Attending Physician

  Quite some time passed before I let her get in the shower. She was too yummy to kiss to let her go. You know what I mean?

  Chapter 38

  After we were both dressed for the day, Raven in jeans, and me in another flowing black skirt with a soft pink cashmere sweater over it, we faced the therapy office together. Though I began to shake, Geoff’s flowers were in there and they gave me courage, so I calmed down, and sat in my chair. Raven sat in the patient chair.

  “You know, baby,” she said, “one of my guys has a friend who’s into home security. Do you want me to have him ask her?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “One of the things I’ve been dreading is having to figure out what I need. If you know someone we can trust who can tell us, yes please. Does she make a commission if she sells it? Let’s give our business to the Brigade.”

  Raven laughed. “You are adorable, you know that?” She searched her phone and pushed a few things. “Jamie, hey, are you still friends with Marcia?” A pause. “Do you know, does she still sell home security?” Another pause. “And because my femme is asking,” she rolled her eyes at me, “does she get a commission?” Listening. “Good, can you arrange for her to make a house call, say, today?” More listening. “Jamie, I’m on my cell. You’re the best, man.”

  “He’ll call us, baby. Step One, done. I think you ought to get Mickey here for tomorrow, and I think you probably shouldn’t be driving till that eye is clearer.”

  “Oh, jeez,” I said, “I never even thought of that, Raven. Of course I shouldn’t.” I dialed my phone as hers rang. I left a message for Mickey and asked her to call me this evening. Raven hung up as I did.

  “Marcia and Jamie will be over in half an hour to get this security thing sorted, babe. I don’t know about you, but I’ll feel a whole hell of a lot better when you at least have a panic button that goes straight to the Somerville PD.”

  “Well, darling,” I said, sparkling up at her, “if you’ll feel better, then I’ll feel better.”

  “Quite so, ma’am,” said my butch as she caught my hand and raised it to her lips.

  “Raven, how did your guys learn to dance so well?” I asked in a seeming non sequitur, but you see, Raven kissing my hand made me think of last night, and that sent me to dancing with butches (which is nothing like dancing with wolves although I suppose, depending upon the butches, that it could be), hence my question.

  “There’s a story for you, milady. We were finished with our various graduate school training and some reunion or another was pending, and one poker night—”

  I interrupted. “Is there still a poker night, darling?”

  “Uh-huh, once a month, usually the third Friday night, but it’s been known to shift.”

  I clocked that this Friday was the third. “Good to know,” I said. “Go on.”

  “Oh, right. Well, we were playing cards and gabbing when someone brought up this reunion, and Mel I think, sighed, and said he wished he was a better dancer because he wanted to ask the cheerleader he’d had a crush on through high school to dance and wow her.”

  “I don’t blame him,” I defended Mel. “What a great fantasy.”

  “Yeah, babe, except he wanted it to be a reality, you see, and Cord could tell so she said something like, `Mel, you mean it?’ And Mel said `Yeah!’ with a great deal of enthusiasm, and Cord said, mysteriously, that it could be arranged.

  “We went back to playing cards, but a half hour later Sam, who can be a deep thinker, so it takes him a while to speak, says to Cord, `Yeah? How can it be arranged?’ Who knew that Cord went to college with this butch dyke who was way into serious ballroom dancing, and she’d offered to teach Cord? Cord figured that Kitts would take another butch as a student, no prob.”

  “Wow, that’s cool,” I said.

  “Wait, baby, it gets better,” Raven promised me. “So Cord calls Kitts over the weekend and they cook up this deal that invites us to dance class—the whole crew of us, all eight. Well, we numbered nine at the time ‘cause of Angie. Anyway, Kitts can dance the girl parts too, and we each had to take turns as the girl—which between you and me was no fun.”

  “It’s very fun being the girl,” I assured her. “Take it from a girl who knows.”

  “Gonna take your word for it, baby, since that has never been my role.” She grinned without apology. “So we went to dance class and what started out as six weeks of lessons for a reunion lasted a whole year and we killed it so that’s why we dance well.”

