Heart Trouble Read online

  “Ah.” The stunned expression finally left his face, and he moved out of the way. “I should go see my sister and let you get out of here.”

  Should she tell him to say hi to his sister for her? No. She never stayed in touch with her patients, not even through a third person. Besides, Ms. Samadi had probably seen dozens of doctors in the last two days and might not even remember her.

  With a nod of good-bye, she moved past him and headed toward the staff parking lot, not allowing herself to glance back.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Are you sure you want to go?” Laleh’s mother asked for the dozenth time. “You’re barely out of the hospital.”

  Laleh sighed. “It’s been two weeks, Maman. I feel fine. No tachycardia at all. Besides, I’m not going on a trekking tour to Nepal. I’m just going to a movie premiere with my friend Jill.”

  Her mother followed her to the bathroom and watched Laleh brush her hair. “Don’t you want to put on some lipstick? There’ll be photographers around.”

  For some reason, her mother had lately started insisting that she needed some lipstick wherever she went—probably because she was now at an age where, according to her mother, she had to work harder to make herself attractive to find a husband. Laleh blithely ignored the fashion advice, as she always did. “Yeah, but they’ll hardly want to take photos of me. I’m not the movie star. Jill and her friends are.”

  “Is she married?”

  What did that have to do with anything? “No. But she’s in a steady relationship.” A same-sex relationship, but she thought it better not to mention that.

  A car honked in front of the building.

  Laleh put down the brush and grabbed her purse. “That’s Jill.”

  “Why don’t you ask her in for a glass of tea?” her mother said. “I’d like to meet her.”

  Laleh shook her head. “We don’t have time for that.” Besides, she wasn’t about to put Jill through her mother’s interrogation. Between offering tea and ajil—the Persian version of trail mix—her mother would quiz Jill about her career aspirations, her family, and her relationship. “Will you lock the door when you leave?”

  Her mother nodded and followed her to the door. Once they reached it, she pulled Laleh around to face her and ran her gaze up and down her body. Pride shone in her eyes. “You look beautiful.”

  Laleh smiled. She didn’t dress up often, but she enjoyed how the silky fabric of her simple black dress felt against her skin. “Even without lipstick?”

  “Even without lipstick,” her mother conceded. “Khosh begzare.”

  “Thanks, Maman. I’m sure it’ll be fun.” Two kisses from her mother and she was out the door.

  A black limousine was parked at the curb.

  “Ooh!” Her mother had followed her outside and stared at the vehicle. “Didn’t you say she’s not really famous? And now you’ll get to ride in a limousine?”

  Laleh suppressed a smile. Her mother was easily impressed with glitz and glamour.

  “Ask her if she wants to come over for dinner sometime.”

  “I will.” After she gave Jill fair warning about the questions and the tons of food that would be heaped on her.

  “She and her boyfriend, of course,” her mother added.

  “Uh, sure.” It would be interesting to see how her family handled having dinner with a lesbian couple.

  Her mother hugged and kissed her again; then Laleh hurried toward the limousine. She let out a low whistle as she slid onto the leather backseat next to Jill. “The studio is renting an entire limousine just for you now, even though it’s not your movie? It seems you’re moving up in the Tinseltown hierarchy.”

  “Good evening to you too,” Jill replied with a grin. “And no, I haven’t been promoted to Queen of Hollywood. The studio didn’t rent the limousine. Crash did. She felt bad that she couldn’t make it to the premiere because she’s shooting in Vancouver, and she didn’t want me to have to drive, in case my MS was acting up.”

  What a sweetheart. “I could have picked you up.”

  “Uh, no, thanks. I think this is better.” Jill patted the beige leather seat.

  “What, you don’t trust my driving?”

  “Your driving is fine,” Jill said. “It’s your sense of direction I don’t trust.”

  Admittedly, Laleh had made them late to an after-party last year by getting them lost despite the GPS in her car. “Hey, my uncle has had me deliver takeout since I went back to work, so I don’t have to be on my feet all day, and I’ll have you know that I haven’t gotten lost even once.”

