by Maggie Marr
I leaned my head onto my hand. Mama poured the hot water into the coffee press. “He is a unique man, your father. His love knows no limit. Even his fidelity. But he cannot be with only one.” She walked to the table with the coffee press and two cups. “My darling, do you think I’ve not known this since before you were born?”
“Mama, I can’t…”
Mama nodded. “Nor should you. I only say this so you don’t worry about me or about your papa and our relationship. All is how we anticipated it would be.” She reached out and placed her hand under my chin. “You worry so desperately, my poquita. You always have.”
I pressed the plunger down through the loose and swirling coffee grounds. I poured a cup of coffee for Mama and for myself. Yes, I worried. Anxiety and worry were in my nature, and my fingers were a direct result.
“I also wanted to see you. Sophia returns this week?”
“Wednesday,” I said. “Just before the wedding.”
“I am excited to see all of my and Steve’s children together and looking well next weekend. We’ll have a glorious time.”
“Glorious? Mama, you remember Amanda’s wedding, right? When Rhett and Sterling beat the hell out of each other?”
Mama waved her hand in the air. “A different time. Everything was too fresh. Now they’ve all found love.” She took a sip of her coffee. “All but one.”
My heart thwapped against my ribs.
“Mama,” I said, a tiny, whining lilt to my voice. “You know I’m in med school, third year, and I’m not looking and it isn’t the right time and—”
“It will never be the right time, my darling. And especially for you. You race through life as though you have something to prove. What is it, my love? Why? You know that you are loved simply for being you.”
I looked away. Drummond was curled in a tight ball and his snout hung over the edge of the couch. His eyes met mine. What to say? How to respond? Mama’s intentions were good.
“Mama, not everyone has to get married.”
“You say this to me? The mother of three children all born without a wedding? I am not here about you wedding or even falling in love, what I’m here for is to ask you to take better care of you.”
I pulled at the ends of my hair and ran my fingers through the rat’s nest on my head. These people. My family. So easy for them to judge, wasn’t it? Had any one of them ever tried to get through college and then med school? No. My famous family just landed in the careers that were best for them. Whereas I actually had to work to get to my career of choice. Work that seemed now to have been all for nothing.
“Poquita, please. You sleep at the table. You do not eat. The only reason you exercise is because of Drummond. You are first in your class, perhaps you could be tenth and you would be healthier?” She grasped my hand and turned it over. She pressed her fingertips to the back of my hand. “And this, my love, this breaks my heart. These red sores are a symptom of your anxiety. Forever when you were a child, I knew when you worried or had exams.” Her fingers rubbed mine, careful not to touch the red angry wounds around my nails. “This is what you’ve always done.”
I didn’t pull my hand away. This was Mama. She was fully aware of my bad habits and my anxieties and my drive to succeed.
“Mama, I’m almost there. The residency I want—”
“Then you will be struggling to be the best resident ever. I know you, my darling, I do. I am asking you to be as kind to you as you are to all those around you. As you would be to your own patients, the children you want to help.”
Mama didn’t understand. How could she? She didn’t know how long, how hard, how much I had fought to get where I wanted to be. Or that Kazowski had killed my dream. I looked into her warm eyes. I couldn’t tell her. I simply couldn’t.
“You have a break the week after the wedding?”
I nodded. Spring break, and I planned on spending the entire week in the library.
“I want you to spend part of that week taking care of yourself. I have made several appointments for you. Your father and I have agreed, you are going away.”
“What?”
“We’ve arranged it. You are going and there will be no fighting us on this. You will go and you will rest and relax. The car will pick you up here the day after the wedding.”
“Mama, I can’t. I have too much work.”
Her gaze hardened. I sat back in my chair. I’d seen this look on Mama’s face twice before. Once when Rhett was suspended from high school and another time when Sophia came home drunk out of her mind. There would be no arguing with the hardened face and piercing eyes. The look silenced me.
