Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rick Montague, Advertising God
LORNA
The halls of Torrance Memorial Hospital were buzzing with activity as Lorna loitered near the nurses’ station, waiting. Clinicians and nurses deftly navigated between intaking new patients, treating existing patients, and guiding lost visitors to the right rooms in search of their kin.
Finally, Lorna spotted him. Daniel Torres. Knee surgeon to the stars, his main clients being the Los Angeles Lakers. Single. Eligible. He was balding, but he made up for it with a God complex and a dazzling amount of charisma. The money didn’t hurt, either.
Lorna hadn’t seen him in years, but he had instantly responded when she reached out and told her to meet him here, in the halls of his gleaming, beeping, and humming sterile kingdom.
He walked up and drew her in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you after all this time,” Dan said warmly.
There was and always had been a little earthquake of attraction between them that had never been acted upon, which was still vibrant and intact. Her eyes brightened.
“Hi, Dan, I see you’ve made some sort of deal with the devil to keep you as young- looking and effervescent as a Chippendale dancer.”
“Body is a temple, Lorna,” Dan said and then sized her up. “I see you’re in top form as well.”
Lorna accepted the compliment with the smallest of smiles as she and Dan stood there assessing each other, shooting approving glances in each other’s direction. Finally, Lorna spoke. “So, did you go over the proposal I sent you?”
“I did, I did, the group blind date,” Dan said as he looked at the floor and grimaced. “Got to admit that’s not why I thought you were reaching out. Was a little disappointed, if you know what I mean.”
Lorna stifled a smile but stayed focused. “I appreciate the sentiment behind that comment, Dan. But this time, it’s business. So, would you consider joining for dinner?”
Dan puffed out his cheeks, clearly disappointed that Lorna hadn’t changed her tune. “Yeah, the thing is, I can’t.”
Lorna knew he’d be a tough pull. Dan had always had a very healthy and active sex life.
She assumed he was still a big player in the game.
She was certain that eventually he would come around to finding his person and taking the plunge into domestic bliss.
A man like him wanted to reproduce, after all.
Beget little carbon copies to live on in his name.
“Come on, Dan, you’re a wealthy orthopedic surgeon with a thriving career.
You can’t stay single forever. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing.
You will be perfect for this date. Please consider it. ”
“When is it again?”
“Two weeks from now.”
“’Fraid not, Lorn. I’ll be in Cabo with a hot nurse from the neonatal unit.” Dan gave a can’t-be-helped shrug and backed away. “Always great to see you. Reach out again. We’ll get drinks.” Dan rushed down the hall to nowhere in particular.
Lorna sighed, turned on her heel, and nearly tumbled over a man in a wheelchair who was parked right behind her, within eavesdropping distance.
The man gave her a furtive, guilty glance but then recovered and offered a smile. “I couldn’t help overhear that you were looking for an eligible, successful, charismatic, single man?”
Lorna slowly turned her gaze toward him. She tilted her head and sized him up from his slipper-socked feet to the wavy dark hair on his head, which had been shaved and bandaged on one side. “And you are?”
“Rick. Rick Montague. I’m partner and CCO at the Angelo Montague Agency.”
“Lorna Gray,” she said and extended her hand. “I’m sorry, where?”
“It’s only the biggest advertising agency on the West Coast. Sneaker brands. Automotive accounts. Insurance is our bread and butter, though. Maybe you’ve seen the insurance ads with the flying pig? That’s me.” He smiled broadly, beaming with self-pride.
A nurse walked by and Rick tracked her ass with his eyes. Lorna noticed he couldn’t even help himself. He looked up and tried to recover, but Lorna was staring him down, her shrewd eyes narrowed, assessing him. “Can’t say I have,” she said.
“In short, I am an advertising god.” Rick immediately brightened, clearly shameless and borderline narcissistic, much like her wayward orthopedist, and went into hard sell mode.
“I overheard you say you were looking for a date and well, here’s my pitch.
” He held up his hands to make a frame, like a Hollywood director.
“I’d pick you up in my vintage Porsche a half hour before sunset, take you to a secluded spot on the coast to watch our big yellow fireball drop into the Pacific, then whisk you off to Pearl’s for a private chef’s dinner on their oceanside terrace.
Some live jazz at a little exclusive downtown lounge I know.
See how the night unfolds. Maybe a hot tub back at my place. ” He looked up, pleased with himself.
“Wow,” was all Lorna had to say.
He looked stumped for a moment, his expression showing just how unaccustomed he was to handling rejection. He started again, both hands out, “Okay, how about—”
She cut him off. “Listen, this isn’t a date with me. It’s a group blind date I’m setting up for a very selective assemblage of people.”
Rick seemed to mull this over. “I would be perfect for that group,” he stated confidently.
“You don’t even know what kind of group it is.”
“Matters not. I’m perfect in any group,” he said.
Lorna looked more closely at him, and when her gaze fell to his bald spot where his injury was, he said, “I have a full head of glorious hair, they just had to shave it.”
“Let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot.” Rick cracked his knuckles.
“Scarlett Johansson doesn’t call you back, what is your first thought.”
“Broken phone.”
“Trick question!” She shook her head, exasperated. “Why would Scarlett Johansson ever call you back?”
“You never know! Maybe she just broke it off with that posturing dope on SNL and is looking for a real man.” Rick pointed his two thumbs at himself.
