Page 10 of Hollywood King
Four
Cathy
The perfect eyelinerrequired an artist’s touch. There was even more artistry in trying to draw the perfect wing at 9 pm after a 16-hour rotation. My hands shook between the large amounts of caffeine I’d consumed and first-date-anxiety amping my heartbeat through every nerve ending.
I don’t date. Once I decided on medical school, I committed a thousand percent. More out of necessity than actual fortitude. Since I started my residency, it seemed safe enough to try again. Not that anyone had particularly grabbed my interest since…Heath.
But when Eddy asked me to go out for a drink, I didn’t think I could tell him no. After all, we’d been dancing around seeing each other since we were teenagers. If it weren’t for…well…
I exhaled, my breath fogging the glass for a second. Instead of focusing on the memories of my childhood best friend and first love, I pushed him out of my mind and returned my attention to my makeup. There was no room for error in eye makeup.
Once I got the line right, I sagged in relief and plunged the brush back into the tiny bottle. I stared in the mirror, trying to see what the rest of the world did. Not my physical qualities, but the mark which branded me as Hollywood’s princess. I didn’t usually wear makeup, I never wore my long dark hair down, and yet, people still recognized me, at work, walking down the street, in the supermarket.
I’d forever be famous for something I made no contribution to. Merely being born to the Earnshaw family stained me permanently.
Someone knocked on the door, and then a life size Ken doll stuck his head in. “Ready, babe?”
I dabbed on some sheer pink lip gloss and eyed him in the mirror. “If you ever want to go out again, don’t call me babe.”
He smiled wide, dimples so deep, they’d snared many a woman over the years I’d known him. “Doll?”
I shook my head, glaring, while he slipped into the locker room and closed the door. His worn jeans hugged his hips, and his navy-blue t-shirt barely skimmed the waist band. Any sudden movements, and I’d catch a glimpse of the tan ribbed expanse I knew lay underneath. They nurses didn’t call him McSteamy because of his sweet demeanor.
Part of me wanted to ask him if we could forget about the real clothes, and the makeup, and the time it would take to go do the bar thing, and simply have sex in the break room like all the other residents. Then I could go home and sleep instead of play coy and cute in semi-darkness.
Eddy took a step toward me. “No, I recognize that look Cathy. You are not cancelling on me again. We are doing this right now. One drink and you can go home and curl up with Netflix if you want.”
I gathered my makeup and shoved them into a black tote bag. Then I stashed the bag in my locker and grabbed my wallet. “You don’t have a high opinion of yourself if you think I’d want to curl up with Netflix after our date.”
He snorted and opened the door for me. “No, I know you Cathy, better than I do my own sister. You’ll be snuggled in bed watching the next episode of Poldark by eleven.”
He knew my tastes in television shows at least. I exited to the hall, and he followed.
“You look great by the way. I love it when you wear black.”
I snorted as we passed through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room. “As opposed to every other color I wear.”
The expression on his face made me slap the back of my hand into his chest. His solid, hard chest. He led me to his ruby-red BMW at the edge of the staff parking lot. “What, no Tesla?” I teased.
“Damn, I should have driven that one instead. Get in, smart ass.” He held the door open for me, and I slid in the passenger seat. It still smelled like new car and soft, supple leather. I guess there were some advantages to having money.
When I decided to pursue medicine, I stopped drawing on my trust fund. But this car right now tempted me. I ran my hand along dash and sighed. No, the cost wouldn’t be worth it. If I spent any money, my father or brother would come looking for me, expecting me to fold back into the family as some kind of recompence.
Eddy ducked in the driver’s side and started the car. I almost groaned as it came to life. “Where to, Princess?”
The word jolted me like a defibrillator. And I didn’t even get the benefit of a “clear.” “If you ever want me to speak to you again, you will never call me that.”
“What can I call you then?”
“Cathy, Catherine, Ms. Earnshaw, Dr. Earnshaw.”
He smiled, seemingly unfazed by my serious tone. “No man has ever given you a nickname?”
I refused to let myself go there, to think about it. “Not any who wanted to stick around.”
Instead of pressing, he leaned around, braced his hand on my headrest, and backed out of the parking spot. We drove in silence, and I closed my eyes and sat back listening to the sound of the car.
We stopped outside a local bar, one frequented by the doctors and lawyers who worked in the area. I let him open my door, because I didn’t want to have the argument about me doing it myself. It seemed easier. I said the thank you and trailed him into the bar.
