Mary sat at the surgical table, carefully resuturing a turkey that had been carved up, her movements delicate and gentle.
Ethan was fixing the flickering surgical lamp overhead. The light pulsed bright and dim, like someone breathing.
When she finished the sutures, Mary inspected her handiwork, peeled off her gloves, and suddenly spoke. "Ethan, do you know why I'm here?"
"Because you like me."
"Be serious."
"Because you see the clinic's potential and wanted to get in early. When we go public, you'll be making bank while lying on a beach somewhere."
Mary didn't even bother responding this time. She just squinted at him like he'd lost his mind.
"Okay, okay." Ethan raised his hands in surrender. He thought for a moment. "Because I saved you and helped you get revenge?"
"That's only part of it."
"Then maybe it's because we trust each other."
Mary fell silent, her mind drifting back to their first meeting.
"Ms. Mason, it says here you have an overdue balance."
Mary's voice was stiff. "I know. I called last Friday and deposited forty dollars."
"Our records show you did make a payment on Friday." The customer service rep's voice was polite but emotionless. "But forty dollars usually isn't enough..."
Mary frowned, her tone edged with unease and suppressed anger. "When I called Friday, nobody said anything about disconnecting my service. They didn't mention anything."
"They clearly made a mistake," the rep said evenly. "That's not our usual procedure. I'll reconnect your service without charging the reconnection fee. When can you make your next payment?"
"Uh..." Mary gripped the phone tighter. "Maybe... two weeks? I can scrape together some money... How much do I need to pay to keep the service on?"
The rep rustled through papers, voice still calm. "You're three months overdue. Three hundred sixty-four dollars should cover it."
"Okay, um..." Mary's throat felt dry. She forced out another question. "What's the minimum I can pay?"
"Three hundred sixty-four dollars."
The line went dead with the finality of a slammed door.
Mary stared at the darkened call screen, her knuckles white.
When she got home, the silent apartment was filled only with the low hum of the refrigerator compressor. She opened the fridge and stared at the empty shelves—just one carton of expired milk and half a bag of salad dressing.
She sighed and sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling through job listings. Every single one said "experience required," "full-time only," "bring resume to interview." Her finger moved faster and faster down the screen.
She made a call.
"That's because my phone got disconnected." Mary explained awkwardly.
An elderly, gentle voice came through. "What? They disconnected you? When did this happen?"
"This afternoon, I think? But it's fine now. All sorted out."
"I still have a little money," the voice said with concern. "I can go to the bank tomorrow."
"No, Grandma, really." Mary quickly cut her off, her eyes drifting back to the computer screen. A job posting had just popped up: "$1000, NO SEX - Cash Payment."
She clicked on it. The page flashed with a line: "Thriving gentlemen's club seeking attractive women for sensory massage and private dance services. NO SEX REQUIRED! Weekly pay up to $1000 plus tips!"
Mary stared at those words, her chest tightening. She took a breath and returned to the phone.
"Really, Grandma, I don't need it. I talked to the bank and the phone company—they made a mistake. Everything's fine."
"Alright." Her grandmother sighed, her tone warm. "No one's bullying you at school, right? No one's trying to steal your boyfriend?"
Mary smiled bitterly. "I don't have a boyfriend. And in med school, dating's basically impossible."
"I saw a show," her grandmother's voice dropped conspiratorially, like she was sharing a cautionary tale, "where this girl wanted to be a prostitute, and when her friend found out, she made up a story to make everyone think the friend was the prostitute. Young people these days, taking off their clothes at the drop of a hat—no shame at all."
Mary smiled helplessly. "That's just TV, Grandma. If they didn't film it that way, nobody would watch."
"This sort of thing would never happen in Budapest," her grandmother said seriously. "Over there, they have a special street where the women stand outside..."
"Uh-huh..." Mary half-listened while staring at the screen. She clicked "Reply" and quickly typed: "I'm very interested in your listing on Aexcea. Where should I go for an interview?"
She hit send, exhaled deeply, and hung up the phone.
That evening, Mary stood in front of a building lit by neon signs. The sign above the door swayed gently in the wind, and the smell of alcohol and perfume drifted into her nose.
After asking around, she finally found the bar's owner—Billy Buck.
