Brant’s hand on her back felt reassuring, but it was too brief a touch. She tried to read less into it than there probably was. It felt somehow different, though she couldn’t explain why.

Thankfully, Maria was too caught up chatting with her mother to notice if anything was off or different. Maria ended up talking so fast that Mel’s working knowledge of Spanish couldn’t keep up. Brant, who spoke only the few key phrases that most people in L.A. learn in order to survive, admitted he wasn’t even trying to catch his customary every fifth word.

However the call had gone, Maria seemed to be happier and calmer after speaking with her mother. It was a bright and happy child who sat down to stare skeptically at the strange food on her plate as they sat down to eat on the couch, the TV playing in the background with the sound off.

“Didn’t we already have dinner?” she tried.

“Some. But then you said you were hungry so we tried making hotdogs.” Mel grimaced at the kitchen mess that still needed to be cleaned. At least nothing had caught on fire. “Dr. Layton brought this. It’s really good.”

“I’m not really hungry.” Maria’s stomach growled, and they all burst out laughing.

“Give it a try,” Brant encouraged. “You might actually like it.”

The Orange Chicken was a success. The General Tso’s didn’t make the final cut, though. Brant swapped her an egg roll for the chicken.

“How do you feel about going to the hospital tomorrow?” Brant asked.

Mel blinked in surprise. She had thought to slowly bring up the topic and not scare Maria. Brant clearly figured the ice bucket to the face was the better way. She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but Maria answered before Mel had a chance.

“Mama asked me to ask you about it,” Maria admitted, her mouth full of egg roll. “Some men came to her at Auntie Sofia’s house and wanted to…inter…uh…talk to her for papers.”

“Interview?” The food Mel had already consumed turned to lead in her stomach. She shoved her plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore.

“Sí. They wanted to ask about…about my father and where he was and how the fire…” The joy from speaking to her mother didn’t vanish, but retreated into the background behind the girl’s eyes. “They found out that Papa started the fire.” Maria looked up, her eyes above the bandage wide with shock. She swallowed hard and stared at her hands, fingers clenched into small fists; Mel’s heart broke and made her want to break Kenneth’s head.

But Maria didn’t give herself room for sadness long. When her head came up, her eyes flashed fire. “It was an accident!” she insisted, ignoring the angry tears that ran down her one good cheek. “He wouldn’t ever do anything like that, except he was…” She threw her hands up, obviously at a loss for words.

“Drunk,” Mel finished quietly.

“Sí,” Maria whispered to her plate.

“Maria.” Brant laid his hand on her arm. “No one here thinks your father started the fire deliberately.”

“Delib…?” Maria looked into Brant’s eyes, lost again. The need for approval, for support, was palpable, and if Mel’s heart had broken earlier, here the pieces of it shattered.

How did you explain these things to a child who had been hurt this badly?

“It means that we know he didn’t want to do it, that it was an accident.” Perhaps the explanation was simplistic, but Maria seized upon it.

“Sí!” Maria nodded, and stole a glance at Mel before looking back at Brant. “It was an accident.”

“So, don’t you worry about what some idiot says, okay?”

And when Brant looked into Maria’s eyes, all those little shattered pieces of Mel’s heart came together again—in a shining, beautiful whole. This is what Brant would look like as a father, and it was a beautiful thing.

This is the man I love. Mel felt an odd thickness in her throat. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.

But it was wonderful and scary, and a brand-new world was opening in that moment to Mel. For the first time she dared to look beyond today, and asked herself what the future could possibly look like.

What it might look like to stay.

Then Brant was talking and Mel realized, tin all his murmured reassurances to Maria, that he had come around to discussing tomorrow, and what would happen next. Maria’s eyes were shining, still wet with unshed tears, but her smile was tremulous and she held Brant’s hand like it was a lifeline.

“You’re in America, you’re with us, and you know that we like you and want you with us, so you just concentrate on that. We’ll get you lodged tomorrow morning and you’ll be safe there, okay?”

Maria managed a tentative smile and nodded, her cheek resting against his arm as she shifted on the couch and came to lean against him. “Sí, thank you. I think I would feel…safer…”

Brant shot Mel a look, something that spoke of equal parts pride and terror. Yet his hand was gentle as his arm came around her in a brief hug. “I already made arrangements,” Brant said, and paused so that he could raise her chin to look in her eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, or hide things from you. After I talked to Mel, I called and set up a private room for you. I promise you, it’s all going to be all right.”

