Royal Pains

by D P Lyle

  “Doesn’t that feel better?” I asked.

  “It does.” She examined her finger and the small charred hole in the nail. “This sure messes up the expensive manicure I got yesterday.”

  “Let’s get the other one done.”

  Releasing the second hematoma was as easy as the first. I then pulled a roll of tape out of my bag.

  “I’m going to tape these two fingers together. Sort of a poor man’s splint.”

  I tore off three strips of tape and then applied them one at a time, wrapping each securely around her two fingers. After I finished, she examined her hand.

  “Not very fashionable,” she said.

  “But effective. I’ll write you a prescription for a pain med.”

  “And that’s it?” she asked. “I just wait for it to heal?”

  “I’ll need an X-ray of your fingers. You can either run by Hamptons Heritage or I can have Divya, my PA, swing by and do it here.”

  “If we had a HankMed van,” Evan said, “you’d have an X-ray machine here with you. Right out in the parking lot.”

  Rachel laughed. “Who’s the salesperson here?”

  I shook my head. “Are you two going to gang up on me?”

  “Would it help?” Rachel asked.

  “Probably not.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I have a couple of errands to run over near the hospital, so I’ll go by there.”

  “After I’m sure everything is lined up properly, I’ll devise a splint for you. It’ll take four to six weeks to heal.”

  “Six weeks?” She looked at Evan. “You owe me big-time.”

  “How about lunch?”

  “It’ll take a lot more than that. At least a very expensive dinner.” She laughed. “When your girlfriend gets back, that is.”

  “I think I can handle that,” Evan said. “You and Paige will hit it off. Like you, she’s smart and pretty.”

  “Is he always this charming?”

  “In his own mind,” I said.

  “At dinner we can talk more about the employee health plan I told you about,” Evan said.

  “What plan?” I asked.

  “Evan proposed a program for our employees.” He shrugged. “It actually looks good. My father is working the numbers, so we’ll see.”

  “We’d be happy to help if we can,” I said.

  “Of course that means you’ll definitely have to buy that van.”

  “What van?” I asked.

  “We’ve been working on a really cool one,” Evan said. “It’ll have computers with big screens and big comfortable chairs in back. It’ll have room for a portable X-ray machine, a sonogram, oxygen tanks, and even a folding treadmill for doing stress tests.”

  See what I mean? Evan’s van scheme wasn’t going to simply fade away. When he gets focused, he never lets go.

  “The treadmill will slide beneath the floorboard and can be pulled out and set up in just a matter of minutes,” Rachel said. “There’s also a place for a fairly large medicine cabinet so you can carry most of your drugs with you.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it covered,” I said. “But we don’t need a van.”

  Rachel shrugged. “You might change your mind once you see it.”

  “Can’t afford one either,” I said.

  “I bet we can make you a deal you can’t refuse.”

  “You sound like the Godfather.”

  She laughed. “Would it help if I were?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “But I don’t have a horse’s head to make my point.”

  Beautiful and funny. I liked Rachel.

  “Just take a look at what Rachel put together,” Evan said. “I mean, she even sacrificed her hand to make the sale.”

  “I think you sacrificed her hand.”

  Rachel laughed and then said, “Maybe the CEO should bail out the CFO by taking a look at what I can offer.”

  I knew I didn’t have a chance. She was charming and I felt at least somewhat responsible for what Evan had done. I’m not sure why, but it had been that way most of our lives. Evan always meant well but seemed to attract trouble like a black sweater attracts lint. Regardless, I caved.

  Rachel gave me a tour of their facility, including the three conversions they had under way. She showed me sketches of what she suggested for the HankMed van. Not something she had simply scribbled on a piece of paper, but rather professional drawings, showing both exterior and interior layouts. She had obviously put a great deal of thought and effort into it.

  “I’ll make you a copy of the sketches so you can take them home. Just look at them and give it some thought. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

  “Will do. No promises, though.”

  “I understand. If you decide not to, that’s okay. At least I’ll get a fancy dinner out of it.” She jerked her head toward Evan.

  “And a broken finger,” I said.

  She held up her hand. “No way I could forget that.”

  Chapter 12

  When Evan and I returned to Shadow Pond, we found Divya, sitting at the table on the patio with a wineglass and bottle, each half-empty. From where she sat, she had a view down the slope and over Shadow Pond’s elaborate gardens. She seemed deep in thought and didn’t hear us until we stepped onto the patio. She turned and looked at us.

  “Where have you guys been?” Divya asked.

  I told her what had happened to Rachel.

  She looked up at Evan. “You’re such a charmer.”

  “It was an accident. Those things just happen.”

  Divya let out a brief laugh. “To you, but not the rest of us.”

  “Where did the wine come from?” I asked.

  “Boris.”

  “Boris?”

  “He saw me sitting here and took pity on me. He asked if I needed anything. I told him no, but he had Dieter bring over the wine anyway. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  Evan retrieved two wineglasses from the kitchen, and filled each, handing one to me. We sat at the table with Divya. I took a sip. Outstanding. I picked up the bottle and examined the label. A 2005 Château Lafleur Pomerol. I know little about wines, but this one looked and tasted expensive.

