The Good Doctor
‘How do you take your coffee, Mr. Pyne?’
‘My coffee?’ Pyne scoffed back, his lips a curl of disgust. ‘Are you actually offering me coffee?’
Dr. Cowen stared at the man in the clearly expensive suit sitting across from her.
‘Would you prefer tea?’ she replied, her tone stiff with polite indifference.
‘No,’ Pyne leaned slightly forward across the large wooden desk and glared at the woman half his age sitting opposite. ‘I would not prefer tea.’
He leaned in further, eyes narrowing into daggers, but the young doctor, unfazed, met and held his gaze.
‘What I would prefer,’ Pyne continued, his voice low and acrid, ‘is to be in my penthouse in Sydney. Not in the office of some dermatologist who fancies herself a defender of the downtrodden. Not in the middle of fucking Alice Springs, in the middle of the bloody summer, having to deal with some sob-story media circus!’
Pyne slammed himself back into his chair.
‘That,’ he sneered, ‘is what I would prefer, Dr. Cowen.’
Cowen said nothing. She’d never heard her name said with such disgust. She knew she’d made enemies over the last year, but this was the first time she’d felt what that really meant.
A soft rapping broke the silence that had fallen between them. One of Pyne’s several assistants stepped into the room and informed them that the press were nearly finished setting up in the exam room down the hall. He offered some papers, which Pyne snatched, waving the lad away wordlessly.
Pyne scanned the pages and sighed.
‘Nadia,’ he commented, his tone sarcastic, ‘such a sad story.’ He tossed the papers carelessly onto the desk.
‘Are you actually heartless?’ Cowen asked, the edge of genuine wonder in her words.
‘No more than you, clearly’ replied Pyne nonchalantly.
‘Pardon?!’ Cowen snorted, properly upset for the first time since he’d entered her office. She swallowed hard and tried to regain her composure.
‘Nadia,’ she continued, the ice of her voice threatening to shatter, ‘has suffered tremendously. She was severely beaten by her alcoholic father for years.’
Cowen scrutinized every inch of Pyne’s face, searching for a reaction. His deadpan expression yielded nothing.
‘He was a monster to her. He smashed a beer bottle into her face when she was only 10! He didn’t get her medical help, so the scars were horrible. She was too ashamed to go out, even to school. She was convinced her life was over before she’d even hit puberty!’
Cowen’s voice was too loud. Too high pitched. She was all but shrieking at Pyne. But the MP was stoic. The soulless bastard. His was the face of the opposition against her. His was the name she had called out again and again in her rallies opposing the plans to cut funding for specialist practices in small towns. Tony Pyne had come to epitomise everything she was fighting against. Everything corrupted in a political system that was gutting good medical help for the people.
‘If it wasn’t for this office, Mr. Pyne,’ her words were an indictment against him, flamed by the fire of her resolve. ‘For my equipment and, frankly, for me, she’d still have those awful scars. She wouldn’t be in school. Her whole life might well be over!’
‘And what has all that cost?’ Pyne’s tone was as measured as Cowen’s impassioned.
Cowen scowled. ‘How like a politician to reduce everything to a price tag.’
Pyne gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Save the heartstring lines for the media saps,’ he retorted.
Cowen’s face betrayed her confusion, and Pyne’s expression softened slightly at the sight of it.
‘Are you really that naive?’ he asked quietly.
‘Meaning?’ Cowen felt her cheeks flush, unsure why she was suddenly embarrassed.
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Pyne remarked, bemused. ‘You don’t see the bigger picture.’
He gave a tiny, tight chuckle; not at her, but to himself, suddenly lost in thought. When he glanced back at her, the annoyance which had filled his eyes since his arrival was gone. In its place was a mix of confidence and pity that completely unnerved Cowen.
‘The equipment that removed Nadia’s scars? The cost of your teams’ salaries? Of yours? The expenses charged to the public system to run this clinic? Do you know what they actually cost?’ His stare was unfaltering.
Cowen opened her mouth but Pyne cut her off. ‘I thought you did. I thought you were just making a fuss because you didn’t want to lose your slice. But I was wrong.’
Pyne gave another laugh, at her this time, and contemptuous.
‘For that price tag, Doctor, I could have four more ambulances in Melbourne. Or employ seven full time researchers working to cure cancer. I could pay for vaccinations for every child in Tasmania. Or…’
He leaned back in his chair, glaring at her.
‘Or I can have a dermatology office in Alice Springs.’
For a long moment, he just stared at her. Then he shook his head softly, stood, and stepped towards the door.
‘Make no mistake, Dr. Cowen,’ Pyne paused, looking back over his shoulder. ‘I know I can be an asshole.’
His eyes bore into her.
‘But when it comes right down to it, of the two of us, I’m the one who can do the most good. I’m the one who can make more lives better. Today’s little stunt will work for you. It will keep this office open another year, maybe longer. You’ll help another handful of Nadias and people will tell you that you’re doing great work. But you’ll know the truth.’
He sneered at her and continued.
‘You’ll know the real cost. You’ll know exactly how much harm all your good is causing. And so will I.’
He stepped into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Dr. Cowen sat very still for a few moments. Eventually, she opened her top drawer and took out a small pocket mirror. Carefully, very carefully, she wiped away the tears.
Contest details:
Contest: NYC Flash Fiction Challenge 2015, Round 2
Genre: Drama
Location: A dermatology office
Object: A beer bottle
Score: 0