“Gracias.” And with that the sad eyes regained their light. She sat up again, with the awkwardness of a young lady who’d realized that she’d been acting childishly and needed to show she was adult enough to handle the tough stuff. But there was a certain gratitude in the look she gave him, and maybe a hint of hero worship.

A little girl, on the cusp of being a woman.

Who was still child enough to dive back into her food with all the fear and trepidation firmly handed off to the adults. Mel took a moment to envy the absolute trust that only a child can model.

Yet, could I have trusted a stranger like that so thoroughly when I was that age? Mel considered her twelve-almost-thirteen-year-old self, but all that came were memories of a childhood that was so normal as to be forgettable. Could that girl have done half so well as Maria did now?

It was late by the time Maria went up to her room. Her nap after dinner seemed to have energized her. Her questions about life in America were endless, yet Brant never once became impatient with the girl, and answered every question as though it were the most important thing in the world to do so.

Yet there were lines of tension around his mouth and eyes. A stiffness to his movements as though he were holding himself against some blow to come. He was worried, despite all his reassurances on the phone that everything was going to be just fine.

And she didn’t know how to help him.

Thankfully, Maria fell asleep quickly. It’d been an incredibly long day. Tomorrow would be as well. The girl needed her rest.

And suddenly, the house was theirs.

Mel leaned against Maria’s bedroom door, so tired it was a miracle she was still on her feet. How many miles had she come today? How many stressful phone conversations and real-life conversations had taken place? Wasn’t this supposed to be her love story? If so, she was decidedly lacking in time spent with the hero. If this were a book, the readers would be getting restless.

Maybe she was the one who was getting restless.

She’d missed him. Well, of course she’d missed him. They’d been apart for the last six months. But more than that, she really missed him. Today. When they’d had those delicious moments this afternoon before dinner…she’d relearned him. Which made it all that much harder to lose him again when he’d had to disappear to the office.

She’d never expected that letting-go process to be so sharp…

But then, she’d hardly been sated, had she? You didn’t catch up from a six-month absence in a single afternoon.

With that in mind, it was time to track down her man.

She found him in the kitchen, washing up the last few dishes. He’d managed to clean the rest of the kitchen in record time. Mel snuck up behind him and grabbed a towel.

“Good timing. I’m just finished,” Brant pointed out as he let the water out of the sink.

“I would’ve been here sooner,” Mel admitted as she began drying a glass, “but I needed a compass, two guide dogs, and a GPS update to find the kitchen again.”

Brant laughed. “It’s not that bad,” he protested then grimaced. “Okay, yeah, it’s a little confusing.” He turned and leaned against the counter as she continued to dry the last dishes. “My folks had the place built to show off.”

“Show off? Show off what?”

“The whole Hollywood thing. People believe you’re a bigshot if you show them you are. My father had to be impressive. He was the head of a major studio. He once told me that if he didn’t ‘wow’ the people who worked for him, they’d catch on that he didn’t know what he was doing.”

Mel mulled this over. “You grew up in this house, didn’t you?”

Brant nodded. “My mother wanted to get rid of it when Dad died, said it was too big for ‘one old woman to rattle around in.’” Brant laughed. “I didn’t want to give it up so it’s mine now, and she has her apartments in Paris.” He shrugged.

“I love how you can just roll that off your tongue.” Mel shook her head. “‘Mother’s apartments in Paris.’” She set down the last dish on the counter and wiped her hands. “Says the man with dish-pan hands and water all over the back of his pants.”

Brant, leaning against the counter, jumped up and felt around to his butt. “Damn. I guess the marble was wet.”

Mel laughed. “I guess.” She twirled the towel in her fingers, and glanced coyly over her shoulder at him as she wiped down the counter. “So…I’m willing to bet that you can get powerfully loud on one end of the house and no one can hear you on the other end.”

Brant’s eyes darkened. “I slept through all the parties,” he said, taking a step toward her, and began nuzzling her neck. “Never heard so much as a drumbeat.”

