by Alice Ward
“Yes, Worth, that is, Dr. LaViere.” She giggled just enough to sound like a flirt and spun on her spiky heels to survey her new throne.
“Oh, Patsy,” I called after her. She turned, her legs parting slightly as she stood. I loved that. “Lunch.”
“Of course,” she answered. “Galt House or the Hilton?”
“You choose,” I offered, making sure the corner of my mouth lifted just right.
It did. She giggled again and disappeared.
CHAPTER FOUR
Worth
The yellow light on my desk blinked, signaling there was a patient waiting for me. I opened the door to the waiting room and discovered a woman seated there. When I motioned her in, a waft of her perfume enveloped me as she passed. I was instantly hard.
“Mrs. Marcum?” I inquired and she nodded, smiling slyly. I resisted the urge to thrust out my hips as she looked me up and down, more down than up. “Won’t you have a seat? Wherever makes you comfortable.” I indicated the seating arrangement Jeremy had cunningly assembled. The furnishings were ultra-modern, and depending on the preference of the patients, they could sit upright or recline completely. Even if they chose to sit, the seating was low and a less inhibited woman could choose to let her knees open a bit to sit more comfortably. He had thought of everything and knew me so well. Amazing for a man who didn’t care for women, I mused.
“You’re the new one.” Her voice was husky and low, the kind you dreamed of hearing over the telephone.
“Dr. LaViere,” I introduced myself and sat down with my tablet to take notes.
“Do you have another name?” she prompted, her green eyes reflecting the glow from the lamp.
“Not yet,” I countered and smiled. “We’ll see how much progress you make.” My response was filled with innuendo and I knew she was already formulating her plan.
“How long do I get?” she purred and ran a hand through her hair.
“Our visit is forty minutes long, Mrs. Marcum.”
“Call me Stephanie.”
“Very well, Stephanie. I see by the forms you completed that you’re here to talk about some issues you’re having in your marriage?”
“Yes.” She bit her lower lip, looking down at her pink tipped fingers. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she was trying to decide how much to tell me without making herself look undesirable. She wanted to roast her husband but come out looking untouched.
I shifted in my seat, pulling one leg back and extending the other, which caused my knees to open so she could clearly see I was aroused. Her eyes flared as they met mine again and a pink tongue moistened her lips. I chuckled internally. Yeah, I had it. “So, how long have you been married?” I began the conversation and sat back to gather facts.
Her face fell somewhat as she remembered her purpose in coming. “Howard and I were married seven years ago,” she began. “We met at Churchill in the Stevens’ box seats. He’s considerably older than I am, you should know.”
“How much older?”
“Ten years,” she answered and then her mouth twisted. “Okay, five, but as you might have noticed, I age well,” she added, hope bright in her eyes.
I flipped to her personal information and saw she was almost forty. She was right. She had aged well, but then, most likely, there were a few wealthier plastic surgeons who could account for that. I looked at her bosom just long enough to make a guess and she smiled coyly, “Yes, I see you do.” She was satisfied that her game was working and this made her happy. I hoped Howard had deep pockets because this smoky number would be showing up for the long haul. I moved my knee open incrementally and she blushed with pleasure. I could even see the slightest glaze of perspiration above her upper lip as she licked them again and swallowed. The movement was not lost on me.
“Why don’t you tell me how I can help you?” I invited, the double entendre making her draw in her breath.
She chuckled in her husky voice. The sound was well practiced, I could tell. It was clear as to why Howard might be having some problems with her.
“Howard has some issues…” she began. “He isn’t able to, well, shall we say… please me in bed any longer?” She emphasized her need more for my benefit than for her own.
“Are you saying your husband is impotent?” I asked, keeping my tone professional.
“Flat as a punctured inner tube,” she popped back coarsely and for a moment, I felt sorry for the son-of-a-bitch.
“Mrs. Marcum, you do realize there are many new medications available for these issues and that your husband should seek the guidance of his personal physician or a qualified urologist, don’t you?”