  “It is,” Divya said, obviously guessing what I was thinking. “Maybe two hundred a bottle.”

  Loose change for Boris, but still. “He took pity on you for what?” I asked.

  “My parents can be so infuriating sometimes.”

  “Are they still upset with you about Raj?”

  Raj was Divya’s former fiancé. Her arranged fiancé. She and Raj had agreed that marriage wasn’t in their future. Friendship seemed a better fit. Divya’s parents felt otherwise.

  “Oh, yes, they’re still unhappy about that, but this is something else.” She opened her purse and pulled out an envelope. “Take a look at this.”

  I slid the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. It was on her father’s stationery and was addressed to the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies.

  “What is this?”

  “My parents’ latest scheme. It’s a letter of introduction to the president of the International Red Cross. They want me to work with them and with the World Health Organization.” She crossed her arms. “Help with some of their outreach programs.”

  “And leave HankMed?” Evan asked.

  “I would have to move to Geneva.”

  “Are you considering doing this?” I asked.

  “Of course not. I’m perfectly happy right here. But they seem to think I need to be doing something bigger. More international.” She took a deep breath.

  “Maybe they see you capable of bigger and better things,” I said. “Which of course is true.”

  “What could be bigger than HankMed?” Evan said.

  Divya looked at him for a beat and then said, “I can’t believe I actually agree with you. For once.” She took a sip of her wine. “This is what I want to do. I don’t want to travel all over
the world and deal with people I don’t know. Here, we have a practice that is very personal. I like that. I don’t want to give it up.”

  “What did you tell them?” I asked.

  “That there was no way I would consider it. That I was perfectly content where I am and with what I’m doing.”

  “I take it they didn’t agree.”

  She shook her head. “That’s why I’m here and they are finishing their lunch without me.”

  “The Red Cross’s loss is our gain,” Evan said.

  “What do you want?” Divya asked. “Must be something big, since I know how difficult it is for you to be nice.”

  “Can’t I just be nice without any strings attached?”

  “There is a first time for everything.”

  “Since Evan is being so nice, you can hang with us tonight,” I said. “Not that we’re going to do anything exciting, but you’re welcome to share our boredom.”

  She poured each of us a little more wine. “I’m going to a party this evening.”

  “Party?” Evan said.

  “Nicole and her friends are getting together at a restaurant and she’s invited me to join them. Jill, too.”

  “Then Hank and I should be there. It’ll be fun.”

  “It will be fun because you will not be there.”

  “We just might be,” Evan said.

  “It’s a party for Nicole and her female friends,” Divya said. “Do you understand what that means?”

  “Of course I do. It means a room full of potential HankMed clients.”

  “Really? You want to go solicit clients?”

  “It worked at Ellie’s party the other night.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “I lined you up three new clients. The uncle of one of the guys there and the parents of one of the women.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Donald something and Mr. and Mrs. Palumbo.”

  I was impressed and said so.

  Divya looked at Evan. “The problem is that trouble always follows in your wake.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Rachel the van girl might feel differently.”

  “The van girl? You make her sound like a homeless person.”

  “Or a superhero,” I said. “I can see the movie marquee now . . . The Adventures of Van Girl.”

  “That would be awesome,” Evan said. “She could have a cool outfit.”

  Divya rolled her eyes. “You honestly want to know why I don’t want you at this party?”

  “Why?”

  Divya looked at me as if asking for help. I preferred not to engage, so I merely shrugged.

  My cell phone rang. It was one of the radiologists over at Hamptons Heritage Hospital. He had a report on Rachel Fleming’s X-ray. He talked, I listened, and then I thanked him and hung up.

  “That was the X-ray report. Looks like Rachel’s finger is fractured. Middle phalanx of her ring finger. It’s in good alignment. I’ll run over there and make a better splint for her.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Divya said. “Then I have to go home and get ready for tonight.” She stood.

  “You’re really not going to tell me where the party is?” Evan asked.

  “Not a chance.” She picked up her purse. “I’ll talk with you tomorrow. We have a couple of new patients to see in the morning.” She left.

  “Since the party is out, what do you want to do?” I asked.

  Evan shook his head. “I’m going to the party. Want to come?”

  “We’re not invited. It would be rude to crash a wedding party.”

  “It is never rude to take advantage of an opportunity.”

  “I thought it was a party, not an opportunity.”

  “Same thing.”

  Sometimes my brother amazes me. Right or wrong, true or false, his confidence level is off the chart. The fact that his attempts at rounding up business are often odd and awkward and he mostly strikes out doesn’t seem to bother him. In psychiatric terms it’s called intermittent reinforcement. It’s part of the old classical conditioning scenario and is the most powerful motivator known. Regardless of what you’re attempting, if you’re successful every time, it becomes boring, and if you are never successful, it becomes frustrating. But if you win every now and then, if you hit it out of the park just one out of ten times, you can’t quit playing the game. That’s the way Evan is with business. About one out of ten potential clients fall for his shtick and that’s all he needs.