Ooooh…that feels nice. Distractingly nice. Mel turned so she was facing him. Intimately. She kissed him lightly, a tease on the lips, and stepped back, instantly no longer tired. “I think…” Mel said, taking a single step away, toward the door. “I remember the path to your room.”

“Don’t you mean that door?” Brant half-turned, pointing in the opposite direction.

The towel in her hand sang out, laying a wet, stinging kiss on his already-soaked pants.

“OW!”

Mel got while the getting was good. His yelp lent wings to her feet. In an instant she was gone, the swinging door of the kitchen still flapping with the wind of her flight.

He bolted after her. She heard him careening down the long hallway behind her. She slammed through his bedroom door, and quickly shut it behind her. He must have put on an extra burst of speed, as he caught the door at the last second, keeping it from closing.

She was so in trouble.

Laughing, she threw her weight against the door, managing to somehow slam it so that it caught. She bolted across the room, leaving it empty behind her. Holing up in the bathroom, she was thinking she should’ve thought this through better before she attacked him with the towel.

I regret nothing.

The door to the bedroom opened.

Maybe.

Mel held her breath.

“OLLY-OLLY-OXEN-FREE!”

“Really?!” Mel collapsed against the bathroom door, giggling. “How old are you?”

“About sixteen right now.” He chuckled, and she felt his laughter through the door. “But, for the record, you snapped a towel me like a ten-year-old.” He paused, possibly rubbing his derrière. “And very effectively at that, I might add!”

There was a long silence.

“Are you going to let me in?”

Mel slowly opened the door.

She stood there, not quite the fantasy girl she’d imagined herself to be. It was with a certain amount of shyness, a certain amount of boldness, that she presented herself, one of Brant’s dress shirts on her back, unbuttoned, askew, and clearly the only article of clothing she wore.

His mouth fell open as his eyes traveled up and down her form.

Mel stared up at the towering man and tried to look innocent, but the persistent smile that wouldn’t go away spoiled the effect. “I’m so sorry.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite contrite. Oh, that damn smile wouldn’t go away. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly…” She lowered herself to one knee, putting her eyes on level with his belt. “If only there were some way to make it up to you…”

Brant stood still.

For a minute, she wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Did he approve? They’d never actually had the time for roleplay or games. Their lovemaking had always been…hurried. Passionate. In the middle of too many other things going on.

The whole night still lay before them.

She looked up, realizing that he was breathing all right. Stronger. Heavier. She’d never seen his eyes so dark. He bent, tangling one hand in her hair. He was shocked she suspected, but judging from the look of utter awe and delight on his face he didn’t seem too upset.

This was love. Kneeling here for him. Not for herself, though her own pleasure was part of this act. But for him. To give him something that only she could give. Something that he wanted desperately.

She quickly stripped him out of his clothes. This could easily become a ritual. The unbuckling of the belt. The button underneath. Her own breathing came a little faster. Who knew that each act could be so erotic? This slow revealing of him…this savoring of each step. She smelled his arousal. Felt the hair on his legs beneath her hands as his trousers dropped to the floor. Her senses were alive. All that remained was to taste…

A single kiss though the soft fabric of his boxer-briefs. The taste of cotton and pre-cum.

Already he was ready for her.

Brant grasped the doorjamb with one hand. The other tugged at her hair. He stroked her head, long delicate touches as she stripped him of this last barrier, leaving him naked but for the shirt he wore.

Free to the air, under the caress of her fingers and tongue, he swelled to meet her lips. She kissed him there, almost chastely, and looked up at him—smiling.

“Nothing to say?” she teased him.

“Afraid to break the break the spell,” Brant admitted. “I might wake up.”

Mel laughed and took him. The way they’d made love earlier, it was a passionate thing, a hurried combination of need and longing. They’d been apart too long. Even with the shrinking of the world through technology, they had never had enough. Sure, they were always in communication, but being far away after intimacy, after being apart for months on end…what had they really expected? And when they had met again, it was like lightning had struck between them. They had needed desperately to reconnect.

But this…this was time and time enough. Mel was exhausted. Brant probably was, too. They’d been through stress and work issues and travel, but this night was theirs. They agreed without words, without discussion, to pretend they were well-rested, that sleep was a long way off. This was a night that was reserved for them and only for them.

