by Ashlyn Chase
She knocked on it. “Can I come in or what?”
“I’ll be with you in a moment, Lizette. Have a seat and I’ll come get you.”
She knew he meant for her to sit in the waiting room, but she was in a rebellious mood. She pushed her way into his office and sat on his couch, wet raincoat and all. He had been writing at his desk and whirled his chair to face her. “Um, I meant sit in the waiting room and I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
She stayed, scowling, with arms folded. “I’m fed up with waiting. Give an old lady a break, will you?”
They eyed each other, immobile, both determined to get their own way. At last, Lizette rose and stomped off to the waiting room. About five minutes later, Dr. Brayer invited her in. She flopped back on the couch and pouted.
“So what seems to be the problem, Lizette?”
“I’m immune to your stupid medicine and I barely slept all weekend.”
“It may take a little longer to work. You just need to be patient for now.”
“Be patient. Now I know why they call us patients.”
He smiled. His voice had been gentle. His smile looked genuine, as if he were glad to see her despite how rotten she was being to him. Was this the unconditional acceptance she had been hoping to find all her long life?
She gentled her own voice. “You said to wait until next week and now it’s next week.”
“I don’t want to change the medication just yet. Let’s give it a few more days. Did something happen over the weekend that kept you awake?”
“No. It’s probably nothing. Bad dreams, that’s all. But I kept trying to sleep and I couldn’t so I stayed awake and watched TV. I had a chance to go to the opera, but I told the kid who asked me out that I had to wash my hair and then kill myself, so he took off. Then I stayed in all weekend because it was raining—again.”
“I thought you were lonely. Scaring off a potential date doesn’t sound very friendly.”
“Frankly, I’m not feeling very friendly right now. I’m feeling pretty lousy. Actually, you could say I feel like crap. An absolute pile of steaming shit.”
The doctor’s face took on a strange expression and he adjusted his position in his seat. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I think you should see me a little more often than weekly. Perhaps three times a week to start.”
She rolled her eyes. “Terrific. I want to kill myself and you want to torture me.”
“Torture you? How?”
“By spending more time on this friggin’ couch, looking across the coffee table at your annoyingly perfect face and forking over a hundred dollars an hour to do it.”
Dr. Brayer leaned one elbow on his armrest and set his jaw into his cupped hand. He said nothing. He simply stared at her.
“What’s the matter, doc? No snappy comeback?”
“I’m trying to help you, Lizette. If that’s not what you want, then what do you suggest I do?”
She shrugged. “Go look in your shrink’s manual. I’m sure there’s some kind of advice in there for dealing with eternally pissed-off patients like me.”
“There’s no manual and there’s no one quite like you, either. Even though there are other immortals, they generally know how they became that way and how to manage… You know what? I’d like to increase the dosage of your medication.”
“Is that all you can do? Write a prescription?”
“It might help.”
“Un-fucking-believable.”
“We could possibly work out payments on a sliding scale…”
But it was too late. She was on her way out the door.
Chapter Three
Fortunately, women get bolder as they get older.
Sister Nancy Schreck
Colin had both looked forward to and dreaded their next meeting. Nothing turned him off like a belligerent patient but no one turned him on like Lizette. She had marched out of his office one day and called to set up another appointment the next. And he’d thought no one could surprise him anymore. Well, it was time to face whatever she’d do today.
“Come in, Lizette.”
Why did she have to look like an ethereal pin-up girl each time he saw her? His cock started to grow. On Monday she had resembled a goddess of the sea, her long, damp hair hanging in wavy rivulets, dripping water onto her breasts. She had been wearing a silver trench coat.
Today, her soft halo of platinum-blonde curls framed her heart-shaped face and the warmth of a sunny day meant everyone was shedding extra layers of clothing. She wore a figure-hugging pink top with a short black skirt over her perfect legs.
“Are you feeling any better?”
“Maybe. At least I don’t feel like choking someone for no reason.”
“That’s a start.” He smiled and hoped a better session was in the offing as they settled into place.
Lizette fixed her bright blue eyes on him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Of course.” Get your mind out of the gutter and concentrate on your patient, Brayer.
“If you were in my position, what would you do?”
Colin took a moment to think about it. “That’s a good question. I imagine I’d take stock of myself, look at what opportunities might be realistic and try to pursue something meaningful and lucrative. That way, even if I were stuck on earth for a seemingly unlimited number of years, I’d be a lot happier about it. I’d also try to be patient with myself and learn new technology slowly rather than giving up altogether.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.” She leaned toward him and rested her forearms on her knees. Her scoop neck dipped just low enough to reveal her creamy white cleavage.
Shit. I wish she’d stop making my mouth water.
“So how would you go about finding something lucrative and meaningful?”