  “Really?” Jill drawled, sounding a bit like her girlfriend, Crash.

  “Really.”

  “Huh, what do you know? Maybe the doctors cured your bad sense of direction along with your heart problem.” Jill sobered and lightly touched Laleh’s forearm. “How’s that doing, by the way?”

  “Everything’s fine. They want me to go back in two weeks to set me up with a Holter monitor for twenty-four hours, just to make sure. But so far, it seems like they resolved my heart trouble. No more accelerated heartbeat for me.”

  “Unless you finally find your Prince Charming.” Jill’s green eyes twinkled.

  “Unless I find my Prince Charming,” Laleh repeated with a nod. “But until that happens, I can slay my own dragons.”

  “Who says you have to stop slaying dragons once you’re in a relationship?”

  Laleh shrugged. “Well, Iranian men usually expect to be the ones to swing the sword.”

  “And you think you’ll end up with one?”

  “My parents certainly expect it,” Laleh said. It had taken them a while to warm up to Jennifer, her brother Navid’s American wife.

  A tiny crinkle appeared between Jill’s eyebrows. “They’re not trying to set up an arranged marriage for you, are they?”

  Laleh laughed. “No. It might have worked for my parents, but they know I’d never go for that. They’re just not-so-subtly trying to steer me toward men they consider good husband material.”

  Jill’s eyes widened. “Your parents’ marriage was arranged?”

  “My mother insists on calling it encouraged, not arranged, but I know my grandmother. That woman could talk fish into buying a bicycle. My mother didn’t stand a chance of saying no.”

  “Wow.”

  Silence spread through the limousine.

  Laleh pressed her lips together. She hated those moments when the two cultures she belonged to clashed. Feeling as if she had to defend her parents’ marriage, she added, “At least my grandmother picked well. I know few couples who’re still so happy together after thirty-two years of marriage.”

  “Good for them,” Jill said. “That’s certainly more than can be said for my parents.”

  The limousine turned onto Hollywood Boulevard, and Laleh craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the Walk of Fame. For Jill, movie premieres and everything that went with them might have gotten old already, but the excitement of it all still hadn’t worn off for Laleh. It had only been a year since she and Jill had become close friends. Since then, Laleh accompanied her to events whenever Crash couldn’t make it.

  Her body buzzed with excitement as they approached the TCL Chinese Theatre. She had to laugh at herself. You’d think it’s your movie premiere, not that of Jill’s friend.

  The limousine stopped at the curb in front of the theater.

  Laleh peered through the tinted window.

  Fans and paparazzi crowded the area around the red carpet. The security team strained to hold back the excited crowd.

  Good thing her parents didn’t read the Hollywood gossip rags. If they saw her being photographed with an out lesbian, they might start wondering if that was the real reason Laleh wasn’t spending her days looking for a husband. She rolled her eyes. Just because she was happy on her own didn’t mean she was gay.

  The driver climbed out from behind the wheel and opened the door for them.

  Jill got out first, followed by Laleh, who pr
eferred to stay in the background.

  Cameras clicked, and flashes blinded her for a moment. Laleh lifted her hand to shield her eyes, but Jill—more used to the spectacle—smiled into the cameras. She looked radiant in her eggplant-colored dress with off-the-shoulder straps.

  Laleh could barely believe that her friend suffered from multiple sclerosis.

  “Hey, Jill,” one of the reporters shouted and gestured toward Laleh. “Is this your new girlfriend?”

  Jill laughed. “No. I’m still quite happy with the old one, thank you very much.” She hooked her arm through Laleh’s and wagged her finger at the reporter. “You’d better not start any rumors about me again. She’s a friend—a straight friend.”

  Another limousine pulled up behind them, and the reporters and photographers descended on the new arrivals. The flurry of camera flashes wouldn’t stop.

  Apparently, someone more interesting had arrived. Laleh lifted her five-foot-four frame up on her tiptoes to see who it was.

  “That’s Grace,” Jill said.

