Perfect Flaw, page 4
“To new beginnings,” Tammy added, kissing Val on the cheek.
Then they drank, but Angelo was deluding himself into thinking Val was done with her interrogation. No sooner did his bottle touch the bar, she launched right back in again. “I told Tamara it’s the pharmaceutical companies that are the real enemies. I bet they come by all the time bringing great big lunches.”
“I’m not that easily swayed,” he said casually. “I won’t write a prescription unless it’s completely appropriate for my patients. I don’t care if the rep brings in cheeseburgers or foie gras. Besides, those lunches are a great opportunity to learn about new medicines.”
Val smirked unevenly. “You know there’re several independent studies that show doctors will write a drug if they’ve been given a pen or a pad by a drug rep. You’re only playing into their market research. Reps get in the door by schmoozing physicians with lunches and branded office supplies. If it hasn’t happened yet, you can expect to be invited to expensive dinners, and once that starts, you’ll get fast-tracked toward becoming a speaker. Then you’ll really start reaping in the rewards: laptops, tickets to Broadway, vacations for you and a guest. Just you wait.”
“Sounds exciting when you put it that way,” Angelo chided. “Right Tam?”
Tammy took a sip to avoid answering. Clearly, she didn’t want to take sides.
“Just remember, all the expenses you incur trickle down to their products and guess who pays for it in the end?” Val asked. “The poor unsuspecting patient. But don’t worry. Pharmaceutical companies explain their high drug prices by blaming it on research costs, but we know that if doctors didn’t accept their generosity, then maybe they wouldn’t charge so much.”
Angelo continued sipping his beer, unblinking. Val’s rant wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, except she was overdramatizing the facts.
Angelo aimed his ear at her. “And what is it you do for a living?”
She offered an appeasing smile.
“I’m studying Public Health at Columbia,” she replied, proudly. “I’m part of a mission-driven workforce to recruit physicians into taking jobs in underserved rural areas. That would be not on Park Avenue.”
Angelo glanced at Tammy and winked. “Oh, I get it. You two do-gooders are ganging up on me.”
Tammy threw her arm around across Angelo’s shoulders. “We’re not ganging up on you Ange.” It was clear she already had too much to drink. “Why would you say that old friend? You should listen to what Val has to say. She’s an amazing person. Big pharma is evil.”
“He’s just being defensive,” Val said coldly. “Apparently, someone has already drank the Kool-Aid.”
“Oh, is that so,” Tammy said. Then she looked Angelo in the eye with a glint of antagonism. “Why are you being so defensive?”
“I think I’m going to head out.” Angelo finished his beer and put a tip on the bar. “It’s been a long week, and I have to get up early to study. We have to take the boards in two weeks.”
Tammy burped and took a step back as though it threw her off balance.
“This conversation is going in circles. I need to use the restroom.” Val turned and walked away.
“Nice girlfriend you have there, Tam.”
“Oh, don’t mind Val. She’s just busting your chops. What’s got you all uptight?”
“I wish you’d stop talking to everyone about my career as though I was a drug dealer. There are worse things in life than being in private practice.”
Tammy burped again. “Who said you were a drug dealer?” She was drunker than he’d thought; otherwise, he would have continued to berate her.
“You know what? I think I should go before I say something I’m going to regret later.” Angelo pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the door. Once he stepped outside it was like walking into a sauna.
It seemed to take forever to navigate the ten blocks back to his apartment on West Twenty-Third Street. He was too upset with Tammy to care that the streets were crowded with handsome men walking up and down Eighth Avenue. He concentrated instead on the task before him: passing the boards. That was the only thing that mattered now. Failure was not an option. Stanzione had made that clear.
Once Angelo arrived at his apartment, he threw off his clothes, turned on the air-conditioner and fell on the couch. Though he believed Tammy had instigated Val to antagonize him out of spite, he never doubted her loyalty. Still, that weekend he felt himself cleaving into two different modes: the person he was with Tammy and the person he’d started to become working in Stanzione’s office.
Angelo had a glimmer that the life he had known previously was going to change.
He fell asleep almost immediately, dreaming about his future and the rewards he would reap from the long days of hard work ahead. The next morning, he got up and showered. As he dressed, his phone rang. It was his sister, Camille. He decided not to answer it. For the time being, he thought it was best if he didn’t speak to anyone. His plan was to walk over to the French bistro on Seventh Avenue, have breakfast, followed by an entire day of studying.
It was more important for Angelo to live as he saw fit and not worry about what anyone else thought, especially Tammy. And to hell with being part of the mission-driven workforce because he had been granted his wish, a golden opportunity, the dream job he had always wanted. His life had crossed over, and now there was no turning back.
That weekend passed, and for Angelo it went by with take-out Chinese food, studying, and falling asleep on the couch. Nothing was lonelier than being in the city during the summer, but he knew his confinement was temporary. Once he passed the boards and proved himself to Stanzione, it would only be a matter of time before he would be frolicking on the beach in P-town and sipping cocktails on Fire Island surrounded by beautiful men.
He had to be patient.
