Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (29 page)

     "Let me help you. Let me make everything better for you."

     The corners of his eyes creased in the hint of a smile. "I want to write for a while," he said softly. "And you need to sleep. When you wake up, I'll take you home."

     He covered her with the blanket. As Philippa drifted off to the sound of his typewriter, she thought, Through my love you'll be healed.

D
R
. J
UDITH
I
SAACS COULDN'T SHAKE THE FEELING THAT THERE
was something strange about this case. On the surface, everything appeared normal: Carolyn Mason, age twenty-four, had come to the Star's clinic for a routine prenatal checkup.

     "I came up here for a rest, Doctor," the young woman had explained at the beginning of Judith's examination. "My obstetrician told me to see a doctor while I was here, just to be sure."

     Just to be sure of what? Judith wondered as she stripped off her gloves and turned away from the exam table. As far as Judith could determine, this was a healthy, straightforward pregnancy with no complications. Carolyn Mason was in her sixth month; amniocentesis at sixteen weeks had found no abnormalities in the fetus, which was a girl; and Carolyn herself had no complaints, no discomfort. She also didn't seem the slightest bit worried about her condition or the baby's. She had come into the clinic cheerful and confident, chatting about the beauty of Star's and how she wished she could stay for Christmas but that she had to go home in a few days. So what was
it that was niggling at the back of Judith's mind, nudging her with a silent alarm that said that, evidence to the contrary, this was an unusual case?

     As she eased Carolyn's legs down from the stirrups, she said, "You can get dressed now, Miss Mason."

     "Is everything okay, Doctor?"

     "Everything is just fine. You and the baby are doing well."

     "Oh, I know," Carolyn said, smiling. "I feel fine. And this is such a special baby."

     As Judith washed her hands at the sink, she scanned the brief medical chart she had written up on Carolyn. It contained very little data: the patient was a model who lived in North Hollywood, she was in excellent health, unmarried, this was her first child.

     "I'm not gaining too much weight, am I, Doctor Isaacs?"

     "No. Some weight gain is to be expected. But don't try any drastic dieting. You both need nourishment."

     Carolyn pulled a cable-knit sweater over her head and said, "I joined Starlite, was that all right?"

     "What did your obstetrician say?"

     "She said it was okay to watch my weight, as long as I was careful and did it safely, like joining Starlite. They have a special weight management program for pregnant women, did you know that? It's driving me crazy, though! I'm an absolute hamburger freak! Royal Burgers. You know, the barbecue special? I heard on TV a while back that the woman who used to own the Royal Burger chain—what was her name, Beverly Highland—is still supposed to be alive. You know, like Elvis? Crazy. Why would a woman pretend to be dead? Especially when she had everything."

     Judith said she didn't know, that she didn't pay much attention to tabloid gossip.

     "You're so lucky to live here, Doctor!" Carolyn enthused as she laced up her snow boots. "Not that I don't like my job, I do! But to actually live all year round in such a beautiful setting. I'll bet you meet a lot of famous people."

     Judith smiled and said, "Yes, I do," thinking of Mr. Smith in one of the private suites down the hall, whom she was due to see in a few minutes. She had not seen him since their first visit, last night.

     "How long have you lived here, Doctor?" Carolyn said.

     "Actually, I only arrived last night. Carolyn, may I ask you something? The father of the baby, is he here with you?"

     "Oh yes. They wouldn't let me come alone. They don't let me go anywhere alone!"

     "They?"

     "The baby's father and his wife. We go everywhere together." Carolyn laughed. "It's not what you think, Doctor. I'm not having an affair with a married man, or involved in a threesome, or anything like that. I told you this is a very special baby. Well, the father is special, too. Not only is he married to someone else, he's also my brother."

     Judith gave her a questioning look.

     "It's a bit complicated," Carolyn said, "and goodness knows what's going to be made of it after the baby is born! My brother and I are very close, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for him. So when he and his wife tried for years to have a child, and finally, after three miscarriages, they were told that she would never be able to carry a baby to term, I volunteered to carry the baby for them." Carolyn paused. "The doctors did an in vitro fertilization—you know, what they call test tube fertilization—using my brother's sperm and his wife's egg. They implanted the embryo in me, and then I was given hormone shots to make the pregnancy take. Isn't it marvelous, Doctor?" Carolyn added, beaming. "I'm going to give birth to my own niece!"

     After the girl left, Judith looked for Zoey, the nurse, wondering what was taking her so long. She had breezed through the clinic earlier, in a wrinkled uniform, saying something about having to do bedside care at one of the cottages. Her attitude had been so sullen that Judith knew they were in for a rocky time.

     Judith paused to check herself in the bathroom mirror before going down the hall to visit Mr. Smith. As she straightened her hair, she suddenly froze. When was the last time she had done this before seeing a patient—practically primping? Judith realized with growing uneasiness that she was not reacting to Smith on a doctor-patient level, but on a more basic, male-female level. She also knew that there was no real professional reason for her to be seeing him; Dr. Newton, his own physician, had come up to Star's
that morning and had spent nearly an hour with Smith. And as Dr. Newton left, he had informed Judith he would be back that evening to check again on his patient.

     Still, she reminded herself as she made sure her white lab coat was spotless and wrinkle free, when Newton wasn't here, she was responsible for Mr. Smith.

     She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. It wasn't just that he was a famous movie idol; it was the man himself, those probing eyes, the resonant Scottish baritone, the way he had seemed so sincerely to want to know about her, where she came from, why she was here, even though it was apparent he was in pain. Judith recalled what Zoey had said last night when she welcomed Judith to Star's: "There's something about this place that makes people get romantic." Judith wondered if it was as simple as that—that the atmosphere of Star's somehow intoxicated people.

