Stars (The Butterfly Trilogy) (48 page)

J
UDITH PICKED UP THE PHONE AFTER THE FIRST RING AND SAID
, "Dr. Issacs." When she heard the voice at the other end, she suddenly went cold.

     Glancing over her shoulder at Zoey, who was cleaning the operating room where Judith had just performed minor surgery, she lowered her voice and said, "How did you find me?"

     As she listened to the chillingly familiar voice on the other end, she stared at the freshly washed surgical instruments draining beside the sink and tried to collect herself. Judith had come to Star's to hide, to run away. And now, on only her third day here, he had found her.

     "It's useless," she said, keeping her eye on Zoey, trying to make sure the nurse couldn't hear. "We don't have anything more to say to each other."

     Was there never going to be any escape from the past? Was she doomed to drag it along wherever she went, like Jacob Marley's ghost and its chains? Judith wondered now if she had made a mistake coming to Star's; perhaps the mountain remoteness wasn't going to protect her after
all. The anonymity of a big city hospital might have been better—Massachusetts General, or Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles...

     "Yes, I'm still here," she said. "You shouldn't have called me—"

     A light flashed on the panel over the door of the substerile room. Each of the five bulbs indicated a patient room, and the one flashing now belonged to Mr. Smith. Judith hadn't been in to see him yet this morning.

     Zoey saw the blinking light, and Judith waited until she left the clinic suite before saying into the phone, "I don't want you calling me here again. I have nothing to say to you now, or ever." She heard the tremor in her voice. "Please," she said, "don't do this to me. I'm trying to start a new life. I've put the past behind me."

     She paused to listen, her hand tightening on the receiver. "What do you want from me?" she said. "No, you mustn't come here! Please, leave me alone!"

     She looked up and was startled to see Zoey standing in the doorway. "Mr. Smith is asking for you," the nurse said coolly.

     "Yes, thank you, Zoey. I'm sorry," she said to her caller, turning on her professional voice. "But I don't have time to talk right now." She hung up, realizing too late that she hadn't said good-bye, making the call appear suspicious.

     "I'll be in with Mr. Smith if you need me," she said to Zoey as she picked up her medical bag.

     "What if you get a phone call, Doctor?"

     Judith wondered if Zoey overheard part of the conversation. Her relationship with the younger woman had worsened since her arrival. Judith had found more problems in the clinic—sterile supplies that had gone past their expiration dates, dusty shelves, a sloppily kept narcotics book—and tension between doctor and nurse had mounted. Judith wondered now if she could even trust Zoey. "If there is an emergency," she said, "come and get me."

     As she went down the hall, trying not to think about the phone call and how badly it had unsettled her, she concentrated on Mr. Smith, wondering why he wanted to see her. She had visited briefly with him again last night and had left when the visit had seemed to go on dangerously longer than was necessary. He had asked her if she liked to ski, and when she had said
yes, he had told her of the wonderful skiing spots in Europe, saying, "You would love it there, Judith," making it sound almost, but not quite, like an invitation. And this morning, Smith had been seen by Dr. Newton, who had spent ten minutes with him and had then reported to Judith that the wound was healing well. So why was he asking for her?

     When she knocked on his door, a young man opened it, and Judith received a shock. The room was crammed with flowers and balloons, stuffed animals, baskets of fruit, boxes of candy. Seated on the sofa and chairs grouped around the fireplace were three men going through what appeared to be an enormous sack of mail.

     "Come in!" Smith called to Judith from his bed, which was strewn with letters and cards. "I've been found!"

     "So it would appear. But I thought you didn't want visitors," she said, eyeing the men at the fireplace and noticing the plates of sandwiches and cups of coffee on the table between them. She wondered why Zoey hadn't told her about any of this.

     "Those aren't visitors, Doctor," Smith said, pushing himself up in bed so that cards and envelopes cascaded to the floor. "They are my staff." The three men—Smith's publicist, secretary, and valet—were introduced to Judith; they briefly said hello and went back to the task of sorting through the mail.