  How casually she said that. Of course, she and Grace were best friends. Laleh had met her twice, and she knew Grace Durand was amazingly down-to-earth for a movie star, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit starstruck.

  She stared as Grace climbed out of her limousine, hand in hand with her girlfriend, Lauren. Her white dress with its halter-style top accentuated her world-famous curves.

  “Shouldn’t the big stars arrive before everyone else?” Laleh asked when her mouth was working again.

  “Yeah. Seems they got held up by something. Or,” Jill added in a whisper so the reporters couldn’t hear, “by each other.” She grinned and nudged Laleh, who found herself staring at the couple again. “What? Still having your fangirl moments? I thought you were over that.”

  “I can’t help it. She’s Grace Durand!”

  Jill rolled her eyes. “Come on, fangirl. Let’s go say hi and then go see Grace’s new movie.”

  Laleh hoped she wouldn’t be too tongue-tied to say much. On slightly shaky legs, she followed Jill over to Grace and her girlfriend.

  * * *

  By the time the after-party was in full swing, Laleh had had enough of her short visit to the world of Hollywood. Getting to see the movie before anyone else had been fun, but being stuck at a party with all these showbiz people wasn’t her favorite type of entertainment. How did Jill stand being around all these superficial people with their meaningless compliments and their fake smiles all the time?

  Well, at least the food was good, so she hid out in the back of the room by the buffet tables while she waited for Jill to finish her conversation with a director.

  “Jesus,” Jill said when she finally joined her. “Can you believe he talked my ear off for half an hour? He hasn’t given me the time of day since I came out as an MS patient.”

  “Maybe he finally saw the light and wants to have you in his next movie.”

  “That’s what I thought, but it turns out all he wanted was for me to introduce him to Grace.”

  “Ahmagh,” Laleh muttered. “What an idiot. What did you tell him?”

  Now the grin returned to Jill’s face. “I told him I’d love to do that…if my fatigue weren’t acting up so badly that I had to leave. He couldn’t protest without looking like an asshole.”

  Laleh returned her grin, marveling at how much Jill had changed. A year or so ago, she had tried her best to ignore her MS and would have stubbornly stayed at the party, even if her fatigue had really been acting up. Now, she talked openly about her neurological condition and even used it to her advantage. “So, do you really want to leave?”

  “Hell, yes!” Jill said. “I was ready to get out of here five minutes after we arrived. Even Grace and Lauren escaped while I was talking to that idiot.”

  “Okay. Just let me finish these.” Laleh pointed at the last two antipasti skewers on her plate.

  Jill stole one from her. “I thought you didn’t like olives?”

  “I don’t,” Laleh mumbled around a mouthful of feta, olives, and grape tomatoes. She paused for a moment and counted the empty bamboo skewers on her plate—seven. There’d been olives on each of them. Weird.

  Jill’s grin broadened. “Well, it seems you’re getting over your aversion.”

  Laleh popped another olive into her mouth and found that she no longer detested the salty, bitter taste. “My parents always said they’re an acquired taste. Guess they were right.”

  “Come on.” Jill waved to several acquaintances and steered Laleh toward the exit. “Let’s see what else I can convert you to.”

  Laleh nearly choked on the last olive.

  Jill hip-checked her. “I’m talking about getting ice cream on the way home. Let’s see if I can get you to try a flavor other than pistachio.” She gave Laleh an innocent look but, despite her acting skills, couldn’t quite pull it off. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  “No comment,” Laleh said and hip-checked her back, turning her head away to hide her blush.

  * * *

  Even when she was working day shifts, Hope rarely had time for a real lunch break and had to make do with the granola bars stashed in her locker. But today the emergency department was quieter than usual, so she headed to the hospital cafeteria.

  She picked up some napkin-wrapped silverware and an empty tray from a stack next to the entrance and pushed them along the stainless-steel counter. Normally, she wasn’t picky about food. It might be hours before she had the time to even think about food again, so she usually devoured whatever was put in front of her. But today neither the soggy french fries nor the overcooked vegetables appealed to her.

