Читать книгу Tempted By Hollywood's Top Doc - Louisa George, Louisa George - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

‘LOLA! WHERE ARE YOU? Lola!’ The sing-song screech came from inside the trailer.

Outside the trailer, Lola Bennett came to a halt and took a long calming breath. When that ran out she took another one. And...

So, it seemed calm would be eluding her today.

Behind her she heard muttered grumbles between the director, the assistant producer and the leading man. Irrational though it was, she felt guilty that the woman who employed her was ramping up the film budget and delaying filming because of mild stomach cramps, no doubt brought on by an overdose of her large kale and wheatgrass breakfast smoothie.

Lucky, Lola told herself. Dream job. Steps to the stars. Foot in the door...

Phooey. Being personal assistant to A-lister Cameron Fontaine was probably some poor misguided soul’s dream job, but for Lola the constant demands were fast turning into a nightmare. Sometimes she thought the waitressing job had been preferable...but then all she had to do was look around her and breathe in the hallowed Hollywood air, see the actors going over their scripts—scripts like the one she was working on—and feel the shiver of excitement course through her. And she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be: Los Angeles. She was here, finally here. The only place on earth where she could achieve her crazy, wild dreams. The City of Angels.

All would be well, if only Cameron Fontaine could be remotely angelic. Once? Too much to ask?

‘Lola!’ Clearly there was nothing wrong with Miss Fontaine’s vocal cords.

‘Yes, Miss Fontaine?’ Lola swung open the trailer door, letting the heavily perfumed air—a perfect blend of cedarwood, frankincense, sandalwood and lemon balm aromatherapy for clarity and focus today—disperse enough for her to enter without risk of asphyxiation. Then she took a risk and stepped in, with her usual fixed smile. It would all work out well. Smile and work. Smile and work. ‘Hello! I hope you’re feeling better? Here’s the paracetamol you asked me to get. And your single-shot decaf latte with cashew milk.’

‘You are such a honey.’ The leading lady lay on the white leather couch, a hand at her brow, and gave a brave me smile. Lola had seen her working on that particular grimace in her large gilt bathroom mirror more than once. ‘Tell me, sweetie, what’s the gossip from the set? Are they panicking yet? I’ll bet that old maid of a director is sweating. Tell them I’ll be out soon. I just need to get my strength back.’

‘Maybe you should eat something solid, rather than just juicing?’

‘You’re joking, right? I have to get into this teeny costume every day for the next few weeks.’ Cameron mopped at her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘And get hold of that doctor...what’s his name? Kim? Get him on the phone. Tell him I need to see him again.’

‘Oh?’ Maybe Cameron really was sick, instead of acting or just plain attention-seeking? Before taking this job, Lola had seemingly been the only person in the whole world who had had trouble trying to work out the difference between her boss’s award-winning talent and her award-winning time-wasting. She’d stopped short of calling her a diva, but that didn’t stop the glossies naming her as one. Having got to know her a little more, Lola was reframing Cameron as a hard-working actress with high standards, who wasn’t afraid of asking for what she wanted. She could learn something from that. Although the diva did sometimes take centre stage. ‘Of course. Yes. I’ll get him right away.’

First, she cracked the seal on a fresh bottle of mineral water and poured it into a glass tumbler.

‘Lola, what are you waiting for? Phone him.’

‘I’m getting you a drink so you can take your tablets. Let’s get them into your system and starting to work.’ It was going to be a very long day, and Lola would be very glad when she fell into bed later with a good book to whisk her away from the reality of her life. Which hadn’t turned out exactly how she’d hoped. No studio had optioned her script, no director had even read it so far. More than once she’d thought about returning home to London...but she needed to give herself a fair chance here, not risk the humiliation of going home and admitting she’d not just failed, but lied to her family too. And, God knew, even though some days she hated it, she needed to keep this job to pay the exorbitant rent on her shabby apartment. And eat. ‘Would you like me to get the studio nurse? She’s here and available, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind—’

‘A nurse? A nurse? Honey, I’m award-winning. I need a doctor. I need that Kim doctor.’ And with that Cameron closed her eyes. Conversation over.

Lola observed her for a few seconds. It didn’t need any kind of medic to see that the actress was in fine health. Her blonde hair shone, she was beautifully pink, breathing normally with a small secretive smile on those camera-ready lips. But Lola was nothing if not dutiful. She pulled out her phone and dialled.

