“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with Ben again?” Sara queried as she sprinkled some chocolate chips on a piece of pepperoni and mushroom pizza she was eating. YUCK “He really liked you.”
“The feeling was not mutual,” I said, nibbling on the crust of my own slice.
“He is a bit of a blowhard,” she conceded.
“In more ways than one, since he’s got that nicotine problem.” I paused to take a sip of my diet soda before adding, “I swear, he looked more lustfully at that pack of Camels than he did at me.”
Sara sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you into going on that date. I just assumed that any friend of Matt’s would be as laid-back and nice as he is.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ve come to the unhappy conclusion that my luck with men just stinks.”
I opened up the still-warm box from Andiamo’s and extracted another cheesy piece of the large pie. It was my third. I was pretty sure that once all of the saturated fat and carbs got into my bloodstream, I’d fall into some sort of pizza-induced coma.
“That’s not true,” my best friend mumbled with her mouth full.
“Oh, no? Let’s review. In the past week, I’ve gone on one horrible blind date that was interrupted by my recently dumped boyfriend, who’s turned stalking me into a full-time job, and I met two very attractive men, both of whom are completely off-limits to me.”
“Off-limits? Why?” Sara wondered.
“One of them is a patient, and the other is a married colleague.”
“Mmmmm, the married thing is no good. Stay away from him.”
“That might be difficult since he just moved into the office across the hall from me.”
“Uh oh.”
“It’ll be fine. My crush on Ford was short-lived.” Wedding rings had a habit of dampening a woman’s ardor. “So, there won’t be any weirdness there. I’m actually kind of excited about having a psychiatrist as a neighbor. Ford has amazing credentials, and he seems like a really intelligent guy. It’ll be nice to have someone around to ask for advice if I run into a problem with a patient. I don’t really have many people to talk shop with.”
“What about the patient? What’s his story?”
I wiped my tomato sauce-covered mouth with a napkin and pushed my plate away. “Mitch is gorgeous enough to be a movie star, and he knows it. He emits this rascally, ‘You know you wanna do me,’ vibe, and he oozes pheromones out of every pore; he even had Margo swooning when he came into the office the other day. You probably met a bunch of guys like him when you were modeling in Europe.”
“Oh yeah, I met and slept with more dim-witted, cleft-chinned pretty boys than I care to remember.” Giving up on the pizza, Sara scooped a handful of chocolate chips out of the bag and began popping them into her mouth.
“Mitch isn’t dim-witted. In fact, he strikes me as being rather clever.”
“Looks and smarts? Sounds like the perfect package.”
“He’s not perfect, far from it. The man’s got issues. That’s why he’s seeing me.”
“So, you’ll find the cure for whatever ails him, then you can cut him loose as a patient and start examining his body instead of his mind.” She gave me a saucy wink.
I frowned. “That wouldn’t be very ethical.”
“Ethics don’t buy a girl jewelry, or give her multiple Os.”
She had a point, but I still didn’t like the thought of crossing that line. Not with Mitch and not with the sexy new doc on the block. I planned to maintain a polite, professional distance from both of them.
* * *
“Knock, knock.” I peeked my head in the open door of my neighbor’s office. Ford was standing on the far side of the room, brushing the dust off a large leather-bound medical tome that he was about to place on one of his bookshelves.
“Pilar, hey. Come in and save me from the torture of unpacking.”
“I brought you something,” I announced as I entered the office carrying a small flowering plant.
He eyed my gift with interest. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. What is it?”
“A bromeliad. I thought that it would add a tropical touch to your new office, and it’s easy to care for. Just put it in an area that gets indirect light and don’t overwater it.”
“That won’t be a problem since I can never remember to water my plants,” Ford said with a self-deprecating grin. He took the exotic plant from me and set it on the corner of his desk. “This was really thoughtful of you. Thanks.”
“Well, I was sort of responsible for the untimely death of your last plant, so I felt like I owed you one.”
I noticed a framed photo sitting next to the bromeliad. “Is this your son?” I asked as I picked it up to take a closer look. The little boy in the picture was precious. He had a thatch of thick brown hair, large, wide-set eyes that were almost as dark, and a very serious expression on his cherubic face.
Ford beamed with fatherly pride. “Yep, that’s my little Einstein. His name’s Nate. He’s not even 6 yet and he’s already smarter than I am.”
I smiled, seeing a man’s love for his child was a beautiful thing. “He looks just like you.”
“You think?” Ford took the photo out of my hands and stared down at it intently, searching for signs of himself. “I’ve always thought he looked like his mother. He has her soulful eyes.”
