Attending Physician

  “May I?” she asked, her voice husky. Her hand held my hair clip.

  “Yes,” I said. She released the butterfly clip and my curls came tumbling down.

  Her hands immediately reached for my hair. “So very beautiful,” she said.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “That turns me on, baby. You know that, right?”

  “What?”

  “You calling me sir.”

  “It’s how I think of you in some contexts,” I explained. “Sexually in particular.”

  “Oh, good,” she murmured.

  “Indeed,” I agreed. She ran her hands through my hair, not something I usually like or permit but it was good right then.

  She checked her watch over my shoulder. “Verity, I am putting you to bed tonight.”

  “Are you?” I said, amused. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into. “I get no say in the matter?”

  “You get to pick your nightgown,” she granted.

  “So good of you,” I said.

  “I thought so,” she agreed. “If we’re going to have tea, and goodies, ma’am,” she added, “we ought to do it soon. It’s late—again.”

  “We’re living on desire, darling, and the potential for love. Who needs sleep?”

  “Right you are, milady.” So affable. “I’m going to put the kettle on.”

  “While you do that, how ‘bout if I get ready for bed? We’ll be efficient,” I suggested.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  I disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.

  OMG, would my usual black lace nightgown send her over the edge?

  Well, I said to myself, only one way to find out.

  Chapter 21

  I peeked into the mirror to convince myself that my make-up wasn’t too smudged, and wrapped my black fleece robe around me. The thing was: it had no sash, instead it folded over on itself so it fell fetchingly open every once in a while, and my vintage lace nightgown with the plunging neckline and the full sweep skirt was a stunner. I walked into the kitchen and Raven froze.

  “That’s what you normally wear to bed?” she asked hoarsely.

  I nodded.

  “Oh, God help me,” she said under her breath. “Black lace? I might have known.”

  “You might have,” I said, “but not highly likely.”

  “Oh, more likely than you might think, milady. Part of you is definitely that kind of woman.”

  “I’m so glad you see that, darling,” I said. “Tea?”

  “Yes,” she said, “better than sex.”

  “Oh, goody.” I spun in a circle of a happy dance.

  “You are gorgeous, baby. Very sexy.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. “I know this doctor who seems to think I am.”

  “Do you?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said. “At least I think she thinks so.”

  “I have it on good authority that she knows you’re very sexy.”

  “Raven,” I asked, “were you and Angie together?”

  She recoiled, horrified for a minute. “No, that would have been incest! Angie—my special lefty—was a dyke though. Her partner on the Force was her partner in life.”

  “Was she killed in the line, too?”

  “No.” Something nabbed me there.

  “Well then, why didn’t she take Lucy? Wasn’t Lucy theirs together?”

  “It’s complicated but I’ve made my peace with it. Terry was devastated by the pain of Angie’s loss, and Lucy reminded her of it every single day. Angie had, by some miracle, anticipated that, when she made me Lucy’s legal guardian should anything happen to her. Lucy wasn’t meant to stay with Terry.”

  “Unusual,” I said.

  “Better for Lucy though.”

  “Fair enough. Do you like being her mother?”

  “It’s weird, Verity. In real, everyday life, Gretchen is her mother, and I’m her ... dad, I guess. I pay for everything. I’m in on everything. Everything is my responsibility including Gretchen, but Lucy calls me Raven, and I haven’t done anything to change that. Legally I’m her parent, but we—Gretchen and I—decided that the less upset in Lucy’s world, the better. I don’t need her to call me Mama. Angie was her mama and always will be.”

  My heart ached for Lucy, for Angie, for Gretchen and for Raven.

  She went on, “Gretchen was always the primary caregiver for Lucy. Angie worked her tail off to get detective, which was her dream come true. She’d been a detective for three months when she was shot. I was always Lucy’s Raven, and that’s no different. We explained that mama was dead but Lucy has decided that her mama is with her all the time.”

  “She is,” I said calmly.

  “She is?” asked Raven.

  “Lucy is still so close to God that she can probably see her mother in spirit form.”

