Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  I take a deep breath and step into the limo. “Maybe, I could.”

  Chapter 8

  Where's My Muffin Top?

  “Good morning, Ms. Delaney.”

  “Sergio, it is exactly one minute past eight o’clock on a Monday

  morning. Surely you have better things to do than calling me at work,

  especially since you promised to give me an extra week.” A weekend of

  Internet research about student loan collection and a brief chat with

  Amanda have made me cocky. I lean back in my chair and wave the next

  patient over to Charlie’s desk.

  Sergio laughs. “Calling you is my job and since you are the most

  pleasant of all my debtors, who better than to call first on a Monday

  morning. I just wanted to remind you about your payment."

  “And I wanted to remind you that you cannot enforce a minimum

  payment without first assessing my financial position. I’ve also filed an

  online complaint with the Education Commission. I understand collec-

  tions have to be frozen until the complaint is resolved.”

  Sergio’s voice turns cold. “I haven’t received any notice of your

  complaint, and until I do you must make the payments as they fall

  due. Otherwise, sneaky debtors like yourself could claim to have filed

  a complaint to avoid making their payments. I know all the tricks, Ms.

  Delaney. All the tricks.”

  My confidence wavers. “Well, you still have to do a financial analy-

  sis. I’ll send you my financial statement and you will see there is no way

  I can make the minimum payment.”

  “I know that trick too.” Sergio sighs. “You spend weeks pretending

  to look for the documents. Then you pretend to have sent them. After

  a few weeks, you suggest they are lost in the post, and we have to go

  through the whole process again.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I spent all weekend getting them together and

  I can send the statement to you today.”

  Sergio laughs. “How refreshing. Please do send it to me. I would be

  delighted to read it. You have my details in the letter I sent. But I will

  tell you now the minimum payment will not change. That is our final

  number.” He emphasizes the last two words in a voice so loud I have to

  hold the phone away from my ear.

  I do some quick mental calculations. I have the paychecks from

  Redemption. If I work another weekend at the club, and stick to

  my noodle diet, I just might be able to make the first payment. And

  maybe lose some weight. Helllooo, skinny jeans. Surely by then the

  Education Commission will have acknowledged my complaint and

  realized their mistake.

  “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

  “Do you hate me now? Are you going to hang up? Swear at me?

  Everyone does.” The slightly needy tone in his voice makes the skin on

  my neck prickle.

  “No. I don’t hate you. You’re doing your job and I’m trying to

  understand that.”

  Sergio sighs. “You seem like a nice person, Ms. Delaney. Honest,

  trustworthy, and from your file photo, very pretty. I enjoy talking to

  you. I can’t say that about my other debtors. Please don’t disappoint

  me. I would hate to have to get heavy-handed with you.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Is that a threat?”

  “Of course not. By law, I’m not allowed to make threats, and

  I would never do something I’m not allowed to do.” Sergio’s tone

  lightens. “Now, how about a joke?”

  “A joke?”

  “You brightened my day last week with your amusing story. I was able

  to return the favor in my own way. My personal circumstances are such

  that I don’t have many opportunities to smile. Perhaps you might wish to

  build up some more goodwill. You never know when you might need it.”

  My jaw tightens. The last thing I want to do right now is tell a joke,

  but the tone of his voice suggests it is not really a request. I lean back

  and stare at the ceiling. “A debt collector walked into a bar…”

  .....

  How’s my girl today?

  I’m not ur girl

  Max frowns

  Silly. Learn to text. Frown like this **frowns**

  **frowns**

  That’s a lot of frowning

  Your fault

  Sorry. Bad day

  Will cheer you up. What r u doing for lunch?

  Eating with a friend

  Lascivious doctor friend?

  No

  Crazy black hair friend?

  No

  Amanda?

  No

  Male friend?

  Yes

  **frowns**

  Stop frowning. U saw him. Works beside me

  Lunch with male friend approved

  Gee, tx

  Please seek prior approval for all lunches with male friends

  Ha ha **rolls eyes**

  No ha ha **frowns**

  Gotta run. Male friend is here **winks**

  .....

  “So, how was your weekend?” Charlie beats a rhythm on his Justin

  Bieber lunch kit while I grab my brown paper lunch bag and purse from

  my desk drawer.

  “Same old. Same old.” My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “How

  was your course this morning?”

  “Same old. Same old.” Charlie shrugs. “I think that’s the fifth time

  I’ve had to take Customer Relations 101. This time, I’ve learned to

  smile. Imagine that! People like people who smile. No wonder I haven’t

  been able to get a date.”

  “I had a sort-of date.” I give Charlie a wink and then vacate the

  cubicle for Jenny, our new temp trainee. Charlie and I walk down the

  corridor toward the cafeteria.

  “No!” Charlie clutches his chest in mock horror and staggers back-

  ward. “You had a date? Was he breathing?”

  I punch him in the shoulder. “You’re just jealous.”