     "What
is
all this?" she said, setting her medical bag down and sniffing a bouquet of red carnations. The flower arrangements varied from a single rose in a crystal vase to elaborate sprays that stood on the floor in wicker baskets. Judith could read some of the names on the gift tags: the Paul Newmans, Gerald and Betty Ford, Bob Mackie. An enormous stuffed panda bear wore a big pink bow covered with signatures. There were baskets filled with oranges, pears, and mangoes; stylish crates containing gourmet foods and bottles of wine; and several distinctive gold foil boxes of Godiva chocolates.

     Smith reached for something on his night stand and handed it to Judith. "Word is out," he said in a tone she hadn't heard him use before—the voice of a man trying to control his anger.

     She realized with a start that he had handed her a popular supermarket tabloid. The major headline read: SCREEN LEGEND HAS SECRET BELOW-THE-WAIST SURGERY.

     "Oh my God," she said.

     "And I only had the operation five days ago," he said grimly.

     Judith turned to the story inside and scanned it with rising dismay. Accompanying the article were several photographs of Smith when he was younger and more vigorous, in scenes from movies when he had played pirates and Robin Hood and dashing heroes. The only present-day picture was an unflattering one that made him look haggard, an unfortunate trick of bad lighting.

     "Even though the article explains that I had minor liposuction done on my abdomen," he said, "the headline is clearly supposed to lead people to believe that my surgery was of a more intimate nature. People will see this and ask themselves what is it a man could have done that involves sex? I was worried about my vanity, but this is far worse! How do you imagine it leaked out, Doctor?"

     "I have no idea," she said, realizing that beneath his controlled exterior burned fury. "Star's has a policy of protecting the privacy of its guests, and the staff is sworn to secrecy, especially regarding guests who come in for medical reasons. In your case, only the top management—Beverly Burgess and Simon Jung—know who you really are. The desk people don't know who Mr. Smith is."

     "Well, the operator is reporting an average of twenty incoming calls an hour for me."

     Judith looked at him. "Then
she
knows who you are."

     "Yes, and I have already spoken to my attorney about it. We are going to sue this despicable rag of a newspaper. After all the years of battling to keep my personal life private, from my first days in films back in the early forties, this should happen! You know, Doctor," he said, "this might sound odd, coming from a screen legend, but I am at heart an intensely private person. It is something I have struggled with all my life—my desire to be an actor versus my need for privacy. It has not always been an easy balance. Every love affair I ever had was dogged by newspaper reporters. But this goes beyond common decency and good taste."

     "I don't know what to say. I feel terrible about this."

     "It's not your fault," Smith said, throwing the tabloid to the floor in disgust. "I suppose stories like mine are bound to break." He waved his arm
toward the room. "And look what it brought me! I had no idea so many people cared."

     "Of course they care," she said, feeling her anger mount. How
had
the story leaked out? "And if I were out there in the real world," she said, "and had heard of your hospitalization, I would have sent you a get well card, too. Is this why you wanted to see me?"

     "I thought you should know."

     She studied his face and saw lines of worry deepen in his forehead and around his mouth. "Would you mind if I asked your staff to leave the room for a few minutes?"

     "Why? My own physician has already seen to me today."

     "I know, but when he's not here you are under my care, and you do seem to be upset."

     "Wouldn't you be, if your secret were published in a rag like this? Especially with a headline that is full of tawdry insinuation?" He waved the others out. After they had left, taking the large mail sack with them to continue sorting, Judith took hold of Smith's wrist and looked at her watch.

     He began to calm down. "All this doesn't dazzle you, does it?" he said as she counted his pulse. "The flowers, the gifts."

     "On the contrary, Mr. Smith, I'm impressed."

     "No, I mean the show business aspect of it. All this doesn't want to make you swoon."

     "I've seen flowers in hospital rooms before," she said. "Here, take this," and she slipped a thermometer beneath his tongue.

