"

"I do. Thanks."

She gives me an odd look and does that b.o.o.bs-across-my-lips thing again, expecting me to kiss them, but I don't.

I picture her ten minutes from now, telling her friend, Cameron about it. She'll say, "See the older guy in the corner? Black jeans, t-shirt? I was grinding him just now, really working it. I rubbed my t.i.ts in his face and asked if he liked it, and guess what he said?"

Cameron will shrug.

"He said, *Thanks.'"

They'll laugh, probably snort a line.

Cameron will ask how much I tipped.

"Two hundred."

"No s.h.i.t?" Cameron will say.

Next time they come out, I'll completely ignore Willow and signal Cameron to come over. They'll exchange a glance, but really, what can Willow do? She can't claim I'm her customer if I ask for someone else.

It's just that no one, especially Willow, expects me to ditch her for Cameron.

If Willow's a solid eight, Cameron's a barely-five. But she'll do her best, and hope to earn a Franklin, or at least a Jackson. I'll compliment the h.e.l.l out of her, act like I'm really into it, then I'll pretend to have an accident. They love it when that happens. Builds their confidence, makes them feel s.e.xier than the others.

I'll tip Cameron four hundred for a twenty dollar lap dance.

All part of the plan.

Cameron will tell Willow I came in my pants and gave her four hundred bucks.

Willow won't understand. She'll flirt, try to get my attention. But I'll ignore her, break her confidence.

Women want what they can't have. Even dancers like Willow, who think they're hot s.h.i.t.