This was the first time he’d mentioned his wife. I was incredibly curious about Mrs. Dr. Ford. What kind of woman was she? Was she a stay-at-home mom who baked cookies and carpooled? Or a highly-educated, career-oriented type like her spouse? A tall, slinky brunette? Or maybe a petite, wholesome-looking blonde? I was just about to ask Ford to fill me in on his better half when he set the framed photo back on his desk and changed the subject.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Good, because I’m starved and I have no idea where to find a decent burger around here.”
“I can definitely hook you up.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting at one of Big Pink’s outside tables. Big Pink was a hip, close-to-the-beach diner that attracted both locals and tourists in droves. It offered giant-sized portions of comfort foods like mac and cheese and meatloaf. And no one in South Beach made a better burger. Its triple-decker Pink Daddy Mack was a culinary work of art.
“Wait until you’ve tasted the polenta fries,” I told Ford after we’d placed our orders. “You can die happy after you’ve eaten one.”
“I don’t know. They’ll have to be pretty phenomenal to beat the seasoned cheese fries at Duke’s.”
“Where’s Duke’s?” I inquired.
“In Brooklyn, where I grew up. My family’s been there for five generations. My brothers still live in the old neighborhood.”
“And your parents?”
“They’re retired. Mom was a schoolteacher for 40 years, and Pop worked for the Postal Service.”
So, he came from a working class background? I wondered how he’d gotten from a Brooklyn stoop to Mount Sinai.
“Thanks,” I said to the waiter who’d just brought our beverages. “Where’d you go to school?”
“NYU. On an academic scholarship. And you?” Ford took the straw out of his lemonade and drank directly from the clear, plastic glass.
“I went to the University of Miami. On my father’s dime,” I added with a smirk.
“Oh yeah, what does he do?”
“He’s a senior partner in one of the most successful, Latino-owned law firms in Miami, Davila, Guererra & Alvarez.”
“What type of law does he practice?”
“Estate law, wills, trusts, that kind of thing. With all of the elderly, rich people here in South Florida, his line of work is very lucrative.”
“I can imagine. You never thought about going into the family business?”
“God, no. I find the law to be incredibly dull.” I leaned across the table and said in an exaggerated whisper, “Don’t ever tell my father I said that.”
Ford chuckled. “My lips are sealed.”
“So, why does everyone call you ‘Ford?’” I queried, then removed the cap from my bottled water and took a swig. The scorching noonday sun was beating down on our heads, and I was starting to get warm.
“It all started in the first grade. Parents in Brooklyn aren’t very creative when it comes to naming their children, so there were 6 Jonathans in my class at P.S. 321. My teacher, Mrs. Lindstrom, who was old and a little batty, had to find some way to differentiate all of the Jonathans so that she wouldn’t confuse herself . . . or us. She was going to refer to me as ‘Jonathan F.,’ but that was a mouthful. One of the other kids suggested ‘Ford,’ and it stuck.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Two, Danny and Chris. I’m the oldest.”
“I come from a family of three, too. All girls. I’m the middle child.”
“Have you read Ken Simmons’ book on birth order?”
“Oh my God, yes!” I bounced on the edge of my seat excitedly. “That book was fascinating. I thought his theory on . . .” I was interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone. Sometimes I really hated those things.
“Excuse me,” I said as I reached down for my Louis Vuitton bag. I pulled the phone out and checked the caller ID before answering.
Without realizing it, I must have made some kind of disgusted face because Ford gave me an amused look and asked, “Your fiancé?”
I turned the phone off and shoved it back into my purse a bit more forcefully than was necessary. “Victor is not my fiancé. He purposely misled you the other day. I’m sorry that he was so rude to you.”
Ford shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m not easily offended. I come from New York, remember?”
“Still, he behaved badly. He has no right to act territorial with me. Our relationship ended over a month ago.”
“He obviously hasn’t accepted that.”
“Victor is a very hard-headed man. I’ve told him repeatedly that we’re through, but he continues to pursue me. He actually showed up at the restaurant where I was having dinner with a date last week.”
“Maybe Victor keeps coming back because your rejections lack conviction? Maybe there’s some part of you that enjoys all of the attention?” Ford posited.
I arched an eyebrow. “Are you psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Fordham?”
“Just some food for thought, Dr. Alvarez.”
“And here’s some food for our stomachs,” I said as the waiter approached our table with two burger and fries-filled plates. His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. While I enjoyed shrinking other people’s heads, it made me nervous when the same was done to mine.