by Ian Fox
Some rice had gotten stuck in his throat. He picked up the dishcloth and coughed into it. “I don’t know. Maybe I will talk to him.”
“There you go! I have no doubt you’ll succeed. You mustn’t let other people walk all over you in life. You have to stand up for yourself. Only then will they really respect you.”
Though angry at her for forcing the issue, he wondered, What if it’s true? What if money is the only reason they don’t want to promote me? If that’s the case, then I really should talk to Patterson.
When they had eaten, he put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. Anita stretched out on the sofa and started pressing the buttons on the remote. “There’s nothing worth watching on TV.”
He lay down next to her and embraced her. He rested his head gently on her shoulder. Then he raised himself up, looked at her with longing, and slipped his right hand inside her robe.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. “Get your hand away!”
He kissed her on the neck and stroked her belly. “What if we went to bed instead?”
“Bed? What, now?” She shifted her neck away from his lips. “It’s way too early, honey. Plus, I’m not in the best mood. I’ve got a headache coming on.”
His hand froze. Gritting his teeth, he slowly withdrew it. “We haven’t made love in over five days, Anita. Is anything wrong?”
She kissed him on the eyes, cheeks, lips. “Nothing is wrong, darling. But really, I’m just not in the mood. What else can I say?” Again she switched channels. “I don’t know why we pay for cable when there’s never anything worth watching.”
Jerry Duncan suppressed his disappointment. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“You’re so sweet. I’ll have another glass of wine.”
He leaped up and went to the refrigerator. When he had put the glass on the coffee table and again settled himself next to her, she said, “Would you mind getting me a Coke too? I think I’d like a drink. What do you say?”
Again, he stood up and went to get the Coca-Cola.
“Finally, something worth watching!” She had found an interesting adventure movie. “Honey, hurry up or you’ll miss the beginning.”
Lying together on the sofa, they watched the movie.
Chapter 6
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Dr. Brad Horras, the director of Medford Central Hospital, was sitting in a big, black leather armchair, examining the previous month’s expense records. While staring at the numbers, he had his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, his forehead deeply furrowed. He didn’t like what he saw. The expenses were way over budget.
Dr. Horras was a decisive man in his sixties who never gave an inch where his principles were concerned. Several times a day he’d look at himself in the mirror and comb his thick gray hair. Though hardly young anymore, he was nonetheless satisfied with how he looked. He had a strong chin and wide, piercing eyes.
A knock at his office door startled him. “Come in,” he said automatically. He ran his hands over his temples and wondered who would be disturbing him at this time of day. “Oh, it’s you, Simon. What can I do for you?”
“Good morning. I’m sorry to bother you,” Dr. Patterson said. “I know you’re very busy.”
Dr. Horras let out a long exhalation and nodded with a slight frown.
Simon didn’t know how to begin, so he jumped in. “I’ve mentioned a few times before that I’m interested in pathology research. I set up a small laboratory in my basement and I think I’m on the brink of a big discovery.”
Brad Horras rested his head on his right hand. He knew exactly what Simon Patterson wanted to tell him. Simon had already told the director at least three times about wanting to devote himself entirely to research and stop doing brain surgery. And each time Dr. Horras had rejected the idea. He simply could not afford to lose such a capable neurosurgeon.
“I don’t have a lot of spare time and if I could devote myself to research the whole time, then …” Dr. Patterson knew the hospital had all the equipment needed for pathology research. Along with the time issue, this was the most important reason to work in the hospital as a scientist.
“Listen, Simon, didn’t we have this conversation last month? I thought I made it clear this is not something I can consider. Don’t you know how valuable you are for the hospital? Don’t you realize how many lives you save every month?”
Simon Patterson struck the desk with his hand. “I don’t give a damn about all those lives! Let someone else save them! What about my life? Don’t I have the right to do what I want?”
Shocked at the outburst, the hospital director said, “Get a hold of yourself, Doctor! There’s no need for you to pound on my desk.” With the tips of his fingers he brushed back some stray hairs that had fallen in his eyes. “I told you before, I don’t have an unlimited number of surgeons. I cannot approve your request. Can you really not understand that?”
“There will always be a shortage of surgeons. My wife is right about that. It will never get better. But if I could work on research, I could—”
“No, no, and again, no! Damn it all, you’ve got to get this idea out of your head once and for all!”
An oppressive silence dominated the room.
Dr. Horras thought he might have been too blunt, so he added, “You are one of the finest surgeons I know, and I cannot stand by and watch you throw away your valuable experience. Are you completely nuts?”
Simon ground his teeth and grimaced. “Fine. If it’s not going to happen, then it won’t happen. I suppose I should get back to work. Apparently, I’m going to have to let someone die. Then maybe you’d reconsider. Perhaps I’ll do that.”
Dr. Horras, astounded, looked at Simon as he was leaving the office. “What are you saying? Come on, don’t be ridiculous.”
