Callie’s Last Dance

49.

I LOOK OVER Dr. Box’s list.

“These are mostly housewives and clerks.”

“So?”

“And your notes.”

“What about them?”

I pick one of the names and start to read. “Chelsea Lloyd. Housewife. Married to Eugene Lloyd, sales rep, Commerce Real Estate. Laughed at me at Senior Prom.”

I give him a look. “You can’t be serious.”

“She laughed at me. Made fun of the way I danced. Have you ever been singled out for ridicule among your peers?”

“No.”

“It’s devastating at that age.”

“But you’re a grown up. You’re past that. You’re a world-renowned surgeon! Meanwhile, this woman, Chelsea, is married to a sales rep.”

“Your point?”

“We don’t have to torture her.”

“We don’t?”

“No. We’ll send her a copy of your press kit.”

“I don’t have a press kit.”

“By this time tomorrow you will.”

“How will you manage that? Elves?”

I start to deny it, then realize he’s being facetious.

I say, “Success is the best revenge. My people will create the world’s most impressive press kit and send it to all the women on your list. When they see who you’ve become, they’ll shit.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. Not only that, they’ll drive their husbands crazy reminding them how they could have married Dr. Gideon Box. They’ll bring it up all the time. But every time they do, they’ll remind themselves how badly they fucked up. That’ll be torture enough, don’t you think?”

“No. But it’s a start.”

“Anyway, here’s the thing. It’s not practical to torture people and let them live to tell the police. So we can either kill them, or we let it go.”

He thinks a moment, then says, “Okay, here are my terms. One, you’ll create press kits and send them to everyone on both lists.”

“You’ve got another list?”

“Yes, of course. There are more than fifty names in all.”

“You must have been the world’s worst dancer!”

“They’re on my lists for different reasons. You want to hear the rest of my terms, or what?”

“Go on.”

“Two, you’ll pay me the hundred million dollars you promised.”

“Contingent on the operation being successful,” I say.

“Same thing.”

“Just to clarify, Callie regains full use of her legs.”

“Of course. But I want the money held in escrow,” he says. “With the attorney of my choice. Deposited today, before we leave.”

“Banks are closed.”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Done.”

“Number three, my surgical assistant, Rose, has to agree to come.”

“Is she in town?”

“Yes, but she’s hard to pin down.”

“Fine. Surely that’s it. I mean, you said the operation was child’s play.”

“Child’s play for me. But I have one more demand.”

I sigh. “Let’s hear it.”

“After Ms. Carpenter regains full use of her legs you’ll fly back and have dinner with me and two guests at the place of my choosing.”

“Locally?”

“A short drive.”

“Me and Callie?”

“Just you.”

“Who are the guests?”

“You’ll find out at dinner. Not before.”

“Should I be prepared for a physical confrontation?”

“No, of course not. This will be a civil dinner in a fancy restaurant.”

“Of all your demands, why does this one concern me the most?” I say.

“Because it’s beyond your control?”

He’s right.

Dr. P. calls Dr. Barnard and asks if Callie is fit to fly.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Barnard says.

“What if we were in the field, under battle conditions?”

“No sooner than tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll have a MedEvac on your roof at six a.m.”

“Without my cooperation,” Dr. Barnard says. “Against my strongest recommendation.”

“Noted.”