was still with Jen. The temperature inside was as cold as the steel wastebasket.
I took off my dress and bra and put on the patient shamer, an open-in-the-front blue paper gown. Sitting at the edge of the exam table with my bare legs dangling, I waited for the dreaded shot, feeling nothing close to demure, comfortable, or stylish in my paper frock.
Helen came back in, took my blood pressure, did a finger prick blood test, and then weighed me.
“Deduct two pounds for the gown,” I said. I earned the extra grace on my weight—I wasn’t counting on a blood test, even if it was just a small pinch.
Her eyes darted up from the clipboard, and she was still chuckling while she prepared the TB shot. After a stinging jab in my arm, I pulled my paper gown closer and tightened the plastic drawstring.
“Dr. Torrico will be right in,” Helen said.
“Helen, did you talk to Dr. Morales today?” I said. Vague enough to keep my promise to Mom but still digging for info—just a little.
“No. I didn’t.” She avoided my eyes and scurried out.
I flipped through magazines until I heard voices outside. The door opened and Tony Torrico entered.
Even if I wasn’t hungry, a good menu was fun to read, and Tony Torrico was a good menu. Elegant in his white doctor’s coat, his eyes sparkled with charm, his demeanor light and easy. A gust of chilly air swept in as the door closed behind him. I crossed my arms over my frock, cold and embarrassed.
He put out a manicured hand, flashing a very white smile. “Carmen told me you’d be in today, Liz. It’s good to see you again. Yesterday was a rough day for everyone. You heard the news about Carmen, yes?”
I unwrapped an arm from my waist to return his warm handshake. “Yes, I heard on my way here. Does Victor know?”
“I assume so, though we haven’t talked. Helen got an e-mail last night saying he wouldn’t be in. I’ve been too busy with patients to call him.” Tony glanced at the clipboard in his hand. “You haven’t had your employment physical yet?”
“Sorry. I hate shots.” I withered in my stunning paper outfit like a self-conscious teenager.
“Well, Carmen and Victor are adamant about their rules.” He put his stethoscope around his neck. “The exam won’t take long, then we can go in my office and chat. Just lie back.”
I doubted if Dr. Could’ve-Been-A-Model needed the stethoscope. My self-conscious heart pounded. I had to show up for a physical the day both my elderly doctor friends were away.
“How’s your health?” Tony said.
“Excellent.”
“Any recent problems? Colds? Flu?” He set the stethoscope on my bare chest.
I flinched from the icy metal. “Nothing.”
“Do you exercise?”
“I run a few times a week and try to stay active.” I counted gymnastics in bed with Nick as active.
“Where did you get your PhD?”
“University of Georgia,” I said, his neutral chitchat calming my nerves and taking my mind off his hand on my shivering body.
“Are you from Atlanta?”
“No, I was born here and my family lives here. I got my undergraduate degree at UI-Champaign, then earned my PhD in Atlanta when my ex-husband was pitching for the Braves.”
“Sit up.” He moved behind me and tapped my back with a steel instrument. “You must have been a good student to jump from school to school and complete a doctorate.”
“I was determined,” I said.
Tony tucked the stethoscope in his pocket and picked up the clipboard. “You can get dressed, Liz. I’ll meet you in my office.”
Happy to discard the paper robe and be in my own clothes again, I walked to Tony’s office next to Carmen’s and Victor’s offices at the top of the hall. I waited in a chair across from his desk, gazing at the photos behind him while he finished a phone call. Tony on the golf course; Tony and Victor on a dais at the Beverly Hilton Hotel; Tony with a famous actor turned politician; Tony accepting an award. Beneath the photos, two golf trophies from
I took off my dress and bra and put on the patient shamer, an open-in-the-front blue paper gown. Sitting at the edge of the exam table with my bare legs dangling, I waited for the dreaded shot, feeling nothing close to demure, comfortable, or stylish in my paper frock.
Helen came back in, took my blood pressure, did a finger prick blood test, and then weighed me.
“Deduct two pounds for the gown,” I said. I earned the extra grace on my weight—I wasn’t counting on a blood test, even if it was just a small pinch.
Her eyes darted up from the clipboard, and she was still chuckling while she prepared the TB shot. After a stinging jab in my arm, I pulled my paper gown closer and tightened the plastic drawstring.
“Dr. Torrico will be right in,” Helen said.
“Helen, did you talk to Dr. Morales today?” I said. Vague enough to keep my promise to Mom but still digging for info—just a little.
“No. I didn’t.” She avoided my eyes and scurried out.
I flipped through magazines until I heard voices outside. The door opened and Tony Torrico entered.
Even if I wasn’t hungry, a good menu was fun to read, and Tony Torrico was a good menu. Elegant in his white doctor’s coat, his eyes sparkled with charm, his demeanor light and easy. A gust of chilly air swept in as the door closed behind him. I crossed my arms over my frock, cold and embarrassed.
He put out a manicured hand, flashing a very white smile. “Carmen told me you’d be in today, Liz. It’s good to see you again. Yesterday was a rough day for everyone. You heard the news about Carmen, yes?”
I unwrapped an arm from my waist to return his warm handshake. “Yes, I heard on my way here. Does Victor know?”
“I assume so, though we haven’t talked. Helen got an e-mail last night saying he wouldn’t be in. I’ve been too busy with patients to call him.” Tony glanced at the clipboard in his hand. “You haven’t had your employment physical yet?”
“Sorry. I hate shots.” I withered in my stunning paper outfit like a self-conscious teenager.
“Well, Carmen and Victor are adamant about their rules.” He put his stethoscope around his neck. “The exam won’t take long, then we can go in my office and chat. Just lie back.”
I doubted if Dr. Could’ve-Been-A-Model needed the stethoscope. My self-conscious heart pounded. I had to show up for a physical the day both my elderly doctor friends were away.
“How’s your health?” Tony said.
“Excellent.”
“Any recent problems? Colds? Flu?” He set the stethoscope on my bare chest.
I flinched from the icy metal. “Nothing.”
“Do you exercise?”
“I run a few times a week and try to stay active.” I counted gymnastics in bed with Nick as active.
“Where did you get your PhD?”
“University of Georgia,” I said, his neutral chitchat calming my nerves and taking my mind off his hand on my shivering body.
“Are you from Atlanta?”
“No, I was born here and my family lives here. I got my undergraduate degree at UI-Champaign, then earned my PhD in Atlanta when my ex-husband was pitching for the Braves.”
“Sit up.” He moved behind me and tapped my back with a steel instrument. “You must have been a good student to jump from school to school and complete a doctorate.”
“I was determined,” I said.
Tony tucked the stethoscope in his pocket and picked up the clipboard. “You can get dressed, Liz. I’ll meet you in my office.”
Happy to discard the paper robe and be in my own clothes again, I walked to Tony’s office next to Carmen’s and Victor’s offices at the top of the hall. I waited in a chair across from his desk, gazing at the photos behind him while he finished a phone call. Tony on the golf course; Tony and Victor on a dais at the Beverly Hilton Hotel; Tony with a famous actor turned politician; Tony accepting an award. Beneath the photos, two golf trophies from
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