Playing Doctor

Chapter One: An unexpected meeting

I was just digging my spoon into a bowl of double fudge delight ice
cream in front of the television when my cell phone rang. Hitting pause
on the remote, I froze the episode of _House_ with the main character
making some rude comment to one of his patients. I don't know why a
character that abrasive, sarcastic and flawed appealed to me so much,
but his biting sense of humor always made me laugh.

A glance at the phone confirmed my worst fears. It was Danny and that
meant something had gone wrong. I flipped the phone open and launched
right in. "You're at an art gallery. Why are you calling me when you
should be buried in conversation with groups of long-haired men that
only bathe when their muse tells them to?"

"Plans have changed," Danny said. It wasn't hard to hear the difference
between Danny and his alter ego, Doctor Hammerstein. It could happen in
the blink of an eye and the cheerful, fatherly man I loved to death
would turn into the physician I hoped to be when I grew up, all calm
and professional when everything was coming apart around him.

I felt the cold chill as adrenaline dumped into my system and jumped
up, the fattening ice cream and entertainment forgotten, and jogged
into my bedroom, already shedding my tee shirt. "Where do you need me?"

"Holly and I are on the way to Mercy General. They have a woman and
child enroute. A car crash. It sounds bad, so Holly will work on one
while I work on the other. What I need from you is a favor. A really
big favor."

I buttoned my pants and paused, suddenly confused by the direction of
the conversation. "You don't need me in the operating room?" I asked,
my confusion bleeding through.

He chuckled. "No, I don't want to totally disrupt your schedule
tomorrow. What I need is for you to go to the art show and look it
over. I need to know what you think of the art and the artist."

That stopped the dressing process completely. "You want me to go drink
champagne and look at paintings by art snoots? I don't know anything
about art."

"Look, we'll be at the hospital in a minute so I don't have time for
the full explanation, but that's exactly what I want you to do. Mix,
look at the art and meet the guy the show is all about. His name is
Keven Braddock. I want to know what you think about him and his work.
Will you do it for me? Pretty please with double fudge delight on top?"
He knew me way too well.

I looked at the clock on my dresser. It was a bit after seven PM. "What
time does it start?"

"Seven-thirty at the Pendel Gallery. And it's black-tie."

Shit! There was no way I was going to look worth a damn and still make
it on time. "I'll go, but you owe me, Danny boy. Good luck and I'll
find out how the surgery went tomorrow. Bye now."

I hung up on him and tossed the phone on the bed. Stripping naked, I
stood and stared at my closet. What to wear? I finally settled on a
dark green cocktail dress. If I was supposed to make a good impression,
this was the dress. Besides, I hadn't had a chance to dress up in over
a year. I'd just have to be fashionably late.

Ten minutes and a quick shower later, I slipped on a thong and then
squirmed into the dress. I stood in front of the mirror and adjusted
myself. I'd picked up a couple of pounds since I'd worn it last, I
decided with a frown. It fit like a glove, accentuating me in ways that
probably shouldn't be seen outside my bedroom.

I almost pulled it back off, but a look at the clock told me I didn't
have time to dither. It's not like I knew anyone there or would ever be
back to the gallery. Taking a deep breath for courage, I pulled my one
pair of fuck-me pumps out of the back of the shoe rack and slid them
on.

Turning my back to the mirror, I looked at my legs. Jeeze, I was going
to have every guy in the place staring at my ass! That brought both a
blush and a smile. Maybe it was okay, this one time, to be a tease. Let
'em drool.

A single strand of pearls completed the look, subtly drawing attention
to the generous swell of my cleavage. I teased my long, red hair and
styled it in place across the soft spray of freckles that graced my
shoulders. Not bad for a woman in her mid-thirties, I thought with a
saucy grin.

Grabbing my cell, I tossed it and my wallet into a small purse, grabbed
my car keys and headed for the door.

-----

It was closer to eight when I pulled up in front of the Pendel Gallery.
I stepped out of my one indulgence, a fire engine red convertible, and
handed the keys to the valet, who was having a hard time deciding
whether to stare at the car or at me. I smiled at him and walked into
the building, feeling his eyes caress me as I exaggerated the sway of
my hips. I felt heat rising from my face, but it didn't stop me from
being bad.

