Memorial.
“Voila!” the teen announced triumphantly. “This is it.”
With a flourish, he struck one more key and the monitors simultaneously changed their displays to show the same image. Nick and Jillian leaned close to get a better look as Reggie used his mouse to zoom in on the building.
“So explain to me how you figured this out?” Nick asked.
“Basically, I used Google’s massive database of images, which can be overlaid with different views like street detail, terrain, trees, even satellite imagery. When I typed the landmark, Lincoln Memorial, into the search field, I was able to use the hybrid map and satellite view to pinpoint buildings on the same latitude. Based on distance, I wrote a custom software program to calculate the number of stories high a building would have to be in order to get that view. That narrowed it down to this building here in Arlington, Virginia. That’s all there was to it. Did you follow me?”
“Of course I did,” Nick said, his tongue firmly in his cheek. “I am, after all, an M.D.”
“I live only a few miles away from there,” Jillian said. “I think I know that building.”
With another touch of his computer mouse, Reggie changed views so that instead of looking down on the building from the satellite perspective they could see it from the street level, as if they were looking at it head on.
“Oh, the Web is a beautiful thing,” Reggie sang softly, “a beautiful thing, a beautiful thing.”
“Amazing,” Nick said now. “I used to think I was traveling on the cutting edge of information technology. Now this stuff is like elfin magic to me.”
“Nah, you just didn’t grow up with it, is all,” Jillian said.
“Right. For me Pong was revolutionary.”
“Pong?” Reggie asked.
“Never mind,” Nick and Jillian answered in unison, exchanging amused glances. Nick could not help but continue to look at her. She was vibrant and at ease, and carried herself with a natural energy and grace. As quick as the urge to take her into his arms came, images of Sarah invaded his thoughts.
“Reggie, can you zoom in any closer?” Jillian asked. “I think I know what that building is for.”
“Right on,” Reggie said, again changing the view.
“I do know it. I’ve ridden my bike past there a bunch of times. It’s a medical spa. I think they also do plastic surgery there.”
“Plastic surgery,” Nick said. “I’ll bet Manny was a patient there.”
“Hang on. Let me get the address. Then I should be able to look up the business name.”
In seconds Reggie had found not only the business name and address, but also the company’s Web page.
“Singh Medical Spa and Cosmetic Surgery Center, 167 Andover Avenue, Arlington, Virginia,” Nick read. “It says on the Web site the business is owned by the world-famous-that’s what it says, world-famous-plastic surgeon Paresh M. Singh.”
“Look at his picture,” Jillian said. “He’s sort of cute. I like the granny glasses.”
“So what’s next?” Junie asked.
“I could get that nose job you’ve been telling me I need,” Nick suggested, “and then scope the place out.”
Junie and Reggie laughed.
“Wait, that might not be such a bad idea,” Jillian said. “We do need to get into that building and have a look around. Scheduling some sort of a tour of the place seems like the right thing to do.”
Junie nodded.
“And you would get that tour because…”
“Because I’m going to have major work done and want to visit several of the best plastic surgery centers before deciding where to have it.”
“And your husband, Dr. Deeppockets here, of course wants to accompany you,” Junie said.
“Husband?” Nick replied.
“I’ve always said you’re a great catch.”
“Very cute,” he said. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
There was a brief silence before Jillian said, “She does have a point, Doc. If we want to pull this off we really should go in as a team.”
“Not just a team, as a couple,” Junie corrected. “A rich couple with a husband who wants his trophy wife to get some buffing up. Ninety percent of the women who have plastic surgery don’t need it, so that won’t be an issue. Don’t you think, Reggie?”
She gave a light tap on the leg of Reggie’s chair, startling the teenager, who actually jumped a bit.
“Oh yeah,” he stammered. “Absolutely. You should definitely be a couple, for sure. But you gotta be the part if you’re gonna play the part.”
“What are you getting at, Reggie?” Nick asked, shooting the teen a reproachful look.
“I mean you guys better like, you know, be all coupley-kiss and all that to make it real, you know.”
“Oh, that’s good thinking, Reggie,” Junie said, scooping up the baton. “The lad’s right. If you two can’t convince us you’re a couple, you’re certainly not going to convince the plastic surgeon that your intentions are real.”
Nick glared at Junie, who in turn just smiled and gave him an impish wave of her fingers. Then he glanced over to Jillian, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot with nervous energy. But she also made no attempt to put the suggestions to bed.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Nick said. “Just ridiculous. We don’t need any practice to-”
Without warning, even to himself, he took Jillian by the waist, bent his knees, and dipped her backward toward the floor, ballroom style. Then he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. For a moment, Jillian’s eyes were open wide. Then, slowly, they closed as the kiss gained momentum. Her lips parted just a bit and his opened in response. He slid one hand up her back and supported her head. Her hair felt like silk between his fingers. Two seconds, ten, a minute-Nick would never know how long that kiss lasted. He did know that any sense of self- consciousness vanished in the first instant. With some reluctance, he eased Jillian upright, and with his arm still set around her waist, he turned to Junie.
“There. Was that believable enough for you?” he asked.
“It was for me,” Jillian said, brushing her hair from her forehead and regaining her breath.
“Look,” Reggie said, with no regard for the subject he was changing, “they have a virtual tour of the building on the Web site. The place seems pretty fancy.”
Junie took a close look at the panoramic photomontage of the Singh Center lobby that Reggie had put up on both monitors. It was a massive sparkling white marble foyer, with a working fountain in the center and several gold-framed pieces of art hanging on the walls, including a large portrait of Singh himself.
“Just in case they’re watching,” Nick said, “we’ll probably need to pull up in some sort of high-end auto, certainly not the junker I drive.”
“There are rentals,” Junie said. “It’ll be my treat.”
“First, we need to make an appointment,” Nick said.
Jillian fished her phone out of her purse and dialed the main number. She put the cell on speaker and brought her finger to her lips to remind the others to remain quiet. A woman answered on the third ring. She had an educated British accent.
“Good afternoon. Thank you for calling the Singh Medical Spa and Cosmetic Surgery Center. This is Daintry Calnan speaking. How may I be of service?”
“Yes, hello. My name is Collins, Mrs… Jefferson Collins,” Jillian said. “I’m planning to have some plastic surgery and I’m calling to schedule a tour of your facility and hopefully to arrange to meet Dr. Singh.”
“Referring physician?” Daintry asked.
“Oh, a doctor I met at a cocktail party at my friends the Bronsteins’,” Jillian replied, now comfortably in touch with her skill at improvisation. “I can’t for the life of me remember his name. When I told him what my husband-I mean what