So, Mel took her time, lovingly touching him with fingers and lips and tongue and teeth. The hardness, the wonderful flesh that hung under it, the tight, muscular thighs that trembled and threatened to give way. Every inch of him was a delicacy, a form of worship, a chance to connect with someone perfect. Perfect for her. She wanted to be perfect for him.

Her hand wrapped around the tight muscles of his butt cheeks, squeezing, pulling as she worked everything she’d ever read about or heard about; wishing she’d been more experienced, wishing to give him the best of herself.

Until he took her unexpectedly. He made her stand and then lay her on the bed, the shirt she wore falling around her, her hair fanning out around her face. She was open to him, spread before him, and the scars that she bore didn’t even register. It never even occurred to her to be ashamed.

He was in her and on her and around her, with kisses, thrusts, hands feeling what his lips could not reach.

It blurred the lines between their bodies, lost in the sensations. One cried out, the other answered, or perhaps it was the same cry in two throats, or in one. It didn’t matter. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close. He slid along her, drawing her in.

In her orgasm, in the cry of release, in the whimper of all freely given, if she used the word “love”—it felt good. It was the truth, clear and simple.

They slept after pulling off shirts, leaving them skin to skin. The blankets were tangled around them, or maybe it was they who tangled together, a mass of arms and legs and sleepy kisses that spent the last of the energies on a pure and noble cause.

It was the best Mel had slept in a very, very, long time.

 

* * *

 

Mel stretched. It was the stretch of a cat, waking up in a soft bed after a dinner of cream. She forgot where she was, nothing looked familiar, but then it all came back in a rush. Brant, Maria, last night.

She was delightfully sore in all the right places, still felt his skilled hands on her skin. She smiled and rolled over to see how he was doing.

And found a note instead.

My dearest Melissa:

I’m sorry I had to leave before you woke up. I hope you don’t mind too much, but I saw you sleeping there and watched you for a while. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful stretched out on the sheets.

I need to go into the office. There’s something that I have to do, something I should have done yesterday. There’s someone I need to talk to, and something I need to fix.

Maria has a room, # 546. It’s a private room, spacious, and I’ve alerted the staff to keep a lid on things. They’ve handled celebrities before, the rich and famous who don’t want to be identified. They should have no problem keeping Kenneth away.

I’m taking Maria down to check her in. You need the sleep after the trip you had. Take any car you like, they all have GPS; you can meet me at my office and we can go together from there. Call me if you need directions or help.

Last night was…I don’t know how to describe it.

I can still feel your lips on mine.

Brant.

 

She fought a feeling of peevishness. She’d wanted to be there when Maria got settled but, truthfully, she’d been exhausted. Now she felt better than she had in days, and found it hard to hold a resentment against two people so dear to her that were only thinking of her well-being.

She took a quick shower, washing some areas with special care. There were one or two marks on her skin, mementos of the night’s activities. She stared at them, feeling way too old for hickeys yet pleased nonetheless.

With fresh clothing, she felt like a new person. She paused in front of the mirror after getting dressed: flowing blouse, jeans, a pretty pair of shoes that were destined to become torture later. She looked…good.

Vanity was a new experience for her. After so many years in the jungle, so many years in medical school, so many years where looks were nothing and no one cared. Here she was in a mansion, fresh, clean—loved. She didn’t recognize the person that smiled back at her, but whoever it was…she wanted to meet her. She looked like a good friend to have.

That thought echoed in her mind as she set off in exploration of the mythical…garage.

As with finding anything else locating the garage was a challenge, but only the idea that Brant and Maria waited at the end of the quest gave her feet the power to continue. But while she’d expected maybe a car or two in a typical suburban space of concrete and lawn mowers, here there was an echoing warehouse of a structure dedicated solely to an automobile collection that would have put Jay Leno to shame. Okay, maybe not Leno. But there were a dozen cars in the place. Who needs a dozen cars? Some of them looked like savage hunters, frozen in attack. Some looked ancient, gentrified, as though slightly offended at all the noise and ruinous living of young ones around them.

At the end, a small, unpretentious little car sat in innocent resignation. This was the car overlooked, forgotten, a little reliable—Mel hoped—that no one remembered was there. It was a Jeep, so similar to the one that the clinic had, but with all the bells and whistles and super fluff.