  “I have to admit I do have an itch to punch the as-yet unidentified

  bastard in the face for moving in on my territory. I should have marked

  you—maybe pissed on your feet.”

  “I meant you’re jealous I had a date.”

  “I had a date, too.”

  Charlie drops hints about his mystery date, but I’m only half lis-

  tening. I see Torment in every shadow. I hear his husky voice in every

  corridor. I smell the fresh, citrus scent of his cologne. I imagine his

  arms wrapped around me. I wish he hadn’t just dropped me off on

  Saturday night but Colton had insisted on having him checked out by

  his private doctor.

  “Mac. There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Good afternoon, Doctor Drake.” Charlie spares me the embar-

  rassment of being totally unaware of my surroundings by being overly

  genial and shaking Dr. Drake’s hand.

  Dr. Drake frowns and turns to me. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  My heart sinks in my chest. Did Big Doris file a complaint after

  handing me two green slips in the space of an hour? How was I to know

  two chair casters have to be under the desk at all times?

  “Ready for our lunch date?” He winks and flashes his pearly whites.

  Oh God. I totally forgot. “Um. Actually, I…I brought my lunch.

  Maybe we could do it another day.”

  Dr. Drake plucks my lunch bag from m
y hand with this thumb

  and index finger. Without even looking over his shoulder, he tosses it

  backward and into the garbage can.

  “Score!” Charlie shouts. “Good shot, Doctor Drake. You missed

  your calling in the NBA.”

  Dr. Drake’s cheeks flush ever so slightly and he gives Charlie a

  bemused smile. “Actually, wrestling was my thing in college, but I’ve

  always enjoyed handling balls.”

  Don’t look at Charlie. Don’t look at Charlie. DON’T LOOK

  AT CHARLIE.

  “I’m sure you do,” Charlie’s voice shakes with repressed laughter.

  “As does Mac. We were just discussing how much she enjoys—”

  “Charlie! Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Three’s a crowd. I get it. And look, I see the lovely Doris watching

  us from the entrance to the cafeteria.” Charlie gives me a wink and

  walks briskly toward the glaring woman in the lime green suit, his every

  step punctuated with a little squeak from his Crocs.

  “He’s quite a character,” Dr. Drake muses.

  “He’s got a good sense of humor.”

  Dr. Drake studies me for a long moment. “You two seem

  quite close.”

  “We’re good friends.” I twist my school ring around my finger—

  round and round and round.

  “And that’s all?” He puts a hand on my lower back and steers me

  away from the cafeteria.

  “Just friends.”

  Dr. Drake smiles and his hand slides around me to squeeze my hip.

  “Good to hear.”

  “Um…the cafeteria is the other way.” I slide out of his grasp and

  spin around.

  Dr. Drake motions to an exit door at the end of the hallway. “I’m

  taking you to the Surgeon’s Club. It’s a new private club just down the

  block run by a few friends of mine. You and I have some business to

  discuss and I thought we could do so without the distraction of all your

  male friends vying for your attention in the cafeteria. I’ve already talked

  to Jenny and she has agreed to cover for you.”

  Um…what male friends? Who’s vying for my attention? Charlie?

  I swallow hard and follow him outside. The door slams closed, and

  I catch a glimpse of my faded, Tweety Bird scrubs in the glass. “I’m not

  really dressed for a private club.”

  “Nonsense. It’s run by medical professionals and a favorite with the

  hospital lunch crowd. There are always a few people in scrubs.”

  We walk down the block to a tall, brick building with a heavy oak

  door. Dr. Drake slides his card through the card reader and heaves the

  door open. I freeze, poised on the threshold of the ultimate masculine

  man cave, scented with the fragrant odor of bloody meat. The dark

  wood details, worn Persian carpets, and leather furniture imbue the

  room with an air of exclusivity. The white walls covered with taxidermy

  remind me of the zoo. A deer looks balefully down at me as I follow Dr.

  Drake to a table by the window.

  “I’m the only person wearing scrubs.” I take my seat and glance

  around the room. I recognize almost everyone from the hospital. “I’m

  also the only woman, and the only person who is not a doctor.”

  He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Relax. You’re with me.

  No one is going to say anything.”

  Maybe not, but they’ll be wondering why Dr. Drake is slumming

  it with the staff.

  Dr. Drake smiles at the waiter, waiting patiently by the table.

  “We’ll have the Chateaubriand, medium rare, baby potatoes, and

  spring vegetables. No wine. We’re on duty. Just water.” The waiter

  scratches everything down on his pad and, before I can say anything,

  he is gone.

  “I like my meat cooked.” My voice rises in pitch. “Well cooked.

  Charred to a crisp. If it’s pink and squishy with blood oozing out

  of it—”

  Doctor Drake cuts me off. “It would taste even better. The chef

  here is extraordinary. I promise you’re going to love it.”

