Elicitation (The Training of Eileen)

by William Vitelli

  Elicitation, n. To draw out; especially, to draw out something latent.

  By William Vitelli

  Edited by Cynthia Hamilton

  Chapter 1

  Rain poured steadily from an ashen sky. Outside the car, the sidewalks were a riot of brightly colored umbrellas, a sea of people flowing beneath the pattering droplets. The windshield wipers made a whup-whup counterpart to the drumbeat of rain on the roof.

  “I still don’t see why this is necessary,” she said.

  He glanced over at her. “Legal stuff. The state requires a blood test before it will issue a marriage license.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Unless you’re thinking of changing your mind?”

  “No! It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t understand why we had to drive all the way out here. I already have a doctor!”

  “I know. But can he work you into the schedule for a full exam before the wedding?”

  “I don’t need a full exam!” She sat back and folded her arms, petulant. “I only need a blood test! Besides, I hate doctor’s offices.”

  “I’m just trying to be efficient.” He shrugged and returned his attention to the road. “Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?”

  She stared out the window. They drove for a while in silence as he guided the car out of the city. They passed through the suburbs, trees and buildings washed in gray.

  Finally, he pulled into a nondescript medical park, low buildings in bland industrial style clustered around a large and nearly vacant parking lot. “Aaron is an old and good friend of mine. We go way back together. He normally doesn’t take new patients, especially on short notice. I asked him to do me a favor.” He smiled. “You’ll like him, I promise.”

  She made a noncommittal sound.

  “Oh, don’t be that way.” He opened the door and fumbled with his umbrella. “Next week we’ll be married and on our honeymoon in London. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

  She said nothing, but he saw her smile. “There, that’s better.” He climbed out of the car and opened her door for her; she rose under the shelter of his umbrella, stately, elegant, a John Singer Sargent painting come to life. He marveled, not for the first time, at her beauty.

  He escorted her to one of the buildings scattered through the medical park, and held it open for her. They passed into a nondescript waiting room, blandly appointed in pastels and peach. He shook droplets of water off the umbrella and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be back to pick you up in about an hour.”

  “Wait! You aren’t staying?”

  “No. I have some errands to run.” Before she could protest, he was gone, back out into the steady drizzle. She watched the watery yellow glow of the headlights as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Miss?”

  She turned, startled. The voice came from a glass window set in the wall.

  “Miss? Are you a returning patient?”

  She crossed the room. On the other side of the partition, a matronly woman, wearing scrubs covered in a pattern of blue and yellow duckies, looked at her expectantly.

  “Huh? No. I’m new.”

  “Ah!” An expression of delight crossed the woman’s face. “Yes, of course! You’re Mrs. Miller. I’ve been expecting you!”

  “Miss. Miss Miller. Eileen. I’m not married yet.”

  “Of course. Forgive me, please. Miss Miller. I have…” She looked around her desk, then opened a drawer and pulled out a thin file folder. “Here we go! I have your file right here. Let’s see. Umm…” She flipped through its contents. “Ah, good, good. We already have most of your paperwork. Your husb—excuse me, your fiancé took care of this already. We have your medical records. Now, if I could just get you to fill out…oh, where is it? Ah.” She slid several sheets of paper through a narrow slot. “If I could just get you to fill out the consent form, here, and the privacy notice, and the patient care information, and…yes, yes, that will do nicely.”

  Eileen accepted the papers automatically. She looked around, feeling lost, abandoned by her fiancé. The waiting room was completely empty save for her and the receptionist. A small group of chairs sat clustered around a low, heavy table in the center of the waiting area, but there were no magazines, no television. The room seemed almost Spartan in its utility.

  She filled out the papers mechanically and passed them back through the slot. The receptionist glanced over them, smiling. “If you’ll just have a seat, dearie, the doctor will be with you quite soon. He’s with another patient now, and the appointment is running a few minutes late. I’m dreadfully sorry about that. We usually don’t keep our patients waiting.”

  Eileen perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the seats. The feelings of abandonment grew stronger. She ran her hands up and down her arms, shivering slightly. The minutes ticked by; she stared blankly at the wall and fidgeted.

  After a time, the door beside the receptionist’s window opened. Eileen looked up as a woman stepped through, a strange, blissful expression on her face. Her chestnut-brown hair was slightly disheveled, and she walked unsteadily.

  For an instant, their gaze locked, and something indefinable passed between them. The woman smiled. “Are you a patient of Dr. Moreland’s?”

  “I…A new patient. This is my first visit.”

  “Really?” The woman’s face lit up. “Oh, you’ll like Dr. Moreland. I wish I could have my first visit with him all over again…” Her eyes half-closed, dreamy. “I’m Kathy. Maybe I’ll see you again.” She winked.

  Eileen watched the woman leave.

  That was weird, she thought to herself. The brief exchange made her feel uncomfortable, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She briefly considered leaving. No, wait, she thought, I don’t have a car…

  The door opened again. A man in a white lab coat stepped through, a stethoscope draped around his neck, a file folder tucked under his arm. He was blandly handsome, with an open, genial smile that put her instantly at ease. He radiated calm, friendly confidence. “Miss Miller?”

