by Ronica Black
You can do this, Monroe. Show some guts, for God’s sake. Her heart hammered in response as her mouth and throat dried. This will be good for you. In a lot of ways. She gave herself a quick look in the rearview mirror and grimaced at her inner voice as she stepped out of the truck.
Tired of the negative feelings and of fighting within herself, she walked up to the door and readied herself for the appointment. Inwardly she tried to relax, knowing how difficult it would be to have to confide in a complete stranger. She couldn’t do it with anyone else, close friend or lover. How was this going to be possible?
As she opened the glass door, she thought of Danielle and her hurtful words. Damn you, Danielle. I am okay. And I’ll prove it. She knew she shouldn’t be keeping her appointment solely out of spite, but at the moment she didn’t care. She went with it. Whatever it took to get and keep her butt inside.
The woman behind the partition gave her a soft smile. Sarah approached and lifted the pen and clipboard with trembling hands. Embarrassed, she lowered them quickly back to the counter and scribbled her name for the two o’clock appointment. The secretary retrieved it and after highlighting her name asked her, “Do you know which doctor you’re seeing?”
Sarah had to clear her tight throat before she could answer. “No.”
The secretary wheeled her chair back to rifle through some files. Sarah waited anxiously, her nerves on edge. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should run now while she had the chance.
“We just need you to fill out these forms.” Another polite smile. A clipboard came across the counter and Sarah took it carefully, already studying the questions before she sat down. As she wrote, her mind jerked, still nervous with anticipation. Her hand flew across the page, hastily answering some very unsettling questions.
Do you feel “dirty” during sexual intimacy?
Have you ever been abused, sexually or otherwise?
Are able to reach orgasm?
Are you able to bring yourself to orgasm?
When she’d reached the merciful end, she rose and returned the clipboard. The secretary stacked the papers neatly and put them in a file. Sarah returned to her seat and heard her talking from behind the partition, letting a doctor know that the two o’clock was here. She looked around the empty waiting room. Obviously they were talking about her. She clenched her hands together in her lap as the secretary, holding her file, walked down the corridor and disappeared into the second door. A quiet couple had just emerged. Sarah shifted, knowing she was next.
“Ms. Monroe?” The secretary was back and looking at Sarah with raised eyebrows. “You can go on in now. Second door on your left.”
Breathing shallow, Sarah stood and willed her legs to hold her. She walked slowly, having to convince herself to take every single step forward. The door was cracked open and she paused a moment, unsure. Raising a hand, she took a big breath and gave a soft knock.
“Come in,” a female voice replied.
Sarah pushed open the door, stepped inside, and heard a soft gasp. As the door slowly swung shut behind her, she glanced up and froze. An audible noise escaped her as well when she saw Chandler Brogan standing behind the desk, staring right back at her.
Chandler. The one woman she couldn’t get from her mind.
“Sarah?” Chandler asked, holding the file in her hand.
Sarah’s body suddenly came back to life and she hurriedly reached for the door, her skin on fire.
“Wait! Sarah!”
Sarah froze, her hand gripping the doorknob almost too tightly to turn it.
“Wait!” Chandler said again, whispering this time, reaching out for Sarah’s arm. “Please.”
Sarah stood very still, her chest rising and falling with a shock like none she’d ever felt before. “I didn’t know,” she finally managed, sounding and feeling like she was about to break. Her voice was low and tight and she didn’t trust it enough to continue.
“I didn’t either.” Chandler held up the chart. “I just got this.”
“Did you read it?” Sarah burned a stare into her. Oh God, this was so much worse than anything she could’ve imagined.
“I didn’t have time. I started to, but stopped as soon as you walked in.”
Sarah felt Chandler ease up her grip. She met her eyes but only briefly. At least she hadn’t read the chart. She didn’t yet know.
“Please, come in and sit down.”
Sarah remained standing firm.
“It’s okay,” Chandler encouraged.