“Okay,” I said softly. I could take books with me. I could study at a hotel or resort or beach or wherever she and Daddy were sending me. I stood and stretched my arms over my head. “Since I agreed to go, I really need to get to the library.”
“Sit.” The hardened look slipped from Mama’s face, replaced again with that openness that contained unconditional love. “You’ll eat and then you will go on your way.” Mama entered the kitchen.
I sat back in the chair. There was no use fighting Mama. She was an impenetrable, quiet force, and I would get nowhere until she’d had a chance to make certain I was fed.
Chapter 4
Webber
“Yo, Gregory, how the hell do you do it? Twelve New York Times best-selling authors in the past eighteen months? You’re infuego!”
Gregory’s face was long and a grayish color that matched his short hair. He greeted my compliment on his career with a non-expression. He reminded me of a dead fish. Had I said the words out loud, nothing would have registered on his face. Gregory had nixed my suggestions of breakfast, lunch, dinner, or drinks, but had allowed me to accompany him to his morning workout at Equinox.
Six a.m. and I was on a treadmill putting in a stiff five miles. Gregory pushed the stop button and grabbed the towel he’d carefully laid over the display panel. He scrubbed it over the sweat on his face and then his eyes locked onto mine. “Webber, you haven’t read any of the books.”
I pressed the Off button and my treadmill came to a full stop. I turned to Gregory. “No, man, I haven’t. But I did get coverage, and I am still pretty damned impressed.”
The look in his eyes shifted. Maybe Gregory wasn’t used to honesty, but how was I going to bullshit my way through a conversation about his clients’ work even if the coverage on the books was thorough? He’d know within a few sentences of my fumbling my way through the story that I was lying to him, and then what? Better to front the bad with this guy. He was a New York transplant that still swam in the erudite world of publishing. He slummed with the likes of me, film agents, as a necessity. He indulged us plebeian movie people to try to get his clients’ books made into movies and TV shows. Nope, I would never be Gregory’s favorite, but I needed him to get my partner stripes, and Gregory could use me and my client list to get what he needed too.
“I know what you’re after.”
“I don’t think what I’m after is a secret.” I stepped off the treadmill. “I want to be a partner.” I took a long slug from my water bottle. Man, I was seriously getting out of shape even with the running with Agnes. Too many big lunches, fat dinners, and late-night parties with the stars and the ladies.
“I can appreciate honesty.” Gregory slung his towel over his shoulder. “Don’t get much of it in this business.”
I followed him toward the ellipticals. Smooth. Everything was smooth. My tactical assessment had been correct. Gregory climbed onto the equipment.
“More? Man, you are a friggin’ machine.”
“An hour a day, Webber. Only way with this job. Otherwise I’d lose my mind.” He pressed start and I hopped onto the elliptical beside his. After two minutes, when I felt like my heart might explode from my chest, he turned to me.
“So here’s the deal. I don’t like you.”
“I’m an acquired taste.”
“Right. Well, we’ve worked together n
ow for five years, and Webber, much like blue cheese, I don’t think you’re a taste my palate will ever acquire.”
I kept moving, and panting, and taking the gut punches like a champ. There was a “but” coming in Gregory’s sentence, something he needed or wanted from me that would get me past the blue cheese metaphor and to a yes vote with the partners.
“Fair enough. I can live with not being liked.”
A smile cut across Gregory’s face. Seriously, a friggin’ smile. I didn’t even realize his lips could move in an upward direction.
“But I do respect you. I respect the list of actors you’ve built in such a short time. You have an ability to sign and to relate to high-level actors. While I don’t like you, they seem to really enjoy the Webz.”
Boom, and there it was. My in.
“Thank you. “ Why not just acknowledge the compliment within the backhanded slap? I wasn’t above it. I didn’t dig Gregory all that much either. We weren’t going to be besties hanging out at the Bellagio. No boys’ weekends to Singapore or Vegas. He was a stuffed shirt who was overly inflated and way out of touch, in my opinion, about the reality of the film industry. But film wasn’t his primary business, books were, and when it came to the publishing world I was a bull stomping through a shop of fine crystal. I got it. Really, I did.
