The Golden Goose of Los Angeles Extended Edition

by Travis Adams Irish

stoplight, but that only yielded a threatening stare from his tenacious girlfriend.

 

  Rory has chosen the more casual route for this evening by changing his flannel shirt and cargo pants for a flattering, bright white robe. Kelly is resting her head on his chest as they lay together, sprawled lazily across the sofa both drinking their glasses of wine without a care in the world. The house was given to Rory by his Father and paid off by a life insurance policy after his Father died a few years ago. Rory had wanted his mother to have the home, but she instead decided to live the quiet life in Colorado with her new husband.

 

  The four-thousand square foot home is every young man’s dream, having been built with: a pool, hot tub, mini bar, and many other accommodations. The entryway spans out to high vaulted ceilings with decorative, natural woods, and the kitchen, living room, and dining area are all tied together into one large cozy space. There is hardwood flooring throughout the house infused with bamboo, and there are soft, thick carpets placed strategically in almost every room.

 

  “So what do you think?” Rory asks, squeezing Kelly tightly with his muscular arms. “Do you feel like this German-Irish mutt has the cure for AIDS in his blood?”

 

  “I don’t know, sweets” she begins as Rory strokes her long, soft black hair all the way down to her blonde highlights. “If it’s true that your blood can give people a second chance at life, I think it’s definitely worth doing. We’re only a few minutes from the hospital anyway.”

 

  “Yeah, it could be cool; I think they’re going to try and make an AIDS vaccine from my blood, but there was something that bothered me today… I don’t know what it was.” He declares, sitting deep in thought.

 

  “What do you mean?” She asks with surprise.

 

  “Well, they seemed so eager to get my blood; it was like every time I tried to turn around in that place someone had their hand up my ass. I feel like one of Dunham’s puppets; just a big hand up my ass all night.”

 

  “Haha. Should I start calling you Peanut?” Kelly smiles and leans further back into Rory’s chest, enjoying the soft comfort of his freshly cleaned white robe.

 

  “I don’t know; should I start calling you no nuts?”

 

  “That’s not exactly a slam, baby, she says with a giggle, I wouldn’t look very good with a big package swinging, especially in this skirt.”

 

  “Nah, we’re survivors, we’d make it work.” Rory says softly, kissing the back of her head. “We’d be in the news as the first man with a protein condom in his blood and his gorgeous girlfriend who spontaneously grew a penis.”

 

  “If I had a penis, I’d smack you in the head with it every morning to wake you up,” Kelly suggests playfully, finishing her wine.

 

  “If you had a penis, you would not want to smack anything with it; that sounds really painful. As a matter of fact,” Rory says seductively, gulping the rest of his wine and setting the glass on the floor, “with all this talk, I better check to make sure you don’t have one.”

 

  Kelly also sets her glass down on the floor as Rory passionately kisses her neck. Since they are both tired, their body language shows that there is no need to be shy, and Rory pulls his robe open while Kelly gently raises her body in the air. Then he moves his hands fiercely down to her skirt and pulls it up around her waist. In that same moment, Kelly removes her panties, and then lowers herself down on him. Soon they can feel the warmth of one another that they have hungered for all day.

 

  Three days later, Rory finds himself back at the hospital. This time he is seated in the conference room amongst a group of people who are all smiling at him; most of them wearing long, white lab coats. He recognizes Doctor Yahmir and Doctor Anderton who are seated to his immediate right, but there are four other faces in the room that he does not recognize; two men and two women.

 

  Rory glances at Yahmir who is wearing his typical thick glasses; his balding head still shiny under the powerful fluorescent lighting in the conference room. Doctor Anderton is his usual amusing self, sporting his small glasses, a clean shaven, pale face, and a full head of short, dark hair.

 

  While he sits at the head of the table waiting for them to begin, Rory realizes he is the only person in the room that has a bit of stubble growing. He looks the medical staff over trying to determine who is the alpha dog of the group. Doctor Yahmir waits patiently with his hands clasped together on the smooth glass tabletop. In a less friendly pose, Doctor Anderton has his arms folded, and every few moments, glances at an older woman on the opposite side of the table, just one seat away from Rory on his left side.