The interior of the gallery was packed with people. Mostly either
balding grandfather types or long-haired ex-hippies in suits matched up
with mostly younger women, and in some cases, they were even better
looking. A few really good-looking women in their twenties were mixed
in. They looked like models and they had that air about them - the
snooty air of someone that feels they are a couple of rungs higher than
you on the social ladder.

The walls and easels sported paintings of people and landscapes. Taking
a flute of champagne from a server, I strolled over to the nearest
display and gave it a really good look. It was surprisingly good, in my
unenlightened opinion. A pair of children, a boy and a girl in their
early teens, racing bicycles down a dirt road between some trees. I
could almost feel the breeze on my shoulders and shivered just a
little. You could feel the raw determination radiating from each of
them, their faces fierce, hair streaming behind them. They were neck
and neck and neither one of them was going to concede victory to the
other. The vitality of the painting took my breath away.

Even though I didn't know the technical aspects of art, I could see
that this somehow wasn't like taking a picture and copying it to
canvas. The background lead the eyes toward the people, and the natural
lines took the eye from object to object subtly. Not all the items in
the background were done in meticulous detail, but the ones the
background focused on were amazingly clear.

The people, though they weren't larger than they should be, seemed
larger-than-life. The colors being used were subtly different that what
you might see in a photograph, too. Not enough to jar, but more than
enough to add an intense vibrancy to the scene.

When I forced myself to look away, the room seemed more drab than it
had a moment ago, the people less real. I'd expected some kind of
new-wave art, something so abstract I wouldn't know if it was supposed
to be good or not, much less care what it represented. In my mind, I
could hear the children shouting at each other behind me.

I sipped the champagne to clear my throat and started circling the
room, looking at the paintings closely. People and nature were blended
in every painting. All ages and genders were represented, though I
noticed that there were more women than men. That was natural, I
supposed. The paintings were garnering almost intense attention from
the people looking at them. I heard muttered comments like "Totally
unique," and plenty of "I've never seen anything quite like
these." From the number of people writing notes frantically, I
suspected the reviews would be incredible. I heard one man mutter that
it was "the finest and most unique representation of man and nature
that he'd ever seen."

The more paintings I looked at, the deeper the pieces drew me in. As I
ventured further, the people slowly changed, becoming younger and
better dressed. Or at least more expensively dressed. I looked back and
saw what I'd missed earlier. There were definite strata of people in
this large room. I wasn't sure who fell into what category, but it was
obvious that I had been moving from one group of people to another as I
wandered deeper into the gallery.

A blonde in a firecracker red designer dress, flaunting her assets even
more brazenly than I was, stood on the other side of a painting. She
was looking at me, not the canvas. Over her glass, her expression was
haughty and dismissive.

"You're wasting you're time, you know," she said off-handedly. "There
isn't any need to show off the goods when you showcase it in something
so out-of-date. Especially a knock-off from China from two years ago.
Or is it three?" She cocked her head at me.

While I had no idea who she was or why she felt the need to attack me,
I wasn't going to take it lying down. I felt my lips curve in a smile
as I met her challenge, the memory of that first painting coming to
mind.

"You're lop-sided," I said matter-of-factly.

"What?" she said, surprised at the unexpected comment.

"You're top heavy, your breasts are too big for your frame and one is
noticeably larger than the other," I said critically. "Whoever your
surgeon was, he was second rate. You really shouldn't have gone for the
lowest bidder. Cost savings are fine in some things, like for example,
your hair," I said, gesturing to her head with my glass, "since that
will grow back out, but _you_ make your temple look like a bordello. If
I were you, I'd sue."

Her eyes glittered dangerously and her whole body tensed. "Keven won't
be needing to talk to you about modeling. You're too old, those
freckles make you look like a leper, and that bottled hair makes you
look like Bozo the Clown. Pack it up and hit the road, you has been.
Get out of here."