  She was so busy eyeing the sandwiches, trying to decide which one looked edible, that she nearly crashed into the person in front of her.

  The tall black woman, dressed in pale green surgical scrubs, turned to face her. It was her friend Jordan. “Hey, Hope. Trying to get up close and personal with my sexy ass?”

  Hope snorted. “You wish.”

  “A woman can dream, can’t she?” Jordan offered an exaggerated leer.

  Hope didn’t dignify her comment with a reply. Jordan was an incorrigible flirt, but they both knew they were better off as friends even though they were the only out lesbian physicians on staff.

  They turned back toward the food counter.

  “How’s it going up there in the OR?” Hope asked. “Busy day?”

  Jordan put a cardboard container of french fries on her tray. “You can say that again. I had back-to-back surgeries all day.”

  Hope shook her head. “I don’t know how you can stand it. My surgery rotation nearly killed me. Assisting with a half-dozen gallbladder surgeries in a row…” She yawned. “Boring.”

  “Compared to the rush of treating runny noses and removing foreign objects from people’s rectums, you mean?”

  “Compared to the exhilaration of a successful resuscitation,” Hope said.

  “And getting yourself shocked with two hundred joules.” Jordan added a bowl of diced fruit to her tray. “I have to admit that the OR can’t compete with that.”

  Hope groaned. “Who told you about that?”

  Jordan’s lips curled into a grin. “I have my sources.” She checked out the last piece of peach pie. “Do you want that?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Man, I could eat a horse.”

  “I doubt they serve that. But knowing your luck with women, you could probably charm her into hunting one down for you.” Hope pointed to the woman in the hairnet behind the counter.

  “Probably. How about you?”

  “While I’m at work, I focus on treating women, not charming them,” Hope said.

  “No. I mean, aren’t you eating?” Jordan pointed at Hope’s still-empty tray.

  Hope shrugged and waved her hand at the food counter. “Guess I’m not in the mood for any of this.”

  Jordan raised her eyebrows. “You? Not in the mood for food? That’s like me not
being in the mood for sex!”

  Two nurses in line ahead of them turned and threw them curious glances.

  Hope wanted to hide behind her tray, but Jordan gave the women a confident grin. Incorrigible. Hope couldn’t help smiling.

  Well, there was one food item she was in the mood for. She gave the cafeteria worker a hopeful look. “I know it’s a long shot, but do you have any pomegranates?” She’d had an unusual craving for the tangy-yet-sweet taste all day.

  “Pomegranates?” the woman and Jordan said at the same time.

  “Guess that’s a no.” Hope chose a cheese sandwich and a bowl of soup and then moved to the counter with the giant coffee urn. Usually, she got herself a cup of Earl Grey, but today the thought of drinking the low-quality tea caused her to wrinkle her nose, so she poured herself a cup of coffee instead.

  When they finally reached the register, the cashier ran their ID badges and charged the food to their accounts.

  They sat at a small table by a window overlooking the courtyard. The greenery and blooming flowers reminded Hope of her one potted plant at home, which had probably died by now. It wouldn’t be the first time a houseplant had suffered when she barely made it home in between shifts.

  Jordan dug into her french fries with gusto while Hope ate her potato-and-leek soup without enthusiasm. The stuff was almost flavorless: no garlic, no tarragon, no Cajun spices. She doubted the cook had even used pepper and salt. Oh, come on now. What are you, a food critic?

  “So,” Jordan said after finishing her fries and getting started on the peach pie, “ready to have your ass kicked during our squash date this Monday?”

  Hope flicked a crumb from her sandwich at her. “You mean, am I ready to kick your ass? Yes, I am. And don’t call it a date, or people will start to talk.”

  Jordan paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. “Would it really be so bad if people thought that you and I were involved?” she asked quietly. Her grin was gone. Instead, she looked almost hurt.

  Hope shoved back her half-eaten bowl of soup. “No. That’s not what I… I just try to keep my job and my private life separate.”