Dr. Feelgood

by Marissa Monteilh

  My glance was stuck. No matter what, I couldn’t unglue the deliberate aim of my eyes. I continued to take in this photo that had to be more than twenty-five years old. The youthful image of my lover, Monday, a.k.a. Laurinda, as the woman called her when we exited that sex party, stared me in the face as she stood next to her attractive mother sporting the same old gap in her teeth, with an ass so fat you could see it from the front. The stare finally broke. “Nothing, Dad. Nothing. I’ve gotta go.”

  I pressed the footrest down and stood up, placing the picture and the box on top of the same octagon coffee table I used to wax back in the day with lemon Pledge.

  “Hold up. Where are you going? You don’t need to leave so fast. At least stay for the night. Erskalene had a celebration planned for tomorrow since your birthday is almost here.”

  “I can’t.” I snatched up the keys to my rental car.

  “Makkai.” Dad tried to sit up but his cane fell onto the floor. He looked at me. I didn’t budge. He then sat back and lowered his shoulders.

  “Goodbye, Dad,” I said as I took a last glance at him sitting in his chair. His mouth was open, his forehead crinkled, eyebrows raised. I was sure this would be my final snapshot of him for the rest of my life. This rolling stone whose daughter I’d impregnated.

  He spoke to my backside. “Makkai. Are you coming back?”

  “Not this trip.”

  I closed the front door behind me with a snatch and then backed out of the driveway in that rented Cadillac Catera in what seemed to be a millisecond.

  The sound? A prolonged screech. The smell? Burning rubber. The feeling? Absolute disgust.

  Chapter 44

  My words were directed to my speakerphone as I drove north on the 405 freeway as soon as I picked up my car from the LAX parking lot the next day.

  “Monday, I’m coming over. I need to talk to you.” The conversation moved as fast as my ride.

  “Why?” Monday asked loudly from the road.

  “Because.”

  “Because what?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “In Palos Verdes.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “I’ll come to you,” she insisted.

  “No, I’m nearby now. Just give me your address.”

  “Fine, Makkai, I’ll meet you at the Starbucks on PCH near the pier.”

  “Be there in twenty.”

  The upstairs strip mall coffeehouse was bustling. The scent tickling patrons’ nostrils was a mixture of rich Colombian beans and aromatic spices. I stepped up and got in line, looking around for Monday as I perused the crowded room. She sat in a corner, way in the back by the rest room, legs crossed, wearing a short jean jacket with her belly protruding. She had on a green wool scarf, wrapped tightly around her neck. She looked over at me without blinking, sipping bottled water through a straw. I waved. She did not.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked as I approached after being handed my white chocolate mocha.

  “I’m fine.” The word bland was swirling all around her words.

  “You seem bitter,” I told her as I pulled out a chair and sat down, scooting the chair farther away from her. I searched her face for evidence of our father’s genes. I saw none.

  “I’m not. You seem irritated.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I’m not either,” she replied unconvincingly.

  I took a cautioned sip. “Are you still pissed because I wouldn’t give you the money for the furniture?”

  “No shit.”

  “Anyway, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Why?” I asked my sister.

  “That doctor friend of yours is concerned. She called and wanted to see me so that I could go ahead and take the ultrasound sooner, so I went on in.”

  “I’m glad you did. And she’s not my doctor friend. She’s just a coworker. Did she give you a delivery date yet?”

  “No. But, maybe you should be able to tell us the exact date that the condom broke and add forty weeks to that. I mean you were there too. Besides, like I told you before, and like I told the doctor, I was skipping periods, which had really been happening on and off for two years ever since what I thought was menopause was trying to creep in. But, I guess the one lucky egg got shot by your potent arrow.”

  “Monday, why are you out and about? Shouldn’t you be off your feet like Dr. Marshall said?”

  “I would be, but you wanted to meet.”

  “You were out anyway. I could have come to your house.”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” She looked around the room as though searching for anyone else to talk to other than me.

