A Glamorous Job

A five-year-old was coughing and congested.

His parents were guests at Loews in Hollywood, nine miles away through city streets. Nineteen miles on the freeway would take less time provided traffic moved smoothly, but this was unlikely at 4 p.m. on a Friday. I told the mother that it sounded like a routine virus, but she insisted the child needed attention.

Sometimes being hotel doctor to the stars is not so glamorous. Then I recalled a pediatrician colleague who had expressed interest in helping out. I phoned his office. He was finishing his last patient and, to my delight, agreed to make the housecall. I was so relieved that I forgot to tell him a few things.

That evening he phoned to let me know the visit had gone well. 

“But it took over an hour to reach the hotel, and they charged me fifteen dollars to park.”

Sticking With the Errant Doctor

A guest had a flight in a few hours, explained the front desk manager of the Marina Marriott. His wife was ill and needed a doctor’s note to reschedule. How fast could I get there?

“Very fast,” I said. It was Saturday evening, and I was reading a book.

The Marriott had called regularly for decades before falling silent a few years before. Hotels occasionally do that, and this call gave me hope.

My competitors enjoy an active social life. It was the weekend, and hotels often turn to me when the regular doctor is hard to reach. After caring for the guest, I returned to the lobby and tracked down the manager who shook my hand.

“Thank you so much for coming,” he said. “We have your card.”

I drove off in a happy mood. These urgent requests arrive several times a year, and my prompt response has won me new clients.

But not often. Few hotels give a high priority to providing medical services. The Marina Marriott reverted to silence.

Still, I have fond memories. Twenty years ago, Loews in Santa Monica phoned when its regular doctor hadn’t appeared after several hours. I hurried, but when I knocked on the guest’s door, it was the regular doctor who answered. The embarassed manager promised to make it up to me and kept his word.

No Easy Way to Hollywood

There is no quick drive to Hollywood. I can take the freeway north through the San Fernando Valley, a twenty mile trip. Or I can take it east through downtown for nineteen miles. A direct route is eight miles, but that’s tedious stop-and-go on city streets. Taking the long way doesn’t mean an easy drive because the freeway is often but unpredictably jammed.

When Loews in Hollywood called at 11 p.m. my heart sank less than usual. It was late enough for most drivers to be in bed.

But not quite late enough. The male fun fair in West Hollywood was in full swing, filling the streets.   

Loews in Santa Monica calls me exclusively, but the Hollywood Loews keeps a list of doctors, thus assuring that none of us will lean over backward to accommodate it by, for example, coming during the rush hour (no hotel doctor lives near Hollywood).

My immediate problem in a nonexclusive hotel is that parking valets may not recognize me, so my mantra:  “I’m the hotel doctor. They let me park here” might not work, and I would have to pay. But it worked this time.

As usual, delivering medical care was the easiest part. A perk of hotel doctoring is that I go home after seeing a single guest. During my best months, I go home a hundred times.

I like my job, but going home always feels better than going to work. I played my audio tape. I looked benignly on the midnight revelers as I crept through West Hollywood. Beverly Hills and Century City were nearly deserted, but traffic lights ensured that I would not make haste.