The Loveable Resident

By Mary Faderan

The Loveable Resident is a fictional story about a surgical resident, Mike Oates, who is on a trajectory to win the top position in surgery at a famous American hospital. He has everything—looks, money, a fast car, an adoring girlfriend—and yet, one day his world goes into deep decline when he commits a fatal error. Mike Oates tries to get out of the horrible mess he has made of his life by conducting a passionate love affair with Lauren Moore, his beautiful childhood friend and daughter of his lawyer. He ditches his lover, Missy Wright, which in turn causes him to get entangled with a powerful and grasping mob boss. How Mike’s life gets turned back around and his love for Lauren remains unscathed is described in powerfully depicted characters and plot twists in this first novel by Mary Faderan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796025941

Mary Faderan

Mary Faderan is an American author born in Sussex, England. She finished a BA in Chemistry, a Ph.D. in Pharmacology and recently graduated with Distinction obtaining her MFA in Creative Writing. Her book, The Loveable Resident, is a focus of contention for its detailed description of Satan, in the guise of Mike Oates, MD.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

January 2017

T HE PARKING LOT of New Haven Hospital was pretty full. Mike Oates grunted as he steered his low-slung black Maserati around the bend, close enough to the last aisle of the lot. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. Rounds were at eight fifteen—a concession from old Bartholomew, the chief of surgery. Rounds were usually at 8:00 a.m. But today was different. Bartholomew was coming back from a long weekend. Mike didn’t want to be late. He had his eye on the top residency spot in surgery. Bartholomew was eating out his hand. Not going to be late , he told himself.

A tall man, Mike Oates sat low in his Maserati. He had tousled wavy blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and an amiable face that belied a cold and calculating mind. His slender fingers curled around the steering wheel of his car in repose. There would be more than one way to handle the parking problem. Quickly, he revved his engine and skidded his tires as he aimed the nose of his Maserati toward the front of the parking lot.

He saw an opening and slid his car into the open slot that was marked Reserved for Dr. James Levy. He put his car into park and then turned off the motor. He reached behind his seat and took out a sign that read Emergency Call. His thin lips curled into a smile. Love it, he muttered to himself. He got out and placed the sign on his dashboard, visible to Dr. James Levy, who might be getting in later that morning. Who the hell is Dr. James Levy anyway? Mike asked himself as he slung his doctor’s white coat over his broad shoulder.

There was a cluster of residents that already crowded in the resident’s lounge as Mike approached. He walked up to the door quietly. Bartholomew looked up as he approached. Hey, Oates, you just got picked to present today. Got any patients you want to talk about?

Without missing a beat, Mike replied, Yes, Dr. Bartholomew. I would be happy to present a few of my patients.

Bartholomew looked slightly put off. One patient will do, Oates.

Mike stifled the urge to retort. He pulled out his flip notebook and began to discuss his patient, Mr. Morse.

Later that day, Mike sat in the nurse’s station, dictating his notes. Someone sidled up to him. A hint of Dior perfume permeated his consciousness. Ah, Missy, Mike muttered softly, pulling the wearer of the perfume up close.

Mike! she whispered. People are looking!

He shut off the Dictaphone and smiled up at the owner of a pair of dark eyes. That is what you want, right, Missy?

She hoisted herself off his grasp and straightened her shirt. Damn you, she hissed but looked adoringly at him.

Seven o’clock tomorrow? Meet you at the Kahuna Club? He leaned back and considered her shapely figure with a smile.

Missy Wright nodded before leaving his side.

Corcoran, his best friend, leaned over, grinning. Oates, you are too slick.

That—I am, Mike replied without looking at him.

If Bartholomew even gets a whiff of what you are up to, he’d have your ass in a sling.

He won’t.

Thing is, Oates, I can’t figure out why the girls love you. Even the little old ladies in the unit love you. If only they knew you like I do. Corcoran sniggered.

That is why I pay off your gambling debts, Cor. So you keep your mouth shut.