     "Doctor," he said, taking it out, "you're overwhelmed by me, admit it. You're head over heels in love with me, have been ever since you were twelve."

     "Fourteen. Now please keep this in your mouth. Infection is our most immediate concern here, so I need to monitor your temperature closely." She sat on the
edge
of his bed, rolled up his sleeve, and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around a surprisingly well-developed bicep.

     Seeing that his pressure was normal, she removed the cuff and read the thermometer, making a notation on the chart as she said, "Everything is fine."

     "Very professional, aren't we?"

     "Well, after all, I
am
a doctor." When she started to rise, he took her hand and said, "Stay a moment, please."

     And she was startled by the jolt that went through her when he touched her. She felt her defenses against him, her cautiously maintained professional facade, start to crumble. She was afraid to stay. Afraid she would weaken and he would guess how she was starting to feel about him.

     "All right," she said, "if you wish. I'll stay a few minutes."

     "Have a drink with me. I haven't had a painkiller in hours."

     "Help yourself. But, I'm still on duty."

     Reaching for the maroon silk dressing gown that lay across the foot of his bed, Smith managed to get into it and then onto his feet. But Judith saw that he winced with pain and that when he stood, he went pale. She reached out and steadied him. "I'll be all right," he said, putting his hand on his abdomen. "I had no idea this would be so bloody painful. Just steer me over to the bar and I'll be fine."

     After he poured himself a snifter of Napoleon brandy, Smith sat in one of the chairs vacated by his staff and indicated for Judith to join him. "I want your opinion on something," he said. "They're asking me to do a television series. What do you think? Should I do it?"

     "Why are you asking me?" She shook her head when he offered her a plate of very crumbly, buttery cookies.

     "Scottish shortbread," he said, biting into one. "My biggest weakness. I'm asking you because I value your opinion. You're not like any woman I've ever met, and I know you'll be honest with me."

     When she gave him a skeptical look, he said, "It's not a line, Judith; it's the truth. You see, you're the first woman doctor I've ever seen professionally. In the outside world, I would never have gone to a female physician, but here I had no choice. I was at your mercy. This makes you a unique woman in my experience."

     "I'm not sure I understand."

     "I have known many women intimately, Judith, but no matter how intimate we became, I always kept my secrets, my mystique. It was part of my charm." He smiled, and Judith noticed that he blushed a little, adding to that charm. "But, from you, Doctor, I have no secrets. At least concerning the
nature of why I am here. Also, you are the only woman who has ever seen me vulnerable. Except for my mother, and that was many years ago, I have never allowed a woman to see me in pain. No woman has ever had that power over me."

     "I don't feel as if I have power over you, Mr. Smith."

     "I know..." He gave her a searching look. "And that makes you all the more remarkable. You aren't here to manipulate me, but to see to my comfort. You have my interests at heart, not your own ulterior motives, which makes you one very special woman."

     She didn't want to hear this. And she did want to hear it. "Mr. Smith," she said, "you should have gone to women doctors in the past, and then you would know that I am not unique at all."

     "I doubt that," he said. "So, should I do it?"

     "Do what?"

     "The television series."

     "I'm afraid I couldn't say. I watch very little TV."

     "What do you do for entertainment?"

     "I read books, mostly. I lead an appallingly quiet and boring life."

     "What are you running from, Judith?"

     She looked away. "We were talking about you."

     "I saw by the look on your face when you first came in that something had upset you. What was it?"

     "I received a disturbing phone call, but I don't want to talk about it."

     "Then tell me about your daughter."

     "No."

     "I wish I had had children, you know. But when I was younger, the thought of having a family just somehow never occurred to me. It never seemed to suit my lifestyle. And I did have my playboy image to maintain." He smiled. "Marriage was never a consideration."

     "But you're thinking of getting married now."

     He gave her a startled look. She hadn't asked a question, she had made a statement. "Yes," he said. "As a matter of fact, I am. How did you know?"

     "I didn't. It was just a guess. Something from one of our conversations, I suppose. So who is the lucky bride?"