by Jess Bentley
I’m sure it’s my dad or one of his crew coming to ask me a question, so I sweep across the living room in my bare feet, flinging the door open with a smile. And I’m frozen on the spot, not sure what to say.
“I got your prescription,” Dr. Warner explains with a tense smile, holding up a small pharmacy bag.
“Oh, of course,” I mutter, holding open the screen door with my palm. “And you brought it here?”
He squints, his eyes darting to my bare toes and then back up again.
“You probably forgot that we do house calls,” he explains, his voice friendly enough. “I know that’s probably not a thing anymore in the big city.”
“Um… would you like to come in?” I offer, trying to remember my regular manners.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, walking past me. As his body moves past mine, I get a whiff of his office: antiseptic, wood-scented, masculine. My hand reaches out to steady myself as I go woozy again.
“Hey, are you all right?” he asks, steadying me under my elbows. His gaze sweeps over me from top to bottom, inspecting me.
“I’m not used to this heat anymore,” I explain. “But thank you for bringing the prescription. I have so much to do… I’m sure I would have forgotten.”
He guides me to the sofa and pushes me gently, indicating that I should sit down. He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the refrigerator door open. In moments he reappears with two glasses of sweet tea. I didn’t even make that, so I have to assume my mother was here stocking the fridge at some point.
“Drink this slowly,” he directs me, his features concerned but analytical.
I do as he says, because I can’t think of a reason not to. The tea coats my tongue in sweetness, cooling my core immediately.
“I’m fine, really,” I insist. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“The gallery,” he nods.
I notice he’s not drinking his tea. He’s watching everything I do, probably taking my pulse with his mind or something. Somehow, just having a professional in the room makes me feel a little less anxious.
“It’s just a lot of work. More work than I was expecting,” I explain. “I mean, it’s all under control now. There’s a whole crew getting it done. But I just need to stay on top of it and make sure everything goes all right.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility,” he remarks.
“It’s my job,” I snap defensively. “It’s what I do every day.”
He raises his eyebrows and leans back. A smirk twists the corners of his mouth.
“You really are very tense,” he repeats. “I can help you with that.”
Silence douses the room like a light going out. I force myself to breathe.
I am only here for nine more days, I remind myself. Nine days, and then I am gone.
“It didn’t work the first time,” I venture, clearing my throat. “Are you sure you can actually do it?”
He smiles, his cheeks crinkling confidently.
“I am 100 percent certain,” he nods. “Are you telling me there is some kind of problem?”
“I don’t want to come back to your office,” I say in a rush, ignoring his question. “I don’t want to create… gossip. I don’t want the whole town talking about how I started coming to your office over and over again, okay?”
His eyebrows go up. “Over and over again? Is that what you think we’re talking about here?”
I’m not sure if he’s teasing me, so I decide to just plow on and say what I want to say. Why did I say over and over again? I am not really sure.
“The point is I don’t want people to gossip about me. People in this town gossip. You know that.”
“I do,” he nods.
“And I’m only here for a little while. Nine days.”
“Understood,” he confirms.
“I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say quickly, aware that I am beginning to babble. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t want this on my insurance or anything. But I understand you have a valuable… treatment. Something that could help me relax or whatever. And since I’m leaving soon, I just thought—”
“Joanna,” he interrupts me.
“Joe!” I correct him immediately, incensed.
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to call you Joe,” he announces. “That’s not your name around these parts, all right? Jen says you’re called JoJo. I can call you that, or Joanna. Your choice.”
My breath catches in my throat. The audacity of this man! Absolute chauvinism. Florida-brand chauvinism, pure and simple.
And yet, what of it? Of all the things that have gone sideways in the last couple days, is being called by my name some big tragedy? There are bigger hills to die on.
“Joanna will be fine,” I growl.
“Perfect,” he smiles. “So it sounds like we have a treatment plan outlined?”
“An absolutely no-strings treatment plan?” I add, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Completely,” he affirms.
Despite my irritation, I appreciate the attention and the affirmation. That’s more of that doctor-patient training, I suppose. Whenever he praises me, no matter how small, I respond like a puppy.
“Okay, well, I guess I was a little tense in your office this afternoon,” I admit.
He crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. His hair sweeps over his face lightly, a bit of a country boy look. I’ve gotten used to staring into the faces of men whose hair has been glued into complete submission. This looks more like something I might like to touch. Eventually. I mean I don’t see us holding hands or mussing each other’s hair just yet.
“A little tense?” he jokes. “You ran out of my office like your ass was on fire.”
“Oh? Is that your clinical diagnosis? Ass on fire?”
He shrugs. Every time he moves, I can see the width of his shoulders. He really doesn’t look like a doctor. He looks like an actor playing a doctor.
“I’ll bet you I am not like any doctor you ever met.”
I nod, curious if he’s reading my mind or what. Is that another doctor trick?
“So… I thought maybe you could—”
He holds up his hand, cutting me off in midsentence. My lips snap back together as though I am a puppet and he just pulled my strings taut.