Corcoran looked daggers at him. One day you’ll be up a creek, and nobody can get you off it, he whispered. He quickly folded his notebook and left.

The emergency-call ploy seemed to work. Mike knew it would. He pulled out of Dr. Levy’s car slot and headed toward the exit. It was a pretty smooth day. Bartholomew was pretty impressed with his skills at differential diagnosis. He thought it might be nice to head to the gym after a quick bite. Yale University had a pretty decent gym. He hardly used it, but tonight, he wasn’t eager to run through the dangerous streets of New Haven at 6:30 p.m. on a cold January night.

The streetlights were on most all the streets in New Haven. Mike emerged from the gym, bearing his gym bag. He took a quick glance around and headed for his car. He drew up short when he saw the figure standing by his car. Mike’s step slowed slightly.

Excuse me, I need to get into my car, he said in a no-nonsense tone.

You parked in my parking slot.

Mike looked at him closer. So this was Dr. Levy.

I was late. Emergency call, Mike explained.

Levy was a thin wiry-haired man. He was wearing gym clothes. It looked like he had been running. Sweat marks stained his shirt.

I could write you up for this, Oates. That’s your name, isn’t it? The voice was sneering. I looked you up! You’re one of the residents at the hospital.

Mike thought quickly. I won’t do it again. I can make it up to you.

You got some nerve. It’s residents like you that give New Haven Hospital a bad name. Levy leaned into him. I could get you kicked off the staff.

My apologies, Dr. Levy. It’s not going to happen again—he shifted his stance—because you’re dead now. He swung his fist at Levy and hit him squarely between the eye. Levy tottered back, blood spurted from his nose, and he uttered a small cry. With a sudden move, a switchblade appeared in Mike’s hand. It was a quick in and out. Levy crumpled to the ground, blood and guts spurting out of his abdomen.

Mike looked about quickly. His heart was beating rapidly. Relief cooled his senses. Nobody was around. Quickly he pulled Levy’s body and dragged it to the corner behind a post.

Mike slid into his Maserati, fired the engine, and directed his car out of the parking lot and sped down the street, the darkness of the night closing behind him.

Minutes later, there were scuffling sounds of someone approaching the parking lot. A solitary figure emerged from the shadows and stood still, taking in the silent and vacant parking lot.

December 2016

Rebecca Bartholomew surveyed the crowd as she stood at the threshold of the Ritz Hotel Ballroom. She arrived late, almost an hour late, which she knew would make her father very unhappy.

It was about eight o’clock in the evening. There was a hint of snow on the ground. The party was in full blast. People had already had their second courses, and some were already starting to make some efforts at persuading the band to play music that wasn’t so plain and simple. Rebecca looked about more toward the front dais and saw her father and mother sitting, neither speaking to anyone and looking a bit glum. Sophia, dressed in a dark-blue sheath dress, exposing a great deal of her handsome shoulders and chest—tanned to perfection by the latest trip both had been to—saw Rebecca first. She looked delighted, waved, and then elbowed her husband, nodding toward Rebecca. Bartholomew looked at Rebecca’s direction, and his face seemed to settle into a benign attitude. Rebecca, clad in a soft-peach gown that had a tight bodice but flared out in a long ballerina-style skirt that had lots of lace, floated toward them and kissed her parents on their respective cheeks. Hello, Mum and Daddy, she said in a breathless voice. I’m sorry I’m late.

Perfectly fine, Rebecca, Bartholomew said in a calm voice. Have you any dinner yet? They have something coming up. Salads and first course have already come and gone.

They say it’s the roast rib or something like that with some sort of kale side salad, Sophia said with a slight wince.

The Ritz is serving kale? Rebecca said with a snort. Whatever did your budget make them do that, Daddy?

It’s not my budget, Rebecca. In fact, I had nothing to do with it. It was all a committee thing, he said quickly. I’m just the figurehead.