Whew! The ego was staggering. She pursed her lips and massaged her jaw, contemplating the idea, and asked, “What happened?” She motioned to his injury.
“Oh, yeah. I was walking out of my office—gorgeous office, really—to go for a circuit training workout wearing my new Woolrich sherpa pants, have you tried them? Nothing softer. Plus, they make you feel both rich and sporty. Perfect vibe. Anyway, I walked out onto the sidewalk and apparently collapsed.”
The man could spin a yarn, and sell product.
He continued, “Couldn’t fathom what happened to me until I woke up here and the cute but rather unfriendly nurse informed me that my new blood pressure meds were the culprit. Hence, I passed out and hit my head on the railing of a seafood restaurant. That’s why the stitches.”
As if on cue, his nurse walked up with his release papers to sign and a small plastic bag with his phone and wallet. “Here are your personal effects.” She unceremoniously laid the bag in his lap. “You’re being released today. Do you have someone who can pick you up?”
Rick smirked and shook his head in Lorna’s direction. “Of course I have someone to pick me up. Ugh, I probably have a thousand texts. If I’m gone one damn day, the whole world falls apart.”
The nurse gave him a polite smile. Lorna remained impassive.
Rick powered up his phone and looked down at the screen.
Lorna strategically placed herself alongside the nurses’ station counter, just over his shoulder, so she could see for herself.
Rick had exactly two text messages, one from his telecom company telling him he was due for a phone upgrade and the other from Woolrich announcing a new $440 sweatshirt coming out next month.
He checked his missed calls. Then his messages. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
He frowned. Lorna looked away, not wanting to be a witness to this pitiful display. Then a delightful ping of a text came in. He brightened. “And so it begins.”
Lorna saw that it was from someone named Sienna.
Hey Sorry Rick but I have to cancel tonight. I have a thing.
She ended the text with a little video of a cartoon cat holding a sign that said “SORRY!”
He frowned again and put his phone down. He turned his attention back to the nurse. “Has anyone come to see me while I’ve been here?”
The nurse was busy filling out forms but paused and said, “I can check.” She walked toward the nurses’ station.
He looked up at Lorna. “I go out of town a lot, so people think I’m always gone.”
Lorna nodded and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Right.”
The nurse came back and said, “Good news. You did have a visitor. It was Dana Rice, the owner of the restaurant whose railing you hit. He was concerned.”
Rick sat perplexed in his wheelchair. He texted someone named Miles Angelo. His business partner, Lorna assumed.
Yo. Dude. I’m in the hospital.
No response. He texted Sienna the same message.
Nothing.
Rick angrily sent out several more texts to friends, coworkers, even a distant aunt who lived in Petaluma.
Lorna took out some mints and popped two in her mouth, trying to figure out how to extricate herself from this embarrassing, sad situation.
It was like watching a slow-moving train wreck. She couldn’t look away.
Finally, a text came in from Miles.
What happened, cowboy? Hey, where is that Google doc you created for the toothpaste pitch? I need it.
Outwardly incensed by his partner’s lack of empathy, he sniffed and sent another text. This one all caps.
CAN YOU PICK ME UP FROM THE HOSPITAL? I’M BEING RELEASED.
It took a few minutes before Rick got a reply from Miles.
Whoa! Can’t wait to hear that story. No can do, buddy. I’m in Pitch Mode! I’ll tell my assistant to send a car.
“What an asshole,” Rick muttered to himself.
The nurse handed him the release form to sign. He grabbed it, nearly crumpling it, and rushed a signature.
Lorna looked wearily toward the exit.
The nurse said, “Sir, I can’t allow you to leave without a ride.”
Rick sat in his wheelchair fuming, his finger hovering over the Uber app. He looked up at Lorna, who was giving him a pitying look.
He began incessantly checking his phone for a return text. Lorna sensed that his anger was morphing into something exponentially worse than anger: perhaps a deep unrelenting chord of fear.
As if offering an explanation for his inability to locate anyone who cared enough to pick him up, he looked up at Lorna and said, “This is an anomaly. My life is full. I swear. I have great friends, surrounded by gorgeous women, even my clients love me…” he trailed off.
“Yes, of course.”
“I mean, I don’t have a wife. Or kids. Or even a dog.
But I own a stylish, midcentury modern home with a hot tub in a highly sought-after area of Manhattan Beach.
Paid in cash. I’ve been to all seven continents.
People love me at parties,” he said, clearly grasping at trying to find the things that made his own life more meaningful and finally ended his list with, “and I have good hair.”
Had good hair.
Lorna nodded slowly and put a hand on his shoulder. “You need a ride home?”
Rick put his head in his hands and for a moment, she saw the man within the man; the mask slipped just enough for her to see the soul inside. Hmm.
She finally said, “Actually, I think you are perfect for this date. Here’s my card. My assistant will call you with the details.”
Rick cradled the pink business card as if it were precious rare treasure. Perhaps it was. A lifeline to something real.
Lorna took the handles of his wheelchair and pushed Rick Montague toward the sliding glass doors of the hospital into the bright sunshine.
In the distance it took to get outside in the fresh air, the self-satisfied smile of Rick Montague had returned as if he felt he had pitched and won.
Lorna had completed the table. If she couldn’t find a soulmate for Rick Montague, Advertising God, then at the very least she could find someone who would pick him up from the goddamn hospital.
Dinner for Six was set.