“Then let’s go after them! This is an invasion of all professional privacy and a complete misrepresentation.”
“Will…” She paused. “God, Will.”
“What?”
“They didn’t outline that they planned to do it on their side, but we didn’t outline that they couldn’t on ours. I’m sorry.”
“So…what? I’m just supposed to sit here and let this happen for the next twelve weeks? I thought this was a goddamn docuseries, not one ass cheek away from the start of a porno!”
“Our hands are tied for the next thirty-six, Will. We’ve checked with the lawyers, I assure you, but we have no legal recourse. Every single planned episode—yours, Scott’s, and Nick’s—will air.”
“Fucking shit.”
“Will.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s not exactly professional language.”
She actually laughed a little, and I considered what kind of technology it would require to have my hand reach through the phone and strangle her. Have they invented it yet? Can my brother-in-law afford it? He’s fucking loaded, so I’m sure he can.
“No, it’s not, but it’s fine. I was just going to tell you the positive news.”
“I’m not really seeing how you can spin this one in a good direction, Tammy.”
“How about five hundred thousand hits in an hour?”
“What?”
“That’s how many people have visited the hospital website in the last hour.”
I rolled my eyes. “And? I’ve always thought of hospitals as one of those things that sell themselves. People get injured, they come. It’s not like they’re choosing a spa.”
“You’d think that, but you’re wrong. People do choose hospitals, Will, and as much as you don’t like this personally, people are choosing our hospital because of this show.”
“And they’re all checking in to the psych ward?”
Deep down, I knew she was right. People really did choose hospitals. I’d seen it enough in my time as a physician, but still…this was about me and I was pissed. Emotion sometimes skews rational thought.
“Will.”
I sighed. Goddammit. “Fine. I guess it is what it is.”
“It is.”
“Then you better keep me on salary until I’m dead, close, or convicted of an actual crime.”
It was her turn to sigh. “The hospital cannot actually promise to keep a job for you, but I can guarantee the circumstances have been noted.”
“My sacrifice has been noted.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe I was being dramatic. Or maybe this really was the end of my life as I knew it. Either way, I said my goodbyes, hung up the call, and forced myself to go back into the living room to watch the rest of the show.
The truth was, as angry as I was with Tammy and the board, and as livid as I felt with the production company, neither of those had anything on the loathing I felt for myself. I’d been excited. Naïvely thinking the show would improve my social life, for fuck’s sake. Oh, you’re so impressive, Will, I’d thought women would say.
But the show had taken a direction completely different from what they’d pitched—a harrowing account from St. Luke’s most elite doctors—and turned it into a lighthearted romp on everything ethical and professional.
Unfortunately, with my guard down and my head up my ass, I’d given them the material. I’d been the man on camera, and there wasn’t anyone but myself to blame for that.
Goddammit.
On the edge of my seat, I watched with disgust as the man on the screen—me, apparently—said something bordering on offensive and winked…while doing a dilation check on a harmlessly pregnant woman…just before the show faded into the final commercial.
Good. God.
I didn’t even remember doing it, winking for the camera like that, and I certainly didn’t remember doing it with my hand inside of a woman. The camera had been right behind her head, and a gown was covering all the skin of her legs, but, for shit’s sake, it was never appropriate to wink at a woman while giving her such an intimate exam. I wonder if she’d felt uncomfortable? If she’d thought I was winking at her?
Even though I knew I’d never act that way without some kind of pseudo-reasonable explanation, panic and hysteria swirled inside me until the disbelief wore off and let them explode.
“I look like a predator!”
No woman was ever going to come near me again. Not for medicine and certainly not for sex. I was going to have to move. To somewhere remote. Without television. And live in a hut or something. Oh my God. No one is ever going to blow me again. I was going to be the male version of