  “You are out there, Verity.”

  “I am,” I agreed. “Tea please?”

  “Yes, milady.” Raven carried the tea tray into the living room, and poured. Quite well, I have to say. “How do you think I got your address so easily?”

  “I did wonder...,” I said sipping my heavenly tea.

  “I called Terry, and she ran a background check on you. Gave me shit, too.”

  “Friends in high places,” I said.

  “Or low, depending upon your perspective. Terry is still in Lucy’s life. Lucy calls her Unca Terry. I gave Angie’s Hugo to her.”

  “Uncle,” I repeated. “So sweet.”

  “If we go where I think we’re going, you’ll have to meet her.”

  “Terry?”

  “Well, probably, but I meant Lucy.”

  “I’m going to have to get past Gretchen, aren’t I?”

  “How do you know that?” she asked astonished.

  “I can feel it. I’m the first person you’ve considered dating since Angie died, aren’t I?”

  “You are, milady. The only one who’s piqued my interest.”

  “So Gretchen is going to be fiercely protective of you, and Lucy. Only makes sense.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Let’s wait till meeting her is easy and organic, okay?” I asked.

  “Yep.” I noticed her noticing me. “You wear that to bed every night?”

  “Well, not every night, as well you know, since you caught me in Juliet mode the other night, but mostly, yes. I also have babydolls that are good for summer.”

  She gulped. “You add bare naked legs to black lace?”

  “Um, yeah,” I admitted.

  “I’m so glad it’s fall,” she nearly crossed herself.

  I laughed and laughed. “Raven, I warn you I never switch to flannel, darling. Oh, flannel sheets, yes. Flannel nightie, never.”

  “Unless you’re camping, right?”

  “I don’t camp, darling.”

  “No, of course you don’t. Angie loved it, so I take Lucy in the summer sometimes.”

  “Knock yourself out, darling, and come home on Sunday night.”

  “Understood, ma’am,” she saluted. She removed my teacup from me. “Come here, sexy.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, offering my lips for her kiss. An offer she could not refuse, nor did she.

  Plunder. That’s the only vocabulary word I had when she finally left for her own solitary bed after tucking me in. I was aching with want for her, dripping with desire, soaking wet. A fast game of hand-love didn’t quench my thirst. Truth? I wanted Raven to fuck me, deep, hard and long, and at the same time, the whole of me wasn’t completely ready for that. A definite dilemma.

  Perhaps she’ll meet my requirements in my dreams. That would be good, I thought after I got her text saying she was home and safe.

  Chapter 22

  My phone wakened me at seven. “Morning, baby.”

  “Morning, darling,” I said.

  “Sleep well?” she asked.

  “Still am,” I snuggled in. “Did you?”

  “My dreams kept me awake,” she said.

&
nbsp; I opened one eye. “Did they?” I asked. “What kind of dreams?”

  “Dreams of this stunningly sexy redhead with an hourglass figure in a black lace nightgown,” she stated, “and not being able to reach her. What other kind of dreams could possibly have kept me awake?”

  “Awake awake? Like not sleeping?” I asked coyly. “Or awake aware of specific and particular parts of yourself?”

  “You naughty, naughty girl,” she responded. “One part of me, definitely.”

  “Oooh,” I said giggling. “I am a naughty girl.”

  “Do you know what happens to naughty girls when I catch them being naughty?” she asked.

  “No, sir,” I said, my eyes big.

  “I punish them.”

  I got very still inside and some interior wires crossed. “Oooh, I’m scared ...,” I said, “and ... excited.”

  She heard the truth in my voice. “I’ll keep an eye out for punishable offenses when I see you then.”

  “I’ll try to be good,” I said.

  “Do that, baby. I’ll bet you’re always good.”

  “I promise I’ll do my best always to be good to you, sir.”

  We were having two conversations at once, as well as whatever interior dialogues were running for each of us.

  “You’ll have to show me later what `good to me’ means.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” I said. Then I made a u-turn into the quotidian. “Have a wonderful day, darling. I’ll see you later.”