He stared at the door while trying not to think of her lush curves. “Well, there are a few things you could do. Certain tests can help determine what sort of careers you might enjoy. I’m not saying you’d have to get a job in any of those areas, but it may point toward volunteer work you’d like or an interesting hobby that might lead to some income.” He had to admire her survival skills up to this point. The woman had lived in a time when courtesan was a legitimate profession and yet she had adapted to modern life by creating a product and selling it. She had even been business savvy enough to maintain a low-profile presence in the company, thereby continuing to earn a share of the profits. She had brains and guts. She just needed to find a new way to use those attributes.
“Great,” she said, perking up. “How can I get one of those tests?”
“I imagine you could start with vocational centers and career counselors. You’ll probably find some in the Yellow Pages. Ask if they offer Meyers-Briggs testing specific to career compatibility.”
She cocked her head. “What’s that?”
“A personality test named after the men who created it.”
“Does it cost a hundred dollars an hour?”
Colin wanted to chuckle, but it wasn’t funny. How frustrating to manage a limited income when one couldn’t get a good-paying job. And she needed to support herself forever! The role of a kept woman may have worked in the past, but those days were almost gone.
An odd thought crossed his mind. If he weren’t treating her, would he be able to set her up and “keep” her in exchange for hot, willing, anytime-he-wanted-it sex? She’d probably go for it. The erection that had been growing surged another inch. No, another sugar daddy is not what she needs. He adjusted in his chair to hide the tent in his pants.
Her sky-blue eyes stared at him. “Well?”
Uh-oh. What had she asked him? Had he gone off into his own private land of nasty sexual thoughts and fantasies? If so, for how long?
“Um… Well, what?”
“Are those counselors expensive? Because I can’t afford too many more of these sessions and then add some other counseling too.”
“Oh, not at all.” He cleared his throat. “Career counselors aren
’t usually doctors, so they cost much less. Is my fee a hardship? Because if it is, I could see about a payment plan.”
She waved away his suggestion. “No, forget it. Paying longer won’t help. I can’t die my way out of debt. But I won’t be coming much longer. Just knowing I’m not alone and that I could possibly find others like me…well, that in itself is a big help.”
“How about your medication?” he asked, anxious about the thought of her leaving. “You’ll still need me to prescribe—”
“No, I won’t. I stopped taking it.”
“You did? Why?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t need it.”
“You should really let me be the judge of that. If you feel like changing your medication dosage or altering my recommendations, let me know first. I can’t keep track of how it’s working if I don’t know how you’re taking it.”
“But that’s just it. I’m not taking it, so I don’t need to tell you anything. And if I go to the career counselor and find some kind of meaningful activity, I won’t need you at all.”
Panic set in as the words I won’t need you at all echoed in his head. “Well, I’d like to see you a little longer to be sure you’re going to be all right. Perhaps you can wait until after the career counseling and I can give you some input as to which activities might be practical in today’s world.”
“Can’t the career counselor do that? I mean, they’re counselors too, aren’t they? And that’s probably part of what they do.”
“Are you concerned about the money? Because if you are, there’s one way we can continue to see each other—maybe after work some night.” Now he was getting desperate. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. Unfortunately, heat was rising along his neck.
She glanced up at him coquettishly. “Doctor, is there something you’re trying to say?”
He cleared his throat and came out with it. “Would you be interested in going out to dinner with me?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
Busted. “Well, if you’re going to terminate treatment anyway and if you’d like it to be a date, it can be a date. I won’t be able to be your doctor after that but I might be a good friend to have. I can help you find interesting things to do in the outside world—and because I already know you’re immortal, you don’t need to hide your secret from me.”
She sighed. “Mmm… I suppose so.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I miss the days of romance. A gentleman would make me feel as if he enjoyed my company and longed for the day when he could see me again.”
“I see. Too logical. Impersonal. That’s the doctor in me.”
“Care to show me what else is in you?”
Despite his better judgment, he had developed feelings for her. Not only did she want to hear it, he needed to admit it to himself and deal with it. Colin rose, crossed to her quickly, pulled her up from her seat and kissed her with the passion he had been trying to contain. He cupped her head and crushed her body to his until she melted into him. She returned his passion, opening her mouth until their tongues met. He knew he was showing her what she did to him, since his erection pulsed against her abdomen. He didn’t care. She was right. He needed to show her more than cold common sense, and logic had left the building.
Right now, simply holding her and sliding their tongues against the inside of each other’s mouths mattered. Her hands ignited a trail of fire as they caressed his back and excitement sparked his imagination while he visualized stroking her soft skin.
When he finally let her go, she smiled at him. “Yes, good sir. Dinner would be lovely.”
* * * * *
Lizette had made an appointment and talked about careers at a place advertised in the phone book. The results had only confused her more, so she looked forward to discussing it with Dr. Brayer—Colin. She had to remember to call him Colin from now on. He was due to pick her up for dinner soon and she still hadn’t decided what to wear.
Staring at her small closet, she studied her wardrobe. Not knowing where he was taking her, she couldn’t decide how to dress.