  I wrapped my hand around the sleeved cup, pretending it was her thin neck. “So, what’s the final word on what you’re going to do?”

  “I think at this point I’m having it.” Sarcasm was her middle name. She flashed her teeth my way with a fake grin. There was suddenly nothing sexy about her gap anymore.

  “Funny, I mean as far as us?”

  “Oh, like I have a choice. Like you would run off to Vegas with me and make me an honest old pregnant lady.” She sipped her water.

  “Can’t do that.”

  “That I know. Wouldn’t wanna do that. I have no idea. Hell, just give me money every month and take her every other weekend. I won’t fight you on anything.”

  “Monday, where’s your family? Don’t you think the baby needs her maternal side of the family?”

  “My mom had a small family.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What about your dad?”

  She sipped her water again and then twirled the straw. “I don’t have one.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Don’t know a thing about him and don’t care.”

  “Surely you do.”

  “I assure you, I don’t.”

  “Monday, have you ever experienced a man who didn’t let you down?”

  “Stop trying to be a therapist, Makkai. And what does that have to do with this little baby girl coming into the world? You just make sure you don’t let her down. Otherwise we can find a family who won’t.”

  “Oh, I won’t, so don’t even go there. We just need to have her tested.”

  “For what?”

  “Just when she’s born, you know, the normal things they test for.”

  “Okay, Doctor. So do you have another doctor buddy who’s a pediatrician who you play golf with maybe? Tell him or her to check the baby out. Just sign the dang birth certificate and I’m fine.”

  “And I’ll want a paternity test.”

  She slammed the water bottle onto the table. “Makkai, I was waiting for that. Shit, aaaw, damn.” She looked down between her legs and her mouth opened wide. “Fuck, my water just broke.”

  I sprang to my feet. “Let me take you to the hospital now.”

  She put both hands on her belly. “Oh, damn. It hurts like hell.”

  “Get in my car.” I helped her to a slow stance.

  “I can’t. My baby, Soul, is in my car.”

  “Your dog?”

  “Yes.” We took slow-motioned steps.

  “Let’s drop him off at home.”

  “No, we’ll have to take him with us. Come on.”

  I held open the door, placing my hand behind her back as she crouched over. We stepped outside. “Let’s get him so you can get in my car.”

  “No, drive mine. Please. He’s used to my car.”

  “Okay. Where is it?” I looked around.

  “You know, it’s the Jaguar right there.” She pointed to her car, which was right in the front, and she handed me her key ring.

  I opened the passenger door to let her in. The car was packed with things. The palomino backseat was floor-to-roof with filled Hefty bags, and the floor on the passenger side had a faded dog blanket and broken dog biscuits. Black dog hair was everywhere, and the car reeked of something … a combination of urine, hai
r spray, and old pine tree air freshener, all mixed with Kibbles & Bits.

  “Why in the hell don’t you clean out your car, woman?” I asked as I sat in the drivers’ seat, starting the engine.

  “Makkai, I’m in labor in case you haven’t noticed. Just drive,” she said as she rested her head back, and Soul jumped in a small space in the backseat, whining as he looked at her.

  * * *

  “We’ll be pulling up in about three minutes,” I told the ER nurse and then ended the call.

  We parked at the entrance to the emergency room. Two employees briskly walked out, one with a wheelchair and one with a clipboard. The gentleman held out the admittance paperwork toward us both.

  I said, “I’ll take it. I’m the father.” He handed it to me and nodded. As they wheeled her in, I took a pen and began to write. I asked, “What’s your address?”

  She sat in the wheelchair, not appearing to be in pain, just looking down with her hands under her swollen breasts. “Just put yours.”

  The curiosity was driving me nuts.

  By the time I sat in the waiting room, having filled out as much information as I could, a nurse came out. “Dr. Worthy, we’re going to keep her. She’ll be in labor and delivery for a while. We don’t want this baby to come yet, so we’re getting in touch with Dr. Marshall to see if we can give her ritodrine to stop labor. But, it looks like that baby really wants to come soon. Do you want to come in? Are you her labor and delivery coach, too?”