Sarah wavered slightly and then walked slowly into the room. She would look ridiculous if she ran. Like it or not, she had to face what was before her. She followed Chandler to the couch and sat slowly, feeling extremely exposed. “The name on the door is Desert Mountain Professional Group,” she said, rattled and confused. “They never told me the name of the doctor I would be seeing.”
Chandler sat down and nodded, seemingly understanding how this could’ve happened. “I’m sorry.” She held up the file once again. “I was supposed to go over my patient list, but as you know, things…come up.” She gave a soft smile.
“This can’t work,” Sarah replied quickly, ignoring the comfort and understanding resonating from Chandler’s eyes and from her words.
“What can’t?”
“This.”
Chandler studied her and seemed to think for a moment. “Well, that depends.” Her eyes met Sarah’s. “If we continue to see each other outside the office, then yes, you will need to see someone else professionally.” Her cheeks reddened. “But if we don’t continue to see each other privately, then I can counsel you. Assuming, of course, that you would want me to.”
Sarah couldn’t bring herself to speak. Thoughts of their encounter, as well as the way Chandler was looking at her, consumed all logic. She gazed down at her hands, barely able to believe her bad luck, yet at the same time strangely elated to see Chandler.
“The way we left things the other night, I assume you have no desire to keep seeing me on a personal level,” Chandler said.
Sarah stiffened but refused to look up from her hands. Her pulse raced rapidly, so much so that she could feel it throbbing in the vein on her temple. Her confidence was gone, vanished with the color she felt draining from her face, leaving her feeling helpless. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. There was so much Chandler didn’t know and that she didn’t want her to know. She would be just like Danielle. Hateful, judgmental. It couldn’t work. Nothing could. It didn’t help that she was fiercely drawn to the woman. Even now, amidst all this, Sarah could hardly bring herself to look at her for fear of staring.
The gorgeous tomboy she had pulled over on her bike looked even better than she remembered. Gone were the worn, well-fitted jeans and muscle shirt. Covering her body instead were a sleek pair of light gray dress slacks and a formfitting sleeveless white blouse. Her short brown hair was styled, her eyelids brushed with light makeup.
The transformation into a tastefully dressed, career-oriented woman overwhelmed her, and she knew then that Chandler, like herself, had many different layers. Not only was she a passionate woman in bed and a wild woman on her bike, she was intelligent and a professional. And that was sexy as hell.
Sarah swallowed her raising desire and noticed that Chandler was studying her as if she too was trying to grasp all that was happening. “I can’t treat you,” Chandler said, her voice like velvet to Sarah’s ears.
Sarah nodded, filling with relief. At least the uncomfortable situation was coming to an end. She could run home and hide and debate whether or not she would ever show her face in the world again.
Avoiding eye contact, she responded, “Then I should go.” She tried to stand, but Chandler stopped her.
“No. I’m not finished,” she said, forcing Sarah to remain seated. She softened her grip and stroked Sarah’s palm. Sarah reacted instantly to the gentle touch, and she felt Chandler shudder and heard her voice become thick and husky in response. “I would like to help y
ou.”
“I thought you just said you couldn’t.” Sarah rose again, this time breaking the contact between them. I have to get out of here. She felt more confused than ever, not only by her own feelings but by Chandler’s words as well.
Chandler rose beside her, desperation on her face. “I can’t help you here, as your doctor.”
“I don’t under—”
“I can’t help you on a professional level.” She touched her arm, and Sarah nearly died once again from the feel of her. “But I could help you as your lover.”
Sarah felt cold with terror. She knows. “You did read the chart!” The words were gruff and accusing, forced through clenched teeth. She didn’t need another damn know-it-all in her bed, telling her she was messed up.
“No, no!” Chandler denied emphatically. “I mean, I started to, not knowing it was you, but I stopped.”
Sarah tore her arm away and marched to the door, anger and shame surging through her. “If you didn’t read it all, then why else would you think I needed your help as my lover?” She gripped the doorknob tightly, whitening her knuckles.
