Paging Dr. Hot (7 page)

The band switches to eighties music (requested by Dr. Gottlieb). My jaw drops when he takes off his jacket and starts break-dancing. He even does the moonwalk! The crowd is laughing and cheering him on. They can’t get enough of him—me neither. He is fun and funny, in a hip way.

When the band takes a break, Dr. Gottlieb leads me to the bar. He mops his face with an impeccable, monogrammed handkerchief.

“Wow, you are some dancer. I had no idea,” I say, chuckling as I accept a glass of chilled champagne from him.

“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself.” He takes a sip of his wine. “I love to dance, it relaxes me.”

How cool is that? Most guys would rather park themselves in front of a TV and watch sports.

“Do you like dogs?” I ask impulsively.

“Love them. I have two Golden Retrievers. You?”

“A miniature, long-haired dachshund.”

“Cute.”

“Yes, Romeo is adorable, but I’m having a few problems with him. I think he’s been a little lonely since I moved down from New York. Unfortunately, I’ve been working long hours lately.”

“Why don’t you send him to doggy day camp? King David and Bathsheba love Canine Capers. A big yellow school bus picks them up every day.”

My jaw drops. “Really?” I would have never considered sending Romeo to doggy camp—not that I have that kind of money to spare.

He nods enthusiastically. “You should see the place. There’s a big park for running and they have games for them. They get to eat organic beef burgers and the place is clean too.”

“Sounds amazing. I’ll have to look into it.” I give him a huge smile. His enthusiasm for the doggy camp is contagious and too cute. Dr. Gottlieb is perfect for me, and he loves dogs.

“Do you mind answering a few questions about your work before you come in next week?” I ask.

Dr. Gottlieb beams at me. “Sure. Fire away.”

I’m glad I’ve done thorough research, it shows in my questions. Who knew I could be good at medical reporting?
I marvel that Dr. Gottlieb hasn’t caught on that I’m not exactly an expert on medicine. I’m starting to feel a bit relieved that I might be able to handle this temporary assignment—until Dr. Gottlieb discusses the symptoms of a brain tumor and mentions headaches. I’ve had a recurrent headache all day. I listen to the behavioral changes that might signal a brain tumor and begin to feel uneasy.

“Is feeling a stab on the temple a sign of a brain tumor?” I ask cautiously.

“Not necessarily. Why?”

“I had a bad headache earlier today and all of a sudden I felt a sharp jab to my temple.”

His gaze zeroes in on me with medical scrutiny. “One stab? No more since then?”

“No more,” I confirm. “But it felt like I was being tasered.”

Dr. Gottlieb’s astute eyes study me for a weighted pause. “You look fine now. If you didn’t experience dizziness or numbness, it could have been a type of migraine.”

I expel a breath of relief, but there’s one more thing I must ask. “What about strange nightmares? Could that be a symptom of an aneurism?” It sounds totally ridiculous once I ask the question out loud, but I can’t help worrying a bit. “I’ve never been prone to them, but I’ve been having bizarre dreams the past few days.”

“Having recurrent nightmares is generally a psychological issue, not a physiological one,” he tells me. “Have you had a recent traumatic experience?”

I guess you could call my date with Dr. Hamme traumatic. During my nap this afternoon, I dreamt a wasp stung my neck at the park, but it turned out to be Devon the Vampire, poised to suck out the venom. I woke up when his sharp fangs sank into my flesh. I flinch at the disturbing memory.

“Well, kind of,” I say, when I realize he’s politely waiting for my answer. “But I’d rather not get into it.”

He smiles. “Then don’t.”

Dr. Gottlieb is so nice. I’m having a wonderful time…until he launches into a lurid description of his innovative operation. My stomach feels queasy and I wish I hadn’t had so many hors d’oeuvres, but honestly, who can resist Russian caviar on tiny blintzes and miniature lobster rolls? It’s all I can do to keep from putting my fingers in my ears and singing, “lalala,” to drown out the vivid details of his technique. I need to stop him in a gracious manner and end the interview right there or I’ll lose the contents of my stomach.

