“Crystal,” Bergman said. “Nice chatting, doctor. We’ll see you soon.”
CHAPTER
27
AT EIGHT THIRTY EXACTLY, THE ELECTRIC CHIME OUTSIDE DR. CREEM’S LOWER-level waiting room rang. Bergman was almost always hyper-punctual, and tonight was no exception. When Creem opened the door, Bergman was standing there with a statuesque blond beauty on his arm.
He wore a simple two-button blazer over a white shirt, open at the collar. His “uniform,” he called it. The young woman wore an LBD—the sort of little black dress that said, I’m a serious model, but I’m not opposed to giving a hand job or two on my way to the top.
“Was I right, or was I right?” Josh said.
“You were right,” Creem said, gesturing them both inside. “You’re a lovely girl, Miss . . . ?”
“Larissa Swenson, Dr. Elijah Creem,” Bergman said, making the introductions, even as his eyes darted around the room. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink down here, Elijah?”
“Thank you so much for seeing me,” the girl said. Her hand was warm in his, her skin perfectly soft. “Mr. Bergman tells me you’re the best there is.”
“Mr. Bergman is a smart man,” Creem said, his eyes locked on hers. “Joshua, try the console in the media room down the hall.”
He’d already forgotten the girl’s name, but she was, in fact, perfect. He could feel that creeping sense of adrenaline up his spine, and in the tension of his jaw. It was the feeling of coming back to life, he now knew. He’d felt the same way on the night of Darcy Vickers.
“My receptionist is off this week,” he told the girl. “We’ll worry about paperwork later, if it’s all the same.”
“Fine, fine,” Bergman answered for her, coming back into the room with three glasses clutched in one hand and a cut crystal decanter in the other. “Larissa? Elijah? A little drink?”
“No, thank you,” the girl answered politely.
“Maybe afterward,” Creem said.
“Suit yourself.” Bergman poured himself a two-finger shot and turned toward the examination room door. “In here, I assume?” He wasn’t even trying to contain his excitement anymore. It was a little funny, and a little infectious, too.
“Are you . . . both coming in?” the girl asked. She seemed suddenly wary, but Creem gave her his best professional smile. Worked every time.
“It’s really in your own best interest,” he said. “Josh will be handling the cost of any procedures, as I’m sure he told you. But if you’d rather decline the consult, now would be a good time to say so.”
“No,” the girl said quickly. “It’s fine.” She sounded as if she were convincing herself as much as anything. Talk about blind ambition!
“You’re sure?” Creem asked, more for fun than anything. He knew he had her now.
Within a few minutes, all three of them were inside the examination room. Creem stood waiting with a clipboard in hand, as the girl stepped out from the changing cubicle in a thin blue hospital gown, while Josh watched expectantly from the rolling chair in the corner.
“So,” Creem said, looking down at the blank intake form in front of him. “What are we thinking about here?”
“Breast augmentation, for sure,” Bergman piped up. “We want to be able to book Larissa for print, runway, editorial—all of it. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”
“Sure,” the girl answered, with another determined smile.
Creem set the clipboard down behind her and took the stainless-steel pointer out of his pocket.
“All
right, stand up nice and tall for me, with your hands on your hips,” he said. He untied the gown in front and stepped back to take a look, playing out the charade to its fullest.
“Nice symmetry. Good elasticity of the skin,” he said. “All I’d really need to do is make a small incision, right along here.”
He used the pointer to indicate a line under the girl’s breast to illustrate. Not for the girl, though. For Bergman. Josh had been nice enough to arrange this little home delivery. Might as well give him a good show.
“That’s where I’d like to cut. Do you see?” Creem said.