“Because you’re here, aren’t you?” The comment startled Sarah, and when she hesitated briefly, Chandler continued, “I don’t exactly see patients who claim they’ve got mommy issues or want to jump to their death because life is just too damn hard. I’m a sex therapist. That’s it. That’s all I do.”
Sarah turned the doorknob and pulled. When she spoke her voice was softer, but beaten. She was exposed. Exposed for all to see. First Danielle and now Chandler.
“You’re right. I guess it is obvious why I’m here.” She brought her eyes up to Chandler’s. She could feel the pain and sorrow in them harden into indifference and she knew Chandler could see it too. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”
She moved to exit but Chandler stopped her once again.
“Wait.” Chandler held the chart out to her. “This is yours.”
“Aren’t you going to read the rest of it?” Sarah asked with a cynical tone.
“I can’t. You’re not my patient.”
Sarah took the chart carefully then, as if it were fragile.
Chandler whispered her final words. “My offer stands. Anytime.”
Sarah gripped the chart and stood even taller. She looked past Chandler, refusing to meet her gaze. She could no longer allow herself to feel. It was too dangerous. Summoning all her dignity, she said, “That won’t be necessary,” and walked out the door, leaving Chandler to stand alone, gazing after her.
Chapter Ten
Chandler slammed her Durango to a halt and hurriedly climbed out. She was late, but it wasn’t the first time and was unlikely to be her last.
“Goddamned dishwasher.” She tugged open the rear door and grabbed her thick briefcases. Of course it wasn’t the dishwasher’s fault; her mind had been elsewhere, making the already difficult task of concentrating that much harder.
Kim, a friend and colleague, had called her to talk about Michael Gold. It seemed that the troublesome patient was not only rubbing Chan the wrong way by expecting her to see him without notice, but he also happened to be Kim’s smothering ex-husband, a minor fact he’d left out when he began seeing Chan a couple of weeks ago. Of course, with Kim being her friend, Chan couldn’t keep seeing him. Not only did it bring up ethical issues, but it didn’t feel right to her. Something about Michael left her wondering what his real intentions were in seeking counseling.
He continuously tried to control the conversation by avoiding questions he didn’t like and overemphasizing issues that made him the victim. Nothing seemed to be his fault, and when he did take responsibility, it was almost as if he only said what he thought she wanted to hear. It didn’t come across as genuine. She could almost see his mind working out ways to manipulate each session, especially now that she knew who he was. He bragged constantly about his virtues as a husband and as a lover while insisting that the women in his life just didn’t appreciate him.
Now that Kim had told her about his refusal to let go and his violent temper, Chan suspected an agenda. Most likely he was using her to get to his real target, his ex-wife. Remembering sessions where Michael had openly admitted to wanting to beat the shit out of any man who laid a hand on his woman, she felt uneasy and worried for Kim. According to Michael, he was still married and seeing a therapist to work out some personal intimacy issues. If he was that delusional or that willing to lie about his marriage, Chan knew he was dangerous. She also knew that he was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and that he used steroids and frequently picked fights to prove his machismo. He was a man confident in his physical ability, a short fuse just waiting to be lit. She could only hope that Kim would be able to get a handle on the situation. She hoped for all their sakes that it would happen soon.
And then there was Sarah Monroe. It seemed the mysterious woman was in her head to stay. It had been a couple of days since the office visit that had shaken Chan up from the inside out. She had been surprised at first to see Sarah again, but then she had been startled to see Sarah the way she was, all tense with anxiety and deeply rooted pain. The kind of pain that Chan knew could only be hidden for so long.
Chan could still see that pain in her eyes, the panic on her face, the fear at being exposed. The confident woman who had taken Chan to new sexual heights was somehow gone, almost as though she had never existed. She felt for Sarah, not just as a care provider but on a deeper level. It had hurt her to see that kind of torture and pain in her eyes. It left her feeling desperate to reach the stoic woman. Chan had even been tempted to chase after her, to make her see that she could help her. That she wanted to help her. Having let her go, she found herself stuck with way more questions than answers.