It took her a long time to discover the key was in the ignition. Who does that here in L.A.? It fired right up and, after a little experimenting, she found that the button on the box under the armrest opened the garage door.

The small Jeep jumped out of the garage as though pleased with itself that it had been chosen, and gamely flowed through the front gate which opened in front of her and then closed behind her. Mel shook her head at the surreal-ness the rich considered to be passé, and turned on the GPS.

The voice told her to go left for a couple of miles, right for three more, and then enter the freeway.

“Wait. What? Freeway?” Apparently, the GPS was unaffected by her hesitation; the screen clearly showed the little red arrow boldly climbing onto a pile of spaghetti. “Hold on a sec?” Mel tried to see the picture better, but a blaring horn took her attention back to the road. A large SUV cut in front of her and immediately slammed on the brakes. Mel just about did a faceplant into the steering wheel she hit her own brakes, and then sat back in absolute disbelief when the SUV turned in at a parking lot. “You had to do that in front of me?” Mel swallowed and continued, only to tap the brake again as the car attempting to leave the parking lot chose the opportunity to block Mel completely as the nose now jutted out into her lane.

The cars behind him took up the slack, abandoning him to his fate, and the cars behind her flowed around her Jeep like a stream of metal around a sudden rock in its path. The driver who was now blocking half of her lane flipped her off and screamed at her, and though she couldn’t hear him the intent was clear.

He bullied his way into the center lane, effectively blocking the entire road before pulling out and caroming down the street to shove his way into the far-left lane. Mel jumped and got past the parking lot opening, but her breaths were coming fast and shallow now.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

She turned right at the indicated light, only knowing that it was the correct light because of the calm, ethereal voice coming from a plastic box mounted on the dash. The voice had said nothing about the pedestrian who was walking with the occasional pause to pull on his testicles, and once to turn completely around and flip off someone Mel couldn’t see. She hoped the honking was for him and not for her.

Once the crosswalk was clear, the traffic that turned behind her shot out like a shaken bottle of soda.

I can do this!

Looming ahead was a bridge with traffic so backed up it looked more like an elevated parking lot. Right was south. She needed to go south. The office was south, the plastic box said south, everything was south. Except the entrance ramp. That was on the north side of the road. On the far left.

Mel tried to get over and became the road block. She found a hole to get into the middle lane, but the traffic from there just went to the left and blocked her out. If one person had let her over, the entire street would have been able to go, but no one would.

She was flipped off, cursed, honked, yelled at. She missed the turn.

The people that had been cursing her all wanted to go south, too. There were so many of them that the turn lane filled up and overflowed, blocking the left lane, giving Mel the time to get over well after she needed to.

I can do this…

She looked for a place to get turned around, a small side street up ahead. It took five minutes just to turn left into the street, the GPS was “re-routing,” and the traffic was so backed up that the cars were at a stand-still all the way down the ramp, across the intersection, and into the turn lane.

“You are still on the quickest route,” the GPS assured her.

I can’t do this! I can’t do this!

There was a mattress store in front of her with a generous parking lot. The Jeep nestled into a corner of the lot, and Mel waited while the friendly person with the strange accent assured her that her Uber would be there soon.

It was not, she was glad to see, the kid from the day before.

“You people are all crazy,” she said by way of greeting, and climbed into the stranger’s car.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Mel asked the female Uber driver. It hadn’t been as much of a nightmare as the last time she’d been the victim of a ride in L.A., but it still bad. The woman had been a careful and flawless driver, but that only meant that the wildness of the traffic was more pronounced.

“This is the address you gave me.” The woman half-turned in the seat to look at her, a look made somewhat disconcerting given the number of facial piercings she’d indulged in. “What’re you looking for?”

“A cosmetic surgeon’s office?” Mel heard herself say it like a question.

“There’s a sign there,” the woman said doubtfully, pointing a black-painted fingernail complete with skull motif. “Reconstructive Surgery?”

“I guess so…” Mel looked around. There were multiple water fountains all the way up the median of the driveway, great pillars that rose from the asphalt and jutted into the air, standing free on either side of the walkway. Every fifteen or twenty feet another set of ornate columns lined the walkway, but not one of them held up anything that she could see.

Neatly trimmed heads on every orange and lemon tree held a specific amount of fruit, all in aesthetically pleasing places. Yet no fruit dared litter the paths or the greens so tightly trimmed it could have been a putting green.