I laughed right in her face. I knew I shouldn't, but I just couldn't
help myself. Hell, I had the temper to go with my red hair, and it
isn't bottled, thank you. People in a bubble around us stared at the
growing confrontation with mixed expressions of interest and amused
horror. Either this didn't happen very often or it happened a lot.

"I'm not here to model for anyone," I said contemptuously. "I have
better things to do with my time."

The woman glanced at the attention we were getting and paled. The mood
of the watchers seemed predatory, but I didn't feel like they were
hunting me. She tilted her nose up in the air and whirled around
without another word, walking toward the front of the gallery.

I stood there and laughed at her retreat, shaking my head. What the
hell had that been all about?

The crowd started moving again, now that the show was over. One young
man leaned over with a grin. "That's telling her. And don't let her
talk worry you, she and Keven broke up almost six months ago."

Focusing my attention on him, I cocked my head. "Keven Braddock? The
guy that painted all these? That was his girlfriend?"

"Karen Galloway, his ex-girlfriend," the young man emphasized. "Though
you'd never know it from the way she acts. This is the first show he's
had since they split and he's going to be furious when he finds out
what she did. Don't worry about her screwing up your shot at the
model's gig. I think you'd be much better than Karen ever was."

I grinned back at him. "Really, I'm not here for any modeling job, but
thanks."

With a wave, he moved back off into the crowd and I mustered my
willpower and moved further to the rear of the building. I wasn't going
to let that hag run me off.

The very back of the room had a few final pieces, including several of
the now identified Karen. I sniffed and examined her body in the
painting closely. Either the surgery was new, which I doubted, or the
artist had adjusted her to mask the imperfections in her form. It was
like she was in a soft-light picture, her innate hardness diffused.

When I looked up, I saw a man standing in the very back corner that
struck me speechless for a moment. He was half-turned away from me,
talking to a small group of older men in suits but he stood out from
them like the sun surrounded by spotlights.

Long, silky-looking black hair swept to his mid-shoulders, fell across
his black silk shirt. I'd always considered men wearing leather pants
to be the equivalent of women wearing spandex. A privilege, not a
right. On him, it was more like my privilege.

I flushed when I realized my mouth was open and snapped it closed. What
was wrong with me? You'd think I'd never seen a good-looking man
before! Oh, please! Sandy, get a grip on yourself. I shook my head and
smiled wryly at my own foolish behavior.

Shaking my head, I walked back to look at the last few paintings more
closely. More of Karen. That earned another headshake. The artist was a
genius to make even her look good. I didn't know art, but I did know
what I liked, and I liked his work. I'd have to find out how much that
first painting I saw cost. It would be perfect for my living room.

Glancing at my watch, I clucked at the time. It was almost ten PM and I
had a procedure early the next morning. Time to ask around for our
host, give him my compliments and find out how to get that painting.
When I looked up, the man in black was staring at me, his mouth
slightly open, with an expression like he'd been whacked over the head.

Without even saying anything to the man who was carrying on
self-importantly about something, he strode away from the surprised
suits and was at my side in seconds. His face was much more controlled
by the time he was in speaking range.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he silenced me when he took my
hand and raised it to his lips. The combination of his lips on my hand
and his eyes looking deeply into mine lit off a simmering heat inside
my stomach.

"I'm Keven Braddock," he said, holding my hand and smiling. "I don't
believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you."

My neck heated, but I forced myself to ignore it and smiled brightly at
him. "Sandy Craig, Mister Braddock."

He shook his head. "Just Keven. May I call you Sandy?" At my nod, he
turned and led me back toward the corner where all the suits were. At a
wave, they dispersed and left a bubble of space for the two of us.

"You didn't need to run off your friends to talk to me," I objected.

His dark, angular face looked both rugged and handsome, especially when
he smiled like that. "They weren't friends. Those were men wanting to
bankroll a show in New York for me."

I was aghast. "Then you shouldn't have sent them away! Business is much
more important than talking to me."

"Oh, I don't think so," he said smoothly. "Shows come and go, backers
come and go. They'll still be eager to finance me when I call them
tomorrow. Right now, talking with you is more important.

