Perfect Flaw, page 6
Chapter Five
The next morning, Angelo hopped out of the cab, all too aware of the grinding urgency churning in his stomach. After speaking with Stanzione the night before, it was clear Cal’s health was not improving. The alarm he felt was only exacerbated by Stanzione’s long-winded explanation about how this wasn’t his fault. Never once did Stanzione mention if he had spoken to Carlo.
“Hey Tiffany,” Angelo said. There were two patients waiting. “Just give me a second to settle in.” Based on his conversation with Stanzione, Angelo assumed he’d be at the hospital most of the day. Throwing his backpack on top of his desk, a note caught Angelo’s eye.
Meeting in Dr. Stanzione’s office. Now!!
Angelo knocked on the door and ventured in.
“Come in. Come in,” Stanzione said.
Stanzione’s office was a mirror image of his next door, but larger. A massive L-shaped desk took up most of the space. There was a small sofa to the right and two consultation chairs positioned in front of the desk. Bookshelves overstuffed with medical textbooks. Diplomas, certificates, awards, and magazine articles touting Stanzione as Top Doctor hung on the wall behind Stanzione’s chair.
Demetre and his assistant, Laura, a middle-aged woman with dark hair faintly streaked with gray, and enormous blue eyes that seemed perpetually concerned, were already seated. Laura had a yellow legal pad on her lap, taking notes. Demetre appeared exhausted. Dark lines etched under his eyes. He wore scrubs and looked like he had just rolled out of bed.
“We were just talking.” Stanzione stood behind his chair as if it was a podium. Steven sat legs crossed on the sofa, appearing completely disinterested and thoroughly annoyed. All eyes were on Angelo as he entered the room and sat next to Steven. “Now that SkinDem has officially moved in,” Stanzione began, “I wanted us to meet. Demetre and I had some preliminary discussions about my medical spa idea. Angelo, the reason I asked you to join us is because I want you to spend every free minute you have downstairs shadowing Demetre. You need to learn what he does. Also, I was thinking you should attend an aesthetic workshop. They have them all the time. Usually, they’re at some Marriott over a weekend. Am I right, Demetre?”
“Um, yeah.” Demetre was slouched in the chair, fiddling with the drawstrings of his scrub pants.
“I can reach out to Abby from Silverlight,” Laura offered as she wrote, “or the rep from Illuminesance and see if they know of any upcoming courses.”
“Good,” Stanzione said, clapping his hands together. “I want Angelo to be familiar with the different types of lasers, and what they’re used for. Plus, he should learn how to administer Botox and fillers. Am I right, Demetre?”
“Sure,” he said, peering over at Angelo. “That is, if Angelo is interested in performing those types of procedures.”
“Of course, he’s interested,” Stanzione insisted. “Right, Angelo?”
Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, Laura interrupted, “Who will be the medical director?”
Demetre reached over and placed his hand on Laura’s knee. “There’s no need to worry about that right now.”
“But we need—” Laura started.
“Not now,” Demetre said, firmly.
Angelo sensed a deeper concern in Laura’s tone. Her cheek flickered as if zapped by an invisible current.
Stanzione seemed mildly confused and offered, “I would be the medical director, of course.”
Laura’s face relaxed. “Oh, that’s wonderful news. That solves everything.”
“I mean, really, who better than me?” Stanzione asked. “I own the office. I own the practice. Therefore, I should be the medical director. Demetre and Angelo will be associate directors. Then once we’re up and running, we’ll hire masseurs, facialists, and whatever else we need to have a fully functioning medical spa.” Stanzione took a breath that seemed to portend there was still more to discuss, but his gaze was directed toward the door where Steven now stood, tapping his watch.
“Okay,” Stanzione said. “That’s all for today. This was a great meeting. Really great everyone.”
When Angelo stood up, Demetre’s eyes were fixed on the floor.
“Angelo,” Stanzione said. “I need to speak with you.”