  “So exactly how are you going to find out where this party is?”

  “Lawson. Evan R. Lawson.”

  “So now you’re James Bond?”

  “I would make a great superspy. Even better than James Bond.”

  “This delusion is based on what?”

  “I’m smart. I’m stealthy. I’m crafty.”

  “Don’t forget humble.”

  He stood. “I’m going to shower and get ready. Sure you don’t want to come?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Your loss.”

  “I still don’t see how you’re going to find out where the party is.”

  “Simple. I’m going to go stake out Divya’s place and follow her.”

  “I don’t know about a superspy, but you would definitely make a good stalker.”

  Chapter 13

  Evan was in full James Bond mode. He parked his car half a block from Divya’s place, shadowed by a tree, and sandwiched between a bright red Chevy pickup and a silver Mercedes. He wore a New York Yankees baseball cap pulled down low and wraparound sunglasses.

  Lawson. Evan R. Lawson.

  While he waited, he surfed the radio stations and munched from the bag of Cheetos he had picked up at a small mom-and-pop grocery store. As he settled on Fleetwood Mac doing “Gold Dust Woman,” he realized he was thirsty. Should have remembered water.

  Did James Bond ever forget stuff like that? If so, did he simply dial up Q on his wristwatch phone or some other high-tech gadget and have it delivered by airdrop?

  That would be so way cool.

  Evan glanced at his own watch. He needed one with cooler features.

  Where was Divya? Time to go. The party was waiting.

  His thirst grew. He studied the house he had parked near. Maybe they’d give him some water if he asked. Or . . . he eyed the garden hose that nestled in the shrubbery near the front door. As he debated the wisdom of sneaking across the yard for a quick drink, Divya’s garage door jerked to life. Her Mercedes SUV backed out. He slid down in the seat and peered over the dash, watching as she drove by without so much as a glance.

  Lawson. Evan R. Lawson.

  He nearly lost her in traffic a couple of times, mainly because Divya shattered the speed limit and changed lanes at will, but after flashing through a couple of yellow lights, he caught up, just as she turned into the lot at Castellano’s, a trendy East Hampton restaurant. Like James Bond would do, Lawson, Evan R. Lawson, rolled on past and did a lap around the block before pulling up to Castellano’s valet stand.

  Inside, a cacophony of voices and laughter as well as the rich aroma of marinara sauce filled the air. He walked into the crowded bar. The bar along the left side was two deep, mostly women occupying the stools, men standing at their shoulders, no doubt vying for a hookup. The dozen tables were filled. No Divya or Ashley or Nicole in sight. He moved into the only slightly more sedate dining room. Red leather booths lined the walls and four-top tables filled the room. Flowers rose from the necks of the strawwrapped Chianti bottles that topped each red-checkered tablecloth. Still no one he recognized. He returned to the hostess stand.

  A slim young brunette with a model’s smile asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Evan R. Lawson.”

  “I’m Brianna.”

  “I’m looking for my friends, but I didn’t see them in the bar.”

  “Is it the wedding party? Or should I say prewedding party?”

  “That’s it.”

  “They’re in our
private room. Near the back.”

  Evan looked that way.

  “I’ll show you,” Brianna said.

  Evan fell in behind her as she wove through the dining room. Few of the diners looked up as they passed, some talking, others devouring forkfuls of pasta, one woman wiping marinara sauce from the face of her high-chairstrapped daughter.

  “Here you go.” Brianna pushed open a door.

  “Thanks.”

  The spacious private room was a mirror image of the dining room. Same tablecloths and Chianti bottles on each of the eight tables. Along one wall and beneath a row of multipaned red-curtained windows a long table held bowls of pasta, trays of fried calamari, a platter of antipasto, sliced loaves of Italian bread, small bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and an array of wine bottles and goblets. About thirty young women talked, laughed, and sipped wine.

  “Evan?”

  He jumped and then turned to see Ashley.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I stopped by for a bite to eat. I was in the bar and I saw Divya come in and head this way. Then I remembered there was some party or something for Nicole, so I thought I’d say hello. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all. Come on in and have some wine with us.” She balanced a glass of wine in one hand and hooked her other arm with his. “But since you’re the only guy here, I might have to protect you from some of the girls.”

  Divya stood near the bar that had been set up for the private party, talking to Jill.

  “How is the clinic going?” Divya asked.

  “Good and bad. We’re up and running, but it seems like it’s almost day-to-day. We have all the doctors we need lined up and a great staff. The money?” She extended her hand, flat, palm down, and waggled it. “That’s the problem. We can’t seem to find a stable funding source and so I’m scrambling all the time.”

  “I don’t envy you your job. Dealing with money is never pleasant.”

  “True.” Jill started to take a sip of wine but hesitated, looking past Divya. “Is that Evan?”

  Divya turned. “That rascal. He’s harassed me all day about this party. Wanted me to tell him where it was.”