‘Hello!’ She’d been briefed by Cameron to always converse with a smile in her voice. ‘Is this The Hollywood Hills Clinic? Yes? Great! I have Cameron Fontaine here and she needs to see the doctor. Wait, I’ll just ask.’ Lola cradled the phone to her shoulder and whispered, ‘Is it an emergency, Miss Fontaine?’

A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose on a serene, pain-free face. ‘It depends what they mean by emergency. I would like to see a doctor—so, yes, they should act quickly.’

‘But is it a matter of life or death?’

‘I suppose...’ A reluctant pout. A dramatic pause. ‘Not really.’

‘Are you dying, Miss Fontaine?’

‘Oh. No. No. Of course I’m not dying. But don’t tell them that, obviously.’ Cameron sat up elegantly and straightened her space desert warrior costume, putting little strain on the perfectly honed abdominal muscles that had been on the front of every magazine last month as she’d frolicked in the waves in Hawaii—while Lola had been left in LA to supervise a spring clean of Cameron’s Bel Air home, take the dogs for grooming, organise a lunch for fifty for Cameron’s return...yada, yada...

Lola sighed—inwardly, of course—and spoke to the receptionist. ‘Please ask him to come as soon as you can. Thank you...I will, yes.’ Lola passed along the message. ‘The doctor will be here soon. He’s in the middle of a surgery, but will pop over when he’s finished.’

‘Pop over. You’re such a sweetie. Say it again...’ Cameron gave a real smile now. ‘Say it again.’

‘Pop over.’

‘Pop! Oh, my, I do love your English accent. Just heavenly. Teach me?’

‘Yes! Of course!’ Clearly, whatever ailed Miss Fontaine would have to wait. But Lola had no doubt that the pain would resurface at exactly the same time as the doctor.

* * *

‘Excuse me, Dr Lewis, there’s another call for you.’

‘Another one? Not now,’ Jake Lewis barked across the OR at his surgical assistant. ‘I told you, I don’t want to know until I’ve finished here.’

‘But it’s the studio. They won’t—’

‘Not now.’ Jake sucked in the antiseptic air and steadied himself. Refocused on his patient, a nineteen-year-old quarterback with a diagnosis of type-two neurofibromatosis: an incessant ringing in his ears, increasing left-arm numbness and a sudden penchant for falling over. All pointing to a large tumour on his vestibular nerve, which had been confirmed by scans.

With enough luck and Jake’s skill, the boy might well be able to catch and pass a ball after this surgery. He would, hopefully, also be able to hear again—although, he might not. He would also probably never fulfil his lifelong dream of playing at a high level in the NFL. The disease process was slow, but there wasn’t always a great prognosis long term. This kid’s future was on the line and someone wanted Jake to see an actor about, what—an irritating cough?

And, yeah, maybe he was being an assumptive ass, but in his experience there hadn’t ever been a need for a neurosurgeon on a film set during the normal day-to-day scheduling. Emergencies—yes. But this wasn’t an emergency, they’d said so already. The first time they’d called. And the second...

The assistant hesitated, the phone still in his outstretched hand. ‘But...they...you...’

‘Didn’t you tell them last time? If it’s an emergency they need to call 911 and I’ll meet them in the ER, otherwise I will be there as soon as I’ve finished this complex neurofibroma surgery. If they don’t understand what that is, explain, in words of less than two syllables, that I’m a brain surgeon, and ask them to guess what I’m busy with right now.’

When James Rothsberg had head-hunted him for his Hollywood Hills Clinic it had been the biggest boost to Jake’s career, the opportunity to work with the very best California had to offer. And it had promised a decent living with money to spare to pay back his parents every cent and more for the sacrifices they’d made for him. Money, too, to pay for healthcare for his father’s failing health.

That they wouldn’t accept a dime from him was another issue altogether, along with the fact that even though Jake worked in one of the best hospitals in the state, his father refused to set foot through the door. Not that it stopped Jake from trying. Again. And again.

But the job came with the proviso that he’d fill in when necessary on the clinic’s film studio roster. In extremis. And Dr Kim’s sudden and necessary absence due to family problems meant they were in extremis. He’d have to live with it, along with all the tender egos who demanded nothing less than a qualified doctor to apply a plaster.