She seemed disappointed that I wasn’t snapping at her bait. She tried another course. “Let’s just say you can’t fill up on a cocktail frank when you have an appetite for a bratwurst,” she offered. This turned my stomach a bit. I readily saw why Howard was having issues. I hated these kinds of bitches. They used emasculation to get what they wanted.
“Do you love your husband?” I asked her pointedly.
She took a few moments to consider this. “I’m used to him. He’s broken in, if you understand what I mean.”
“So you’re saying you’d like to remain married to him?” I framed it simply.
“Yes.”
“Have you considered taking a lover?” At this, her eyes opened slightly, a sign of arousal. She looked pointedly at me and frowned to see my erection had disappeared. I knew she was wondering where she’d lost me.
“Why… why…” she stuttered to answer.
“Have you?” I detested weakness. I didn’t give a shit whether she was screwing around. I just didn’t want her wasting my time by not being up front about it.
“Well…” she began, her fingers twisting together.
“You have, then?” I didn’t even wait for her confirmation but made notes on my tablet. This seemed to concern her, even alarm her.
“What are you writing?” she demanded, sitting upright.
“Just making notes, Mrs. Marcum. It’s quite normal,” I answered matter-of-factly. I knew she was discomfited. She wasn’t sure whether to defend herself or release her claws into me. I didn’t give her a chance to decide. “Mrs. Marcum, we’re going to end the session for today. I believe we should schedule a session for me to see Mr. Marcum next time, alone. Then, we’ll follow that with one for you both. This is really a couple’s counseling situation as there is nothing to be accomplished without Mr. Marcum’s input and cooperation. Good day,” I finished and stood, signaling an end to the conversation.
Her carefully molded face turned sour, and I glimpsed the hell old man Marcum must see every morning over his breakfast table. It was no wonder he had performance issues.
I found myself looking forward to lunch as I opened the door for Stephanie Marcum to make her exit. I noticed as she passed that her perfume no longer had any effect on me. In fact, quite the opposite. Interesting.
CHAPTER FIVE
Worth
I was beginning to feel more like a babysitter than a psychologist. Throughout my education and while interning, patients had generally fallen into a few categories: they were poor, their life was shitty or they were trying to overcome an addiction to their escapism drug of choice.
These patients, however, were completely normal, albeit eccentric, and they manufactured paltry neurosis based on boredom and the chic adornment of “being in therapy.” These were the spoiled wealthy — the least contributive to the socialization of the country. They created pretend lives with self-imposed drama as a means to avoid slitting their liposuctioned necks. It sickened me. It was the world I was born into. These were my people.
My next patient arrived and the blinking yellow light on my desk was beginning to give me a Pavlovian response of nausea. I opened the door and found a young woman of moderate height and build, mahogany-colored hair that hung like a shiny curtain to her waist and a peaches and cream complexion with a few subtle freckles on the tip of her
nose. She stood with the grace of an athlete and said abruptly, “You’re not Jervis.”
“I’m not?” I challenged her with a mocking smile.
“Mother would have never chosen someone like you. He’s old and I suspect has a beard. A fuddy-duddy who would be bowled over by her beauty and ready to tell her anything she wanted to hear.”
“I suppose I should take that as flattery?” I asked.
“Take it however you like, but you’re not Jervis,” she muttered as she pushed past me into my consultation room. “So, where is the tactical seat?” She stood with her jean-clad legs spread in a defiant stance, and I was so overwhelmed with her self-assured, sardonic view of the world, I felt my heart actually beginning to race. She was like a two-year-old Thoroughbred. Slender and long-legged, her mane of hair emanating youthful good health. She was also restless, untrusting, and ready to bolt at any moment.
“Take whichever tactical seat you prefer,” I offered, extending my arm to sweep the room. She took mine. This made me smile, and I chose to outplay her and took the seat behind my desk, leaving the expanse of glass between us. This forced her to rotate in her chosen chair in order to see me, but she stared straight ahead, leaving me her profile to contemplate.