Sunday night the phone rang, startling Angelo from a nap. Outside, the sun was low, casting sharp lines through the blinds. Angelo had no idea what time it was when he answered the phone.
“Hey,” Tammy sang. “Whatcha doing?”
“Napping.”
“Napping!” she repeated mockingly. “What are you, eighty? Come out and join me for a drink.”
He heard the music blaring behind her. She was at Henrietta’s, and by the way she sounded, Tammy was already quite intoxicated. “I’m on call.”
“Okay, so don’t drink. Just come out and hang with us.”
“I don’t know,” Angelo said. “Is Val with you?”
“Geez, Ange. You’re worse than a chick when it comes to holding a grudge. Go splash some water on your face and get your little gay ass down here right now.”
Click.
Angelo forced himself to get up. While he showered, his phone dinged, alerting him he had a voice message. It was from Dr. Stanzione. Angelo called him back immediately.
“Thank God,” answered an exasperated Stanzione. “You need to go to the office. The alarm company called. Apparently, Demetre spent the weekend moving in and forgot to set the alarm before he left.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?” Angelo asked as he toweled off.
“No, it can’t wait.”
“Of course. I’ll head over right now.”
Chapter Three
When Angelo arrived at the office building it appeared dark from the outside. He slid his key into the lock only to find it already unlocked. He switched on the waiting room lights. The fluorescent bulbs slowly brightened as he made his way down the hall toward the alarm box. Before he set the alarm, he peered down the stairs. “Hello, is anyone there?”
The stairwell was dark and quiet. At first, he assumed Stanzione was correct in thinking Demetre had forgotten to set the alarm but leaving the door unlocked seemed careless. He returned to the alarm box and punched in the code. Outside, he put his key in the lock and secured the door shut.
“Can I help you?”
A dark figure stood behind him. Startled in a paroxysm of fear, Angelo stumbled back against the door.
“Angelo, it’s me.” The soft cadence of his voice, those piercing brown eyes set under a canopy of thick black eyebrows belonged to Demetre. A wave of relief washed over Angelo but still, the shock precipitated a sudden release of sweat. “I’m sorry if I scared you. What are you doing here?”
Angelo’s heart pounded inside his chest. “What are you doing here so late?”
“Moving in. It’s taken me all weekend. I must have this place up and running by Tuesday. It’s not like I have my very own Steven to do all the grunt work.”
Angelo let loose a snort of amusement. It appeared everyone knew Steven was more than just the office manager. Stanzione had taught him how to take vital signs: blood pressure, weight, and temperature. Steven recorded them in the chart along with their chief complaint. In addition, Steven was a certified biller, handyman, a one-man cleanup crew and the boss’s wife. He ran the entire office, handling the stress with a conciliatory manner and a perpetual smile. Stanzione was lucky to have him.
“Next time let the alarm company know if you’re staying late,” Angelo said. “Otherwise, they’ll notify Stanzione or worse, dispatch the police.”
Demetre nodded as though he were listening, but Angelo could see his eyes graze over him. “Well, let me back in. I have to grab my stuff.”
Angelo followed him downstairs where he disappeared into one of the rooms. It was impressive how Demetre had managed to transform the space in such a short amount of time. The small waiting area was decorated with silver metal chairs arranged along the far corner, black-and-white nude forms hung on the walls, and over the receptionist’s desk, there was a sign that read: SKINDEM.
“How did you come up with the name?” Angelo asked.
Demetre poked his head out. “It’s an interesting story. Do you have a minute?” He motioned for Angelo to have a seat. “Wait. I have a better idea. We should have a celebratory drink.”
“Sorry, I’m on call.”
Demetre shrugged. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“I can’t.”
Demetre sauntered over to Angelo and stood close. “Listen, one sip is not going to hurt you. There’s no medical board watching us on closed-circuit TV.”
“Okay, but just one.”
“I’ll be right back.” Once again, Demetre disappeared into one of the rooms. When he returned, he was holding a bottle of brown liquid. “Do you like bourbon?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”
“Seriously?” Demetre paused for a half a second with a look that made Angelo wonder if he thought he was kidding. “Well, this is Maker’s Mark. It’s from Kentucky, and it’s the best bourbon on the planet.” He set the bottle down on the receptionist’s desk and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He returned, holding two plastic cups. “Sorry but I don’t have any snifters.” He poured enough to fill a third of the cup and handed Angelo one. “Sniff it first.”
The scent reminded Angelo of burnt caramel. “Smoky.”
Demetre snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “It does have a smokiness about it. Sniff it again.” This time they did so at the same time. “Do you smell the spicy chocolate? There’s also a hint of tobacco.”
Angelo couldn’t smell anything beyond the burnt caramel, but he was too nervous. Demetre’s eyes were searing in their focus. Angelo felt like Demetre was administering a sort of refinement test and Angelo was failing.
“Well,” he said, lifting his cup. “Here’s to new beginnings and new friendships.”
Angelo took a sip. This time he tasted the chocolate, the hint of tobacco, and even something that reminded him of leather, or maybe it was all in his head. “Wait!” he blurted out. “I’m the one who should be toasting you.”
“It’s not too late,” Demetre said, holding up his cup.