‘Okay, everyone. Back to work, concentrate, this is the tricky bit. We have to...’ he manipulated the probes ‘...isolate and expose the tumour... There it is... Pretty tough guy, this one, will take some clever dissecting...’

Three hours later, after a distressing conversation with his patient’s parents, when he’d tried to be as honest and hopeful as he could about the boy’s future, Jake pulled into the film studio, showed his security pass and was directed to the set.

Seriously? His whole life he’d been working towards neurosurgery and now, just because one of his colleagues was away, he was here. In... The spool of annoyance on repeat in his head jerked to a stop. He looked around. Stared. What the hell? Outer space? The set was a mock-up of a crashed spacecraft on a sandy planet. All around him were creatures with three eyes or two heads and, strangely, holding very Earth-like guns... Plus a lot of cables that could easily trip someone up, and a few worried-looking humans huddled around a large film camera, watching something on a screen.

‘Hey?’ He stopped a man carrying a ladder as he walked by. ‘Cameron Fontaine? Where can I find her? I’m the doctor. She rang, more than once, to request my assistance.’

‘In her trailer. Again. Out there, take a left.’ The man pointed wearily across the set and beyond. ‘Biggest trailer, you won’t miss it. Do us a favour and wave a wand, bring her back? They’re all going nuts here.’

Jake wandered through the set and out into a car lot where there were around a dozen trailers. One, in the far corner, was very definitely, pointedly, larger than the others.

‘Excuse me? Can I help you?’ A very cross English voice, out of place in...outer space...had him spinning round. The owner was another angry-looking human with wild fiery red hair that appeared to match her bad humour, and a smattering of freckles in a pale complexion. It was the frown that stood out most, though.

‘I’m looking for Cameron Fontaine. She called for me. I’m Dr Lewis.’

‘You’re the doctor? But you’re not Kim. She usually sees Kim.’

Believe me, lady, I don’t want me to be here either. ‘Dr Kim is away at the moment. I’m the fill-in. For the duration of filming.’ But he’d be having words with James when he eventually got back to the clinic. Surely someone else could do this? Someone less busy, less qualified, someone who actually cared about all these Hollywood theatrics?

The woman in front of him shook her head and the mass of red curls bobbed around her shoulders. Man, her hair was shiny, and she had dark chocolate eyes that were huge and...condemning. She was wearing a top that was a similar colour to her eyes. And why he even noticed that he had no idea. Standard issue black skinny jeans clung to... No, he wasn’t going there. He was not going to look at her and assess her attractiveness like everyone else in this city where looks were king. No doubt she was just the same kind of blinded-by-the-lights airhead wannabe actress. She was pretty enough. Not like the tall willowy brunettes that breezed in and out of his life, but there was something about her that set her apart. A fragile beauty.

So, okay, he had a quick peek and she had a damned fine body. Curves. Something you didn’t see often around here. Nice curves.

And a disappointed glint in her eyes that made him feel as if he’d let her down. ‘Well, that’s just perfect. Brilliant. We’ve been waiting for you for hours and everyone’s starting to get very grumpy and for some reason it’s all my fault and you’re not even the right guy.’

‘Whoa.’ It was fine for him to feel bummed out about this, but no way was it okay for her to join in. ‘I can leave right now, if you prefer. I have plenty of real patients to keep me occupied.’

‘No. No. No. Stay right there. You’ll have to do. The director’s getting on my back, Cameron won’t go outside, and we all need her seen as soon as possible. Please.’ Her eyes narrowed for a moment. Then she seemed to pull herself together. Smacking her lips, she clasped her hands in front of her as if steeling her nerve. She found him a smile. It wasn’t terribly convincing, but it was there. ‘Sorry. I’m Lola Bennett, Miss Fontaine’s PA.’ He could have sworn she also uttered the word ‘dogsbody’ under her breath, but he couldn’t be certain.

‘Jake Lewis. Neurosurgeon to the stars. Apparently.’ He stuck out his hand.

Which she took in hers and gave a short firm shake. Her hand was warm and petite and just touching it gave him a weird jolt through his skin. She looked down at where their hands touched, then back at him with a question in her eyes. Then she blinked. ‘Okay! Well! Let’s do our best, shall we? Miss Fontaine’s trailer is right here. Be warned, though, she may not be exactly chuffed to see you.’

