by Lexy Timms
He needed her to be the one to answer. This, too, was part of the examination.
“Clarise,” the husband replied helpfully.
Both doctor and patient shot him a look.
“Fine.” He threw up his hands and sat heavily in the chair behind the thick wooden desk.
“Alright, Clarise,” Brant said, directing his attention back to the patient now that he had her attention. “What seems to be the problem?”
“It’s my right foot,” she said, in a whine that put his teeth on edge.
He pulled the blanket off her legs and looked. It wasn’t hard to diagnose. Gout. Rich foods, extra wine, no exercise…gout. Here he had a clinic full of people who were seriously hurt, a young girl with a burned face, a woman with a busted disk, broken bones, and he was called away from all that because this…
He screwed his smile back on. Tight. “You have gout, Clarise,” he said with a fierce patience. “Keep it elevated and stick with salads and water for a while.”
“That’s it?” her husband shot out of his chair. “You’re just a jungle doctor, treating savages! You…”
“Charles!” Clarise snapped.
Brant blinked as the big-time executive slumped back in his chair. Who’d have guessed it was the wife who wore the pants in this family?
She turned to Brant, apologetic. The picture of genteel courtesy. “I’m sorry. He’s very protective of me, Dr.…”
“Layton. Dr. Layton.”
Clarise’s eyes widened in confusion. He could see the instant the connection was made. The way the certainty and triumph lit up her whole face. “Dr. Brant Layton?” she said slowly. When he nodded, she smiled even more. “There’s a cosmetic surgeon in L.A. by that name.” She looked at him, daring him to deny it.
“Not this week,” Brant said, his eyes darting to the door. He swept the medical case closed with a snap. “That’s me, but right now I’m in Belize, looking at your foot.”
“Dr.…” she said timidly. “Could you tell me…” She looked away, playing the coquette. That look he’d seen a million times, usually hard on the heels of a request to draw from the fountain of youth. When she looked at him again, that fierce commanding gaze was back, only this time it was he who was being drilled into submission. “Could you do a face lift for me while you’re here?”
* * *
“Margery! Dr. Layton here. What? Oh, well, my ‘vacation’ took an unexpected turn. I’ve ended up in Belize…No, not Brazil. Belize. It’s in central America…No, that’s mid-America, I mean down south of Mexico… Yeah. I wasn’t able to call before because—never mind, it’s a long story, but there’s a resort here that has a phone…No, I’m not staying at a resort…it’s…” Brant sighed and counted to ten. “Listen, I went to New York for a friend’s wedding. At the bachelor party, I had too much to drink and suddenly I woke up in Belize and they’re telling me I signed on with Doctors Overseas…Yes, them…I don’t know, I don’t remember anything about it. The point is, I might not be able to get out of this, it’s a three-week contract and…” He sighed again as his secretary rattled on. “Yes, I know. I need you to start calling people tomorrow. Reschedule as many people as you can. Yeah, I know…Yeah, call Bill…Dr. Orris. See if he can take a few of the smaller cases for me.” He waited while she fired a million questions at him. He finally cut her off. “I honestly don’t know. I think…No, I don’t think I can.”
Another barrage of questions came at him. For a moment, Brant wavered between being thankful for the efficiency of his staff versus his need for her to just shut up and listen.
“Margery. Margery. I don’t have a long time, international calls are not reliable, just do what you can. Call Dr. Scott Thompson himself, in New York. Hell, call every doctor at Scott Thompson Hospital. I left you the number. He’s the chief of the hospital, find out from him if Dr. Elijah Bennet or Simon…” Brant’s memory failed him. “Find out if anyone else at that party ended up doing something this stupid.”
A knock sounded on the door of the small conference room.
He checked his watch. “Margery, I have to go now. I’ll try to call again tomorrow at the same time, but I can’t promise, just do the best you can, okay?” The knock sounded again. If a knock on a door could sound apologetic, this one was so timid it seemed to pull in on itself.
