Serving A Celebrity | The Life Of A Hotel Doctor

He called the next morning to say the singer wanted the shot around midday, and he would call to give me an hour’s notice. Noon passed with no call. That often happens. That afternoon a travel insurance agency phoned to tell me a Belgian lady at the Omni Hotel downtown had requested a doctor to treat her flu. She wanted me to come at 8 o’clock. Almost all callers want a visit immediately, so these appointments don’t happen often, and I don’t like them because sometimes patients change their mind and go off without calling. Luckily, for insurance visits, if the patient isn’t there, I still get paid.

While I was eating dinner at 5:30 the manager called. His client was ready, but there was a hitch. The singer was no longer at the Langham but at a resort in La Puente, thirty-five miles away. Driving took an hour. The resort was a big hotel in a park, hosting an event called The Urban Music Festival, so the halls overflowed with black people, the women in dazzling gowns, the men dressed as gangsters. When I arrived at the room and knocked, no one answered. I called the manager’s cell phone and got voicemail.

Now and then I’m stiffed, but this trip wasn’t a total loss because I could make the 8:00 insurance visit to the Omni on the way home. It was 7:00. Since driving to the Omni took half an hour, I sat in the lobby, occasionally calling the manager’s number. As I walked to my car, my phone rang, and it was the manager announcing his client’s availability. I ran back to the room, now packed with his entourage. Everyone watched with interest as I drew up the medicine. The singer dropped his pant; I gave the shot, collected my money, drove to the Omni, and then returned home to finish supper.