Page 21 of Doc Showmance
“Is he having serious surgery or getting a mole removed?”
“We’ll see you up here.”
“I’m not sure I can get off work,” I hedged. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my father before some sort of life-threatening procedure. In small ways, I missed him, but in the big picture I didn’t. His constant judgment and me never being good enough for his standards I could skip. I also didn’t want to be “accidentally” fixed up with another daughter of a friend propelled by my mother’s obsession to ensure the family legacy. Or both of them trying yet again to draw me back into her world of maneuvering, parties, and entitlement.
“I heard you’re in San Diego.” That information must’ve been gleaned from the private investigator Dad kept on staff. “Why are you in Southern California?” Sounded like she was washing dishes in the background, but she hadn’t touched a dish in years. They had other people to do that for her.
“I started a new job.”
“At least, for now, you’re off TV. I never liked you gallivanting around the world on that ridiculous show. Seemed to me like the whole purpose was to get you out of a shirt.”
That meant she’d watched the show. Call me surprised. “I’m not off TV. This clinic has a reality TV show based out of it.” Why the hell was I getting defensive? This wouldn’t go well with Mom.Deep breaths. Don’t get emotional.Any detail I gave her would be chewed on, dwelled over, and then twisted to benefit her.
“Is that why they hired you? Because you look good on camera?” She didn’t even wait for me to answer. “I can’t believe I raised a son who devalues himself this much.”
“I’ll make my own choices for where I work and what I do. If I want to bare all and do a porn movie, then that’s my choice.Mine.”
“Touchy today, aren’t you? Take the tone down to reasonable.” She yelled at someone off the phone. “Don’t put it there. Move it there. Yes, there.” She got back on. “New sofa came in today.” So like my mother to be half paying attention to this conversation. That’d been my life growing up. I got her interest when it fit her schedule or she needed to use me for something. “Is this what you want to do with your life, Ian? Your father still hasn’t gotten over his disappointment when you turned down Harvard business school.”
“I never applied to business school. I turned down undergrad at Harvard because attending wouldn’t help me get into veterinary school.”
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You want to flit from one TV show to the next? Never grounded in one spot? Can’t keep a steady girlfriend? What happened with Maya? I liked her.”
“We broke up.” My mother liked Maya because she’d plucked her out and fixed us up. Maya was perfect, at least for the role of housewife and career propeller. She simply wasn’t what I wanted. Primarily, she had the personality of a plastic doll and lacked loyalty. And she wasn’t…like Amber. Of course, no one was like Amber. Not that I wanted to marry Amber, but she was far more interesting than women like Maya.
“What kind of life is this? You’re not even using all that costly education.”
“I paid for my own college, Mom. I’ll do whatever I want with what I learned.” Not supporting my college was a part of my father cutting me off. Even though he could probably buy both universities I’d attended. Since he disagreed with my choice, he refused to lend me a cent. He thought by not paying I’d cave and go where he wanted, doing what he wanted as he saw fit to benefit his business. Well, screw him. “Iamusing what I learned. This is a legit emergency hospital.”
“That’s nice, honey.” So condescending. “Patching up other people’s animals. Sounds sweet.”
I gripped the phone tighter, wishing I could break something. Hell, I wished I at least had 100 percent of her attention. “What’s wrong with Dad?”
She said, “You’re coming home over Thanksgiving even if it’s just for one day or night. Text me your schedule. And, hon, I want you to date some nice girls while you’re down there. I’m going to network and get some options for you.”
“Nice girl” meant a woman with deep pockets, even better if it was old money, connections, and whose only purpose in life was to propel my career.
I covered my face. “No. Don’t fix me up.”
No reply.
“Hello?” I stared at the phone. She’d hung up.
I texted Brock. I communicated with my brother about twice a year—on Christmas and his birthday. We weren’t close at six years apart. Never had been. I liked animals and science. He thrived on arguments and deals. He was a daddy clone, which meant he had no ethical compass. He’d sold his soul to the art of making money.
Ian:What’s wrong with Dad? Why’s he having surgery?
Brock:Mom said you might ask me. I’m not at liberty to discuss it. You must talk to them over Thanksgiving.
Ian:Thanks, asshole.
Brock:Anytime.
I dialed Amber.
“Took you long enough,” she answered.
Great. Another prickly woman. “I wasn’t sure if and when you wanted me to call. If that’d be now or another day.”