  “Later, babe. Six. Casual.”

  “Yessir,” I said. Then I blew her a kiss.

  “That got me,” she said.

  “Good,” I responded. “That was my intention. Bye.”

  I lay in bed luxuriating in Raven’s attention. God, I’d missed it. Painfully missed it. Shelby had declared our relationship a no-romance zone very early on. Right after she self-destructed her butch persona. No cards. No flowers. No fussing. I put my foot down at Christmas. I loved Christmas and I was going to make a fuss—I didn’t care what she wanted. I did it for me.

  My skin fits better when a butch is paying me some attention. A butch I’m hot for is even better. I feel desirable. I feel beautiful. I feel fascinating. It empowers me. Without that sort of attention, I wither. I’m still vibrant but nowhere near as vibrant as when I’m the object of butch focus. A real butch pays attention to a real femme in a special, exclusive way. It’s delicious, and I ate up the attention as Raven did so.

  My phone rang again. “Dr. Spencer?” said a voice I didn’t know. “Hold for Michael Hanrahan.”

  Whoever that was. I held. “Dr. Spencer?” said a calm male voice. “I’m Ellie’s father.”

  Ellie was a patient of mine. She’d been having a particularly rough time.

  “Yes, Mr. Hanrahan, what can I do for you? I asked.

  “Is Ellie with you?”

  The clock struck eight.

  “No, sir. I’m expecting her later, at the end of the day.”

  “We can’t locate her,” he groaned.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Did something happen?”

  “We had ...,” he paused, “an ... incident last night.”

  Ellie’d told me of a big family party planned for some anniversary celebration, but the details escaped me.

  “An incident?” I asked. “ At the anniversary party?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Ellie’s latest uninvited bad boy showed.”

  She had a history of bad boys. In this case, that meant drug-doing, drug-dealing, wrong side of the tracks, wrong side of the law, motorcycle-revving, not-at-all Brahmin Boston (where Ellie’s origins lay) and certainly not the kind of man her father would a/ want for her or b/ want at any family party of any kind.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. I happened to know that the latest one was named Eli. “Eli came to the party?”

  “Yes, and he was high, and he got Ellie high ...,” he wheezed again, “... and made a colossal scene. Ellie was too out of it to clock much, but suffice it to say, not my little girl.” He pulled himself together. He was a high-powered litigator. “They roared out of the hotel on his ride,” mentally I translated, hog, “and haven’t been seen since.”

  “I haven’t heard from her, Mr. Hanrahan, but I’ll keep an ear out for my phone today.”

  “If you do, will you call this number and let me know? You can talk to Sheila, my secretary, if she can’t get me.”

  “Will do,” I assured him.

  He disconnected without saying good-bye. I said a prayer for Ellie’s and Eli’s safety, and trotted toward the shower and my day of patients.

  I had a sometime policy of casual Fridays, when seeing patients, so I wore comfortable, pencil-legged, black slacks and Cuban heels along with a silk blouse and a warm, rich blue, knee-length Angora sweater. If Ellie showed for her five o’clock, I would be barely complete before Raven arrived.

  A lot of my long-term and most successful patients were clustered together on Friday. It made for a feeling of accomplishment at the end of the workweek. Always nice to go out on a positive vibe. It also made the day relatively easy. These were the patients who wanted to get better, and get on with their lives. They were actively engaged in the work, eager to make new choices and follow their dreams to create new lives.

  Sometimes on Friday afternoons I was joined by my two supervisees, but not this week. Sara was away to celebrate with her latest of many less-than-satisfactory boyfriends, and Mickey had told me she was off to P-town to close her family’s house for the season. I was on my own.

  Things flew along for the most part. My patients are fascinating, as I’ve said. Only in humans could twenty people arrive with the same problem only to discover that its cause was twenty completely different reasons, and wired into their psyches in twenty completely different pathways.