Angelo cleared his throat. “When climbing the hill of prosperity, may we never meet a friend coming down.”
Demetre drew his head back, looking impressed. “I will drink to that.” They shot back the rest of the bourbon. “Would you like another?”
“No, I shouldn’t have even had that one.” Just then Angelo’s cell phone rang. Tammy again. Angelo silenced the ringer and slipped the phone back in his pocket.
“Go ahead. Answer it. Is it your boyfriend?”
“No, it’s just a friend.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Demetre asked.
The question lingered unanswered as Angelo involuntarily relived his latest encounter with Miles. Finally, he shook his head. “Not for a while.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“More like ancient history.”
Demetre held Angelo’s stare. He didn’t press him further. Instead, he poured another round of bourbon while Angelo shifted uneasily in his chair.
“Handsome, single doctor like yourself shouldn’t be tied down anyway. There’s plenty of time for relationships. Enjoy yourself now while you’re young. In fact, you should be out collecting phone numbers instead of sitting here with some old man.”
Angelo picked up the plastic cup and downed the bourbon in one gulp. “You’re not old.”
“Old enough to be your father.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I’m at least fifteen years older than you.”
“How many fifteen-year-old fathers do you know?” Angelo asked.
“Still.” Demetre stared into his cup briefly and downed the bourbon in one shot like Angelo had. “Okay, why don’t you run along? I have to finish up here, and I promise to set the alarm.”
“Thanks for the drink.”
Angelo moved to walk past him, and Demetre came in for a hug. It was an unexpected and awkward moment that was made even more uncomfortable when Demetre stepped back and said, “You smell nice. What kind of cologne is that?”
“It’s called dollar store soap. I took a shower right before I came here.”
Demetre stared at Angelo. “Wait a minute. Were you going out when Stanzione called? Did I ruin your plans?”
“It’s okay.”
Demetre wiped his hand down his face. For a moment, his eyes were fixed on an empty space. Suddenly he snapped his attention back on Angelo. “That call you just received . . . you were supposed to meet someone?”
“Honestly, it’s no big deal.”
Demetre shook his head. “No one smells that good for no big deal.”
Angelo chuckled, thinking if only Demetre knew he was meeting his lesbian best friend and her girlfriend. “My friend will understand.”
“Go and salvage your night.”
“But you never told me how you came up with the name SkinDem.”
“Oh, it’s nothing really.” He shook his head at first, shrugging it off, but then he peered up and saw Angelo staring back at him expectantly. “Once I decided to leave my former employer, a nasty cunt by the name of Dr. Kathleen Eichhorn, I took six close friends out to dinner. I asked them to write down what they thought I should call my new company. Everyone agreed it had to have the word skin in it. Tim came up with the idea to add ‘Dem’ for Demetre, and there you have it.”
“SkinDem,” Angelo repeated. “SkinDem like kingdom. Right?”
“Something like that.”
“Who’s Tim?” Angelo asked.
“Tim?” Demetre repeated, running his hands through his hair. “He was my lover of five years.” Demetre turned away, moving toward the stairs. “Okay, so now you know the story. Please, go and meet your friends. I feel horrible as it is.”
“Don’t feel horrible,” Angelo said, taking the stairs. “Thanks again for the bourbon.”
“My pleasure,” he said, bowing, “and once again, my apologies to your friend.”
Angelo glanced back, then looked at him with his physician’s eyes, and for a split second he detected regret in Demetre’s face, a forlorn expression like some brooding character from a Jane Austen novel. Angelo felt a vibration. The kind you sense between yourself and another person, but it was much more than that. He wanted to stay with Demetre but knew he couldn’t. The moment, both ambiguous and delicate, would be ruined by any attempt to prolong it.
While walking to Henrietta’s to meet Tammy, it occurred to him that what he felt was a spark. Something he hadn’t felt toward another man since Miles, and knowing how tragically that relationship ended, Angelo was cautious not to make more out of it. The next man would have to prove himself. The next man, Angelo swore, wouldn’t hurt him.
Chapter Four
On Monday morning Stanzione called Angelo, again in a panic. For someone who presented himself as larger than life, Angelo noted that Stanzione’s carefully crafted exterior easily cracked under pressure to reveal a man who masked his inferiority with muscle.
“You have to go and admit a patient for me,” Stanzione said, shakily. “He’s having a procedure on Tuesday.”
A half hour later, Angelo was standing over an ICU bed containing a man named Cal Hudson.
Cal was thirty-five, a fashion designer, and had severe lung disease related to HIV. Stanzione had been treating him with an experimental course of prostacyclin, which required monthly infusions under close ICU observation to monitor for life-threatening arrythmias.
At first glance, Angelo thought that Cal didn’t look as ill as his medical history implied. Squared jaw, hazel eyes, and thick auburn hair that looked perpetually windswept.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Cal asked. Angelo could feel the blood rushing to his ears as he focused on writing admitting orders. “I’m guessing no.” Cal spoke slowly accentuating his southern drawl. “Don’t worry. Cute guy like you won’t have trouble finding one.”
Angelo remained silent, feeling badly flustered. “I need to examine you.”