I picked up my tablet. “So, Miss Elizabeth Langford…” I began.
“No.”
“No?”
“Auggie.”
“Auggie,” I repeated, feeling as though we were playing some game.
“My name is Auggie, after my Aunt Augusta. Not Elizabeth, or Lizzie, or Betsy or Liz or any other perverted deviation you think you can use to get in my pants.”
My eyebrows rose at this. This game sounded familiar; very, very personally familiar. “Very well, Miss Elizabeth, Lizzie, Betsy, Liz, Augusta…” I mocked her.
“Stop it! Auggie or don’t call me by name.” She turned to look at me briefly and I could see coltish fire in her green eyes. Jesus, but she turns me on!
“Auggie, it is. What brings you here today?”
“Mother didn’t leave any instructions?” she asked pertly. “Mother must be slipping. She never forgets details when it comes to managing my life. She may as well pin a note to my blouse like when I was in kindergarten.”
So, it was to be a smothering mother thing, but somehow I didn’t think so. I felt like she was playing with me.
“Why do you think you’re here?” I tried.
She lifted a shoulder. “Not really here for any reason. Caught my intended fiancé in a compromising position with someone else and refused his resulting proposal. Mother doesn’t know the truth but seems to think this means I’m disturbed.” She made air quotations around the word as she uttered it.
“Okay, well, is it possible he was having one last fling before committing to you?” I tried to mitigate the damage.
“If you call one last fling a muck jockey with a cock bigger than his,” she spat back and crossed one leg over the other.
I almost choked on the saliva she was creating in my mouth. “I see,” I finally managed. “Hmmm… and you don’t think he swings both ways, I take it?”
She looked at me straight on and asked in a sing-song voice typical for an eight-year-old girl who got kicked out of the cool kid’s club. “Would you settle for being half of both ways?”
I could see her point. God, but I wanted her. “It isn’t important what I think,” I gave the standard response.
“Oh, really? Well, if I don’t care and you don’t think, what the hell am I doing in this chair spending Mother’s carefully planted money?” She was defiance in raging glory.
“Our conversation is privileged,” I pointed out.
“Really? She didn’t pick Jervis by accident, I can tell you that.”
“I’m not Jervis,” I answered succinctly.
She scowled at me. “No, you’re not. So just who the hell are you, anyway?”
I couldn’t resist. “You must have wandered in here by accident. I’m a gynecologist, Dr. LaViere.”
Three precious seconds passed as my words sank in and she considered if what I said could possibly be true. Then, the glow of recognition, the dawning as she realized I was putting her on. “Screw you!” she spat, leapt to her feet and stalked out, slamming doors as she left.
It seemed the day wasn’t a total waste, after all. I was craving something and looked toward the closet bar, but bourbon wasn’t it. I was craving the colt who had just bolted.
CHAPTER SIX
Auggie
“Well, Mother, I met your Dr. Jervis,” I announced as she stirred her mint julep on the veranda. “Only it wasn’t your Dr. Jervis,” I added before skipping inside to put on my riding clothes. This seemed like the perfect afternoon for a date with Carlos.
I knew she couldn’t resist. “What do you mean, not my Dr. Jervis?” She was hot on my heels.
“Why does that upset you so badly, Mother? Could it be you had one of your magic spells already in place?” I asked, feeling suddenly superior. Perhaps Mother taught me a thing or two over the years.
“Elizabeth Augusta, you stand still this instant and tell me what you’ve done now!”
“Are you speaking to me?” I asked in my warning tone.
Mother stomped one foot in vexation. “Young lady, you are to stop this nonsense right now. I went to great pains to find you the right therapist and now you’re telling me you didn’t see him at all? Who did you talk to? These are very private concerns, young lady. We can’t have just anyone privy to our family matters.” Mother was losing ground with every word she spoke. She’d lost my interest with her “young lady” opening.