“I could’ve sworn I read something about drought in California. People spray-painting their front yards to make it look like they had grass.” Mel wasn’t sure she’d said even said the words out loud till the driver responded.

“Not in this neighborhood.” To be fair, even the driver looked slightly awed as she snapped her gum and waited for Mel to figure out if she was getting out or not.

The doors to the main building were large enough to admit a parade of giraffes. Even from here she could see soaring archways and vaulted ceilings. She assumed there were flying buttresses, too, though for the life of her she didn’t know what that would look like. It sounded overblown, though, but if there was a place for overblown this was it.

Ironically, the smallest and least pretentious part of the architecture was the sign on the side of the door that read “Hastings, Mangal, Williams, Layton, Millen. Cosmetic and Reconstructive Surgery.”

“I guess this is the place,” Mel mumbled, reaching for her purse, and feeling less sure of herself by the minute. “I’ve seen five-star resorts that don’t look so elegant.”

The driver glanced from the building, back to Mel, frowning slightly, causing her gelled hair spikes to wilt somewhat. “Listen, Miss…it’s none of my business, but you really don’t need to go in there.”

“Pardon me?” Was the driver telling her to stay away? Like some omen of what was to come?

“You’re beautiful as is; too pretty to go through all that.”

Mel caught herself in a short laugh and covered it. “I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled out $20 and handed it to the driver, knowing she was over-tipping drastically. But, hey, how often did a girl get that kind of compliment? “I don’t mean to laugh, I appreciate it, I really do. That’s very kind of you to say so.”

“I mean it,” the woman insisted, and thanked her for the tip.

“Well, as it happens,” Mel said, opening the door to the warm winds that twined through the pillars and rustled the trees, “I’m just meeting someone here. I’m not a patient.”

The air was scented with something sweet. Exotic. Flowers bloomed everywhere. Mel paused on the sidewalk, and took a deep breath. Fortifying herself for the next step forward.

“Hey.”

Mel turned. The car hadn’t left yet. The driver had rolled down her window and was leaning out. “Listen, if you get bored or anything, there’s a concert tonight at a coffee shop near here. Give me a call.” She winked and waved a piece of paper that Mel automatically stepped forward to grab.

Did she just…?

She watched the Kia Soul disappear down the driveway. A hand appeared at the window, with a cheerful wave. She could just picture the little skulls dancing cheerfully on the driver’s fingertips.

The paper held a single word, “Jessica,” a phone number, and what looked like the outline of a pair of lips. In black lipstick.

“What the hell is it with Uber drivers?!” she demanded of the universe. The universe declined to answer.

It was time to focus back on the task at hand. She turned to study the building again. As it turned out, the entire building wasn’t given over to one practice, no matter how lucrative; there were lawyers and tax people and investment firms. It was the ultra-rich one-stop shopping, like a boutique mall for the upper 1%.

Still, Brant’s office was large and well-appointed. The ubiquitous waterfall with its constant resultant reminder of needing the bathroom was here, too; an entire wall was awash in falling water that split and re-formed and eternally washed a glass WELCOME sign before falling to a rock-strewn plate in the floor.

The reception area itself was packed. Mel felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her as she opened the door. Uneasily she fixated on the reception desk and stepped forward, sinking into carpet so plush that she half expected to leave a trail of footprints behind her. At least she’d have a trail to follow if she needed to exit in a hurry.

Behind the reception desk was either a plastic surgeon’s masterpiece or the result of finding a Miss Universe who could answer phones and type. Either way she was the living, breathing example of the sort of beauty a place like this could offer.

Mel focused on her, refusing to look at the people who crowded the waiting room.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m here to see Dr. Layton.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said, looking at her through eyes that refused to blink. “Dr. Layton isn’t taking appointments this week. Did no one call you to cancel?”

“I don’t actually have an appointment…”

“Oh, I see. I’m afraid we don’t take walk-in appointments.” She tapped a keyboard with nails that were bright red, faded to orange, with pink tips. They were long enough and sharp enough to give a panther pause for respect.

“I can set an appointment with Dr. Millen, but it’ll be about six weeks. If you insist on Dr. Layton, I’m afraid he’s booked up for the next six months.”

