The Golden Goose of Los Angeles Extended Edition

by Travis Adams Irish

us to achieve.”

 

  Corba reaches out toward Rory in a theatrical manner and all the lights from various cameras are soon pointing in his direction. After a short pause, he is able to muster a half smile and watches the crowd part around the podium like The Red Sea as he stands and moves toward Corba. His feet feel heavy as he crosses the lobby, and reality begins to set in as he steps up on the small, makeshift platform next to Corba. She smiles a plastic greeting to him as he walks up next to her; feeling like he is her bitch for the first time since they met. As he tries to fake a smile for the reporters, Rory thinks to himself that he would never trust this woman in or out of a prison shower; she would fuck him to death and never know when to stop.

 

  “Now, Rory also has a very touching story that began right here at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center…” Corba states with shameless satisfaction. “Your Father nearly died of a stroke when you were younger; isn’t that right, Rory?”

 

  “Yes,” Rory says with a lump in his throat not wanting to share these details with the whole world.

 

  “But his life was saved right here in this hospital. How did that make you feel, Rory?”

 

  “It… It was amazing,” Rory says with a great deal of emotion as unwanted tears form in the corners of his eyes.

 

  “That is… amazing…” she speaks slowly with a condescending grin. “First a Father’s life is saved right here at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center, then over a decade later, his son returns and vows to save the lives of hundreds; maybe even thousands more. Thank you so much, Rory. Thank God for you!”

 

  She finishes her speech by grabbing his hand and holding it high in the air with hers, while the crowd of reports emits another obligatory round of applause.

 

  “Take a seat, Sir, you deserve the rest,” she orders with a smile, extending her hand back to his empty chair. “Once again, Ladies and Gentlemen, Rory Chambers, the man with the miracle blood.”

 

  Rory steps down from the small platform, shaking hands with smiling strangers and getting enthusiastic pats on the back all the way to his seat. As he takes a seat, he feels nauseous, unable to fully comprehend what just took place. He is a bit dizzy and puts his arm around Kelly for some familiar comfort.

 

  “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Corba announces with an electric smile and hungry eyes, “we will open the floor to your questions. Allow me to present my distinguished Microbiologist, Doctor Chan.”

 

  Rory glares at Corba feeling like she has just punched him in the gut, stabbed him in the back- or worse. He watches her move tactfully off the podium as she takes a stance next to the crowd of reporters pretending to watch the Microbiologist with pride, but Rory is certain she is standing there to have more photos taken.

 

  As the press conference continues, Rory keeps an eye on Corba waiting for a moment to speak with her in private. He feels used and disgusted knowing that she has kept vital details from him this whole time. After what seems like an hour, he takes Kelly’s hand and follows their predetermined route through the hospital lobby behind the security staff.

 

  “Mr. Chambers! Mr. Chambers!” A few reporters shout, interrupting Doctor Chan’s explanation of Advanced T-Cells as they begin to rise from their cheap, black chairs, waiting for him to turn and say a few words.

 

  With the stealth of a publicity Navy SEAL, Corba pushes past the crowd and quickly steps up to the microphone, gently pushing Doctor Chan aside.

 

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Chambers is exhausted from having his blood work done today. Please respect his privacy; he will be available for comment at a later date. For now, we’ll take your questions and issue his answers in a formal statement tomorrow… Thank you!”

 

  Rory and Kelly have stopped in their tracks for a moment and start walking again as soon as they hear Corba’s announcement.

 

  “My God,” Rory whispers through gritted teeth as they walk past the security guards toward the back parking lot, “the woman is a witch.”

 

  “Amen, baby,” Kelly says, grabbing his hand as they disappear around the corner.

 

  The following morning, Rory is seated at the head of the conference table in the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center, waiting impatiently for Corba. He has switched back to his tan cargo pants and a green fitness shirt; feeling more like himself than he did wearing the formal suit twelve hours ago. His arms are folded and his legs are crossed as his casual, brown walking shoe dangles next to the conference table. He breathes deeply out of his mouth, already worked up from fighting through a crowd of reporters in the parking structure just minutes ago. His eyes are fixed on the glass that covers the long mahogany table, and his stare is so fiery; it appears that he may be trying to burn through the table with his eyes.