"Why?" I demanded. This whole conversation was upsetting my balance.
I'd never had someone look at me this intensely, much less drop
everything to focus on me. "This is your show and you're an important
man. I'm just a visitor."

"Because it feels right," he said with a grin. "I don't suppose you'd
consider modeling for me?"

"What? I..." This was so confusing, I felt flummoxed.

"Wait," he said, his fingers covering my lips. It was like a spark
jumped between us. "Let's talk about it over coffee. I know a little
place that makes the most fabulous latte."

"But the show," I protested weakly. "You're the artist. You can't just
leave!"

"It's my show," he said, his smile blinding, "and that means I can do
as I damned well please."

He was so gung-ho, it was a little frightening, but part of me weakened
fast. My head was telling me that a cup of coffee couldn't hurt
anything in a little voice so innocent it set off alarms.

I was saved, if it was really being saved, by the arrival of his
ex-girlfriend. The motion of someone approaching fast made me turn my
head and there she was, barreling up behind Keven with a champagne
bottle raised high!

"Look out!" I shouted, shoving him out of the path of the oncoming
bottle. That sent him right into Karen and they fell to the floor with
a crash, limbs entangled. As she beat ineffectually on the top of
Keven's head with her fist, having dropped the bottle, I tried to
figure out the best way to get him out of this mess.

The crowd beat me to it, streaming forward and surrounding the fallen
ex-lovers. I quickly lost sight of them as the tide forced me back.
Cursing under my breath, I tried to get back to his side, but finally
decided it wasn't going to happen.

As I took a deep breath and watched the chaos, the heat that had
started inside me cooled and common sense took over. I didn't really
know him and going out with him might mean all sorts of complications
to my life. Yes, I conceded, there was chemistry, but I was a doctor. I
didn't have time for dating, or romance. I'd replaced men with
battery-powered plastic years ago and going back was almost certainly
the wrong choice.

I gulped and fought back the urge to dig into the crowd anyway. With
more control than I thought I had, I walked out the front door and
waved to the valet for my keys, already feeling a little depressed.

-----

In the morning, I was in a much better mood and had put the
uncomfortable events of last night behind me by the time I walked
through the front door to work, the Hammerstein Clinic for
Reconstructive Surgery. Seeing my name listed as a junior partner still
sent a glow to my cheeks. That was what was important in life, my work.

Danny and Holly had made this place a name to be reckoned with. And
them thinking highly enough of me to offer a junior partnership was a
potent ego rush. The three of us were the only partners, though there
were half a dozen associates of one kind or another, and support staff.

Trina was manning the front desk and I stopped to smile at her while
she was talking on the phone. A petite little thing, she couldn't have
been more than five feet two and as light as a feather.

Trina finished her phone call and her smile at me slipped a little.
"Good morning."

"Uh, oh. What's wrong?"

Tears slowly made her eyes shine. "Steve and I had a big fight last
night. Sandy, I'm scared. I think I might have ruined everything."

I walked around the desk and pulled her out her seat and into a hug.

"Steve's a great guy, Trina. You both love each other and I can't see
you doing anything to ruin that. What happened?"

She pulled back and sat back down, searching for a tissue in her purse
while I parked my butt on the spare seat. "He's been spending more and
more time out with his friends and I've been feeling ignored. So last
night I brought it up. He insisted there was nothing going on. I
suppose he was thinking I was worried about there being another woman."

"Are you worried about that?" I asked.

Trina shook her head. "No. Well, not really. He's never given me any
reason to suspect he's been unfaithful. He just got so defensive about
it and that made me defensive and of course we argued. He stormed out
after about ten minutes and he won't take my calls. I screwed up bad
and I've lost him." Her tears started pouring out again.

Without getting up, I pulled her head to my shoulder. "Shhhhh. It's not
that bad. Everybody fights sometimes, even over minor things. If you
like, I'll talk with him. I think if you keep trying though, you'll
both get this sorted out."

Her eyes shone with hope. "Do you really think so? Would you talk to
him?"