‘Chuffed?’

‘Sorry, I mean pleased. Delighted. English, you see. As in I’m from England... Obviously you speak English too...just a different sort...’ And then she smiled for real, the chocolate eyes blazed and her mouth curled into a pretty curve. Which had a very strange but real effect on his cardiac rhythm as he followed her into the trailer.

He put it down to the whole bizarre scenario, the extra-terrestrial vibe, the raised blood pressure caused by harassment during complex surgery. The drive through relentless traffic. It was nothing to do with the very talkative Lola Bennett, of that he was sure.

‘Hello!’ There was a forced joy to her voice that was just a little panicked as they stepped into the trailer, and for a fleeting moment Jake felt sorry for her. ‘Miss Fontaine? The doctor’s here!’

‘About time too. Kim? Oh, Kim, I’m so glad—’ The beautiful blonde actress Jake had seen on billboards around town and on movie screens countless times sat up and glared. ‘You’re not Kim.’

Lola was by her side in a second, talking as if to a small child, eagerly soothing and endlessly optimistic. ‘No, Miss Fontaine, this is Dr Lewis. Jake. He’s here to see you. Dr Kim is away at the moment.’

‘Well, bring him back. I can’t see...’ she waved her hand at Jake as if shooing away an irritating dog ‘... Jack here.’

‘It’s Jake,’ Lola said smoothly, as she offered a silent apology to Jake in the form of a shrug and a roll of the eyes. ‘He’s from the clinic, so he’s bound to be good. Excellent, I’ll bet.’

Unable to take this fawning any longer, Jake stepped forward. ‘Miss Fontaine, I’m Dr Kim’s stand-in. There is no question of bringing him back. What’s the problem?’

‘I can’t discuss it with you. Kim knows everything.’

‘Oka-a-ay. It’ll be in your notes then? I’ll remote-access them from here.’ He put his laptop bag on the table next to her and unzipped it. Pulled out his computer and fired it up. ‘Please be assured that I am bound by the same confidentiality as Dr Kim. I am as capable as he is.’ If not more so. And more highly qualified. ‘If you can just tell me what’s wrong, then we can try to fix it.’ Soon. And, yes, he realised his tone was just a little annoyed. But he had very sick patients, a young man with his whole future in doubt—his whole life—and instead of being where he was needed, he was here. Doing this.

The actress began to shake and blink quickly. ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I need health advice and I have the wrong doctor in my trailer, that’s what’s wrong. Please go. Now. I won’t see anyone but Kim.’

What the hell? ‘I can assure you—’

‘It’s Kim or no one.’

‘Then it’ll be no one. He’s not going to be back for months—’

‘So go.’

Jake bit back a curse. ‘I came all this way and you won’t even let me talk to you? Just like that?’

‘Just like that. Now go.’ And with a final flourish she flung herself back against the cushions and closed her eyes. He presumed this meant that the consultation was over.

‘Sorry to have wasted your time,’ he growled, not sorry at all as he slammed down the laptop lid, snatched up his bag and stalked out of the door. Wasting her time? Wasting her time? His fist curled around the bag handle as he strode back towards the set. What a joke. He was definitely going to talk to James about this.

‘Dr Lewis? Jake? Wait, please.’ That English accent again. He swivelled on his heel. Lola was standing at the bottom of the trailer steps, wringing her hands. ‘How about I find you a cup of tea? Would that help?’

‘I doubt it. It certainly won’t get me the last hour of my life back.’

‘But it might help to sit for a while. Calm down before you head back into the traffic.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost rush hour, it’ll be a nightmare.’

‘I think I’ve just had one already. Tell me I’m going to wake up soon.’

Lola raised her shoulders. ‘She has a habit of changing her mind.’

‘So do I. From right this minute. I’m not coming back. I’m not surgeon to the stars.’

‘She may ask to see you again. Soon. Like in five minutes.’

‘I’ll be busy. With patients who actually want my input and expertise. I have better things to do with my time than pander to hypochondriacal celebrities.’

But for some reason he couldn’t really understand, he followed Lola towards a truck dispensing snacks and drinks and waited until she’d ordered two English breakfast teas. Tea—the great soother of tempers, according to the Brits. No serial or costume drama was ever made where the mention of tea didn’t happen at least twice. He hated it.