  “Eileen.”

  “Eileen.” He strode across the room and offered his hand. “Very pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Moreland. Call me Aaron, if you like. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  She took his hand, and he shook warmly. “Anthony and I are friends from our Army days. When he told me he was getting married, I was quite delighted. So naturally when he asked me if I could take you on as a patient, how could I refuse?” He gestured toward the door. “Please accept my apologies for the delay. Normally, I try not to make anyone wait. It’s one of the advantages of a very small practice.”

  She followed him down a long hallway. He led her to a scale at the end of the hallway, bade her to step up on it. “Mmm, good, let’s see…” He weighed and measured her efficiently, wrote in the folder. “This way, if you please.” He opened a large, heavy door, ushered her into a small examining room. “Now, I’m told that you’re here for a standard premarital blood test and a physical exam, yes?”

  “Um…yes.”

  “Okay, good. If you could just disrobe for me and put this on, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?” He handed her a thin paper gown. “And relax! You look like you’re here for a root canal. We’ll have you in and out in no time.”

  He left and closed the door behind him. She sat gingerly on the edge of the examining table with a sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, she started peeling off her long blue sundress. The disquiet was back; she felt awkward and self-conscious. She looked around for a place to put the dress, then folded it neatly and set it on the edge of the sink. Her bra and panties followed, then her shoes and stockings. She put on the paper gown and tied the st
rings behind her. The back gaped open, and she felt even more self-conscious. The least they could do is make these things fit better…

  She rose from the table at the sound of a knock. “Come in!” Her voice broke.

  The door opened again. Dr. Moreland—she couldn’t bring herself to think of him on a first-name basis—stepped through. A tall, willowy woman followed him, sandy blonde hair in a neat ponytail, a clipboard folded in her arms.

  “Eileen, I’d like to introduce you to my nurse, Samantha Bowes. She will be assisting me today.” They shook hands politely. “Now, if you can have a seat, we can start with some basic background and history.

  Eileen sat back on the edge of the table. The doctor took the clipboard and uncapped his pen. “Anthony’s already had your records forwarded over from your previous doctor, so I’ll probably only need to ask you a few questions. No allergies or family history of any serious diseases, I see.”

  “No.”

  “No diabetes, no heart problems, no hospitalizations or surgeries…”

  “No.” The nurse took her arm and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around it.

  “No fainting or dizzy spells, no history of turning into a newt…”

  “No—what?”

  “Just seeing if you were paying attention.” He smiled, and she relaxed a fraction. The nurse inflated the cuff and pressed a cold stethoscope against her arm. “Okay, now, there are some questions which aren’t covered here. Are you currently sexually active?”

  “No. I mean, not really. We’re…it’s been a long time.”

  “So you are not currently engaging in sexual intercourse with your fiancé?”

  “No. Um, we decided to wait until we were married.”

  “I see.” He made a notation. “How long has it been since you were last sexually active?”

  “Three years.”

  “Okay. Now…do you currently engage in oral sexual contact, giving or receiving?”

  “No!” Fire colored her cheeks, and she made a small sound of disgust. “No, I do not. Absolutely not.”

  “Anal sexual contact?”

  “Excuse me?” She glared at him. “What do you think I am? Where do you come from, asking me things like that?”

  He put down the clipboard and regarded her calmly. “Miss Miller, please understand that I am not trying to upset or offend you. I am your health care professional, and in order to provide you with the highest possible level of care, I need to know these things about you. I am not here to judge you. These are questions I ask all my patients. There are medical conditions that can rise in conjunction with certain sexual practices, which as your health care provider I need to be aware of. I’m sorry if these questions offend you, but I am only trying to do my job.” He picked up the clipboard and regarded her levelly. “Now then, do you engage in anal sexual contact?”

  She flushed bright crimson at the question, and her glance moved back and forth between the doctor and Nurse Bowes. The nurse ignored her, entirely indifferent to her discomfort. “No! No, I absolutely do not engage in anal sexual contact,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “One forty over eighty-four.” The nurse pulled the cuff from his arm. “Seventy-eight beats per minute.”

  “Good.” The easy, genial smile came back. “My apologies for offending you. Eileen.”

  She looked down, abashed. “It’s okay. I know you’re just trying to do your job.”

  “See? That’s better. Shall we get started?” He handed the clipboard to the nurse. With one hand on her shoulder, he unfastened the drawstring of the paper gown. She felt acutely aware of his presence. The heat of his hand through the thin paper made her shift uncomfortably.

  “We will start with a breast exam.” He slipped the paper robe off one shoulder, exposing her breast to the cool air. She looked away, self-conscious. His fingers pressed and probed the soft skin; she flinched and drew away. His other hand remained firm on her shoulder, holding her steady. His hand slid under her breast, questing fingers probing and pressing, causing her to squirm in self-conscious embarrassment. The intimacy of the touch, and his clinical detachment, made her feel acutely self-aware. She trembled as his hand moved around her breast in a long slow spiral. He brushed her nipple. She suppressed a small shudder. Having a stranger’s hands on her body in such a familiar way was almost unbearably uncomfortable. She sighed with relief when he finished and slipped the gown back up over her shoulder.

