“I'm not nervous. I'm angry, Paloma. I specifically told you, I don't want to speak to Charlene.”
“I forgot. Or maybe I didn't know who she was. Okay, I won't answer the phone again.” Her final victory, and yet another task she no longer had to do, which only made him angrier.
“You
She nodded, and turned the vacuum on again, in open defiance of him. She did defiance extremely well. And passive aggression too.
“Fine. Thank you,” he said, and stomped back upstairs, and when he went back to bed, he couldn't concentrate on the script. Other than his fury at Paloma, he was extremely annoyed at Charlene. She was being tiresome and hysterical and rude. He hated women who hung on like that. When the romance waned, they had to know how to leave elegantly. But elegance was clearly not Charlene's strong suit. He could sense easily that she was going to be difficult. He was still irritated when he finally got out of bed, showered, shaved, and dressed.
He was having lunch at Spago with a director he'd worked with years before. Coop had called and suggested lunch, he wanted to find out what he was up to. You never knew when someone was making a movie with a great part for him. Thinking about it forced Charlene from his mind at least. And it was only on his way to Spago that he remembered he had never heard from Alex, and he decided to page her again. He left his cell phone number on her pager.
He was surprised and pleased when she answered him immediately this time. He had just put his cell phone on the seat next to him when she called.
“Hello, this is Dr. Madison. Who's this?” She didn't recognize the number, and had her official voice on, as he smiled.
“It's Coop. How are you, Dr. Madison?” She was surprised to hear his voice, and in spite of herself, pleased. “I saw you on the Golden Globes last night.” So had half the world, and all of Hollywood. “I didn't think you had time to watch TV.” “I don't. I was walking through the waiting room, looking for one of my patients' parents, and there you were, with Rita Waverly You both looked great,” she said with sincerity. She had a young voice, and the same openness he had liked about her when they met. There was no artifice about her, only beauty and brains, unlike Charlene. But the comparison was unfair. Charlene would have been at a disadvantage with the likes of Alex Madison. Alex had everything going for her, looks, charm, intelligence, breeding. She came from another world. And in contrast, there were things Charlene did that women like Alex knew nothing about. There was room in Coop's world for both of them, or there had been until the night before. But there would be women like Charlene in his world again, Coop knew. There were a lot of them. It was women like Alex who were rare and few and far between. “I think you might have paged me yesterday,” she said candidly. “I didn't recognize the number, and I didn't have time to return the call. I didn't even see it till today. But when it came up again just now, I thought I'd better call. I was afraid you might be a consulting physician. I'm glad you're not.” She sounded relieved.
“So am I, particularly with those little miniature rug rats you play doctor to. I'd rather be a barber than do what you do.” Although in truth, he respected her more than he was willing to admit. But his feigned horror at what she did was part of his game, and she knew it too.
“How was last night? Was it fun? Rita Waverly sure is beautiful. Is she nice?” The question made him smile. “Nice” was not a word he would have chosen to describe Rita Waverly, and she would have been insulted if he had. Nice was not a highly prized virtue in Hollywood. But she was important and powerful and beautiful and glamorous, even if slightly long of tooth.
“I think ‘interesting’ is more appropriate. Amusing. She's very much a movie star,” he said diplomatically.
“Like you,” Alex tossed the ball back to him, and he laughed.
“Touche. What are you doing for the rest of the day?” He liked talking to her, and he wanted to see her again, if he could pry her away from the hospital and her duties in the ICU. He wasn't sure he could.
“I'm working till six o'clock, and then I'm going to go home and sleep for about twelve hours. I have to be back here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning.”
“You work too hard, Alex,” he said sincerely, sounding concerned.
“Residency is like that. It's a form of slavery, I think all you have to do to pass eventually is prove you can survive.”
“It all sounds very noble,” he said blithely. “Do you suppose you could stay awake long enough to have dinner with me tonight?”