Brant hung up the phone and sighed. He’d just blown off thousands of dollars and alienated patients. He thought of the victims from the bus crash, of Maria with the burned face, and snorted. It’s not like any of his patients actually needed him. Not like he was needed here. For a moment he looked down at his hands, the skilled, slender hands of a surgeon.
The clinic was a pit. It stood in a clearing covered with snakes and bugs and was run by a mercurial woman who…the knock sounded again, breaking his reverie, which was probably just as well, as he knew where the next thoughts would take him. All the same, he resented the intrusion. “Getting to the point where a man can’t even have a profound revelation anymore,” he grumped and stood to open the door.
The woman from the front desk stood there, her eyes wide and her screwed-on smile slightly tremulous. “Doc…Dr. Layton?”
“Still me,” Brant said, finding a smile of his own. He hoped it looked better than the one she tried to wear, but he couldn’t be sure of that either.
“Doctor… I’m sorry to bother you. I apologize for earlier. I didn’t know…I mean that you’re… That is to say…”
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked. He wasn’t annoyed, not even a bit, but he was hoping that if he could get the woman to concentrate on what she came here for, she wouldn’t be so likely to swallow her tongue.
“The owner of the resort is on his way to meet you sir…Doctor…sir. He’s getting a lot of calls about you.”
Brant blinked a few times. Had he pissed off the gout patient that badly? “Why? What did I do?”
“Sir…”
“Please,” he said, holding up a hand and ushering her into the room. “Unless you’re knighting me, please pick one. ‘Doctor’ will be fine.”
She colored deeply. “Yes, Doctor. The desk has been ringing off the hook. I mean the phone. Word has gotten out that you’re here and that you’re on staff here for a month. Every woman in the resort and half the men are trying to get an appointment with you.”
Brant pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t suppose that it’s a wide-spread case of food poisoning?”
“No, sir. Doctor.” She waved her arms in frustration. “I’m getting people asking me if you do crow’s feet and tummy tucks and…I get questions about body parts I don’t even know about. I don’t want to know about them!”
Brant sighed. He leaned against the doorjamb. “Wonderful.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stood. “Listen, I need to leave. There are real patients who need me at the clinic, and I need to get back to them. But before I do anything, I need new clothing. I was told you have a store…”
“Well, yes…” She was obviously out her depth, and the sudden change of topic did not in any significant way solve her problems. “But what about…”
“Just point to where I can get some new shoes.”
“Shoes?”
Brant lifted a foot and showed her. Now it was her turn to blink as she pointed him toward the conference room door and somewhere vaguely to the right. With a nod of thanks, he walked in the general direction, hoping there would be better instruction when he got closer to his destination. Signs perhaps. His faith was rewarded with tasteful little plaques done up in dark wood with white lettering. RECEPTION and SPA and BAR and DINING and there, GIFT SHOPPE. Brant rolled his eyes. Shoppy. It’s a gift shoppy.
The gift shop turned out to be larger than most Stateside shopping malls. A wide selection of men’s and women’s and kids’ clothing, electronic doo-dads, office supplies for when you get away from it all and find out you needed to take it with you.
He found refuge in a men’s clothier, snagging two pair
of khakis, four t-shirts, and pair of bright pink tennis shoes with something called “butterbee” yellow laces. All this tore into his credit card, leaving a divot of $600.00. The expense didn’t hurt him, just the ridiculous amount they charged was robbery. At least everything was clean and new and in his size.
He was trying on a pair of green and yellow shorts when a polite knock on the dressing room door brought him out of the zone. He realized that pastel green was NOT his color. He just wanted blue, or grey, or something simple.
“Dr. Layton? Richard Mendez, here. I’m one of the owners of the resort here. May I have a moment of your time?”
“You may have several, Mr. Mendez, if you’re willing to wait until I’m wearing clothing again.” He chuckled, just happy to have found clothes. “I’m not able to receive gentleman visitors at this time.”
There was a telling silence while Mr. Mendez digested the reply. “Certainly, Doctor. At your leisure.”
Brant smiled at the door and shook his head. Slipping into the khakis he’d already purchased, tightening the tacky shoes, he checked himself in the mirror and stepped out into the store.