I smiled and kissed her cheek. "There's nothing that I wouldn't do for
you, Trina. I don't let my friends down. I'll call him today and maybe
even meet him for lunch. I can't promise anything, but I don't think
all is lost. Let me watch the desk and you go freshen up before one of
the guys sees you and wants to go punch Steve's lights out."

When she came back out, she looked a hundred percent better. I gave her
another hug and made my way back to my office. A glance at the clock
told me that I was behind schedule, but not badly. It's not like Mrs.
Henderson was going to start without me. I reviewed her case file and
double-checked all the preparatory notes. When I was satisfied, I
slipped out of my clothes and into surgical scrubs complete with hair
and foot booties. What a fashion statement. Looking suitably
professional, I tucked the file under my arm and went to surgical room
two.

My patient was already there and so was my team. I smiled at Ben
Crenshaw, the hulking black man that looked more like a linebacker than
a surgical nurse. Then I gave a two fingered salute to Anna Gomez, our
resident anesthesiologist while I set the file on the counter and
started washing up.

"Good morning everyone." After gloving up, I leaned over Mrs.
Henderson. "And a good morning to you, too, Helen. Are we all ready?"

With a swallow, Helen nodded. "Yes, just do be careful."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'll treat them like they were my own.
I've been where you are right now and I promise you that I'm confident
you'll be fine. Anna is going to help you sleep and when you wake up,
you'll be a new woman."

Helen relaxed and I stepped over to look at the instruments and the
implants. Ben had worked with me for two years and he knew what I
wanted and needed as well as I did. All the tools of my trade were laid
out in their gleaming splendor and he had the implants I preferred.
Some implants made the breast feel stiff and unnatural but I only used
the very best ones, those that were as malleable as the real thing. I
also insisted on having six implants on hand during surgery. The size I
thought I'd need and one notch up and down. When I made the cut and
slid them in, I'd be able to move up or down to make them perfect.

"Spot on, Ben. You know me like the back of your hand," I said with a
smile.

"But not as closely as I'd _like_ to know you, hot momma."

I laughed. Ben was a sweet guy, but I could never see myself sharing
his bed and he knew it. He was too much a friend and there just wasn't
that kind of spark.

"You big ole tease. You'd freak out if I even acted like I was
interested in you. Besides, I happen to know your girl would geld you
if you if you even thought about touching another woman."

"She would do that," he admitted ruefully. "And they'd never find the
missing parts, either."

We laughed and went back to the painstaking preparation. When Anna
signaled that Helen was ready, I stepped up and pulled the sheet down
to expose my patient's chest. Her breasts were small, but nicely
formed. An A-B, just a little smaller than what I'd had before I let
Danny convince me to step up to a C cup. Not that I didn't like the new
me. I'd been shapely before, but my chest never matched up with my own
self-image. Now the three of us were doing just fine. It also helped to
have been under the knife. I knew just the same sort of fears that
Helen had, the same uncertainty. Every doctor should be a patient at
least once.

Putting it all out of my mind, I made my first cut and started the
process to make another woman happier with her own appearance. Beside
the breast enhancement, I had some other small adjustments to make with
her curves. Nothing major. It wouldn't be any time at all before she
was back up and at 'em.

Hours later, after I accounted for every instrument and pad, I had
Helen fully closed up and on her way to recovery. Tired, I stepped into
the changing room and washed my hands. Then I put the bloodied scrubs
into the bin and put on fresh ones. When I was done, I let Ben clean up
and I started getting the room ready for its next patient.

Danny came in through the door that Anna had used to wheel our patient
out. He was in the suit that was almost the uniform of doctors
everywhere, but even at fifty-something he looked better than most. His
white hair reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Albert Einstein, with
the locks refusing to cooperate in any way. When he stuck his tongue
out at me, it always made me laugh so hard that my sides hurt because
of the resemblance.

I shook my head. "Holly let you out of the house like that again? With
that wild-man hair?"

With a boyish grin that belied his age, he leaned back against the
wall. "Like anything can control it. We have people to clean up after
us, Sandy. This isn't the emergency room and we need the operating
theater ready right away for the next customer."