  The buzzer rang. I froze, but didn’t faint. Raven got the door. Enter Jamie and Marcia.

  Jamie kissed my hand as she greeted me, “Verity Spencer, Raven’s Beauty, may I present Marcia Ellery?”

  Marcia shook my hand. “Dr. Spencer, it’s nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Marcia, call me Verity,” I invited. “Did Jamie tell you why you’re making a house call on a Sunday?”

  “Enough,” she said. “Is this the room where you practice?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is. Although I also do sessions via phone and Zoom in my office next door.”

  “But those aren’t in-person, right?”

  “No,” I confirmed, “they’re remote.”

  “Well, from what I can see, this will be easy to do,” Marcia started.

  I stopped her. “Sorry, Marcia. Raven? Jamie?” She and Jamie chatted in a corner of the room. “Would you two mind listening to this and adding your prodigious brains into the process? I don’t want to miss something because I didn’t think of it.”

  “Sure, baby,” said Raven.

  “Marcia, go on.” She got into the dribs and drabs of home security. Raven asked a couple questions, Jamie, too, and then we were done. It would be installed whilst I was in the meeting at the in-patient program the next day. High priority, courtesy of my connection to Jamie.

  As we concluded, the buzzer sounded. I was in the doorway of the office, and grabbed onto the jamb so I didn’t fall. Raven handed me off to Jamie and went to get the buzzer. We’d already discussed how we were going to replace the old-fashioned system with one that would allow me to hear and respond to, and maybe even see, whomever was at the door without buzzing them in first.

  Good thing the boys were here. When Raven opened the door, who stood there but Ellie? She saw me in the doorway and started to cry.

  “Dr. Spencer, I had to see you. I’m sorry to barge in unannounced.”

  “Ellie,” I said carefully, “you can’t be here. I can no longer be your doctor. I will make a referral for you to your father tomorrow morning.”

  She began to get hysterical, reaching for me, and crying out plaintively.

  Jamie said sotto voce, “I have two words for you, Verity: restraining order.” I heard her.

  “Ellie, how did you get here?” I asked.

  “Daddy’s driver brought me,” she sounded like a twelve year old, and in some ways, she was.

  “Go home. I’ll call your father in the office tomorrow,” I said definitively. “Goodbye, Ellie.”

  Raven and Jamie stepped forward to escort Ellie down to the limousine that idled in front of my driveway. She went. Reluctantly, crying, but she went.

  “Yes, and thank Goddess Raven and Jamie were here. I do appreciate you coming today, Marcia, so appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, Verity. Anything for Jamie, I swear. He saved me from a nightmare of a marriage. If he hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

  “He’s a good guy, Jamie,” I agreed with her.

  The gents came upstairs. “No worries, baby, she’s gone,” said Raven tucking me into her arms. That was when I started to cry.

  That’s so me. Great in a crisis, that Verity. She shows up like a trouper, but when it’s over, completely over, she falls apart. It’s the delayed reaction that’s learned in a crisis environment from childhood. In fact, most of my childhood was a crisis. Alcoholics everywhere. See? Crisis.

  “I’m so glad you and Jamie were here,” I cried.

  “It’s okay, bab
y,” she stroked my back.

  “Verity, can you punch pause?” said Jamie sounding serious. “Do I need to remind you of what I said? Two words?”

  “Restraining order,” I repeated dutifully. “I appreciate that, Jamie, but let me try it with her father once first. I’d rather not create a public legal record unless it’s necessary. For Ellie’s sake.”

  “Good. I’m glad it’s not for that asshat, her father,” said Jamie angrily. I gave him a slightly scolding look. “Terry explained what happened.” Oh yeah, that. “Well, gotta go. I have a divorce decree to draft this afternoon, my friends.”

  “Oooh, fun,” I said.

  “It is,” said Jamie with certified glee. “I love the law.”

  Marcia added, “Me, too. That’s how Jamie saved me.” She kissed his cheek.

  “Come on, lady, let me buy you a donut at that new place in Union Square,” said Jamie as he hooked Marcia’s arm.

  “Thanks, both of you,” I said.

