Against the Ropes (15 page)

“Good morning, Doctor Drake.” Big Doris blushes and looks down at the stack of green slips in her hand. “I was reprimanding Mac yet again. She had two pens point up in her pen box. It violates our health and safety protocols. We don’t want employees to accidentally drop a hand on the pen box and get stabbed. She whips a green slip from her pad and drops it on my desk.

Dr. Drake frowns and grabs the slip. “I hardly think that is conduct worthy of a green slip.”

Big Doris’s nostrils flare but she recovers quickly. “Of course. What was I thinking?” She gives me the sweet smile of a fox about to rip the head off a chicken. I predict a hailstorm of green slips coming my way. “Perhaps I could help you.” She lays her hand on Dr. Drake’s arm and bats her tiny, pale eyelashes.

Ignoring the quivering Big Doris in front of him, Dr. Drake drops a gold envelope on my desk. A meaty hand snatches it up. “What’s this?” Charlie asks, coming up behind me.

Seriously? My cubicle is barely big enough for one, much less three. I slide my chair to the corner and hold my knees to my chest.

Dr. Drake raises an eyebrow. “Mr. Brown, don’t you have work to do?”

Charlie shakes his head. “No.”

“Are there not patients who require admitting?”

“Not by me.”

Dr. Drake sighs. “I suppose you could all help me out. The hospital is having a black-tie charity fund-raiser at the Regency Center on Thursday night. We need people to circulate and solicit donations. We also need people to help with the heart auction.”

“Heart auction?” Charlie’s eyebrows fly up. “Someone’s donating their heart?”

Dr. Drake rolls his eyes. “The hospital has solicited famous artists, jewelers, and sculptors as well as patients and the public to create and donate a heart in any material or on any medium to be auctioned for the benefit of the hospital. It is most entertaining. No one knows the provenance of the heart they have bid on until the end of the auction.”

“I heard last year someone bid one hundred thousand dollars for a glass heart, thinking it was a Chihuly, only to discover it was bought at a dime store and painted by one of our four-year-old patients,” Big Doris titters. “Count me in.”

“Me too.” Charlie gives Big Doris a wink and she shudders.

“What about you, Mac?” Dr. Drake snatches the invitation from Charlie’s hand and slides it across the desk to me. “We could use all the help we can get.”

I want to help, but I’ve spent every evening this week consoling Amanda. Max will not be pleased if I cancel our date so I can spend the evening with Mr. Humping and Pumping.

“Um. I’m sorry. I’ve got other plans.”

Dr. Drake tilts his head to the side and studies me. “The money will be used to buy badly needed equipment for the children’s ward. The more people we have, the better chance we have of making the fund-raiser a success. I could authorize overtime pay for all of you. Triple time. It is a work function, after all.”

I make a quick calculation. Triple time plus two nights at the club would more than cover the next payment to Sergio and then some. I sigh a dejected sigh. “Count me in.”

Dr. Drake beams. “Done. I can give you a ride. I saw you a few times at the bus stop after work. Charlie told me you sold your car.”

Charlie whistles and looks away from the fierce scowl I shoot in his direction.

“I can take the bus,” I protest.

“You can pick
me
up,” Big Doris booms.

“I’ll pick you up.” Charlie pats her shoulder and she shrugs him off.

Dr. Drake’s lips curl into a smile. “Excellent. Mr. Brown, you can take Doris, and I’ll take Mac.”

“No, I—”

Charlie cuts me off with an exasperated groan. “He won’t bite, Mac.”

Dr. Drake winks. “Not unless she asks nicely.”

Are you my girl?

Hi Max

Hi baby. I’m back. I’ll pick you up after work

Have 2 cancel. Work function tonight **sniffs**

Work on Thursday night?

Charity event for the hospital

I’ll come

Invitation only

I’ll get one

You’ll distract me. No Max allowed

**frowns**

U need 2 learn some new text expressions like **smiles with understanding**

**frowns**

See you 2morrow?

No. Tonight

After the charity event?