Dr. Patterson slammed the door behind him.
“That man has gone completely crazy,” Brad Horras said aloud to himself. “It’s obvious he and his wife are having problems again.”
Chapter 7
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Dr. Miner was gray-haired and well-groomed, a fitting aspect to his refined, aristocratic manner. He exuded a certain air of superiority, an arrogance of which he himself was not aware. He was the proprietor of a private plastic surgery clinic located within twenty-five miles of Medford. A diverse assortment of famous people from all over the world came to see him, demanding that he restore their lost youth. Dr. Miner never promised miracles, but nevertheless the results were extraordinary. Satisfied clients sang his praises everywhere they went, and this brought new clients to his door. Without any advertising, Dr. Miner had so much work that he employed more than twenty surgeons and at least two dozen nurses. As the general director of the clinic he was busy, yet he still performed operations in addition to teaching new surgeons.
Now finishing a correction to the chin of a wealthy stage actress, he examined it closely one last time and then left her to Dr. Hamilton, who always assisted him. Dr. Miner was content. There had been no complications during the operation. For two hours’ work, this woman was going to pay him nine thousand dollars. He smiled.
Dr. Miner was proud of his work. In his office he ran his eyes over the photographs arranged on the wide, oval, cherry table. Looking at one in particular, he rocked his head back and forth. The skin on one woman’s face was healing very badly. Even now it was obvious to him that a few tiny scars would remain and the client would not be pleased. He frowned and shook his head. That’s the way it goes in life; things don’t always turn out the way you want.
He thought about checking in on one of his patients, but then changed his mind. He felt a sharp pain in his neck and back, the result of being on his feet and bending over all day. A glance at the wall clock convinced him that it was best for him to go home. He grabbed his car keys and left the office.
Waiting at a red light, he yawned and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. What should I do now?
>
To his right, the sun was reflecting off the tall, modern glass buildings. He thought about his life and felt himself giving way to gloom and loneliness.
He was almost home when he remembered a way to liven up his evening. At the thought of Monique, his whole body tingled. It had been two months since he had last seen her. Ashamed of what they had done, after their last encounter he had told himself he would stop.
As he drove along the tree-lined road he felt the blood rising to his face. He couldn’t get Monique out of his mind. He smacked his lips a few times and shook his head. “No, I don’t want to do it, damn it! It’s not normal!”
But a mile later, the inside of his mouth was so dry he had to do something. He picked up his cell phone.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“It’s me. Robert.”
“Oh, the little doctor! Are you missing me?”
In the background he could hear a sharp slapping sound. Dr. Miner knew exactly what it was. She was doing it on purpose. He could barely manage to swallow. “Ye-yeah … I w-wanted … you know …”
“Cat got your tongue, little doctor?”
“N-n-no. I’d l-like to …”
“I want you to get your ass over here right now!” she commanded. "Understood?”
“Y-yes. R-right away.”
She hung up on him.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Miner rang the doorbell of a private apartment on the third floor of an old brick building. The door was opened by a tall, slender young woman of Chinese ancestry. She had wild purple hair and wore tight-fitting, black leather pants and a top with two large holes through which her breasts protruded. “Get in here!” she ordered. “I don’t want any of my neighbors to see me. March!”
Obediently, he went into the apartment. But before he took another three steps, she slapped him on the back of the head.
“Wha-a-at? What did I do?”
“You know the rules. You have to take your shoes off before entering.” Again she struck his head with the palm of her hand.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take them off right away.”
With fiery eyes she watched his big butt as he stooped down. It was a temptation she could not resist. She placed the sharp point of her boot against his backside and shoved with all her strength. With pleasure she saw him go flying forward onto his face.
“Arghh!” he cried. “What’d I do wrong?”
“Nothing. That’s extra punishment for not taking your shoes off at the door. So you’ll remember not to do it again!”
He had trouble picking himself up, since he had fallen head forward with his left arm twisted beneath his body.
When he finally did right himself, he felt a slight dizziness and could barely stay on his feet. He let out a silent moan and caressed his arm. Tomorrow he would be covered in bruises again. He would have to wear a long-sleeved shirt so the people at work would not see the red marks and swellings this savage woman was about to cause. Nevertheless, he followed her into a large, dimly lit room, the walls of which were covered in metal chains and other implements designed to inflict pain. Every time he walked into this room, a thrill ran through him and the hair on his arms and legs stood on end. He wanted to be punished. He wanted her to punish him for all the sins of his past. He wanted redemption.
“Get in here!” she commanded. “I despise weaklings. I’m going to make a man out of you! The kind who can stand on his own two feet.” She cracked her whip in the air.
He trembled like a child and stared at the floor.
“Damn it! Didn’t I say I don’t like weaklings? You’re standing there as if your legs were made of butter. Aren’t you a man at all? Go stand against the wall! At once, I say!”
“Y-yes, ma’am.” This was what he wanted most of all. Now he would have to do his penance.