  Raven saw them out.

  “Baby, still need to cry?”

  “Oh, maybe, I don’t know. Why? Got a better idea?”

  “Yeah,” she grinned. “Redbones.”

  Chapter 39

  Redbones, the famous barbeque place in Davis Square, was where Raven had been going to take me to dinner on our casual Friday night date which was supposed to have been two millennia ago. She loves barbeque, and I definitely enjoy it as well, and we were long past brunch time on a Sunday so the place would likely be empty.

  Raven indicated to the hostess where she wanted us to sit without saying a word. I wondered if that was a physician thing, a butch thing, a tall thing, or some other thing entirely. I’d probably never know, but I liked it. Anyway, like we were in a five-star, Michelin-rated restaurant, she pulled out my chair and seated me. I wasn’t completely sure I believed what she’d said about these not being date manners, but they weren’t. I thought on it; she’d pulled out my chair and seated me in my own kitchen.

  The waitstaff at Redbones tends to be on the colorful side, which is part of the appeal of the place. It’s usually a hopping joint and they make boatloads of money for waitstaff, which is good because most of them are students. That day a very pierced young gay blade in orange skinny jeans, topped with what appeared to be an original tie-dyed tee, was our server. He sashayed up to the table and greeted Raven with respect and then spun his attentions to me.

  “What happened to you!?!” was his opener.

  “A guy clocked me one,” I said deadpan. His horror was evident, both personal and political.

  “Ma’am,” he started, “I am so—”

  I overrode him. “Don’t worry, sweet one. He looked much worse than I do when it was all said and done,” I continued, trying out Raven’s line again.

  Our adorable gay server froze, out of his politically correct element, then he threw back his head with its myriad piercings and howled his ass off. Finally, wiping his eyes, he said, “Ma’am, I so did not expect that from you.” He continued to chuckle. “Good for you!” And, believe it or not, he fist-bumped me, which I thanked Goddess I’d seen the Obamas do or else I wouldn’t have even recognized the gesture. “And you came to Redbones to make yourself feel better?” he asked.

  “I did,” I assured him. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Your dinner is on the house, ma’am, for sheer bravery alone,” said our guy.

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” I said batting my eyelashes. “What a lovely acknowledgment.”

  Raven sat through this whole scene with her arms folded across her chest, leaning back in her chair, with such amusement dancing in her rich blue eyes that I wondered how she didn’t laugh aloud.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked reverting to our prescribed lines.

  Raven ordered coffee for herself and tea for me. After he whipped away, giving us a glimpse of swinging, sassy, high, green ponytail, she gazed at me with calculation on her face. Finally she spoke, “Do you charm everyone, Verity?” Her voice held admiration.

  I blushed. “It’s not exactly a strategy, darling, but yes, often I do.”

  “I’ve never seen it fail yet, milady. Starting with Ziesl, Rosie and Jase, their little Nate, not to mention me, the Butch Brigade who,” she added parenthetically, “are not the easiest crew to charm, Marcia, and now our gay punk server.”

  My brain had stopped after her mention of herself. “I charmed you?” I asked.

  “Over that first cup of tea, milady. Totally charmed me. I asked you out for dinner, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I allowed, “but I guess I thought ... no, I did think ... maybe I was wrong, but ....”

  “Baby, you’ve started three sentences and not finished one of them,” Raven observed. “That’s not like you.”

  “Um, no, but ... well, I thought you asked me out for dinner because you were attracted to me, not because I charmed you,” I finished in a whoosh.

  She reached across the table for my right hand. Those bruises were virtually a memory. Stroking the back of it with her thumb, and making me aware of her body in a way I hadn’t been till then, she said, “Baby, both. I was attracted to you, but the charm was what hooked me. Your sweetness, your worry over Rosie, your healing love.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “See? Your charm.” She pulled my hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it. “Everything about you, rolled into one lovely human being.” Then she let go my hand and got on with the business of the day, “What do you fancy, milady?”