Now

***

Inspiration hits me. I run over to the doorman and ask him to take my picture with my new phone. He poses me by a potted palm and I fan out the floor-length silver dress Amanda loaned me. I should have worn higher heels but three and a half inches is my limit. I turn sideways so Max can see the dress has no back—daring, even for Amanda.

“You look good enough to eat,” the doorman says when he returns my phone. I wish I could keep him when we move back to our house.

I check the picture and smile. I don’t look too bad. The dress hugs my curves, and with the help of Amanda’s magic curling tongs, I have created a hint of a wave in my hair. I am a movie star version of myself. Maybe once Max has seen me all dressed up, he’ll forgive me and meet me afterward. Or maybe I’m just playing with fire.

I email the picture to Max and wait.

I wait and wait. Maybe he isn’t checking his emails. Maybe it didn’t go through. What if he doesn’t like it? Maybe I’m deluding myself about how I look.

A black BMW pulls up in front of the building. Dr. Drake honks twice and then exits the vehicle. He is drop-dead gorgeous in his tux, and from the way he is walking, all swagger and rolling hips, he knows it. I step out the door and he stops in his tracks. He throws a theatrical hand over his heart and falls to his knees.

My lips quiver with a repressed smile. Okay. He’s mildly amusing, good-looking, apparently hot in bed, and for some strange reason hot on me. And yet all I can think about is Max and why he didn’t email me back.

***

Two hours of schmoozing at the Regency and I’m ready to call it a night. I have solicited donations from politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, and the cream of San Francisco society and all with Dr. Drake’s hand plastered to my bare back in a gesture that is at once solicitous and overly familiar.

Dr. Drake is called up to the stage, and I gratefully drop into one of the circular, red benches scattered throughout the Lodge Room. The Heart 2 Heart fund-raiser is in full swing. I lean back and admire the open-beam ceilings, dark-paneled walls, and stained-glass windows. The room has the feel of a gothic church. I almost expect someone to sit at the huge pipe organ and play a hymn.

I ease my aching feet out of my shoes and rub them through the plush carpet while Dr. Drake arranges the charity hearts on tables at the side of the stage. The creativity of the heart donors is astounding: big hearts, little hearts, six-foot tin can hearts, and tiny sequined hearts; hearts made of concrete, glass, wood, metal, and paper; painted hearts, video hearts, even a photo of a real heart mounted in a silver frame. My favorite is a picture of a heart, painted with three red brush strokes, and the words “My Heart” penciled in the corner. Likely it was made by one of the children in chronic care, but it could also be one of the multimillion-dollar hearts donated by famous artists.

Dr. Drake waves me over. I slip on my shoes and join him at the tables along with Charlie, Big Doris, and the assorted other staff members he roped into helping tonight.

When everyone is assembled on the stage, Dr. Drake clears his throat. “One by one you will select a heart and walk it down the runway, doing everything you can do to heat up the bidding. It’s easier if you choose a heart that speaks to you. Make sure everyone can see it. Show it at every angle. We will have a screen projection behind you. If you like being in the spotlight, this is your chance to shine. Pose, blow kisses, dance, sing—do whatever it takes, and remember, sex sells. This is for a great cause, so give it all you’ve got.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Will you be parading around the stage with a heart in your hand?”

Dr. Drake’s eyes gleam. “Full of fire tonight, aren’t we?”

“Heh, heh, heh.” I try to dampen my laugh in case anyone thinks we’re together, although after playing sex toy for him this evening, I doubt my efforts will have any effect.

“Don’t fear, beautiful,” he chuckles. “I’ll be on that stage and the female patrons will be beating each other back to get what I have to offer.” Arms raised, Dr. Drake rolls his hips in a circle and then thrusts them forward and yells, “Boom! One hundred thousand dollars for Doctor Drake’s heart.”

I inelegantly snort a laugh. The crowd disperses and Dr. Drake holds out an arm to help me down the stairs.

“You liked that, did you?” he murmurs.

“It was mildly amusing. I dare you to do it on stage.”