Steven said, “There are patients waiting, Tony.”
“We’ll only be a moment.”
Steven slammed the door on his way out.
“Sit down,” said a subdued Stanzione. “Cal Hudson died.”
“Oh my God,” Angelo’s voice went soft. “When?”
“Early this morning.”
The news of Cal’s death was a pain Angelo had not felt before, though he couldn’t quite articulate the feeling. Instead, he experienced a series of memories: Carlo draped over Cal’s bed as they questioned Angelo, Carlo crying because they wouldn’t let him up to see Cal the day of the procedure, and Cal and Carlo kissing right before he was wheeled into the operating room. Scraps of earlier memories—the get-well cards, the red silk boxer shorts, a silver Mylar balloon—whirred through Angelo’s mind until he heard the jarring voice of Stanzione calling out his name. “Angelo!”
“How is Carlo?”
Stanzione clenched his jaw. “Death is a delicate matter. My lawyer suggested I not engage with Carlo. I don’t have to since they weren’t legally married.”
Stanzione’s callousness stunned him. Minutes earlier, he was outlining a plan for a medical spa with the enthusiasm of someone planning a surprise birthday party. All the while, he knew Cal had died; to shift so seamlessly into the role of the doleful doctor who had lost a beloved patient was horribly incongruous.
“The use of prostacyclin is controversial,” Stanzione continued. “I’m meeting with the chief of critical care to review the case with the hospital’s legal team later today.”
“Legal?” Angelo repeated. “Do you feel culpable?”
Stanzione bristled. “Of course not.”
“I’m sorry . . . it’s just when you mentioned legal, I thought . . . .”
“You thought what?” Beads of sweat appeared just under Stanzione’s synthetic hairline.
“Nothing,” Angelo backtracked. “I . . . I don’t know what I meant.”
“Let me tell you something,” Stanzione said, and although he wasn’t yelling, his voice was deep and intense. “You don’t get to be where I am without making critical decisions. That’s what being a doctor is all about.”
Stanzione reached for the door, opened it, and dismissed Angelo with a sweeping wave of his royal arm. Angelo found himself being pulled out of the office like he had been jettisoned.
Angelo paused at the threshold. “I know this isn’t a good time, but I had asked you if I could take off a few days to study before my boards . . . .”
“Under the circumstances that’s no longer possible.”
“But you agreed.”
Stanzione’s eyes fastened on Angelo’s. “Do you know why I hired you?”
“Dr. Stanzione, I’m not complaining . . . .”
“It was because you said that you would do anything for this job, that I was the one who made you want to become an HIV specialist. I don’t know if you realize this, but I feel a certain responsibility towards you.”
Stanzione asserted his paternal authority, against which the fatherless Angelo had no defense.
“I’m forever in your debt for this opportunity,” Angelo said, “but keeping this job is contingent on passing the boards.”
“There were several board-certified candidates, but I chose you. Maybe it was your Italian background. Maybe I saw myself in you, and after your interview I thought, this kid is going to work his ass off. One day he could be big, like me.” Angelo was embarrassed. By the crazed look in Stanzione’s eyes he felt, often, as if their interactions together were being timed, and that his job was to perform as quickly and efficiently as he could and never question his boss.
“I won’t let you down, Dr. Stanzione.” Angelo saw no use in arguing. Stanzione had made up his mind.
“By the way,” Stanzione added before closing the door. “If you’re not ready by now, then a few extra days studying won’t matter. Now get to work. There are patients waiting.”
Angelo had nothing to say to that.
Later that afternoon, Angelo sat alone in his office. Normally, Steven would have tidied up his desk, stacking his mail and messages neatly in a pile. Like a maid in a five-star hotel, Steven’s turndown service occurred reliably at three every afternoon.
But not today.
Through the wall, Angelo heard Steven and Stanzione arguing. If he remained perfectly still, he could make out bits of their conversation.