I slammed my bedroom door and changed my clothes, leaving the discarded items on the floor where they belonged. I waited until her muttering decreased as she descended the staircase before opening my door and venturing out. I heard the patio door shut firmly — Mother never slammed anything; it wasn’t ladylike — and then skipped out the front door toward the stables.
Carlos heard me coming and was restless in his paddock, waiting to be released. Together we were the wind.
I didn’t return until the last rays of sunlight and as I was brushing Carlos down, Dad appeared.
“Auggie, we have to talk,” he began. It was obvious he’d rather be doing anything else, but had been sent by Mother to get this settled.
“I was expecting you eventually,” I acknowledged him. He really was a dear, old sweetheart, even if he had no spine. Dad was forever in the role of peacemaker.
“Your mother tells me…” Why do all his sentences begin that way? “that you went to see Dr. Jervis today but for some reason, she has the idea you saw someone else. Is that true?” His wording was carefully selected.
Carlos, ever my defender, kicked over a water bucket at that moment and Dad actually started a bit at the noise. I wanted to put him at ease but didn’t particularly want to reward Mother’s machinations. I compromised.
“Mother scheduled me to see Dr. Jervis but apparently, his receptionist thought it a better idea that I see his new partner,” I explained.
“I see.” Dad looked relieved that there might just be a simple explanation here after all. His shoulders sagged and I wondered briefly how long it had been since Dad had walked erectly with pride.
“Father, when will Mother realize that I’m a grown woman and no longer need her to supervise my life? I’m a college graduate, remember? I must know something about my life to get that far, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, of course, Auggie, but your mother is old school. She is very conscious of the family’s social position. I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Like, what am I doing? Selling my body on the corner? Strung out on drugs or have my own stool at the bar? Really, Dad, let’s be real about this.”
Dad’s feet were shuffling, a definite sign that this conversation was making him terribly uncomfortable. I knew he was trying to stay long enough to gather some positive intel that would convince Mother the issue h
ad been dealt with and she could go back to non-stop manipulations of all our lives.
“Try to look at it this way.” I tried to expose some silver lining to him. “We both know that Mother likes to have a hand in things, and we both acknowledge that she probably had things set up with Dr. Jervis to report back to her with the details. So, my seeing someone other than Jervis was probably a Godsend and will simplify your life and mine considerably. What do you think?”
Dad smiled shyly and it always melted my heart the fastest. “I think I have a grown-up girl who is pretty darn smart.”
I nodded. “Thought you’d see it my way.” I smiled back. “Now go ahead and tell Mother you gave me what-for, and I pinky swore not to spill any family secrets and embarrass her, okay?”
He nodded and left, and I went back to brushing down Carlos. “Carlos, my love, be glad that you only were gelded the one time.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Worth
All in all, I think my first day went remarkably well. Jervis was headed in my direction, probably to discuss how everything went. Good thing I had Patsy send that intercept call directly to his personal cell. I knew that would stop him on the spot. Jervis couldn’t handle more than one issue at a time.
I pulled the Porsche out onto Shelbyville Road and headed downtown. As one of the major shopping areas in town, it was constant start and stop traffic. I understood why the office was convenient here, but I would by far rather stay in the country.
One of my favorite hangouts was a little bar called Joe’s, tucked beneath the Third Street Bridge. It pre-dated the first Derby and if you looked around, you might think you’d stepped back to that time. The patrons were strictly old money. The attire de rigueur was baggy wool, combatting plaids, and a cap that had been properly mashed beneath a hoof on some muddy track. Presidents had been determined here and influence reeked from the age-scented bodies. It was a world where there was no longer any need to impress one another and certainly anyone who wasn’t there didn’t enter their minds. Almost without exception, the ancestors of these craggy faces with their bushy eyebrows and yellowed teeth had come ashore still respecting their King. They’d been sent on a mission to lay claim to the virginal America before the peasants could learn to build a split-railed fence.