“I know exactly what you need,” he tells me in a firm voice that leaves no room for negotiation. “Just lie down on the couch, please.”
Well, at least he said please, I say to myself as I shuffle toward the sofa, nervously untying my dress. I feel his hand under my elbow when he guides me forward, as though we are in some kind of a dance. I turn when he directs me, and then sit down when he directs me, and then lie down as he opens my dress, leaving me in only my bra and panties.
With his fingers behind my knee, he lifts my right leg and places my calf on the back of the sofa. Shifting his weight, he sits next to me and regards me clinically.
“Excellent,” he murmurs as his eyes rake over me from top to bottom.
Somehow, I am able to lie here. Maybe it is simply the magic of him being a doctor, but though I shiver slightly, I feel like I can let him look at me. Undressed, legs spread, lights on… I allow him to examine me.
“Let’s just finish what we started, shall we?” he begins.
I realize that is not really a question. It is not up to me.
Reaching into his pocket, he draws out a small, handheld device. The buzzing begins immediately.
“Does this bother you?” he asks me as he slides along the skin on the inside of my knee.
“I… I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“Just relax,” he tells me again. “Breathe. In and out.”
I try to do as he says, but it is hard. I keep going between shivering, wanting to lean into the sensation he’s bringing me and cringing, and wanting to run away. It’s only the gravity of his voice that keeps me pinned to the spot.
“Joanna, do you masturbate?”
he asks me gently.
“Do I… No,” I answer, gulping for air as the device drifts toward the very top of my thigh. I can feel it nudging against the hem of my panties.
He hesitates. “No? Why not? Is there a reason?”
“It’s just… I don’t know. There’s no point to it?” I answer distractedly as I try to keep from wriggling.
“Just close your eyes,” he tells me gently. “Just like before. Let it build. Let it wash over you.”
With my eyes closed, I focus on the feelings. One of his hands is wrapped around my knee, and the other is moving the vibrator slowly up and down my pussy, drifting along the fabric of my panties. With my eyes closed, I can still almost see. I see flowers. Complicated flowers like chrysanthemums or peonies. A million layers of creamy, pale pink petals, tightly closed.
“Have you ever had an orgasm?” his voice says, slipping into the space behind my closed eyes like a song.
The flowers multiply, growing in front of me. As one grows, another is born inside of it, then it grows, and then another is born inside of its tight pink center. Each flower replaces the one before it, swelling more quickly than the last.
“That’s good,” he murmurs, leaning forward to breathe near my ear. “Just stay with it.”
Just when I reach the crest of one wave of sensation, there is another. I feel my panties move to the side and more intense vibration sliding against my skin. The motions meet my needs. I barely have to think that I want something before it comes to me. It’s like having an itch scratched, just before it itches.
My heart begins to beat faster. I feel him shift and lean close to me, his cheek brushing against my cheek. That’s better. Having him here, having him close, salves another need. I don’t just want to be inspected, I want to be joined. I want to feel him in a way I’m not sure I have ever wanted to feel anyone.
“You’re doing it,” he whispers. “When it comes, don’t run away. Ride through it. Let it flow through you. I’m here for you. I will be right here, the whole time.”
The flowers bloom, trembling, ready to explode. My body shudders as heat comes over me quickly with a surge of physical urgency I have never known. Instinctively, I want to withdraw, to close back up, but he leans harder against me.
“Stay with me!” he commands in my ear as the vibrator batters my clit. “Let yourself come, Joanna. Let it happen... now!”
Gasping, I feel it wash through me like a lightning bolt. At once warm and wet, an explosive surge of sensation rakes through me like a tsunami. Following his direction, I let it batter me, hold me under, wash through me and then leave me breathless, trembling, awash in bliss.
My heart pounds and I feel consciousness slip away and slip back. He nuzzles my cheek and neck, brushing my hair away from my forehead.
“That’s it,” he chuckles proudly. “Right there. That’s it.”
“What? Really?” I gasp, amazed. “I did it?”
“You definitely did it,” he says with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. “I was happy to help.”
“Oh my gosh,” I sigh, trying to hold onto consciousness. “That was amazing.”
The sensation continues to surge through me, its intensity slipping away slightly with every wave. My muscles feel like they’re made of silicone, thick and overburdened by gravity. I feel like I could sink into the futon, or dissolve into a puddle. I wouldn’t regret a moment of it.
Now I know, I laugh to myself. This is it. This is what all the fuss is about.
How the hell did I ever live without this?
Chapter 12
Joe
I wake up with a snap, not with my usual fog and sludge weighing me down. Instead, as soon as my eyes are open, I feel alert.
I left the curtains open, so the room is bright and cheery. Wedges of blue sky are visible through the windows. I can even hear the seagulls from here.
Filled with a sense of eager anticipation, I get dressed in a hurry in a pair of jeans and tank top, with a long-sleeved lightweight flannel on top in case the gallery is a dusty mess. It’s good to have layers of protection, my dad always taught me.
