Page 44 of Doctor's Demands
Getting out of bed, I grab him and hug him tightly in my arms as I listen to the television. Watching it over his shoulder, I see Owen’s picture in the upper right side of the screen. An anchorman says, “Beverly Hills Reconstruction was pulled from the Friday night lineup on its current network, until things can be figured out. That’s what one of the producers of the reality television show Dr. Owen Cantrell is a big part of said late last night. His associate, Dr. Dena Dion, also a plastic surgeon, but one with a lesser role on the series, was mortified by what she found out when she went to Portland, Oregon, to surprise the man she says she’s been dating for the past three years. To say the doctor, a man this country has come to idolize, has let his fans down, and his girlfriend, is a vast understatement.”
I let Owen go so I can grab the remote and turn off the television. “Okay,” I say as I take his hand that’s shaking and lead him to sit on the edge of the bed. I pick up one of the soft, fluffy, white robes the hotel provides to cover my nakedness, as Owen has one on too. “It’s out. Nothing can be done about that now. Do you have a publicist?”
As he’s shaking his head, I already basically knew he doesn’t. If he had one, then he’d have made better decisions long ago. “I’m ruined, Petra.”
“No, you’re not.” I sit next to him and put my arm around him. “This is a thing many people do. And you’ve been made to feel ashamed of it.”
His eyes are dark as he looks at me. “Because it is a shameful thing. That’s why we hide it.”
“No, you hide it because it’s misunderstood. I say we flaunt it. Don’t try to hide it anymore. We are consenting adults. Anyone you’ve done this with was also consenting. You hurt no one. You shouldn’t hang your head in shame.”
“It’s just that I was worried about that little medical kink freak outing me, and my own co-worker did it. I feel stupid.” He hangs his head, and I feel anger build up inside of me.
“I’ve seen her on the show. She’s not really your girlfriend, is she?”
Looking up, he takes me by the shoulders and holds me still as he searches my eyes. “Petra, I told her time and time again that I wouldn’t even date her. I don’t even like the woman! But I did fuck her on kind of a regular basis.”
“Kind of regular basis?” I ask. “Like how regular?”
“Like most Saturday nights.”
“And you don’t feel like you two had anything going?” I ask, trying my best not to judge him. “Because almost every Saturday night is often, and I can see a person thinking you had more going on.”
“I was honest with her about it. And I was always drunk when I went to her house and let myself in. I’d leave as soon as I was done.” He lets me go and hangs his head in shame. “I’m a terrible person.”
“No, you are not,” I say as I stand up and run my arms around him.
“Everyone will hate me, and I’ll be thrown off the show. I might even lose all my clients.” He won’t look at me as he puts his face in his hands.
“Maybe this is where your tide turns, Owen.” I pull his face up to look at me. “Maybe this is where you make something different out of yourself.”
“I don’t want to make something else out of myself,” he says as he looks at me. “I’m happy with my life.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Then why so many drunken Saturday nights, seeking out a woman you say you didn’t even like?”
“I don’t know,” he says, then gets up and heads to the bathroom. “I’ve fucked up so bad. I’ve never fucked up in my life, and now it’s like a volcano has erupted and blown me off the planet.”
Walking behind him, I’m not about to let him fall into a depression about this. “Is that woman in Portland?”
“I’m not sure if she is or if she came and left,” he answers me as he starts a bath.
“Can’t you call her and tell her that we need to speak to her about what she’s done?”
“We?” he asks, as he pours some bubbles into the tub.
“Yes, we,” I tell him as I pull my robe off, as he’s done the same and is getting into the tub of warm water. I slide into the sudsy water, facing him, running my arms around his neck and laying my body on his. “I’m not leaving you to face this alone, Owen.”
“You should,” he says, then pushes my hair back. “Hollywood can be nasty. I’m sure she doesn’t know your name. I’ll do this on my own, leaving you and your reputation out of it.”
It hits me that I could be plastered all over the news too and that that could affect any schools that I might apply to teach at, especially in Los Angeles where Owen wants us to live.
I go quiet as I think about what that would mean for me. Owen kisses my cheek. “I understand if you want to end things with me.”
Jerking my head to look at him, I whisper, “Never.”
His eyes droop at the outer edges, and he shakes his head. “I can’t let you come along for this ride, baby. I won’t do that to you.”
“I want to talk to her. I can make her see things for what they are. Let me do that.”