“That was fascinating.” I shut off the recorder with an inward shudder. “I think I have enough material to finish my research.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Wait a minute, I just thought of another question. Are you into extreme sports?”

“No, I don’t have the time for that. Why?”

“Uh, brain injuries,” I mumble, knowing it sounds lame. When he gives me a puzzled look, I say, “Never mind, it’s not important.”

I drop my mini-recorder in my purse and slyly give him a flirtatious smile. But for some reason, he doesn’t flirt back.

Dr. Gottlieb is responsive, but in a polite, frankly platonic, way. Maybe he is only being professional, but earlier he seemed thrilled with me on the dance floor. Come to think of it, he hasn’t shown much interest in my figure-hugging, black strapless dress. And during our conversation, he hasn’t once focused his attention on my eyes or my mouth, which would’ve been a sure sign that he is attracted. Instead, he’s been casting furtive glances across the room.

I follow his gaze and see a good-looking blond guy who looks like David Beckham at the entrance. The man gives a subtle wink and raises his hand in greeting. When I turn to see if Dr. Gottlieb has noticed, I’m shocked to find a rosy blush beneath his goatee.

“Oh, there’s my boyfriend,” Dr. Gottlieb says, waving back to Beckham lookalike. “He’s on call and couldn’t make it earlier. I’m so glad he’s here.”

Dr. Gottlieb is gay? I am flummoxed. Usually, my gaydar is right on, but not in this case. I should have guessed when he started wiggling his tight booty to the
bossa nova.
Gosh, what a letdown—he’s brilliant, attractive, kind, and a great dancer. And he would have loved my cute little Romeo. Oh well,
c’est la vie
. Even if Dr. Gottlieb were straight, I couldn’t bear having to hear about brain dissections over dinner if I were his wife.

“I’m sure you’d like to join your boyfriend. I appreciate you taking the time from socializing to grant me this interview,” I say with genuine gratitude. Antoinette is going to be impressed with the segment I’ve planned.

Dr. Gottlieb smiles. “My pleasure.”

“I’ll call your secretary to arrange a time for you to come in for a taped interview.”

“I look forward to it. Good night, Miss Lake,” he says, shaking my hand before rushing across the room to his beaming boyfriend.

Romeo: Francesca is on the phone with Fizzy, lamenting that the brilliant doctor she met turned out to be gay. She just told her that she’s happy she got to dance with him all night, because he’s an amazing dancer.

Hello, Francesca, I thought I was your favorite dance partner. At least that’s what you’ve always told me. Grrrr.

Chapter Six

A few days later, Fizzy and I are chillin’ on my balcony. We just got back from her five-year-old niece’s birthday party. It’s late Sunday afternoon and I’m feeling mellow after the potent mango margarita Fizzy surprised me with.

This bay-front apartment on Brickell was a great investment. I was lucky my move coincided with a soft real estate market in Miami. I could never afford a two-bedroom apartment like this in New York, especially in my favorite area, the Upper West Side.

Romeo shifts positions on my lap and curls into a little ball as I pet him. He is in a great mood, surrounded by his favorite girls. I wish Chloe were here.

“I forgot to tell you what Chloe said about Harrison when I finally got a hold of her.”

“What did she say?”

I hesitate. “It’s a little embarrassing…”

“So? Dish, already,” Fizzy says.

I make a face. “He thinks I’m nutty.”

“I’m sure it’s nutty in a good way,” Fizzy reassures me, but I see a smile lurking.

“Uh, I’m not so sure. Chloe thinks I should have coffee with him and let him see my normal side.”

“
Do
you have a normal side?” Fizzy asks, giggles erupting.

“Ha, ha, very funny. So what do you think? Should I have coffee with him?”

Fizzy shrugs. “Why not? He seems like a decent guy. Do you like him?”

“Only as a friend,” I say. “Harrison’s good looking and he’s cool, but I already told you my goal. I’m looking for a
people
doctor. Although after last night, I realized he can’t be a surgeon. I get too queasy hearing about surgery.” I shudder and hug myself.