It’s early, but as I walk down the road toward Main Street, I already see people going about their daily business. Ladies in hats tend to their gardens. Kids yelp from playgrounds and cheese each other under the palm trees. A lime-green lizard darts across the sidewalk into the scrub.
I can see that there are several pickup trucks in front of the gallery. I imagine they are already at work. It has only been about thirty-six hours since the last time that I saw the space, but I’m still excited to see what has happened in the meantime.
As I’m walking, I see a familiar figure outside the general store and cross the street to chat with Dusty. When she sees me, she opens her mouth in a wide, excited smile. She seems to be on break again.
“Hey, you!” she calls out. “Looks like everybody is hard at work! This is really happening?”
“I’m just on my way over there,” I explain. “But yeah, it’s really happening. I’m glad to catch you… I didn’t get your phone number or anything.”
She smiles even broader. “So you are really serious about that? About giving me a job?”
“Of course I was serious about that. The gallery opening event is in seven days. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Can you send me your email?”
Dusty bounces up and down on her toes, clearly excited. “Sure! I will get you everything you need. You won’t be disappointed, JoJo. I’ll make you proud!”
“I know you will, Dusty,” I smile, feeling very satisfied that I put all this together. “We will talk more later, okay? I’ll see you soon!”
“Bye!” she calls out happily as I continue to the gallery, feeling confident and secure.
The sound of circular saw screams out over the sidewalk as I get closer, and the gallery door swings open. My dad lumbers out, holding a door over one shoulder. He chucks it into the back of his pickup before he sees me.
“Hey there, boss lady,” he smirks. “Coming to check up on the crew?”
“Oh, you’re the boss,” I laugh, holding my arms out. “I’m here to work! I wore socks and everything!”
He twists his lips into a smirk and looks me up and down. Before I can say anything else, his arms close around me, squeezing me in a tight, dust-scented hug.
“You are the cutest construction worker I ever had,” he remarks. “But to be honest, I think we have the whole thing handled. You want to see?”
“Definitely!”
Dad leads the way, swooping his arm out gallantly so I can enter. As soon as I walk over the threshold, I stop, trying to take it all in.
The whole place is different. Not gutted, but not the same. The suspended ceiling is gone. The office door is now the color of unfinished wood with a gleaming pewter handle. It’s as though everything has been scraped down past the grime. Not finished, exactly—but it’s more of a clean slate.
“Now, I realize you’re going to have to use a little imagination…” he begins cautiously.
“Oh, I totally see it!” I reassure him, a smile stretching across my face. “In fact, if I squint, it almost looks like it has a chance! Really!”
He nudges me gently on the shoulder with his elbow. “It’s got more than a chance, JoJo,” he chides me. “It’s going to happen. I give you my word. What’s really great is Phyllis had all of the electrical and plumbing upgraded right before she passed on. And the structure is in great condition. The rest is just the bathrooms for wheelchair access and cosmetic stuff. We got this.”
I look up at him, grinning. “You know what? I’m not even worried,” I tell him truthfully. “I think this is going to be okay!”
Dipping his head to kiss me on my forehead, he gives me a wink and pivots away to a small group of men who look like they are not working at peak efficiency right now. On my own, I sort of circle the perimeter of the room, trying to imagine it in a few days. When the new ceiling tiles and the track
lighting are in, the whole place will feel different. New drywall and refinished floors… Paint... Signage and some well-placed sculptures…
Holy cow. It’s going to be okay.
Absentmindedly I drag my cell phone from my back pocket and start dialing before I even know I’m doing it. In a few seconds, Didi’s voice is on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” she says tentatively.
“Didi! Hey, girl, what’s up?” I say cheerily as I brush some ceiling dust off the wall.
Honestly, do we need new drywall? I think distractedly, I wonder if paint and a picture rail would solve this. Maybe save us a couple of days. I should ask my dad.
“Joe? Um, you called me?” she says, her voice slow and cautious.
“Oh, right! Hey… I just want to give you an update. Looks like we’re good. I mean, it’s not great. It’s probably not going to be everything that you planned. But we will be on schedule. The opening is good to go.”
“What? Seriously?” comes her hurried response. “Oh my God. I thought you were calling to tell me that we were going to have to cancel! That is so great!”
“Just count yourself lucky that my dad is some kind of genius,” I smile.
I know I should be more stern with her, but at this point, all I can feel is relief.
“Yes! A genius! That’s what I’ve always said!”
This feels good, I have to admit. Really good. So good, I’m having a hard time remembering why I did not want to be a part of it at all.
“So can you send me a video?” she asks carefully.
“A video? Of what?”
“Like, the space. Like just walk around. So Martha knows—”
“Hold on, Martha knows what I’m doing here, right? You told her, right?”
“I don’t know… told her what?”
I stop walking and plant my feet, perching my fist on my hip.
“Didi, did you tell her that the gallery didn’t get done? That we are trying to play catch-up?”
I hear her cough, twelve hundred miles away.