allergic reaction to bee stings, mosquito bites, anything like that?"
"No," the man gasped.
"You're a quite a swimmer."
"I live on the beach," he said, wincing. "I do a mile every day, rain or shine."
"Ever encountered jellyfish before?"
"Once. And when I came out of the water, a big old Hawaiian peed on me." The man gave Mark a worried look. "You're not going to pee on me, are you?"
"Don't worry, modern medicine has progressed beyond that." Mark smiled and led him to a chaise lounge. "Wait right here."
Mark rushed to the barbeque buffet, where he was surprised to find Steve among the long line of guests who were helping themselves to lunch. His son was barefoot, wearing shorts and a tank top that showed off his strong shoulders and dark tan. Anyone looking at Steve standing there would have pegged him as a surfer, certainly not as a cop.
"Hey, Dad," Steve said. "Where's your little clinic?"
"Over there," Mark motioned to the man sitting on the chaise lounge, grimacing in pain. "The guy got stung by some jellyfish."
"Ouch," Steve said.
Mark squeezed in front of the line at the salad bar. "Excuse me, medical emergency."
He reached into the salad bar, lifted away the pot of Italian dressing from the crushed ice, and carted it back to the chaise lounge. The mystified guests all watched him go, except for Steve, who concentrated instead on piling bay shrimp on his salad.
As soon as Mark reached the chaise lounge, he set the pot down and began ladling dressing all over the swimmer's body, coating him in oil and vinegar.
"You call this modem medicine?" the man shrieked, reacting both to the surprise and the chill of the cold salad dressing on his skin.
"Practical medicine, actually. It won't help the pain, but the vinegar in the dressing will stop the jellyfish's undischarged nematocysts from firing and giving you more stings."
He made sure the man was covered from head to toe in Italian dressing, then dropped the ladle back in the empty pot. "Stay here."
Mark turned, oblivious to everyone in line staring at him, and hurried over to the barbeque, where the cooks were grilling steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs. He motioned to a jar of steak tenderizer.
"Would you mind if I borrowed that?" Mark asked, holding out his hand insistently. "It's a medical emergency."
The cook handed him the jar and watched as Mark raced back to the chaise lounge and began seasoning the oily man.
The man was now wincing more in embarrassment than pain. "Are you sure you're a doctor?"
"I can vouch for him," Steve said, clearly amused, sauntering over with his salad. "He's actually chief of internal medicine at a major Los Angeles hospital."
"Really?" The man turned back to Mark. "Now that I've been marinated and seasoned, I hope you're not intending to cook me for lunch."
"The jellyfish poison is a protein," Mark explained. "I'm sprinkling you with meat tenderizer because the active ingredient is an enzyme that breaks down protein, thus neutralizing the poison and lessening the pain."
"That's a relief, because barbequing me would have been way too ironic," he said. "I own a restaurant."
The man held out his hand, which was dripping oil and vinegar. "Danny Royal."
Mark shook his hand. "I'm Mark Sloan, and this is my son, Steve. We're staying here at the hotel for two weeks."
Danny offered his hand, but Steve declined with a polite smile. "No thanks, I've already got plenty of dressing on my salad."
Moki came over, obviously upset. "Do you want to explain what's going on, Dr. Sloan?"
"This gentleman was stung by jellyfish," Mark said. "I'm treating him."
"With our buffet?" Moki asked incredulously.
"I hadn't thought to ask," Mark said, then turned to Danny. "Would you like something to eat? The food here is really quite good."
"You already know how good their salad dressing is," Steve said with a smile.
"Actually, I'm feeling much better already," Danny said, rising slowly. "I think I'll go home and wash up."
"Afterward you'll
"No," the man gasped.
"You're a quite a swimmer."
"I live on the beach," he said, wincing. "I do a mile every day, rain or shine."
"Ever encountered jellyfish before?"
"Once. And when I came out of the water, a big old Hawaiian peed on me." The man gave Mark a worried look. "You're not going to pee on me, are you?"
"Don't worry, modern medicine has progressed beyond that." Mark smiled and led him to a chaise lounge. "Wait right here."
Mark rushed to the barbeque buffet, where he was surprised to find Steve among the long line of guests who were helping themselves to lunch. His son was barefoot, wearing shorts and a tank top that showed off his strong shoulders and dark tan. Anyone looking at Steve standing there would have pegged him as a surfer, certainly not as a cop.
"Hey, Dad," Steve said. "Where's your little clinic?"
"Over there," Mark motioned to the man sitting on the chaise lounge, grimacing in pain. "The guy got stung by some jellyfish."
"Ouch," Steve said.
Mark squeezed in front of the line at the salad bar. "Excuse me, medical emergency."
He reached into the salad bar, lifted away the pot of Italian dressing from the crushed ice, and carted it back to the chaise lounge. The mystified guests all watched him go, except for Steve, who concentrated instead on piling bay shrimp on his salad.
As soon as Mark reached the chaise lounge, he set the pot down and began ladling dressing all over the swimmer's body, coating him in oil and vinegar.
"You call this modem medicine?" the man shrieked, reacting both to the surprise and the chill of the cold salad dressing on his skin.
"Practical medicine, actually. It won't help the pain, but the vinegar in the dressing will stop the jellyfish's undischarged nematocysts from firing and giving you more stings."
He made sure the man was covered from head to toe in Italian dressing, then dropped the ladle back in the empty pot. "Stay here."
Mark turned, oblivious to everyone in line staring at him, and hurried over to the barbeque, where the cooks were grilling steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs. He motioned to a jar of steak tenderizer.
"Would you mind if I borrowed that?" Mark asked, holding out his hand insistently. "It's a medical emergency."
The cook handed him the jar and watched as Mark raced back to the chaise lounge and began seasoning the oily man.
The man was now wincing more in embarrassment than pain. "Are you sure you're a doctor?"
"I can vouch for him," Steve said, clearly amused, sauntering over with his salad. "He's actually chief of internal medicine at a major Los Angeles hospital."
"Really?" The man turned back to Mark. "Now that I've been marinated and seasoned, I hope you're not intending to cook me for lunch."
"The jellyfish poison is a protein," Mark explained. "I'm sprinkling you with meat tenderizer because the active ingredient is an enzyme that breaks down protein, thus neutralizing the poison and lessening the pain."
"That's a relief, because barbequing me would have been way too ironic," he said. "I own a restaurant."
The man held out his hand, which was dripping oil and vinegar. "Danny Royal."
Mark shook his hand. "I'm Mark Sloan, and this is my son, Steve. We're staying here at the hotel for two weeks."
Danny offered his hand, but Steve declined with a polite smile. "No thanks, I've already got plenty of dressing on my salad."
Moki came over, obviously upset. "Do you want to explain what's going on, Dr. Sloan?"
"This gentleman was stung by jellyfish," Mark said. "I'm treating him."
"With our buffet?" Moki asked incredulously.
"I hadn't thought to ask," Mark said, then turned to Danny. "Would you like something to eat? The food here is really quite good."
"You already know how good their salad dressing is," Steve said with a smile.
"Actually, I'm feeling much better already," Danny said, rising slowly. "I think I'll go home and wash up."
"Afterward you'll
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