“Well,” she said out loud, “if I wear jeans and a t-shirt, he’s apt to take me to a cheap family restaurant. On the other hand, if I wear my little black dress…hmmm. I guess I’ll dress for the kind of date I want.”
She grabbed the dress and her silver pumps from the closet, pulled some hosiery out of her dresser drawer and dressed quickly, hoping for at least a four-star restaurant. After all, the three hundred dollars she had already given him should cover that.
Not to say she was cheap, but remembering when a meal and ale at a London tavern cost less than a shilling and a typical family’s wages might be forty pounds per year…she could do the math. Meals cost more these days but he could afford it.
By the time the doorbell rang, Lizette was dressed, her hair was perfect and she looked like a million bucks—which made her a bargain at whatever the meal cost.
She opened the door to—if possible—an even handsomer-than-usual Colin dressed in business casual attire. Blue shirt, gray slacks.
His eyes bugged out. “Lizette! You look…wow.”
“Thank you. You look ‘wow’ too, Dr. Bray—er, Colin. But I’m afraid I overdressed. Shall I change?” she asked innocently.
“Huh? No! Don’t change a thing. I have a jacket and tie in the car. I didn’t make reservations but since it’s a weeknight it shouldn’t be too hard to find a decent seat in a nice restaurant. Is there any place in particular you’d like to go?”
“Well, I’ve never been up in that Space Needle thing. I think there’s a restaurant up there, no?”
“Uh, yes. There is. They usually require reservations but I can check to see if they can squeeze us in.”
He whipped out his cell phone and dialed information for the number. With only a short wait, he had secured a table. Apparently the restaurant had a number of cancellations due to the miserable flu spreading throughout the city.
She was curious to see what kind of car Colin drove and was surprised when he escorted her to an SUV. He held the door open for her before he jogged around to the other side and let himself in.
“Why do you drive such a large car? I hope you didn’t fail to mention having a family.”
He looked horrified and shook his head. “No. I just like the outdoors and four-wheel drive helps me get places I wouldn’t normally be able to reach. Rock faces, hiking trails—”
She gasped. “You rock climb?”
“Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see. I’ve gone bungee jumping—not very fond of that—hang gliding, base jumping, mountain climbing and sky diving—now that’s a thrill I could get addicted to.”
“Mon dieu!”
He smiled over at her. “Exactly.”
Excited, she asked, “Do you speak French?”
“Not really. I speak German and Spanish but I know only a few words in French and none of them are nice.”
She smiled. “Pardon my French, eh?”
“Something like that. So, how did the career testing go?”
“Changing the subject?”
“Not really. I’m just intensely curious. We can wait until dinner to discuss it if you like.”
“No, that’s all right. But I’m confused why you would send me there. They seemed to want me to sign up for classes and prepare me for a job.”
“Where did you go?”
“A place called a vocational-technical training center. The ad said they did career counseling and it was free.”
Even watching him in profile, she thought Colin frowned. “I’m afraid that wasn’t what I meant. Maybe we can simply talk about your talents and interests over dinner and come up with some ideas.”
“Are you going to charge me for that?”
He glanced at her quickly. “Of course not. Friends don’t charge each other for their opinions. Why would you think that?”
She shrugged.
“This is a date, Lizette. I’m not going to charge you for anything. Unless you’re a liberated woman and want to pay for half of everything but even then I’d try to talk you out of it.”
“No, thank you. I haven’t been liberated since the French Revolution.”
He chuckled. “Then don’t worry about paying me for my opinions. And by the way, I’ll only be offering you my ideas. I’m not an expert as far as career placement goes, so don’t be upset with me if you don’t like my suggestions.”
* * * * *
Lizette hoped that dinner would give her a chance to learn a little more about where to find these other immortals. Colin’s desire to give her life meaning was nice and everything, but she still preferred her hidden agenda. Her priorities, in order, were to find other immortals to play with, maybe add meaning to her life and find a way to end her miserable existence if neither of those two worked out.
After the waiter had taken their orders, she said, “So, you were going to tell me about what you’d do if you were in my shoes.”
“I was?”
She shrugged.
“Before I suggest anything, I need to know more about you. What are your likes and dislikes?”
“Just like that? You want me to name all of my likes and dislikes?”
“Start with the ones that pop into your head first.”
“You sound like Freud.”
“Have you studied psychology?”
“No. But I had dinner with him one night.”
Colin’s jaw almost hit the table. “You—you did? What was he like?”
She rolled her eyes. “Typical man. Obsessed with sex—blamed everything on his mother and he specialized in dream misinterpretation.”
“I think you mean dream interpretation.”
“Uh-uh. I mean dream MIS-interpretation. You know what he thought of my swimming upstream dreams? He thought it represented sex and the womb and how when I was a zygote I had wanted to get away from the entrance to the birth canal whenever my parents had sex. That I was traumatized from the unconscious memory of my father poking my mother.”
Colin snorted. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”
“Maybe I remembered it wrong, but I know for sure it had something to do with my mother and sex. I was bored and it was a long time ago.”