The resort owner was not an imposing man. Small of stature, but with an expensive haircut and manicured hands, you got the feeling that this was a man who bore wealth well, and remembered exactly where it came from. The look he gave Brant was at once assessing. Even ingratiating. The look of a man who needed something.
It didn’t bode well with Brant’s gut.
“Doctor,” Mendez said as he shook Brant’s hand. “It would appear that you’re somewhat of a celebrity in your specific field.”
Brant did not respond to the comment. There didn’t seem to be any reply to that.
“I wonder, Doctor, what a man with your credentials is doing in a remote corner of the jungle?”
“It does make you wonder, doesn’t it?” Brant said, handing the shorts to the attendant with a shake of his head. “I wonder why such an edifice such as this resort is in the middle of the jungle.”
“We had a good deal and the spot seems to be a good fit for our clientele,” Mendez said with a smile oily enough to deep-fry doughnuts.
“Same with me,” Brant said, withdrawing his hand which ached slightly from the firm grasp it had been encased in. Every alarm bell in his head was ringing, telling him to get the hell out. “It’s been wonderful meeting you, but I really must be going.”
“About that, Doctor,” Mendez said slowly, falling into step beside him. “We’re getting several calls from patrons requesting your medical skills.”
“You’re getting calls from people who want a consult about face lifts, tummy tucks…” Brant said cautiously, stopping to confront the man head-on.
“And the occasional penis enlargement,” Mendez added with a straight face.
“Seriously?”
Mendez nodded. “Look, Doctor, I’m sure you can understand that such…requests are far beyond the ability of this resort to handle, nor do we wish to act as intermediary between our patrons and your office.”
“Nor should you.” Brant was getting a little steamed. “Tell them to call my office in L.A. I’ll be back in three weeks; they can schedule an appointment.”
“Ah, but here is the problem,” Mendez said. “We assure our guests that an American-trained Doctor is on hand for any issues that may arise. You’ve put us in a difficult position.”
“I did? How did I do that?”
“Please, Doctor. I don’t mean to anger you, I just want you let you know that your presence here is problematic, and that the guests here are scrambling for attention from you. On their behalf, I must ask you again: why are you here in the middle of the jungle?”
Brant looked at the man for a long moment. “So, you’re wondering if I’m here because, what, I can’t work in the U.S.? I’m not very good? If that was true, would your people be hounding you right now?” Brant felt his temper rise but couldn’t fight it down. He stared at the man incredibly. “So, you’re saying that the only reason Dr. Bell is in the jungle helping people is because she’s…not good enough to practice in the States?”
“I am only asking, Doctor, why you’re here,” Mendez said stiffly.
“I’m not here,” Brant said just under a yell, “I’m gone. Tell your people not to call my people.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mendez said, stopping Brant mid-stride. “You see, this resort supplies money, medicine, and air support to the clinic. In return, the clinic arranges for a doctor to be on call for our guests.”
Brant turned back to Mendez. He already knew he wasn’t going to like what he was going to hear.
“So, you see, Doctor, if you’re unable to attend to those duties, it will be the unfortunate responsibility of this resort to remove our support from the clinic.”
The man hadn’t even batted an eye, or had the decency to pause before threatening to take his support away. Brent stared into the other man’s eyes. “You’re a calculating bastard.”
He smiled pleasantly. “I’m going to ask you again, Dr. Layton. Why are you in Belize?”
Chapter 14
Brant was beat. Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven freakin’ free consultations. Twenty-seven whining, demanding, ego-maniacal, self-serving—the Jeep bucked and twisted again, distracting him from his train of thought. How had he never noticed people in his clinic sounding the same way? Maybe they didn’t. Maybe—a deep pothole in the path had him refocusing on the road once again. It was getting dark and the cliff edge was still on the horizon. The lights from the Jeep didn’t make a lot of difference. Thankfully there was still enough daylight left to see the road, but that damned stick shift kept stranding him in stupid places. Last time most noticeably underneath a monkey who thought pelting him with overripe fruit was the height of hilarity.