Sophia glanced at her husband. You’ll hear about it on Monday, I am sure.

Kale isn’t that bad, he replied blandly. In fact, I recommend it to my heart patients.

Rebecca tried to suppress a cackle. Well, I will look forward to having my roast pig and kale then. Wonder if their chef has decided to go Southern? She slid into her chair and then pulled the napkin over her lap. The waiter came, and she accepted a glass of white wine.

They listened to the music. Rebecca espied a duo of medical men standing by the doorway. One was fair haired and tall; the other was dark haired with a twisted smile on his face. She eyed them as she sipped her wine. Daddy, who are those two? By the door?

Bartholomew followed her gaze. He recognized them. They’re both in my surgery program. Both rather good. The fair-haired man is Mike Oates. The other is Ralph Corcoran. Neither of them are suitable for you.

Sophia frowned. Oh, Leo, why are they unsuitable? Is it because both are just like you in one way or another?

Bartholomew drew back and stared at his wife. Do you think that? What makes you think that? Have you met either one?

No, not exactly. Both were here earlier to help with setting up and such. I think Dr. Oates is somewhat of a cavalier, and his friend Cor, as they call him, is too much a playboy. He seems to be involved with bookies and such.

Neither of these men are me at all, my love, Bartholomew complained, looking pained.

No, not now, but they have that ambitious light in their eyes.

Rebecca looked at the men again and said, That Ralph looks rather delish.

Sophia looked at her with alarm. I am sure that there are better doctors with better reputations than those.

Rebecca said nothing, and when the third course arrived, she settled down to have a good meal.

It was no surprise to either Bartholomew parent that when the dancing started, Rebecca was already on the dance floor, dancing with a friend who worked in her office. She danced well enough, and her mother felt satisfied that her daughter was enjoying herself. It wasn’t long when Sophia looked again at the dance floor and saw that Rebecca was dancing with Dr. Ralph Corcoran. The dance was a slow one, and they both seemed to be in good spirits and enjoying the conversation. Sophia scanned the ballroom and saw that Dr. Oates was equally involved with a pretty brunette, dancing with a great deal of intimacy. Sophia felt a stir of anger at Dr. Oates for some strange reason. Her husband leaned over and asked her, Care to dance? Sounds like a nice tune.

She stood up, and they both walked hand in hand to the dance floor. It is a nice tune. ‘Autumn Leaves,’ if I recall, Sophia said.

Bartholomew liked the feel of his wife in his arms and smiled. He was hardly in his element, but his wife’s presence calmed him and gave him something to think of that wasn’t about medicine or surgery.

Did you notice Rebecca’s partner? Sophia asked, muffled against his shoulder.

No, why? Who is it?

Dr. Ralph Corcoran.

Are you nervous for her? Really, my dear, she’s grown up now and has had enough of men to know when to kick them out.

Well, he makes me nervous.

Better him than that Mike Oates, he said shortly.

Oh?

Never saw a man more on the make.

Well, you once were like that, remember?

Well, yes. He was silent for a moment. But I suppose I hid it better than him.

Don’t tell me that your supervisors were ignorant of your ambitious nature. I think they encouraged it. Didn’t they?

Well. I was damn good and still am.

OK, so you also were fond of tooting your horn.

"OK, so I did, and

Reviews for The Loveable Resident

[chive_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I believe the main character in this book is meant to come across as a loveable rogue with the potential for redemption. He doesn't. He comes across as a disturbing psychopath twho should have a three mile exclusion zone.This book is strange. The story makes no sense, the characters are unrealistic and the writing is bad. Worse than a of these is one of the worst transgressions of all - when a woman says no to sex and a man continues, it is not a turn on, its rape and to pretend it is anything else doesn't just damage women it endangers them. One of the worst books I've read in some time.

[jkj94 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I could not get into this book at all. The main character kills someone for parking in his parking spot right out of the gate, I mean really!! I thought there would be more to the story before he flipped out. DNF!