“ . . . is a nasty bitch . . . don’t like the way she talks to Tiffany . . . .”
“ . . . give them a chance to settle in . . . .”
“And I don’t like that he calls himself doctor . . . he’s a tech. Laura calls him Dr. D.”
“You’re making much more out of this . . . a relief that we’ve rented . . . they’re paying us forty grand a month.”
“He still owes the first month’s rent . . . haven’t seen a penny yet.”
And suddenly, he could hear them perfectly as the pitch of their voices grew louder.
“Why can’t you just be optimistic for once?” Stanzione shouted. “This is what we wanted.”
“No, this is what you wanted,” Steven countered. “Don’t make it sound like I had any choice in the matter.”
“Goddamn it! What do you want from me? Everything is on my back: the mortgage for this office, our apartment, my mother’s apartment. All the bills come in my name. This fucking job is killing me. What would happen if I had a heart attack? Who’s going to pay the bills then?”
There was an extended silence. Angelo hadn’t worked there long enough to experience firsthand the interior quarrels of these two men. Since July, he saw Steven as the central figure bridging the man Stanzione was at home to the doctor he portrayed at work. Now it seemed that Steven was a shaky bridge, rattled easily under pressure. Angelo stood up and quietly closed his office door. He attempted to busy himself by reviewing labs, but it was impossible.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Steven say. His voice, shucked of its usual undercurrent of sarcasm, sounded like someone else’s. A little boy? Perhaps that was what Steven really sounded like when they were alone.
“Ste-ven,” Laura called. “Ste-ven, oh, Ste-ven.”
“I’m in Dr. Stanzione’s office, Laura.”
Laura clattered down the hall. “There you are.” She settled right outside Angelo’s door, firing off questions. “Why is there no one at the front desk? Is Tiffany gone for the day? And if she is, who will be directing Dr. D’s clients downstairs? I just can’t keep leaving my desk in search of clients.”
“I’m sorry Laura. I’ll make sure Tiffany lets me know when she leaves for the day. Try to be patient. It’s going to take time for everyone to get used to all the changes. I’ll be up front in one second.”
“Thank you, I’ll tell Dr. D.” As she retreated, her heels clicked on the marble floor echoing down the hall like popping fireworks.
Angelo was reminded again that Steven called Demetre a tech. What kind of technician was he after all? Angelo brought up the SkinDem website online:
At SkinDem Skin Care and Laser Center we are dedicated to providing the highest quality of care to our patients. Our professional staff is specially trained to offer the latest medically based, scientific technologies that are customized to fit your individual needs. With a passion for beauty, we offer expert skincare and laser treatments for blood vessel removal, electrolysis, laser hair removal, laser skin treatments, tattoo removal, and facials.
Owner and Chief Laserist, Demetre Kostas, CPE has a Master of Science in engineering from RPI.
Angelo reread Demetre’s credentials. For whatever reason, he had assumed Demetre was a doctor. But why? Then he tried to recall if anyone had said he was, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had made that assumption on his own. And, of course, Laura’s persistent use of the title had not added to his clarity.
Online, Angelo discovered that Demetre’s CPE degree stood for certified professional electrologist, which he had earned in 1993, but Angelo was unable to confirm whether Demetre had a master’s degree from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute or whether Demetre had graduated from college. What Angelo did find was that anyone could purchase a laser, but that a licensed physician had to oversee its proper use as the medical director. Now it all makes sense, thought Angelo. That’s why Laura was so eager to have Stanzione designated as SkinDem’s medical director. But who was the medical director now?
Steven knocked on Angelo’s door as he entered.
“Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Angelo replied.
Steven switched on the lights. “Tony just left, but he wanted me to remind you he won’t be seeing patients tomorrow. He has a haircut appointment, and then he’s coming to the office, but only to take meetings.”
Angelo’s eyes never veered away from his computer screen. Great, he thought to himself. Another day working alone in the coal mine.