Then, taking the tray of drinks, he let her lead the way to a marquee and a plastic table and chair set-up. Lola looked dejected while desperately trying not to appear so. ‘I’m so sorry, Jake. Can I call you Jake? Or do you prefer Dr Jake? Dr Lewis?’

‘Jake’s fine.’

‘She’s a bit temperamental, she’s spent her life telling people what to do. And they do it. Just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘I’m guilty of doing it too—but, then, I get paid to. She’ll come round, you just have to let her calm down and think logically.’ She bit her bottom lip, gave a conciliatory smile that lit up her eyes and whispered, ‘She will, eventually.’

‘Whatever she pays you isn’t enough. Leave. Get another job.’ So it was curt, but damn...how could Lola let her boss talk to her like that?

The smile and the light vanished. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s not healthy to be around self-obsessives. Actually, it’s really not worth it. Just because you want to be noticed, a career in Tinsel Town, right? She’s your ticket? Actress, right? Like all the others who come here because they want the bright lights. It’s not worth it, Lola. Find another job. That kind of person will suck you dry, drive you mad.’

Now Lola frowned, eyes wide. ‘And this is your business because...?’

Good question.

He didn’t usually make assumptions and feel the need to sort someone else’s life out. In fact, he usually steered as far away as possible from involving himself in anyone’s life. Particularly women’s. The only thing interfering had ever achieved was a damned headache, and sent out a message that he cared...or was interested...or wanted to commit. He wasn’t. He didn’t. ‘I’m just saying, there are better careers than being someone’s assistant or a Z-list actress. Most don’t get very far anyway, it’s only the top tiny percentage who can make a living at it. If you want my opinion—’

‘Actually, I don’t. But thanks for making my day a whole lot worse.’ She stared at the steam rising from her tea, then stirred two packets of sugar into her cup. Which was refreshing, because most women he knew in this city would rather have eaten dust than sugar. It was the new axis of evil...or something. She looked dejected, and there was a simmering behind her eyes that signalled danger.

There was also a cloud of coiled anger hanging over them and, if he was honest, it was probably due to him. He’d started off this whole debacle in a lousy mood and things had got worse from there. If she was right and Cameron did ask him to return, it would help if he smoothed things between them. Plus, he didn’t want word of this to get back to James, who was insistent that all patients be treated with kid gloves...and that was usually Jake’s mojo. The patient came first—always. But also...and this was the weirdest thing...he felt bad at adding to Lola’s troubles. He’d seen a glimpse of her smile and, strangely, he wanted it back again.

‘Lola—’

‘Oh? There’s more? Which part of me do you want to pick apart now? You’ve done my job and my pathetic-sounding future—how about you move on to my face or my body?’ The joy in her voice had been replaced with irritation. The happy bounce that had seemed to live in her bones—gone. Yes, she was pissed at him. Very. No one ever spoke to him in that tone, and there were flashes of gold sparking in her eyes now. It was...well, it was all very interesting. She leaned forward, waving her teaspoon at him. ‘You don’t know the first thing about me but somehow think you can storm in here and give me life advice?’

‘Er...’ He began to explain. ‘It’s—’

But she jumped right on in. ‘Well, seeing as we’re handing advice out so liberally today, let me give you some, Dr High and Mighty. I don’t care who you are or what qualifications you’ve got, you don’t get to condescend me as if I am worthless. And you don’t get to make assumptions about anything I do or who I am. Okay? I was trying to be nice to you because she can be a bit of a B-I-T-C-H. And I totally understand how you can be angry with her for being a diva too—and now I’ve said it and I promised myself I never would—because she is a very good actress and she can be thoughtful sometimes. Rarely, but it does happen.

‘I thought a cup of tea and a chat would help because in my experience they usually do, but you know what? Forget it. There are plenty of doctors in Los Angeles who would give their right arm to be here in this privileged position, doctors who care. Who want to help. Who are actually nice. So I’ll go phone one of them, shall I? I think we’re done here.’

And with that she scraped her chair in the gravel and stood. Her previously pale face was now a bright beetroot red. The sunny smile a mere figment of his memory. And to his chagrin, he realised Lola Bennett had done what no woman had ever done to Jake Lewis—she’d brought him to a point where he had to chase after her and grovel.