     She had certainly seen guests who appeared to be happily in love when she had passed through the lobby last night. And then when she had finally dined with her new employer, Miss Beverly Burgess, and Simon Jung, Judith had sensed something between the two of them. It had been a pleasant two hours; Simon Jung had acted the perfect, gracious host who did most of the talking while Miss Burgess seemed content to listen. To Judith's surprise, Beverly had worn enormous sunglasses that hid nearly half her face. An eye ailment, she had said vaguely. Judith had come away from the dinner having learned nothing much about her new boss.

     Except for one thing: that Simon Jung was obviously in love with Beverly, but that Beverly had, for whatever reasons, retreated from him.

     "So, Doctor," Mr. Smith said when Judith finished taking his blood pressure, "how do you like it here so far? Are they keeping you busy?"

     She closed her medical bag and sat down. Winter sunshine streamed through the windows, cutting almost blinding rectangles of light on the rose-colored carpet. Her patient, the legendary Mr. Smith, with his Scottish accent and monogrammed silk pajamas, was sitting up in bed giving her a questioning look. What could she tell him? That so far she had treated two sprained tennis wrists and a mild case of the flu. That, plus examining
a young woman who was carrying the implanted fetus of her brother's wife and reassuring Frieda Goldman that her client, Bunny Kowalski, was well enough to have visitors. Frieda's agitation, and the way she had embraced her leather attaché case, had made Judith wonder if Ms. Goldman was here to make one of those astronomical movie deals one always read about.

     "I'm kept busy enough," she said. "I'm certainly not bored."

     "Are you treating any famous people? Besides me, I mean."

     "You know I can't talk about my other patients. Or are you just testing me to see if I might tell other people your secret?"

     "I admit it has me worried. Oh, not that
you'll
tell, but that the secret might get out. Tell me truthfully, Judith. What do you think of a man my age having this kind of operation? I mean, such vanity, for one thing, trying to turn back the clock. And it doesn't very well suit the image people have of me—
real
men don't resort to such devious measures as liposuction. Do they?"

     "Why not?" she said. "If it helps you to feel better about yourself."

     "Doctor," Smith said as he folded back the blanket, "will you assist me to the window, please? I'm afraid that because of this pressure bandage I have a devil of a time walking."

     She slipped an arm around his waist and helped him across the room. Despite being nearly seventy, Smith was in excellent shape; Judith could feel a trim, athletic build beneath the silk pajamas. He also gave off a faint, expensive scent, the signature of a man who, despite being in pain and in a hospital, was meticulous about his grooming. Again she experienced a vague, unsettling stab of sexual desire. "Do you recognize any of these people, Doctor?" Smith said as they looked out the window and saw guests enjoying the morning in the pine forest. "Take that fellow down there, for instance, the one who's posturing. He's Larry Wolfe, the screenwriter. I met him once. He's an arrogant prick." He looked at Judith with a smile. "Does it startle you to hear me say that?"

     "I have no idea who Larry Wolfe is."

     "Good for you. If he knew that, it would kill him. I've heard that Larry Wolfe is grooming himself to take God's place; he's talked to God about stepping down."

     Smith continued to stare out at the snow-blanketed pine forest. "I remember the first time I saw snow," he said softly, a trace of nostalgia creeping into his voice. "It was many years ago, I was only a boy, and my father had taken me fishing in Liffey Valley. It rarely snowed there, but that winter I recall that it did." He smiled at Judith. "Liffey is in Tasmania, where I was born. I later grew up in Scotland, but Tassie is my real home. Tasmania was Errol Flynn's home, too, you know. We once starred in a picture together; Flynn was the good pirate, I was the bad one, but I was the better swordsman. It always astonishes me to find how many people don't know where in the world Tasmania is." He gave Judith a teasing look. "Do you know, Doctor?"

     "Isn't it an island off the southern tip of Australia?"

     "A million points for you, Doctor. And for that you win—" He suddenly winced.

     "Pain?"

     He reached for her. "It's nothing I...can't handle."

     As she helped him to the chair, she said, "There's no need to play the pirate here."

     He smiled through his pain, and in the brief instant before he sat, when he was holding on to Judith and her face was just inches from his, he said, "Do you know who you look like? Lovely Jennifer Jones when she played opposite Gregory Peck. You have the same coloring, the same vulnerable look."

     Judith saw the fine dew of perspiration on his forehead, the lines of pain around his eyes. She eased him into the chair, then she went to her medical bag and opened it.

     As he watched her draw up a syringe, Smith said, "Are you wondering why I had this operation secretly done here, at Star's, instead of in a Beverly Hills doctor's office and recuperating at home?" He paused and rolled up his sleeve-so Judith could give him an injection.

     "This will ease your discomfort," she said. "Please go on with what you were saying."

     "It's because this operation must be kept a secret. Men with my kind of reputation aren't permitted to resort to cosmetic surgery. At least not for
something like an abdomen that was starting to betray my age. I've always kept fit; I work out every day. But nature was beginning to mock me, and when I saw that no amount of dieting or sit-ups was going to help me this time, I decided to go for the desperate gesture. I only pray that I'm not found out."

     "Would it be so bad? People are having liposuction done all the time now."

     "I fear that it will affect my image. And also," he rolled his sleeve down, "frankly, the way women would relate to me afterward. I would be wondering if a woman with whom I wished to become involved might see me as less of a man for having stooped to such an unmacho tactic as cosmetic surgery."

     "I think you're being too hard on yourself. Men have cosmetic surgery; women don't have a monopoly on it."