Special Delivery
a Hollywood Hills novellini
By Traci Hohenstein
SPECIAL DELIVERY
a Hollywood Hills novellini
Traci Hohenstein
Copyright © 2011
All Rights Reserved.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
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To Anna Satterfield
– my sister, my friend
Special thanks to Michelle Couch, Stephanie Roessler, Jeroen ten Berge, Kay Keppler, and Nicholas Ambrose for their help on this novel.
CONTENTS
“Get it out! Get it out of me, now!”
I could hear the screaming all the way down the hall. I pushed the door open to Room 422 just in time to hear—
“If you don’t get Dr. Love in here right now to get this thing out of me, I swear I’ll reach down there and pull it out myself!”
“Good evening, everyone,” I said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. The maternity nurse, Julie, looked relieved to see me.
“She’s ten centimeters dilated, been pushing for the last hour and half, and the head is crowning,” Julie updated me.
I stood at the bedside of my patient, Bethany Burke. Bethany is a famous comedienne with her own reality TV show. She’s also my patient, delivering her first child.
The words coming out of her mouth now, however, weren’t so funny.
“Where the hell have you been?” Bethany asked between panting. “I want…this baby…out of me….now!”
I smiled and pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes.
“Bethany, you’ll finally get to meet your baby in just a few minutes.”
I glanced over at her husband, Taylor, who was nervously pacing next to her bed. Her assistant, Camille, sat nearby, texting furiously on her Blackberry. They barely acknowledged my presence.
I quickly examined Bethany—she was crowning and ready to deliver. Julie had alerted the nursery and they rolled in a crib and stood by to wait.
Taking my seat at the foot of the bed, I coached her on. “Okay now, Bethany, big push!”
“Ahhhh!” Bethany screamed while bearing down.
The baby’s head popped out. “Okay, Bethany a couple more of those pushes and we’re done.”
This is the part of my job that I love the most. Delivering babies. Bringing precious life into the world. And being a doctor in LA—a doctor to the famous—definitely has its perks. My clients are movie stars, soap opera actresses, pop singers, supermodels, and wives of the Hollywood’s elite. That’s fun, and I have to admit, glamorous. But all the drama that goes along with it—I just tolerate.
Finally, at eight minutes to midnight, Bethany Burke delivered her baby.
“It’s a girl!” I exclaimed, while the baby wailed at the top of her lungs. She definitely has her mother’s mouth, I thought, as I handed the surgical scissors to her husband, Taylor, to cut the cord.
Suddenly, the door swung open and two men walked into the room carrying black leather bags and train cases. Camille popped up out of her chair. “Just in time. Let’s get started, guys. She needs some sprucing up pronto.”
I turned to Julie in confusion.
“Bethany’s film crew is here. They’re filming for her show,” she explained.
As the nurses cleaned up the baby, Bethany’s team of makeup and hair stylists cleaned up the star. I watched in amazement as the makeup guy wiped the sweat off Bethany’s forehead, while the hair guy sprayed something powdery in her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail.
“Ummmhuh.” I cleared my throat to get Bethany’s attention. “You still have to deliver the placenta.”
“What?” Bethany said, as the camera man poked his head into the doorway to see if he could come in.
“You aren’t done,” I said. I explained everything else we had to do, including putting in stitches.
“How long will that take?” Camille asked, fluffing up her own hair.
Julie rolled her eyes at me. This delivery had turned into a three-ring circus.
“About an hour.”
“Okay. Not a prob,” Camille said. “We’ll film the delivery of the placenta thingy and then we can edit to look like the actual delivery.” She looked at Bethany for approval.
Bethany
just nodded her head.
The nurse handed the baby to Bethany. She kissed her daughter on the forehead and then handed the baby off to her husband. “Here honey. I don’t want to mess up my makeup.”
We all—makeup crew, hair crew, and medical crew—finished up at the same time. After eighteen hours of labor, Bethany looked better than I did. I have to get the name of her stylist.
My career started when I joined the family practice in Hollywood, California, a few years ago. My dad, Frank Love, had delivered Hollywood babies for over forty years, until my mom forced him to retire. They now live in Palm Springs and play golf almost every day.
When I was young, my dad took me on house calls. I witnessed my first birth when I was eight. Where most kids would’ve been grossed out, I was mesmerized. By the time I was twelve, I was assisting my dad during home births. I was the only first year med student who had practical training in obstetrics. When I finished my residency, it was only natural that I’d join my dad’s practice – Hollywood Healthcare for Women – catering to the Hollywood elite.