“There are ways that your high-end celebrity clients can help my New York Times best sellers.”
Here came the ask. Damn, I sure hoped it wasn’t too painful. I could make a lot of magic with my list of clients, but hell, I wasn’t Harry Damned Houdini.
“You can have my yes vote,” Gregory said. “If—”
“Bring it, Gregory, tell me how the hell I can scratch your back.”
He took a breath, the words that came from my mouth nearly too crude for him to bear.
“If you can get Jameson Blake’s books turned into films.”
“The thriller writer?”
Gregory nodded.
“I thought Worldwide had his books locked up? Don’t they have some sort of forever option on his spy series?”
“They did,” Gregory said. “And now they don’t.”
I nodded.
“Jameson has always wanted Steve Legend to play the lead.”
My heart pitter-pattered. This I could do. This I could make happen. “Steve has a deal at Summit. They always need material. Damn, Gregory, this is a match made in heaven. Has Steve seen the books?”
“Ages ago. When Jameson was on book three, but now there are nine in the series. If you can get Steve’s company to option the first three books and start active development on Thrill Me, Kill Me, then I can definitely give you my vote.”
“Can’t get it done before the partner meeting. We’re talking negotiations and big-ticket money. Summit will have to come in and say yes.”
“Steve’s production company has a discretionary fund.”
Gregory wasn’t asking me a question, he was making a statement.
“Yeah, but—”
“Webber, you want my yes vote and I want Jameson’s books made into films. You don’t have to be in prep, just get the first three books under option by Steve.” Gregory hopped off the elliptical. “You’re a resourceful agent. I’m certain you can get that going in the next few weeks. Have Steve’s company make the offer and my yes vote is yours.”
I stepped off the elliptical. Easy? No. Doable? Maybe. If I scrambled my ass and got Steve’s attention. Fuck. This was the only possible avenue that Gregory was giving me to partner.
“You got it, man.” I held out my hand.
Gregory clasped it. His handshake was a little too loose for my taste, but the erudite? They always seemed a bit too low-key for me. Give me a manshake-bro-hug any day. This was Gregory, I knew what I was working with.
“Get me the offer, Webzie, and you have yourself another yes vote on the partnership committee.”
“Thanks, man.”
Gregory turned and walked toward another machine. This time that killer stair-thing. No way. Webzie was d-o-n-e. One vote down, two more partners to go. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Dick Munch.
“Hello?”
“What the hell, man? It’s nearly six thirty on a Thursday. Get your ass out of bed.”
“Webber?”
“Up, kid. I need to know where Steve is today, and I need all the info you can get about the Worldwide deal for Jameson Blake’s books by the time I get to the office. Which will be in about thirty. So get your lazy assistant ass up and go fetch.” I pushed the red button on the phone and headed toward the showers. I’d get Steve’s development person the books today. Hit Steve up at the wedding, and damn, hopefully get the offer to Gregory while CTA was at the company retreat next week.
Steep climb. Maybe I wouldn’t need to sleep with Selena. That yes wouldn’t be too painful. The woman was smokin’. Too bad she scared Big Boy from hard-python-of-steel to oh-so-soft-shrimpy. I just had to convince myself that Selena wouldn’t rip off my head and suck out my brain after I laid her.
Ellen
“Miss Legend, can you please explain to us the reasons for a decompressive craniectomy?
I looked up from my notes. Dr. Kazowski stood in the center of the hall just outside the patient’s room that we’d all just exited. Devon, an eight-year-old with medulloblastoma. He was scheduled for surgery next week. I’d been scribbling down her words to prepare for the questions I’d get hammered with the week after spring break. Now she was asking me something completely unrelated and for which I was unprepared.
My stomach dropped to my toes. No matter how hard I studied or how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t keep ahead of Kazowski and her questions.