 

  Soon Corba and Doctor Yahmir emerge from behind the conference room door. When she enters the room, he can see the irritated glare in her eyes. Corba is wearing a modern dress that was fashioned with Victorian colors; part of her old-fashioned, new-fashion wardrobe. Her black heels click against the carpet as she walks proudly toward Rory; her blonde hair displayed in a firm, neat braid. Doctor Yahmir walks around the opposite side of the table and takes a seat on Rory’s immediate right. He looks sheepish and uncomfortable, wearing his usual long, white lab coat and thick glasses. His eyes bear a burden of guilt and are full of apologetic disappointment.

 

  “I have a bone to pick with you!” Rory demands with vigor, pointing his finger at Corba’s chest as he straightens himself in the black, leather swivel chair.

 

  “Well, lets hear it!“ Corba asserts in a challenging tone, appearing even more irritated.

 

  “What the hell was that at the press conference last night?” Rory asks with wide eyes, his breathing becoming somewhat rapid with emotion.

 

  “What the hell was what, last night?” Corba replies, tightening her face as she glares straight into his eyes.

 

  “You gave my full fucking name to the press. You told them that my blood is the cure for cancer! You committed me to continue giving up every second of my free time for this Goddamn hospital! You were a bitch!” Rory finishes with his palms down flat on the table, slightly askew from one another. His words don’t quite flow the way he rehearsed in the car on the way to the hospital, but he feels good about them.

 

  “Well, yes… Mr. Chambers, you’ve figured me out,” Corba begins in a poisonous tone, “I am a BITCH! I told a room full of reporters that you are a hero. I told them that you saved a little girl’s life. I gave them your full name…”

 

  “You were not supposed to give them my full name; I have a work order from the hospital saying that you can’t do that-“

 

  “And I have a non-disclosure agreement that says I can, you spoiled little shit! I also have a non-compete agreement that prevents you from doing research with any other medical center. I have a signed Power of Attorney from you volunteering your participation by any means necessary until a cure is engineered. BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!”

 

  “I can’t fucking believe this,” Rory replies with an expression of shock and betrayal, “you don’t own me, I am a free man!”

 

  “You are an ungrateful human being. You are a terrible son.” Corba declares, going below the belt with a fierce, unflinching stare. “You said yourself that we saved your Father’s life. Six months ago, you sat here with your girlfriend and told my doctors that you would do everything in your power to help us find a cure. Now you’re pissed off because you don
’t control the narrative!? You want to run and cry in the corner because you were blessed with blood that just happens to cure cancer? What the fuck is wrong with you, Rory? I just went out in front of the world yesterday,” she stops and looks at her small, gold wristwatch for half a second, “twelve hours ago, and told them that you are a hero; you are a saint, and all you can do is point your finger at me like I’m some cunt who cut you off in traffic?”

 

  Rory swallows hard and his mouth is slightly open; he doesn’t know where to begin responding to such a personal barrage. Her words tear through him as if she is the pilot on the front of a locomotive and he is the cow.

 

  “Yeah, I’m a bitch,” she says softly, “but if you’re going to call me a bitch, Rory, make sure you get it right. Call me a bitch who is fighting to save the lives of thousands of people by finding a cure. Call me a bitch who needs billions of dollars in funding for research to derive a vaccine from your blood. Call me a bitch for putting your name into the History books as someone who helped to save lives,” she holds her index finger up in his face, “but don’t you dare call me a bitch after today!”

 

  Rory closes his eyes for a moment, nodding his head as her message ties up knots of guilt in his gut that he can’t begin to untie. “I’m sorry,” Rory says finally, “I just didn’t expect this all to happen so quickly.”

 

  “I’m sorry too, Rory,” Corba speaks in a condescending, dismissive tone, “I thought you had more integrity than this. What did you expect? Your blood has the ability to cure cancer. And let me be absolutely clear on that point as well; I did not say your