  “You know what? I’ll be right back, but page me on my cell if you need me.” I briskly headed straight back out the door to the trunk of her stinky car.

  The first thing that greeted my vision was an old dirty brown suitcase. It had a rusted numeric lock that was busted. Opening the case revealed papers that were filed away neatly. I pulled out a bunch of them. Most looked to be mailed to a post office box in Long Beach, addressed to Laurinda Askins. She had love notes from a guy named Paul. But, the one place she had the most mail from was the Salvation Army. She had training sheets on how to serve as a holiday bell ringer, and pay stubs at seven dollars per hour. And she had page upon page of literature from an alcohol recovery center in Palm Springs and an envelope from a space she was renting at Public Storage. Also, there were copies of her release papers from a Tracy, California, prison in 2001, including copies of a recent release from a facility in Lancaster, California, for the past four months for petty theft. So that’s where she’d been.

  Most of what remained in the trunk was boxes and blankets and pillows, and a few empty bottles of cheap wine. I went around to the passenger side and looked in the front seat, only to find a cracked drinking glass from a motel. Inside of the glass were denture cleaner packets. And leaning in toward the backseat, as Soul wagged his stubby tail, sniffing my arm, on the floor there were about three different colors and styles of wigs shoved into a plastic shopping bag. Who the hell was she trying to be? My sister, my baby’s mom, is living in her car. My sister, my baby’s mom, is homeless. I tossed the bag with the wigs back onto the backseat, and a six-pack of miniature whisky bottles, all rubber-banded together, fell onto the passenger seat. And, my sister, my baby’s mom, is an alcoholic.

  * * *

  “Hey, Laurinda. How’s it going?” I asked, taking a seat in the labor room where she lay, hooked up to monitors and an IV.

  She had one hand over her eyes and one on her belly. “Not right now, Mr. Super Investigator. Don’t you dare be so cruel. I’m laying here about to have your baby.”

  “Are you drunk right now? Was that gin in that water bottle you were sipping from earlier?”

  “Get off my case.”

  “Oh, but we will talk about it again. You put this child at risk.” I squinted my stare.

  She yelled out, pointing toward the exit. “Put my car keys with the rest of my things and get the hell out of here. Nurse,” she struggled to yell toward the door. “Dammit,” she said as the uterine contraction monitor indicated that another contraction was about to strike.

  I responded anyway. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for this baby.”

  “Ooohh, damn. Get this baby out of me, now.”

  The RN came running in as I remained standing. She slipped her gloves on to give a quick dilation check. “Ma’am, you’ll be fine.”

  She spoke into the tiny PDA mobile phone device, which was hanging from her neck. “Lori, tell Dr. Marshall the baby’s head is crowning. And that the fetal heart monitor indicates distress. We have a second trimester patient with an incompetent cervix about to deliver and we need the doctor over here now. Miss Askins is early but she needs to deliver, now.”

  A team of nurses and an anesthesiologist rushed in. Two nurses began to wheel Monday’s gurney into the delivery room. As I stood in the doorway, Monday managed to look over and cut her eyes at me, as she shouted, “He cannot come in the delivery room.”

  “Calm down, ma’am.” The nurse then told me, “Dr. Worthy, I’m sorry.” She closed the double doors in my face.

  I spoke to the hardness and thickness and coldness of the delivery room doors. “Fine, I’ll be waiting outside.”

  I looked at my watch, making note of the fact that in ten minutes, it would be my birthday. I began pacing back and forth just outside of the door. Hell, I was in the delivery room for Georgia’s baby and here I was, unable to watch my own child being born.

  A voice rang over the loudspeakers. “Dr. Worthy, please call extension 3211. Dr. Worthy, please call extension 3211.”

  I stepped over to the wall phone near the waiting room.

  “Hello. Someone paged me. This is Dr. Worthy.”