 

  The young woman to Rory’s immediate left is an attractive brunette, and she smiles wide at him displaying that she is a people pleaser. In the seat next to her, the older woman is cleaning her glasses slowly, and the two men on her immediate left seem to be waiting for her as well.

 

  “Why don’t we begin?” The older alpha dog declares, finally taking ownership of the room as she puts her glasses back on, raising her head to look Rory in the eyes. “I know you have met Doctor Yahmir and Doctor Anderton,” she says gesturing gracefully toward each man with her right hand as she speaks. Each man subsequently nods as his name is called as if bowing to show respect. “This lovely young lady on my right is Cecily, my personal assistant, and this fellow to my left is Horace Jackson from our legal department, and to his immediate left is Doctor Chan, our microbiologist.”

 

  Rory looks at Cecily again to his immediate left, admiring her glowing smile and simple Swedish features; her brunette hair is neat with small curls and she has brilliant blue eyes. Horace Jackson is an aging black man in his late forties; he bears a serious expression under his salt and pepper head of hair, but seems like he would be a friendlier person outside of work. Doctor Chan appears extremely humble and patient; his scalp is clean shaven and he looks to be the youngest person in the room, but also has a wise demeanor. His Japanese origins show radiantly with kind smile.

 

  “My name is Corba Strong, and I am the administrator of this hospital.” Corba finishes her staff introductions with a wink, and then continues to run the meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen of Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center,” Corba announces with fervent pride, “this gentleman is Rory Chambers. Mr. Chambers has something very special in his blood; at least that’s what our microbiologist and these two fine doctors have told me so far. We’d also like to thank Mr. Chambers for coming down here on such short notice today. My staff and I would like to ask you some questions, and I’m certain you have some questions of your own.”

 

  “Thank you,” Rory says with sincerity, looking around the room for a moment, “and yes I do have some questions.”

 

  “Well, lets dive right in,” Corba replies, locking her eyes directly on Rory. “What I know to this point is that we have a non-disclosure agreement on file with Mr. Chambers and that everything said in this room is to remain confidential?” Corba looks at her legal counsel to her immediate left and he nods to confirm her statement. “Fantastic. Mr. Chambers, you are bound by law not to discuss anything that is revealed to you in this meeting or any future meetings with myself or any UCLA Medical Center staff? Are we understood on this point?”

 

  “Yes, I understand,” Rory concedes, squinting his eyes with a bit of irritation from how crisp and cold her words travel across the room. He chooses not to be affected by the bureaucracy and allows himself to relax in his gray cargo shorts and black sports shirt. With his sunglasses resting on the top of his head, he folds his arms in the best ‘what can you do for me’ pose he can muste
r.

 

  “Good.” She says slowly with a bit of motherly disappointment in her voice.

 

  Corba gives off the appearance of the typical business alpha dog. Her blonde hair is done up in a fancy French braid and she is wearing makeup that is motivated more by looking powerful than looking beautiful. She clasps her hands together effortlessly in front of her with elbows resting on the glass table, yet her petite frame remains rigid in the expensive, black leather swivel chair. Beneath the long white lab coat she sports a fancy white button up blouse, displaying a tedious sense of style.

 

  “As you know, Mr. Chambers,” Corba continues looking at him evenly with her dark brown eyes, “one of our car crash patients was infused with 500 milliliters of your blood and subsequently started exhibiting signs of regression from the HIV Virus. More astounding than that, our microbiologist has confirmed that the man’s immune system has been completely recalibrated, which is another way of saying that he is vaccinated from the virus, right?”

 

  “That’s correct.” Doctor Chan asserts as Corba glances in his direction for a moment.

 

  “Great.” Corba says as the meeting continues. “Also, as of three days ago, we had infused another AIDS patient with Mr. Chamber’s blood, and they are now showing signs of regression from the virus. Is that correct?”

 

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Doctor Anderton acknowledges in a flat tone. “With only 125 Milliliters of donor blood, we have confirmed rapid regression of AIDS