“Six…” Mel suddenly realized how much those couple of weeks in the jungle had affected his patients and his schedule. He tried to tell me. I refused to listen.

He’s also forgiven you. Move on. Are you seriously going to let some two-bit receptionist intimidate you?

“I’m not here as a patient,” Mel said quietly. Forcefully. “I’m just here to pick him up to go to the hospital.”

“Oh, you’re an Uber?” Mel could see the woman recalibrating her opinion of Mel and where she fit in the food chain. Given her expression, Mel figured that it was somewhere with pond scum and crazy cat lady. “I didn’t realize anyone had called you. I suppose you can sit over there,” She pointed in the general direction of the lobby. “If someone called you, they should be out soon. They’re all in a meeting. I’ll let them know you’re here as soon as they’re done.”

Mel’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you understand, I’m not really…”

The girl’s eyes grew equally hard. Icicles formed on each individual word. “Please. Have. A. Seat. Someone will be with you in a moment. You charge extra for waiting, anyway.” And with that clipped response, she turned back to her keyboard. One finger jabbed down on the ever-ringing phone as if trying to skewer the button on the end of the claw.

“Hastings, Mangal, Wilson, Layton, and Millen; how may I direct your call?”

Mel straightened up and looked behind her. There was an empty seat between two couches. Each couch held one older woman and one younger. Upon closer inspection, there seemed to be a pairing in the room, old woman and young woman. The senior was in her sixties or better, the younger was in her twenties.

Each one of them was beautiful. The older women seemed to be a mix of natural beauty, a lifetime of good foods, exercise, and modern medicine. The product of a lifetime of privilege. The younger were the ones who inherited the genes, the natural beauty, and health of the upper class.

Mel sat down.

“Good morning,” an older woman said to her right. “Are you here alone?”

“Uh, yes,” Mel said.

“This is my granddaughter Alicia.” The old woman indicated to the girl beside her. She and Mel smiled and nodded to one another.

“Are you a patient here?”

“Grandma!” The granddaughter adopted a scandalized wide-eyed expression, her mouth opened in a round ‘O.’

“What? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m a patient here. Oh, nothing major, just a light trim or tuck here and there to keep youthful.”

Alicia buried herself in a magazine.

“No, I’m…” Mel thought for a long moment. “I drive an Uber.”

“Ah.” The old woman nodded and turned away.

“Don’t let them bother you,” a young, pretty girl on the other side whispered. “They’re just scoping out the competition.”

“Competition?” Mel echoed, glancing uneasily around the room. “For what?”

“Listen,” the girl leaned over conspiratorially, “everyone in L.A. knows about Dr. Layton. Rich, young, handsome, smart…rich. These old women are here to get their sags lifted, tummies tucked, and eye bags shrunk, but they drag their granddaughters and daughters here to try to make a grab for one of the most eligible bachelors in town while he’s still eligible.”

Mel looked at the girl. She was very pretty, too; all the girls here were. “What about you?”

“I’m a little different,” she admitted with a laugh. “I admit that’s why I’m here.” The guileless grin she flashed Mel was too much, and she found herself laughing along with her, even when she wanted to scratch her eyes out. “But I’m not really after Layton. I kinda like that Millen. He’s cute, and very sweet.”

Somewhat reassured, Mel decided that it was okay to like the girl after all, and thus wasn’t going to have to waylay her in an alley later. The others in the room; she narrowed her eyes and found she didn’t like this version of herself very much. Was she…jealous?

Oh freakin’ great, she was jealous.

But you’re the one he’s going home with later.

One hand moved to her chest, fingertips brushing against the fabric that hid her scars. The women in this room screamed perfection she could never be. Had she known any of this, would she have ever come?

Whatever confidence she’d felt moments before from the flattering offer from Jessica the Uber driver faded, and she groped for a magazine to give herself somewhere to hide.

Behind her the door banged open. An elderly man who walked with a cane, but who radiated power with every step, strode into the room to a series of collective gasps.

“Is that…?”

“I thought he retired.”

“You don’t think…?”

Feeling like the only one without a clue, Mel watched as the receptionist scrambled to intercept, failed, and fell back away from the door as the man walked straight on through to the back as though he owned the place. The frown on his face spoke a whole lot of trouble for someone in whatever offices lay beyond.

Right where Brant was.