“I believe that—”
“Believe? Or know?” Dr. Kazowski interrupted.
My tongue darted out and I licked my lower lip. I fought the urge to place the cuticle of my thumb into my mouth.
“Believing and knowing is the difference between saving and killing.”
Wow. When she put it like that. “Then no, Dr. Kazowski, I don’t know the answer to your question. My answer would be, at best, an educated guess.”
“Unprepared. First you’re late and now you attend rounds with limited knowledge. I must say, Miss Legend, I’m unimpressed with your skills, whereas your sister certainly knows how to lie nearly naked on a beach for photographers. Perhaps you are better suited for such a career?”
My cheeks flamed. I ground my teeth together. I would not respond. What my famous family did or didn’t do had no bearing on my career, but Kazowski seemed to think she could toss my family out and shame me. Well, she’d succeeded. Again I wished to fall through the floor and not be seen.
“Need I remind you that this rotation is just as important as your last three? While you received stellar marks on those, I’m beginning to think your teaching doctors were much more enamored with the surname Legend than I will ever be. Come prepared to round, Miss Legend, or don’t come at all.”
“Yes, Doctor.” I couldn’t fight her. I had to be stoic and take whatever she delivered. That was just how it worked in third-year rotations. You got what you got, and I’d gotten Kazowski.
She turned and led the entire group down the hall to the last room. I wanted to run and hide or maybe even find a way to disappear from rounds, but we only had one more patient. Instead, I followed to the next room where Dr. Kazowski stood just outside the door. Her resident handed her his laptop, which contained all the information needed to assess the progress of this patient, Mark Keswick, a kid who was terminal. There was no way to save him. Surgery had gone well, but his cancer had come back with a vengeance. Kazowski had already had the conversation with Mark’s parents and they’d decided he needed to go home. The door to Mark’s room was closed.
“This will be our final round with Mark,” Kazowski said. “Keep it positive. Upbeat, but not patronizing.” Her gaze scanned the group. “Are we clear?”
Everyone nodded. A lump lodged in my throat
. There was no crying in medicine. Number one rule—no tears from doctors in the hospital. Completely forbidden. Kazowski opened the door and a bark greeted us.
What the heck?
My eyes widened.
Oh. No. I took a long breath. The female residents and third-years in my group were wide-eyed and started doing the female hair-grooming thing that went along with being in close proximity to good-looking actors that had starred in blockbuster films.
I wasn’t starstruck. I knew this guy really well. He was married to my half sister’s best friend and I spent holidays with the MacAvoy family. I was going to be a bridesmaid this weekend in Dillon’s brother’s wedding. I pushed to the back of the group, hopeful that neither Dillon nor Webzie, who’d accompanied Dillon to the hospital, would see me. With Kazowski, being recognized and called out by a huge celeb was the last thing I needed.
“Hey, little man, looks like your fan club just arrived.” Dillon shot Mark the smile that graced magazine covers, billboards, and also made women swoon. He turned to Dr. Kazowski and held out his hand. “Dillon MacAvoy.”
Did Kazowski…blush? She patted her hair and then shook Dillon’s hand.
“Webber and I just stopped by to ask Mark to take care of this pup for us.” Dillon nodded toward the golden retriever who wore a blue Helper Pet vest and was curled up on the bed beside Mark. This program, as well as Pawtown, were the main charities that Dillon funded and lent his famous face to support. He’d been running the Helper Pet program for going on five years at Cedars-Sinai and had just gotten permission to expand to UCLA Children’s Hospital.
I glanced at Mark’s parents. They stood beside the bed. His mom looked weary. How did you watch your child die? I couldn’t imagine the pain. Mark’s father had his arm around his wife. There was this tiny glimmer of happiness when they looked at Mark hugging his new dog. Mark wouldn’t have much longer with his parents, but right now he was happy. Thrilled. He threw his arms around the dog’s neck and pulled him close.
“Look what Dillon brought me!” Mark said.