A grin splits his face. “Don’t you know I can’t resist a challenge?” His eyes soften. “
You
are a challenge. We would be good together, and you just can’t see it. We share a passion for healing, a sense of humor, and a conservative world view—”

Conservative? Him? With clothespins and hot sauce and medical instruments being used as sex toys?

“And a distaste for violence,” he continues. “What could be more perfect?”

“Max.” The name drops off my lips before I can stop it.

He cocks his eyebrow. “Your surly friend from the bar? He’s too aggressive, too controlling for you. I thought I’d have to take him outside and teach him how to treat a woman. You need someone who will respect you, treat you with kindness, and nurture you.”

Does tying a woman to a motorcycle and leaving her alone in the dark count as nurturing?

“Like you?”

He leans forward and brushes his lips over my ear. “Like me.”

***

Twenty minutes and three speeches later, the first heart is auctioned off for a paltry two thousand dollars. The next one fetches only nine thousand, and the one after that only ten.

“This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the auction,” Dr. Drake grumbles. “Last year the bidding started at twenty-five and went up from there.”

“Doris is up next,” I soothe. “Maybe she’ll get the bidding going.”

Big Doris selects a twisted metal heart covered in barbs. How appropriate. She shuffles to the front of the stage and holds it in the air. Her Jell-O green suit glows under the stage lights.

Silence.

Sucking in her lips, she spins around and then walks up and down the runway. Still no bids.

When her face tightens and her bottom lip trembles, a queasy sensation rolls through me. I raise my hand in the air and pray Sergio doesn’t ask for even more money. “Five hundred dollars.”

Dr. Drake looks down at me and smiles. “You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, but I can’t let you spend money I know you don’t have.” He waves his hand in the air. “One thousand dollars.”

Big Doris looks over and her eyes widen. She flashes Dr. Drake a relieved smile and parades up and down the runway flogging her iron heart. With Dr. Drake’s nudge, the bidding picks up and voices fill the air.

Big Doris’s heart sells for three thousand dollars. She leaves the stage with a smile on her face. Charlie is up next. Almost unrecognizable in an ill-fitting, polyester tux, he works the stage with the grace of a bear on a trampoline, and his giant balloon heart is auctioned off for a cool twenty-five thousand.

“Why won’t they go over twenty-five?” Dr. Drake rakes his hand through his hair. “We need to spice things up.” He stalks over to the tables and scoops up a giant, heart-shaped crystal vase. “Ladies,” he calls into the audience. “Not only are you bidding for this priceless item by an artist unknown, you are bidding for dinner with me. I am a single, unattached surgeon with an empty heart.” He holds the vase aloft and winks at the audience.

A collective gasp fills the room as he struts down the runway, his hair and teeth glowing like one hundred suns.

“Fifteen thousand.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-five.”

Dr. Drake tucks one hand in his pocket. He prances. He spins. He smiles. His sharp black tux and Ken-doll good looks are a winning combination. The bids ratchet up at dizzying speed. When they plateau at thirty thousand dollars, Dr. Drake puts down his heart and eases his jacket off his shoulders. The band bursts into a jazzy rendition of Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On.” Women scream. A fit of giggles overtakes me. Dr. Drake spins his jacket around his finger and tosses it into the audience. The jacket hits Janice from Radiology square in the face. She hugs it to her head and her muffled shrieks are swallowed by the frenzied crowd.

As the band plays, Dr. Drake loosens his bow tie and unbuttons his shirt to his naval. He eases it open. Dear God. He has an amazing body—all tight abs and toned muscles. No wonder Amanda let him into her inner sanctum. He flexes. His pecs ripple. Janice faints. The crowd goes wild. My stomach aches, but I can’t stop laughing.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” a woman’s voice booms through the room. The music squeaks to a halt.

“Fifty going once,” the auctioneer calls. The audience takes a collective breath. Heads turn, seeking out the bidder.

“Going twice.”

The room stills.

“Sold to the woman in the lime green suit. Please come to the stage to collect your prize, or should I say, prizes?” the auctioneer chortles. Dr. Drake poses at the front of the stage holding the heart aloft.