Steven stood in the doorway. “I’m heading out soon. It’s been one of those days.”
As much as Angelo wanted to avoid getting caught up in the tangled relationship between these two men, he realized that was not possible. “Change is stressful.”
“You probably heard us arguing,” Steven said. “We don’t usually argue like that . . . it’s just, like you said, this has been very stressful for me . . . and Tony.”
“It’ll get better.”
“I hope.” Steven turned to walk away but stopped. “You know. Sometimes I paint to relax.”
Angelo’s internal scowl melted to pity once he saw Steven’s hopeful expression. “I had no idea you were an artist.”
Steven lit up like an old jukebox. “I collect things out of people’s trash. You wouldn’t believe what people throw away. I make things out of the stuff I find. That’s all I did while we were in P-town. I’m hoping Tony buys a place there. I think it would be great for him. You know . . . to have a place where we could go with the dogs. He could have a garden, and I could do my art stuff.”
“Have you been looking for a house?” Angelo asked.
“Kind of.”
“What’s holding Dr. Stanzione back?”
Steven glanced over his shoulder. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone?”
Angelo wasn’t prepared to hear a secret disclosure, and yet, he was riveted. “Yes.”
“Tony had a heart issue last year,” Steven said cautiously.
“Heart issue,” repeated Angelo. “You mean, a heart attack?”
Angelo saw Steven’s expression change. His clarification seemed to dredge up memories Steven likely had suppressed. His eyes welled. His lower lip trembled. “Uh-huh,” Steven confirmed in a timid voice. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles blanching. “Tony’s doctors said he had to avoid stress.”
Angelo stood up and closed the door. He pried Steven’s fingers from the desk and gently sat him down.
“Listen to me,” Angelo said reassuringly. He was holding Steven’s hands in his. “You need to speak with Dr. Stanzione. Not here, but alone. It’s okay for you to be concerned, especially if he had a heart issue. But arguing with him, here, about work is only going to make the situation more stressful.”
“I guess you’re right,” Steven said
“I know I’m right,” Angelo confirmed. “Continue to make your art. It’s very therapeutic. In fact, why don’t you make something for the waiting room and get rid of those tacky paintings?”
For just a moment, Steven seemed ready to disclose something else, but then he cast his eyes downward. “Yeah, I guess those paintings are kind of old anyway.” Steven turned to leave. Looking over his shoulder he said, “I think it would be good for Tony to have a place away from the city, away from the stress. Don’t you?”
“I do. I really do.”
Angelo sat in his office long after everyone else had gone home. The news of Stanzione’s heart attack was stunning. Angelo could only imagine the impact it had on a man like Stanzione. A man who portrayed himself as strong and virile but was actually frail and sickly. It occurred to him that Stanzione’s medical spa might be a great idea after all. What if Stanzione planned to finance the spa and retain ownership as the medical director, leaving the co-directors to run the day-to-day operations? When Angelo considered that possibility, and the very real possibility that he and Demetre would work closely together, he found himself smiling. With Stanzione and Steven living part-time in P-town it would give him and Demetre the ability to run the spa as they saw fit.
When it came to Demetre and SkinDem, there were still many unanswered questions, but that didn’t stop Angelo from imagining what a budding relationship might look like between them. Again, he thought of himself lying naked with Demetre pressed against his body. He had convinced himself once that an office romance would only end in tragedy, but why couldn’t this one be different?
And then Angelo was reminded of Jason, the police officer who had aided him in uniting Cal and Carlo. Had he dismissed Jason’s advances in order to make room for Demetre? It seemed to Angelo that was exactly how the events played out.
The next morning an unexpected thunderstorm wreaked havoc on Manhattan. September was notorious for hurricanes that swept up from the southeast. Most times, the storms subsided by the time they reached New York landfall, but that didn’t stop the rain. Crowds rushed for busses that splashed them with water. Unwieldy umbrellas collapsed against the gusty winds.