For the first twenty-four hours, a naïve part of her thought that Sarah might actually call, willing to take her up on her offer. But the phone didn’t ring and Chan had to accept that it never would. So why was she still thinking about Sarah Monroe when no other woman was able to hold her attention for longer than a few hours? The question made her uneasy. So, too, did the pain she’d glimpsed in Sarah. She wondered what the woman’s story was and almost wished she’d read her file thoroughly. But she couldn’t continue to think about it now.
Hurrying up the concrete walkway, she pushed her thoughts about work and the tall cop aside.
A large strawberry planter filled with beautiful blooming snapdragons and pansies helped to bring her attention back to the here and now. Refocusing, she rang the doorbell, already hearing the voices and laughter of women coming from within. She knew what they most likely looked like, along with the kind of lives they led. White, middle class, straight. She hated to assume or stereotype, but anyone who had done as many of these functions as she had tended to expect certain things. And Chan prided herself on making accurate assumptions when it came to people.
Curious as to whether or not she was correct, she quickly turned back and noted several other average newer sedans parked along the street in front of the house. Even though her assumption was winning out, she grimaced, usually preferring to arrive before most of the women did so she could set up properly.
The door opened and a blond woman in her late thirties answered with a pleasant smile.
“Hi,” Chandler said. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No problem. We’re all excited!” The blonde smiled and laughed as if waiting for Chandler to do the same.
“Okay, that’s good.” Chan offered, forcing a smile of her own. “Excited is always good.”
“I’m Lynne, by the way.” The woman moved to the side to allow Chan in. She had on a sundress and trendy, strappy sandals. White, middle class…Chandler pushed her thoughts away.
Lynn’s positive attitude radiated, and Chan welcomed it, remembering why it was she always enjoyed doing these parties. Around her, the hyper chitchat of married, straight women buzzed. The nicely dressed women humming around the living room and kitchen were busy setting out hors d’oeuvres and napkins wh
ile talking away aimlessly with one another. A thick candle burned on the coffee table, tickling Chan’s nose with the strong scent of cinnamon. She breathed deep and relaxed.
Turning her back to the chattering women, she lifted her briefcases up onto the counter and opened them. An energetic woman in a yellow blouse immediately appeared at her side, introducing herself as Nicky, tonight’s hostess.
“Is there anything you need, anything I can help you with?” She gave the same friendly, yet very platonic female smile Chan saw endlessly at these functions.
“A glass of water would be great,” Chan said and began to remove her goods from their cases.
Nicky glanced at several of the multicolored dildos Chan was setting up and moved away, clearly unsettled. Chan recognized the type and guessed that the hostess probably knew very little about sex overall. More on the conservative end with little interest in sex, she was hosting the party at the behest of a wilder friend who, for whatever reason, couldn’t. She probably had missionary sex with her husband once a month or so, without reaching orgasm most times. But she wanted to seem hip in front of her friends, so she was trying her best to hide her discomfort.
Chan eyed the woman’s friends again, noting their similarity to one another. She wondered if Nicky had any gay friends, or even knew anyone who was openly gay. Unlikely, Chan decided, pondering how the more conservative woman felt about homosexuals. Chan relished the fact that she was at the helm in these situations and was free to discuss whatever she wanted when it came to sex, regardless of people’s long-held beliefs. She was there to educate and open their minds, and she loved it.
She continued displaying her props, examining each dildo before standing it on its base. She had placed them all in the dishwasher to clean them, just like she always did before every presentation. While these particular ones weren’t for sale, the women at these parties loved to handle them, and a few even slipped them in their mouths as a joke. Keeping them clean was a matter of common sense and safety. She emptied the first case and moved to the other. She laid out the numerous vibrators, some of them cordless, some of them phallus shaped, some of them unbelievably tiny. Several of the ladies stopped their chitchat, coming to stand behind Chandler as she worked. The chatter quickly turned into gasps and giggles as Chan calmed and focused, truly feeling in her element now.