“I hear you. Besides, everyone knows surgeons have a God complex,” Fizzy says, rolling her eyes. “How’s the heart campaign coming along?”

“Great. We’re doing the bowling for charity event at Lucky Strikes and it’s almost sold out, thanks to the public service announcements we ran last weekend. People were ‘Bowled Over’ by the idea.”

“That’s the name of the event, right?”

I nod as I take another sip.

Fizzy nods in approval. “I like it.”

I down the rest of the margarita with relish and set the empty glass on the small table beside me. “Thanks. Now I have to track down a certain cardiologist who hasn’t gotten back to me. She’s crucial for my campaign. I’m hoping she’ll agree to chair the event.”

“Who is she?”

“Dr. Rosa Perez. Elise wasn’t able to get in touch with her before she had the twins.”

Fizzy pours me a second margarita from the carafe she brought out earlier. “If Dr. Perez can’t do it, then how about your mom’s cardiologist?”

“Thanks,” I say accepting the glass. “I contacted mom’s doctor, but he’s retiring soon and declined an interview.”

“Oh. Well if anyone can get Dr. Perez, you can,” she says, in her usual optimistic way.

“Thanks, Fizz. Cheers!” I say, taking a few sips of the strong margarita.

Fizzy salutes me back with her beer bottle and my cell rings. I answer on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Harrison.”

My eyes bug out at Fizzy and I silently mouth,
It’s him!

“Who?” she whispers back.

I cover the mouthpiece and whisper, “
Harrison
.”

Fizzy lets out a hoot of laughter.

“Oh, hi,” I say, signaling to Fizzy to stop laughing. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to Tantra with me tonight.”

“Very funny.” I’m pleased he has a sense of humor.

Fizzy pulls the phone away from me. That’s the last time I let her knock back two strong margaritas with a Corona.

“Hi, this is Fizzy, Frankie’s neighbor. I hear you live in our building.” She grins at me. “Why don’t you come over? We’re having happy hour on Frankie’s balcony.”

“Give me the phone!” I try to wrestle it from her, but Fizzy is on a roll.

“Romeo tells me you’re a wonderful vet,” she says, gaining steam. “I’m going to be your future customer.”

“She doesn’t have a dog,” I call out.

“But I can get one,” Fizzy retorts. “I’m mixing
mango margaritas. But hey, if you don’t want that, Frankie’s bar has chilled Coronas.”

Harrison says something and Fizzy gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Yeah, apartment 506. Okay, see ya soon,” she says, all smiles.

“Give me that,” I mutter, taking my cell phone away from her. “No more for you.” I wrestle the Corona out of her other hand. “Why did you invite him over?”

“Why not? I wanna meet him. He sounds cute and friendly.”

“Did you know Chloe got me into this apartment building? She’s a realtor in New York. She set me up with her local realtor friend Mariana, who insisted that the best deals in Miami were right here, in this building.”

“That Mariana can sell a hole in the ground.” Fizzy smiles. “I like Chloe, even if I haven’t met her.”

“You’d love her and I know she’d love you. I wonder why Harrison called. Do you think it’s about Romeo’s lab tests?” I fret. “I hope it’s not bad news. Why wouldn’t he tell me over the phone?”

“Don’t be silly. How could he have results on a Sunday?”

“Oh, that’s true…” I feel better now.

The doorbell rings and I jump, startling poor Romeo from his nap. He runs to the door and starts barking. The minute I open the door, Romeo’s tail wags a mile a minute when he sees Harrison. If he isn’t careful, it’ll snap off. For the next few minutes, Romeo performs all the endearing tricks he knows, knocking himself out for Harrison’s entertainment. Harrison scoops Romeo up and lavishes praise on him.

Fizzy is right behind me, peeking over my shoulder. She steps in front of me and claps Harrison on the shoulder.

“So you’re Harrison. I’m Fizzy,” she says, extending her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking her hand. “Did somebody mention happy hour?”

“Sure did. Come on in.”

He glances at me. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I say, feeling a little awkward.