"What's this?" Billy looked at the paper Mary held out.
Mary stepped forward and handed it over. "My résumé. I wasn't sure if you needed one?"
Billy glanced up at her. "You don't need a résumé for this job, but—hey, might as well let me learn your little secrets."
He flipped through the page. "Impressive credentials. Planning to be a doctor?"
"A surgeon."
"A surgeon?" Billy raised an eyebrow. "You any good?"
Mary replied, "Very good. Also very broke. Need money, so I..."
Billy gave a knowing smile. "I like your honesty."
He set down the résumé and leaned against the bar, tapping his fingers on the counter. "So, Mary, now we get to the awkward part. You're not overweight, are you?"
Mary straightened her back. "No. Starving student, remember?"
"Would you mind showing me?"
Mary hesitated for a moment, then unbuttoned her coat, revealing the black lingerie she'd deliberately chosen. "This okay?"
"Perfectly fine." He looked her over and nodded slightly.
"Good." Mary's voice was barely audible.
"Walk for me. Sexy."
She took a deep breath and forced herself through a few steps.
Billy clapped lightly. "Nice. Now give me a massage. Come on."
Mary froze. "Right now?"
"Of course."
Mary stepped forward, placing her hands on him.
"Not over the jacket."
Mary bit her lip and did as Billy instructed.
"Put some pressure into it, Mary."
"Okay." She responded quietly, her movements stiff.
Billy closed his eyes, feeling her hands moving across his shoulders.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed outside. A burly, long-haired man rushed in. "We've got a problem!"
Billy turned his head and told Mary, "Don't stop." Then to the newcomer: "Lance, can't you see I'm in the middle of an interview?"
"Blake's hurt."
"Take him to a hospital!"
"We can't go to a hospital."
Billy slammed his fist on the table. "Dammit!"
He shot to his feet and barked at Mary, "Wait here!" before rushing out.
Mary rubbed her palms together, standing awkwardly in place.
Only moments later, Billy burst back in, his tone urgent. "Mary, how far off are you from being a surgeon?"
"Still a ways to go," Mary answered hesitantly. "I need to do my residency at a hospital, but I've learned most of the theory..."
A gleam appeared in Billy's eyes. "Want to make five thousand dollars?"
They headed down to a dimly lit basement. As they walked, Mary asked, "What do you need me to do?"
Billy lowered his voice. "Don't ask questions. When it's done, I'll give you five grand. You won't even have to take your clothes off."
Mary hesitated. "What do you need me to do?"
"So many questions? Forget it then!" Billy waved dismissively and started to leave.
Mary suddenly blocked his path. "As long as you pay me five thousand dollars, I'll do whatever you need tonight."
Billy turned back and looked at her. "Follow me."
They entered a room in the basement. It was extremely dark inside. A few gang members stood around, and a blood-soaked man lay on a table.
Billy said, "We don't want him to die. We've already given him drugs. Go ahead and operate."
Mary froze, staring at the blood-covered man on the table, unsure what to do.
Billy paused, then added with a cold laugh, "I may not be a doctor, but even I know time's running out."
Mary snapped back to reality and immediately assessed the situation—the bar's basement was dimly lit with stale air. The table only had a few beer bottles, some towels, and a bare bulb swinging overhead.
"Here? You want me to operate here?"
She frowned. "I need a clean environment. At minimum, I need instruments and anesthesia."
Billy's expression stiffened. He looked down at the gang member covered in blood on the floor. The man had a bullet wound through his chest, blood pumping out steadily. The air reeked of sweat, alcohol, and rust.
"So what do we do? He's dying!"
Another gang member shouted frantically.
Billy narrowed his eyes, about to curse, when someone nearby spoke up. "I remember there's a new clinic around here—on the corner of Seventh Avenue."
"A clinic?" Billy turned to look at him.
"Yeah, just opened recently. Some young doctor runs it. I've heard people go there, pay cash, and the doctor doesn't ask questions."
Billy gritted his teeth and glanced at Mary with her blood-covered hands.
"Bring her. Let's go. Now!"
"But—"
"Move it! Wait any longer and he'll be knocking on heaven's door tonight!"
Mary took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, but her gaze remained steady.
"Let's hope he doesn't die on the way."