"Like you don't do the same thing," I retorted with wry amusement.
"Speaking of the emergency room, what happened?"

His smile faded to a serious expression. "A car wreck. A really bad
one. Holly took the mother and I took her daughter. Flying glass and
debris cut them both to shreds. The girl was ten and her face was laid
open with incredible trauma to the underlying tissue. It was
painstaking work, getting all the glass out and putting things back in
place so the scarring will be minimal. Thank God her eyes weren't
damaged."

I nodded, feeling my gut twist in sympathy. I hated car wrecks. You
never saw them coming. One minute everything was fine and the next,
lives were destroyed.

"She was lucky you were the man on call and Holly was there for her
mom. Will they be okay?"

He nodded and held the door open and gestured back out to the hall.
"Holly did her usual miracle work. You know she has a much finer touch
than I do. With a bit of luck, they will only have to deal with mental
scars without being traumatized by any physical ones. Come on. I want
to get the play-by-play from last night."

I rolled my eyes and preceded him out. "Geeze, you really didn't do me
any favors."

"Hmm?" he asked, with one eyebrow quirked in surprise. "What happened?"

"Get me some coffee and I'll tell you the whole sordid tale."

-----

Ten minutes later we were sitting in his office, which was about half
again bigger than mine, as he no doubt deserved. He _was_ the boss,
after all. I sipped my hot coffee and stretched my back in the
comfortable chair.

"Sordid, eh?" he asked with a chuckle. "What set off the renowned
flamethrower?"

"I didn't flame anyone last night," I said defensively. "He fell victim
to his ex-girlfriend. Well, she and I did have words first, but I don't
think that had anything to do with it."

"He?" Danny prompted. "This is starting to sound interesting. Did you
meet a nice young man that struck your fancy?" he asked with a
mischievous grin.

"No," I said, exasperated. "He was quite forward and it unsettled me a
bit. Why is it that anytime you hear about me and some guy it has to be
attraction?"

"Eternal hope," he said honestly. "Tell me all about the evening."

"How the hell could she marry you, anyway? You're incorrigible and she
got stuck with a name like Holly Hammerstein."

"You're stalling," he said with a smile. "How was the show?"

I shrugged and gave up. "The crowd was good, the paintings were
fabulous and the artist was dark and scary." My insides got all warm
just thinking about how dark and scary.

"Tell me about this young man."

With a sigh, I set my coffee down on the desk. "I met the artist, Keven
Braddock. I think I made an impression, though for the life of me I
don't see how." Then I proceeded to tell him what he said and
everything that happened.

Danny tilted his chair back and listened in that way that made me adore
him. He hung onto every word I said. When I was finished, he sipped his
coffee and considered for a moment.

"As to why he was attracted to you, that's easy. You're a knockout. As
for my opinion about you, I think you've got it bad." he finally
opined.

"What?" I asked in outrage. "I do not! It was just one of those things.
There is no way he was giving me the eye with all those hot women
hanging around waiting to be a model for him." I shoved the fact he'd
asked me to model away before I started wondering what he wanted me to
model for or what kind of outfit would be involved, if any. "It doesn't
matter, anyway," I continued. "I'll never see him again and that's
probably best. Bad boys are much more trouble that they're worth."

"I wouldn't be so fast to say that," Danny said, looking at his watch.
"I expect him along any minute to go out to lunch with me. Trina's
going to send him right back."

I sat upright and squeaked. God, I hated making that noise. "You're
yanking my chain!" Crap. If I could hear the tremor in my voice, so
could he. Why the hell was that artist making me so nervous?

"Nope," Danny said with that shit-eating grin. "I actually expected him
a few minutes ago so he's late."

I lunged out of the chair and made a bee-line to the door. There was no
way I was going to be caught in here after last night and have to
explain why I ran off, when I wasn't even sure why I had.

As I reached for the door, someone knocked on it and I froze. Looking
around like a deer caught in the headlights, I prepared to run for the
windows.

"Come in," David said loudly. The rat bastard.