  “Yes, Dr. Worthy. This is Lori, in Dr. Marshall’s office. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better. Isn’t Dr. Marshall in delivery with Ms. Askins right now?”

  “Yes, but she asked me to call you to tell you that we checked with King Drew to try and get Ms. Askins’s previous OB files, but they have no record of her as a patient there. From what they tell me, she has not been seen by any doctors at King. And there’s no Dr. Taksa at that hospital at all. So we have no information regarding her prior ultrasound.”

  Why was I not surprised? “Oh really?”

  “Yes, Dr. Worthy. And, the results from the ultrasound we performed did show that she has an abnormal cervix. We’re surprised that she was able to carry the fetus beyond seventeen weeks.”

  “Oh, my God. But, she did come in when you called her about scheduling the ultrasound prior to the original appointment date, right?”

  “Yes, Dr. Worthy, she did. But, it looks as though she’s had no pre-natal care other than when she came in to see Dr. Marshall with you last week. Perhaps, all of this could have been prevented.”

  “Thank you, Lori.”

  Chapter 45

  My daughter, my niece, my father’s daughter’s daughter, Baby Girl Askins, was born on my birthday, August 3rd, at 12:24 in the morning, just as I received a page from the trauma unit that a male athlete had been airlifted after suffering an aortic valve dissection and needed emergency surgery. I immediately made a call to refer it to another surgeon. Then I passed another doctor while exiting obstetrics. My tiny daughter was fourteen inches long, and weighed only 2.7 pounds.

  “Dr. Lambert. I need to talk to you. It’s extremely important.” I walked alongside, shifting into fifth gear to keep up. The young black doctor looked more like a male model than a physician.

  “What is it, Doctor?” He was always no-nonsense.

  “It’s about the preemie girl that was born about fifteen minutes ago in delivery room number two. I need your help. I need a paternity test done right away.”

  We were stride for stride as we hit the south corridor. “That’s up to the parents to agree on, Doctor.”

  “I am the parent. I am the father. Or at least I think I am.”

  “Dr. Worthy, the mother has to agree, you know that. We haven’t even gotten to the point of having the legal documents filled out.”
He picked up a chart as he whisked by the OB nurses’ station. “Who’s her regular OB/GYN?”

  “Doctor, please.”

  He looked up at me with low-set, thick eyebrows. “Dr. Worthy, what’s up with you? Give it to me straight.”

  “We dated. She’s in no position to provide for this baby, so I think we’re going to battle. I just need to make sure for a couple of reasons. It’s very, very personal.”

  “Well, Doctor, first things first. We’re doing the usual screening for hepatitis B and HIV, and we’re checking for any developmental abnormalities, mainly neurological at this point. And as you know, we’re also testing this baby for traces of alcohol in her system which could have affected her fetal development, not to mention that she’s extremely underweight, even considering her term.”

  “Dr. Lambert, I understand that, but for a very important reason that could definitely weigh heavily upon the infant’s health, I need to know if this is my child.”

  “Why, Dr. Worthy? If this baby’s medical prognosis is at stake, I suggest you cut out the pride act, because you’re wasting my valuable time. What is going on?”

  “For reasons that … this could have been an incestuous affair. This woman, as it turns out, could be my half-sister.”

  “Go give a blood sample to the lab. I’ll get back to you.”

  With those words, and without flinching, he quickly entered a patient’s room and left me standing before I could say, “Thanks, Dr. Lambert,” expressing myself to another closed door.

  “What are you doing back here?” asked Mary Jane. We started to pass each other in the hallway as I left the lab. “I thought you had a patient to see.” She looked in a rush.

  “I’m a father, Mary Jane. The newborn girl with the last name Askins that was just born … she’s mine. I’m fairly sure that she’s mine.”

  “No way.” She stopped.

  “Yes.” I stopped.

  Her eyes gave me a slap in the face, but she was all business. “Well, then you’d better get over to ICU with me because she’s got some problems.”