  “Now the other one.” He undraped her other breast and repeated the procedure. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as he caressed her breast, unable to keep herself from shrinking back from his probing fingers.

  “You seem distressed. Relax, please.” His hand pressed more firmly as it slid up over the curve of her breast. He pinched her nipple, rolled it between his fingers. She moved to turn away; his other hand came up her back, and pressed her forward. “Don’t move.”

  She held her breath, eyes still closed tightly. His fingers manipulated her nipple. She froze and gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white.

  Then he was finished. When he had covered her again, she sighed and opened her eyes.

  “Everything looks good.” He nodded to the nurse, who made a notation on her clipboard. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now if I can just get you to lie down flat on your back, please.” He pulled the stirrups from the end of the table, unfolded them. “Place your feet here.”

  She turned awkwardly and lowered herself onto the table. She stared at the ceiling as she moved her legs apart, placed her ankles in the cold metal stirrups. The gown offered little concealment; she felt awkward and horribly exposed.

  He drew up a small wheeled chair. “I don’t mean to cause you any more discomfort than necessary, Eileen. However, I am going to have to strap you down now.” He nodded to the nurse, who drew a pair of wide, heavy canvas straps from beneath one side of the examining table. Moving quickly, the nurse wrapped one of the straps around Eileen’s upper arm and drew it tightly under the table again, pinning her arm in place. She repeated the same motions with the other strap, drawing Eileen’s lower arm firmly against the table, binding it in place.

  “Hey! What—”

  “I’m sorry. New insurance regulations. Someone fell from an exam table last year in Wisconsin and sued the clinic, and now my insurance carrier requires me to provide safeguards against patient injury. You may file a formal complaint, if you like. My receptionist can give you the paperwork.”

  She glared up at the ceiling and clenched her teeth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  He nodded to the nurse, who with equal efficiency restrained Eileen’s other arm, then drew a strap across Eileen’s upper body, just above her breasts. Another strap was pulled over her hips and buckled into place, almost too tight for comfort. The doctor closed metal brackets around her ankles and latched them shut.

  Eileen tried to turn, and realized that the straps held her completely immobilized. The metal brackets held her ankles tightly, preventing her from drawing her knees together. A rush of emotions, discomfort and anxiety and a small tremor of fear, passed through her; she felt her heart beat faster, felt butterflies in her stomach. Cool air played between her legs, reminded her of how exposed she was.

  “Nurse Bowes, if you could prepare a tray for me, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

  The nurse moved to the counter, drew out a steel tray piled with instruments. Eileen lay on her back, bound tightly to the table, legs spread wide, and listened to her heart pound. An inexplicable image of the woman she’d seen leaving—Kathy, did she say her name was?—flashed through her mind; for some reason she couldn’t quite understand, the memory of the woman’s face made her shudder. A strange tingle grew in her stomach. A sense of heat spread between her legs.

  She tried again to shift position on the table, but the straps held her down firmly. The tingle grew stronger. She felt lightheaded, and realized she’d been breathing heavily.

  “So how lon
g have you and Anthony been together?” The doctor’s voice, calm and reassuring, guided her back into reality.

  “About seven weeks. We met through a friend.” She drew a shuddering breath and tried to relax. More butterflies fluttered in her stomach. He drew on a pair of gloves; for some reason she couldn’t understand, the simple act made her heart lurch. He rolled the chair to the foot of the table, between her legs. His hand brushed her thigh; she closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  He leaned forward and spread her open with his fingers. “Nurse, please make a note that the subject is lubricating very heavily.”

  “What did you say?” Eileen’s voice sounded raspy and strained in her ears.

  He didn’t reply. She felt the touch of cold metal, and then the unyielding inflexibility of a blunt steel speculum sliding into her. She whimpered involuntarily as it opened her up. More butterflies swirled in her stomach. She felt a profound feeling of helplessness. Fingers entered her, warm in contrast to the cold metal.

  She grunted, and pulled impotently against the straps. His fingers pressed deeper, and a sudden shiver ran down her spine.

  “So Anthony tells me that you have erotic dreams about being kidnapped and raped by pirates. Is that true?” His hand moved inside her, twisting, fingers pressing and probing, exploring her.

  “WHAT?! He told you that?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s told me a great deal about you.” His hand moved deeper still; she felt him pressing harder, felt herself stretching nearly to the point of pain to accommodate him.

  Her face turned crimson. She stared up at the ceiling, angry and humiliated. “That bastard!” she fumed. “Why would he say that? I can’t believe he told you that! I’ve never told anyone else!”

  “He’s told me a great deal about you. We talk about you often.” His fingers withdrew, and he slid the speculum out. He lifted a tube of lubricating jelly from the tray. “It’s why I agreed to take you on. You’re an interesting case.” She felt something cool and wet being spread between her legs. “I know that as a young woman, you would masturbate to fantasies of being ravished by strangers, then feel guilty about it for days afterward.” Something pressed against her, probing her, seeking entrance into her anus. She cried out in rage and shame.