The audience parts and Dr. Drake’s smile fades when Big Doris climbs the stage and wraps her arms around him. Handing out green slips must pay better than I thought.

After Dr. Drake’s performance, the bidding heats up. My painted heart on canvas goes for thirty thousand dollars, and a feather boa heart brings in a staggering forty-two thousand dollars. Dr. Drake joins me at the side of the stage, seemingly recovered from his recent shock, to tell me I’m up next.

“How did she afford you?” I cannot contain my curiosity.

Dr. Drake grimaces. “Her father is here. Some hotshot banker. Wanted to buy his baby girl a present.”

“Lucky you.”

“Think you can beat me?” He gives me a wink and hands me a vodka shot. “If you want to make the same dinner offer to spice things up, I’ll foot the bill.”

“I’ll see how my heart does without any spice.”

We clink glasses and I shoot my bolt of liquid courage before taking to the stage to survey the remaining hearts. I walk up and down beside the table twice but nothing calls to me. I am about to choose something at random, when a sparkle catches my eye. I push aside a velvet cushion heart and pull out the necklace peeking out from underneath. Wow! A huge heart-shaped ruby mounted on a diamond-encrusted heart and suspended on a gold and diamond chain. No way is it real. Something like that would be worth millions of dollars. I figure it has to be quartz, but still…I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. If it hadn’t been hidden, I’m sure it would already have been auctioned.

I wipe my palms down my dress before I take to the runway, holding the necklace in my hand. I try to banish all thoughts of Big Doris from my head. The necklace is so pretty. Someone has to bid.

Dangling the pendant from my hand, I turn so the cameras can project the image on the screen behind me. Then I smile.

“Five thousand.”

Darn. Even I know the necklace is worth more than that. Taking a deep breath, I swing the necklace from my finger and saunter down the runway.

“Ten thousand.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-two.”

Twenty-two is a long way from fifty, and with Dr. Drake smirking in the corner, I need to do something to heat up the bidding. I saunter to the auctioneer and tell him to announce that I too will offer myself as a dinner companion.

My offer receives cheers and applause, a few whistles, and one catcall.

I put my hand on my hip, spin around and wiggle walk to the back of the stage giving everyone a good view of my backless dress.

“Thirty thousand.”

Looking back over my shoulder, I give the audience a wink and then spin again and pose with the necklace laid against my chest. A smile tugs at my lips. This is kind of fun and in Amanda’s dare-to-bare dress, I’m feeling the magic.

“Forty thousand.”

“Forty five.”

“Forty eight.”

The bids continue to climb. The more I wiggle, the faster they rise. By the time they hit sixty, I’m sweating like I’ve spent an hour in the gym.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Dr. Drake shouts from the floor. He looks up at me and winks.

My face freezes mid-smile. Nononononononono. Seeing him at work is one thing, but going on a date with him when he’s made his intentions clear is another. And what about Max?

“Seventy-five thousand going once,” the auctioneer calls.

Dear God, please let someone else bid. I’ll be good. I won’t gossip. I won’t think mean thoughts about people. I’ll call my parents every day.

“One hundred thousand,” someone shouts.

Saved.

“One twenty-five,” Dr. Drake counters.

No. Bad Dr. Drake. Sweat trickles down my back. My heart thuds against my chest. No. Please. Not an evening with Kink on a Stick. I like my toes unsucked.

“One fifty.”

I roll my hips like a catwalk model, and I walk up and down the runway, imagining I don’t have quite as many curves. By the time they reach two-fifty, my stomach has twisted itself into such a knot I may never eat again. Where does a surgeon get two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to throw away?

“One million dollars.” A deep, rich voice cuts through the crowd.

Gasps from the audience. A sharp inhale of breath from Dr. Drake. A small sigh of relief from me.

“Well, I can’t beat that.” Dr. Drake throws up his hands and shrugs.

“One million once,” the auctioneer calls. “Twice.” He pauses and the crowd holds a collective breath. “Sold for one million dollars. Would our generous benefactor please step forward and collect your prize? Your contribution will help fund our new neonatal cardiac ward and we would all like to show our appreciation.”