  I imagine Dr. Drake tearing into a raw steak, bloody juices drip-

  ping down his chin. Bile rises in my throat. If anyone should be

  eating raw steak, it’s Max not the capital C conservative doctor. Does

  Max like his steak rare? I would guess he does. Predators usually like

  fresh meat.

  “We should get down to business before the food arrives.” Dr. Drake

  steeples his fingers and his normal, genial expression turns serious. “I’ve

  been reviewing personnel files in anticipation of the upcoming annual

  reviews. I must admit I had forgotten you were in pre-med, but I never

  knew you were near the top of your class. Why didn’t you apply to

  medical school?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t know if it was what I really wanted to do, and I

  didn’t have the money.”

  Dr. Drake shakes his head. “You have a healing gift, Mac. You have

  a responsibility to share it. I want to help.”

  “How?”

  “I know people on the scholarship committees. I can direct you

  to the scholarships you have the best chance of winning. I can help

  you fill out the forms. I can put in a good word for you with my

  friends on various admissions committees. I’ll even tutor you when you

  get in.”

  My mouth drops open. “That’s very kind of you, but why do you

  want to help me?”

  He beams. “I think you would be a great doctor, and we need more

  doctors. You have compassion, intelligence, and empathy. Your EMT

  coworkers and your coworkers in the hospital have had nothing but

  praise for you.”

  My cheeks flame and I stare at the table. “I don’t know. I just…I

  need time to decide what I really want in life.”

  “It’s been almost three years since you graduated,” Dr. Drake says.

  “You’re spinning your wheels. You can’t stay on the admissions desk

  forever. You need to move forward. I’m giving you a chance to grab the

  brass ring. Don’t let it go.”

  Thankfully, the waiter arrives with our food. As specified, the meat

  is barely cooked. Bloody juices seep into the two minuscule potatoes

  and three steamed green beans artfully arranged on my plate. Already

  tense from our conversation, my stomach gurgles, threatening rebellion.

  The elk above Dr. Drake’s head glares at me, and I give my excuses and

  beat a hasty retreat to the luxurious, wood-paneled washroom.

  After I splash water on my face and reapply my makeup, I take a

  few deep breaths and prepare to return to the menagerie. My phone

  buzzes in my purse and I check the Caller ID. Max. Is he checking up on me already?

  .....

  How is lunch?

  Bad

  What’s wrong?

  Change of plans. Different lunch companion

  Male companion

  Yes

  Black hair?

  No

  Brown hair?

  No

  Blond hair?

  Yes

  Doctor?

  Yes

  Lascivious doctor?

  Actually, he’s being quite nice

  Not approved

  Too late

  Not approved

  We’re already in the middle of lunch

 
Not approved

  I see someone figured out how to use his Repeat button

  I’m coming to the hospital

  I’m not at the hospital

  Where are you?

  Not telling. Chill

  Chill?

  I’m a big girl. I can handle myself

  You’re a sexy girl. I want to handle you

  Naughty Max

  You need me, I’m there

  Sweet Max

  Maybe I should come and find you

  No Max

  Yes Max

  BAD MAX

  ......

  Anticipation ratchets through me after I end the call. Is he just teasing

  or is he seriously going to try and find me? I tuck my phone into the

  pocket of my scrubs and make my way back to the table. Dr. Drake has

  finished his meal. My steak has stopped bleeding, but now it is floating

  in a congealed puddle of pink fat. Yummy.

  “I’m not feeling very well.” I put my fork and knife at four o’clock

  on the plate. “I think I might have a touch of stomach flu. I’ve lost

  my appetite.”

  The elk smiles and nods approvingly. I pick up my water glass and

  take a sip.

  “Maybe you should come to my office,” Dr. Drake suggests. “I can

  give you a thorough examination. We wouldn’t want anything spread-

  ing through the staff.”

  I choke and splutter water over the plate. “Actually, I’m sud-

  denly feeling a lot better. Maybe, I was just dehydrated.” I pick up

  my fork and knife and slice into the unroasted beast with the zeal of

  my housemate, Rob, on a bar crawl. It quivers. I put a tiny piece of

  steak in my mouth, press my lips together and chew. Soft. Squishy.

  Like flesh.

  No. Chicken. It tastes like chicken. It tastes like chicken.

  I gag.

  “Mac!” Dr. Drake leaps from his seat.

  I force the meat down and put my utensils on my plate. “I’m fine.

  You were right. It was delicious, and very filling.”

  “Well then we’ll have to come back another day. If you liked that,

  you’ll love the raw lamb. They serve warmed lamb blood on the side.

  Delicious and full of iron.”

  My stomach heaves. “You’re kidding.”

  “Yes, I am.” Dr. Drake chortles. “They don’t warm the blood.”

  I slap my hand over my mouth in case I lose what little I ate all over

  Dr. Drake’s shoes. “Can I go back to work now?”

  Dr. Drake gives me a wink. “Off you go. Next time we’ll just have