“Strip!”
Robert unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Next came his pants and socks.
“Underwear too.”
“I don’t know, if I …” He felt gooseflesh on his arms. This was followed by a sharp pain across his chest, caused by the lash of the whip. He quickly pulled off his underwear, all the while staring at the floor.
“I have never in all my life seen such a loser!” She bound him to the wall with chains so he could not move. When she was sure he was unable to run away, she stepped back. “Now, have you been naughty again?”
He screwed up his face and nodded. He felt like crying.
“I’m going to have to punish you. Do you understand that?”
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now where’s your money?”
“My wallet’s in my right pants pocket. Take out two hundred dollars.”
When she had the wallet in her hands and saw the wad of money inside, she said, “The price of services has gone up. I’m taking four hundred.”
“But …”
She tossed the pants to the side and picked up a thin plastic stick. “How dare you speak like that to me! Do you think I’m some cheap whore?” She struck him with the stick. Once, twice, a third time, a fourth time …
“No, I didn’t mean to …” He whimpered loudly. “Ah! … Ah! …”
She shoved a piece of wood in his mouth. “You cry out just one more time, damn you! You know I have sensitive neighbors!”
Completely flushed, he nodded his head.
Then she started beating him without mercy. Red lash marks appeared on his pasty body, some diagonal, others vertical. “This is so you remember how to speak to me.”
He waved his hand at her to tell her to stop.
“Take that, and that, and that …”
The pain was intolerable. His teeth bit into the wood and he could hardly bear it. He thought about all the sins he had committed. This is right. I must put up with it.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, damn it!”
The blows stung him so badly, he wanted to spit out the wood and ask her to stop. But he didn’t. I’ve earned this punishment.
She exchanged the stick for another that had metal pieces attached in various places. These left little cuts in the skin. “What an idiot!” she said scornfully, with a great sweep of her arm.
His bulging eyes begged her to stop. That’s enough! I can’t take any more! Please, stop!
“And that, and that …”
The beginning was the worst. The first blows seared the skin. Over time the pain eased up somehow, becoming increasingly less sharp, more bearable, stirring his blood until he felt like he was in heaven …
Or in hell?
She was still striking him with the stick. He thought she might never stop. The pain ran through his body like fire.
She kept telling him he was a loser, was not worth a dime, humiliating him. It was, indeed, truly hell.
After about five minutes he started shaking. A naive observer would be afraid he was having an epileptic fit. His quivering body gave out a muffled, gurgling sound.
And finally the blows stopped. He hung there on the chains trying to catch his breath.
When he had recovered a little, Monique untied him and went into the kitchen. “Be sure not to slam the door,” she cautioned him. “The neighbors are always complaining.”
His cheeks burning, he quickly got dressed and waved good-bye to her.
“This really was the last time,” he said aloud when he had shut the car door and started up the engine. “I’m never going to call her again.”
Chapter 8
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Dr. Patterson took the night shift twice a week. He stood by the tall window at the end of the hallway, watching the dark midnight sky, a vast and benevolent expanse of sparkling stars. He thought he saw a meteor.
“The night is so beautiful, isn’t it?”
He turned around. “Oh, it’s you, Anita. Yes, indeed. It’s especially beautiful tonight.”
“If you’re up for it, how about getting some coffee? My treat.”
She seemed to have changed so
mehow, he thought. Maybe it was the makeup or something else. But she looked different, more attractive.
“Not a bad idea. I’d like some coffee.”
The room with the coffee machine was deserted.
“How do you like your coffee?” she asked.
“Large, black, unsweetened.”
“They say people who drink unsweetened coffee have a sweet life.” She sized him up, teasing with her eyes.
“I’m not exactly sure that’s true in my case. And I’ve been taking my coffee without sugar all my life.”
She waited for the dispensing machine to fill a cup for her too, then carried them over to a high table with barstools. “I don’t think we’ve ever had coffee together, have we?” she asked.
“Sadly, I would have to say we haven’t.”
“And how long have we been working together? Over two years?”
“We’ll have to chalk it up to the pace of work around here. It’s always so hectic.”
She took off her hairnet and let her long black hair cascade over her shoulders. Simon was astounded by how beautiful she was. She had a sweet, adorable face.
“That’s the nature of our profession,” she said. “There simply isn’t any free time.”
He raised the plastic cup and took a sip of coffee. “Tell me, are you and Jerry still together?”
She stared into space, surprised. “Jerry? No, we broke up. We still live in the same apartment, but he’s going to move out soon. He’s in the process of looking for a place. We’re still good friends, but that’s all.”
He gave an understanding nod. “Oh, I see. I always thought you made such a nice couple.”
“So did I.” She looked down sadly. But a moment later, her eyes were twinkling, inquisitive. “And what about you, Simon? How’s your love life?”
“Nothing to brag about, I’m afraid. But Helen and I are making an effort.”