Luckily, the primate had terrible aim. On the other hand, the Jeep had become rather pungent and was attracting insects whenever he slowed down enough for them to catch up.
He cursed as he hit another pothole hard enough to jar his teeth. Bad enough that he’d been working for free all day on what would have been a rather lucrative afternoon back home, but Mendez had accompanied him from room to room like a keeper. That threat of cutting off aid to the clinic if he didn’t do the trained monkey dance had left him with a jaw that ached from gritting his teeth so hard. And now, to top off a perfect day, the sun was setting. The whole damn day wasted on free consults and he was about to drive over a cliff in the dark.
Wait. There was enough light to not panic at the cliff. He made it safely around and was almost relieved to see the dumpy clinic in the semi-clearing of the forest.
Unfortunately, there was enough light to see the look on Mel’s face as he limped the Jeep home.
“Sorry to drag you back from your people,” she said in a very low, even tone as he drew to a halt beside her. “If you can fit it in between your golf game, I have a patient I’d like you to visit.” Her nose wrinkled, whether from the smell of the Jeep or her new dislike of him, he wasn’t sure. It was impossible to guess, up until she added the word, “Doctor,” with enough of a sneer that the issue quickly clarified.
“You honestly think I was playing golf?” Brant snapped. It was just too much, really. He’d spent the day keeping money and whatever perks that damned resort provided, just to keep the clinic open. And now was getting called out on the carpet for it. He stared at her, too tired to even have the energy to fight. It wasn’t even worth it. He’d be better off talking to a brick wall.
“I don’t give a damn what you do,” she snipped right back. “Just get in here and examine this patient.” She spun and walked away, back stiff, then paused, one hand on the front door to the clinic. “Please.” It didn’t sound exactly sincere.
He looked at the fruit-spattered bags of khakis, new boxer-briefs, socks, and clean t-shirts and sighed. At least he thought they were clean. The bags had caught most of the monkey shrapnel. At least it wasn’t monkey crap. If he t
ook the time to toss them all into his bungalow, he’d just give the snakes extra time to play with his new clothes. He left the two bags in the Jeep and walked to the clinic, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to get out the whiplash his relearning of the clutch had given him.
A baby was the last thing he’d expected.
“Is he too young for surgery?” Tina asked quietly. The mother didn’t speak English, so Tina was acting as translator. They were in one of the two consult rooms, the mother staring at him as though he were a demi-god about to work a miracle.
Fatigue forgotten Brant stepped around Mel, who stood leaning against the wall, and went to the sink to clean his hands. He moved over to the baby and leaned in for a closer look, one finger under the infant’s chin so he could see clearly. “He’s not too young. For something like this, it’s best to do the initial surgery at a young age when the bones are still growing. This way they can grow together right.”
Tina translated, and smiled reassuringly at the mother.
“I see he’s gotten some teeth in. We should have a dentist look him over.” Brant said, with a glance over at Mel to see if she had anything to offer. Apparently, she didn’t, standing arms crossed as if just waiting for him to prove to her that he would screw this up somehow as well.
“There’s a dentist not too far, but he has to be flown in,” Tina said after a moment’s thought. “The resort won’t let us use their plane for that.”
“Yes, they will.” Brant straightened, and ignored Mel’s snort that she tried to cover with a cough. “Tina, call Mr. Mendez. Tell him I said we need transportation for a dentist. If he makes a fuss, tell him I said that I’ll set up shop in his lobby.”
Tina frowned and paused in her scribbling of notes. “I don’t understand, Doctor.”
“He will,” Brant said, feeling that ache in his jaw again. “Just do it.”
“Yes, Dr. Layton.”
Cleft palate. It was the sort of procedure that cosmetic surgeons pointed to and used to justify careers filled with patients like the ones who inhabited the resort. Truthfully, it wasn’t a long or complex surgery, but he would need an anesthesiologist. “I’ll need an anesthesiologist. Is that possible?” He finally looked over at Mel.