  What I fancied at that precise trice was her—truthfully, the weight of her lying between my thighs but that wasn’t the place to say it. Except, you know what? I think she read my mind, or my face was immediately transparent, or something, because she said completely, you should pardon the expression, straight-faced, “Other than that, ma’am.” I swear my aura blushed that time.

  So I wrangled my libido into some manageable, put-aside-able-for-now shape and got on with my lunch order which she negotiated with our serving wench—and he really was one! Ab fab, for real. He was like a character out of a Richard Brinsley Sheridan play. Stephen Waitstaffer—how’s that for a Restoration character name!

  As you know, barbeque can be an inelegant endeavor, particularly when one orders it in sandwich format. I put the bun aside and opted for a ladylike knife and fork whereupon Raven accused me of being no fun. I accepted her judgment, and carried on bravely with my utensils, watching her navigate her pulled pork sandwich relatively elegantly, with hardly any splashing. But it did require a visit to the ladies’ to get her hands clean at the last.

  We chatted and pretended that we lived normal lives wherein biker/thug/drug dealers did not appear to bash one’s face in, nor did patient emergencies interrupt late lunches on a Sunday afternoon. Raven paid for her lunch since mine was on the house, way overtipped our punk server—like fifty bucks, which I thought was totally cool—and opened the door for me to the late September sunshine. As she yanked her shades from her curls to cover her eyes, the illusion of normalcy shattered.

  Her phone rang. Her face paled as she viewed the caller-i.d.

  “Gretchen,” she spoke into the phone as we stood on the tiny porch at the front of Redbones. “You alright?” Silence. “Lucy did what?” More silence. “Can you put her on the phone?”

  In the split second before her three year old could be heard through the phone, I knew we had to go see them, STAT.

  I pulled on Raven’s arm and whispered, “Keep talking, but we’re going toward Chérie while you do.”

  Lucy was nothing short of hysterical. Crying, sobbing, weeping, sniffling, yelling, bawling. She was frustrated with both her grandmother, and her daddy, and she wanted someone to understand her.

  “Lucy, slow down, sweetie,” said Raven, the voice of reason.

  Screaming-with-tears three year olds are not known for their reasoning capabilities.

  “Lady? What lady?” Raven said. “Mama said what? What lady?”
<
br />   Raven wasn’t getting this, but my intuition started to fire overtime. She wasn’t the first three year old girl I’d known.

  “Raven, darling, give me the phone,” I said in a normal voice.

  “What?” she looked askance at me. “No, Verity, you don’t know Lucy.”

  “Let me try, darling—”

  She handed me the phone with huge skepticism on her face.

  “Lucy,” I said quietly. She stopped crying instantly. “Lucy, sweet girl, it’s the lady.”

  I tilted the phone so Raven heard Lucy hiccough, “Lady?” she said sniffling.

  Raven’s eyes were shocked.

  “Yes, I’m the lady your Mama told you about.”

  “Lady,” she repeated and we both heard the relief in her voice. She nodded her head in my mind’s eye. She took a deep breath. “Lady, come here.”

  “Yes, Lucy, Raven and I will come there right away. Can you wait with your Nana? We have to bring Chérie,” I explained.

  “Chérie,” she said. “Yes.”

  “Lucy, can Raven talk to Nana?”

  “Yes.” She called, “Nana! My Raven.”

  I covered the phone, and spoke urgently to Raven, “Tell Gretchen we’re on our way but we’re coming from Somerville. It’ll be half an hour.”

  “It won’t take that long, babe,” she started to argue with me.

  “Tell her half an hour please, Raven.” I was firm.

  Raven gave me a visual survey, telling Gretchen exactly what I’d told her. Followed by you-gonna-’splain-me-this, right?.

  She finished her conversation with Gretchen and spoke to Lucy again asking her to please have her snack and watch a movie till we got there. Lucy agreed obediently, and Raven ended the call.

  “Gretchen wants to know who the fuck you are, lady, and I quote,” said Raven whooshing out a big breath.

  “Doubtless,” I murmured.

  Raven turned me toward her. “Baby, what was that?”

  “My intuition,” I said in a small voice. “I can tell you what happened to Lucy, and why she was so upset.”