  Raven and I exchanged some flirty texts through the day, which kept my desire for her simmering on the back burner where I’d placed it. I wanted her, I knew that, but until all of me was ready to have her, or, more accurately, for her to have me, it wouldn’t work. Or, it would work for only part of me, and then I’d have some clean-up to do that, likely, wouldn’t be much fun. Better to wait. We’d have to live with anticipation—thank you, Carly Simon.

  The door buzzed at five on the dot, and I let Ellie in for her session. She wore what had to be last night’s evening dress; a bedraggled silver sheath, the worse for wear, torn, and dirty. Her hair was straggly, and I thought she might still be somewhat high. Her pupils were huge, and she moved very slowly and carefully, like a drunk trying hard not to appear so.

  Ellie did not know that her father had called me, and I was confident that telling her was a bad idea as he was the one with whom she’d had such difficulty. He was an autocratic, patriarchal good ol’ boy, and, as far as he was concerned, at least for the females in his life, what he said went. Ellie held a dissenting opinion, to put it mildly.

  “Ellie, are you alright?” I asked. “You seem sort of strung out.”

  “I am not strung out,” she challenged me defiantly.

  “Why are your pupils so dilated then?”

  “It’s getting dark,” she said. She was wicked smart.

  “Ellie, the sun hasn’t set,” I responded. “Have a look-see out the windows.” She was fidgety and nervous, twirling a dirty piece of hair around her grimy hand.

  “Oh,” she said, falling silent. She flipped her wrist to squint at a loose gold Rolex watch. “What time is it?”

  “Can’t you read your watch?”

  “No, I need my glasses.”

  “It’s 5:21.” I sought the hidden clock in my therapy studio.

  “Oh,” she said again.

  I had the strangest feeling she was waiting for something, but what?

  Chapter 23

  “Ellie, what’s going on?” I asked, concern rising in my gut.

  “Nothing,” she said, continuing to twirl that oily piece of hair-colored hair mindlessly.

  The d
oor buzzed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, thinking Raven wouldn’t have sent me more flowers—at least not yet. “It must be a package. I’ll be right back.”

  I had risen to buzz the delivery person in when I an arm snaked around my waist and something cold touched my neck. “Don’t turn your head,” Ellie growled. “Buzz them in.”

  I twisted. “Ellie, what are you doing?!” She had a gun.

  “Listen, Dr. Spencer, buzz them in and you won’t get hurt.”

  I was already hurt—by the betrayal of my patient—but that was neither here nor there. I did as she told me.

  A sudden pounding on my front door doubled my heart rate. Thank Goddess for old houses because that well over hundred year old door held. “Just a minute, babe,” Ellie called loudly.

  “Open this goddamned door, bitch,” hollered a deep male voice.

  Oh, Mother, I prayed, help us. As I swivelled the lock, it scraped and whoever was on the other side pushed and pushed hard. The door slammed into my face and I screamed.

  “Shut up, bitch!” came to my ears. A massive man stood in the front hall of my flat. Dressed in black leather from head to toe, he wore steel-toed boots, five earrings in one ear and more in the other, a scraggly salt and pepper beard and fu manchu moustache with mirrored shades covering his eyes under a tight red bandana. I must have continued to scream because he yelled at me again, “I said, `Shut up, bitch!’”

  “No,” I flared at him. “You hurt me!”

  “I’ll do worse than that if you don’t shut up!” he roared.

  “Babe,” Ellie whimpered, reaching out to him. “Eli, you swore,” she whined. “I did it, and you swore.” Her whining became a wail.

  “You shut up too. You’ll get yours. When I’m damn good and ready.”

  My face throbbed. My cheekbone had to be broken. My eye was ready to fall out of my face.

  Then I saw two other guys standing on my landing.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “What do you want?”

  Eli backhanded my face right where the door had hit me. I fell to the floor. The pain was excruciating.

  “When I want to talk to you, bitch, I’ll be the one doin’ the talking. Now shut up.” He pulled off the bandana and ran his hands through the hairs that were left. “I have to think.” He held the door open for his two compadres. “Mutt, Jeff,” he bowed, “won’t you come in?” A mockery of manners.