I'm saying right now that I might re-write this chapter. I wanted to get something down and see what you all think. And yes, an element of this story was suggested to me by a reader. I liked the idea, thought it was different. So I went with it. However that meant I had to research a few things, and I learned more stuff along the way. All that is going into this story. Kind of took a little grain of sand and turned it into...well, something. I think it's a little wordy, but you all know how I am. And I'm not sure about having Charlotte thinking to herself- I might take that out. Okay have at and tell me if you like it or not- and yeah you can suggest stuff too.
Charlotte stood casually at the front desk, nonchalantly eyeing all the people waiting. Trying to pick out her patients before she called them was a little game she liked to play sometimes- and only sometimes. Quite frankly, there were more freaks coming in to see her like she was some freak than actual patients, and with that it was always men. Her first patient today was a woman.
Granted, when she said freak about anyone she bypassed the fact that between the sheets she could very easily be considered a freak- though she didn't care for that term. Freak implied that there was something wrong with you- and what the hell was wrong with sex? Especially good sex? And the fact that she happened to be good at sex? Nothing. When she called someone a freak, it meant that there was something wrong with them. And the freaks that had come to see her voluntarily? They really were freaks. Assholes if you got right down to it. Often drunk, and always assuming that her sexology specialty meant that she was their prostitute, their hired hooker.
Uneducated, drunken fools. And believe it or not, some addled minded fools were actually so dim witted as to believe they could walk into the room talking at her like she was their personal bitch, while using terms like bitch and ho, and believe that she should be glad about it. Charlotte could hardly believe it the first time it happened. Sexology was an established medical specialty not a- well, a good verbal dressing down, and a few well placed whacks with a medical texts were enough to send that bastard, and any since out the door fast.
She wasn't ashamed of that. As far as she could tell insurance companies didn't cover hookers- and if the 'patients' were paying in cash- and she loved this little bit, she told the front desk folks that they needed to pay in advance. That way she had no qualms about kicking their horny plastered fannies to the curb; she still got paid. Though she always gave them what for within the confines of her office. She could get her point across without raising her voice, though she wasn't afraid or ashamed to do that on occasion. Letting her voice carry was a great way to give added embarrassment and shame where it was flatly deserved. But always, within the confines of the office. She wasn't about to be seen hollering down the hallway, (or hitting someone with the side of a book) she was a professional after all. She had an image to uphold.
Unfortunately it became apparent that while she conducted herself as a consummate medical professional, people expected anything but professionalism from a sexologist, most didn't even believe she was a doctor.
Charlotte smirked, recalling one time she'd squelched such a belief of a patient after reviving him right then and there after cardiac arrest. When he came to, after she brought him back from the dead, more specifically- and saw her barking orders at the Oceanside Wellness staff like she was back home at her hospital, that bubba shut up real quick. He even broke into a little bit of a sweat the next time he saw her, took off his cap and apologized profusely the whole while she was explaining the details of erectile dysfunction to him and that a heart condition and excess weight can exacerbate such a problem.
His eyes glazed over telling her he wasn't about to do jack when it came to exercise. But she was in a good mood, she smiled conspiratorially at him and mentioned casually, "Well you know that when an overweight man has significant weight to drop- he grows an inch for every thirty pounds he loses."
Big Boy Bubba- her personal name for the patient's eyes unglazed and his mouth dropped. "Really, Dr. King?"
She laughed, he was a good ol' boy, and harmless. She wondered what in the world had gotten him to that part of CA. "Oh yes," she smiled. "Just thought knowing that might help in the exercise department. An extra bonus in the bedroom from dropping excess weight. Though," she looked pointed at him in case he was thinking of doing something stupid, "if you're just dropping weight and not building up muscle," she made a face, 'it doesn't work."
He jumped up and took her hand in both of his, pumping it like a pump handle. "Thank you, Dr. King! I'll be sure to be right on that! You'll see. Just wait, wait till I come back for a follow up! I thank you, and, and I know my wife would- if she were here with me. Thank you, again!"
She couldn't help giving a genuine smile at the grown man's sudden childish enthusiasm. "Well I'll look forward to it, Mr. Clark!"
Thinking on his parting words later she'd snorted with laughter hoping he was just planning on show off his new svelte figure when he came in and not dropping his pants.
Charlotte sighed, biting her lower lip casually as she scanned the room again. Dressed normally, and not wearing a stethoscope, ID badge or lab coat, she had relative anonymity. At first glance no one in the waiting room knew she was a doctor. It was nice having that advantage sometimes. Got people to spill the beans faster too. Hell, it wasn't sexology all day every day for her. More than once she was hand holding a mother whose daughter had a UTI due to wandering hands to put it delicately. And it had to be put delicately. Even still, no mother was happy to know that her toddler or elementary school student was 'touching herself'. It usually wasn't a problem with older girls. Not because they didn't do it as well, but because they were more festidious about hygeine and less likely to play in the dirt. Some days she dealt with more kids than Cooper did. Though fortunately, her kids didn't have a tendency to puke on her.
She put an elbow on the desk counter, tapping her pen absentmindedly as she muttered to the receptionist without taking her eyes away from the waiting area, "You sure she's here?"
Out of the corner of her eye she could see the girl nod. "Yes. And it's definitely a girl."
Charlotte nodded grimly, tired of her game. The waiting area was full of women, some with children, some not.
"Definitely a girl? meaning there's extra proof of her girlness? She got four boobs or somethin'?" She kept smiling out at the patients, muttering this discreetly behind her teeth.
Light laughter was her first answer. "Well after that one guy that made that appointment sounding like a girl"
Charlotte understood. She came from a conservative Southern family after all. The poor receptionist had been shocked when a halfway looking biological male came in to see her looking to enhance his 'her' qualities. He'd come in looking like a ragged woman who'd let herself go, which elicited the riot act from Sam and Addison. They'd both cornered her at the end of the day, telling her that they ran a respectful establishment, and wanted to be respectful, but they'd prefer that their practice waiting area not end up looking like a gay/tranny bar at midnight if her clientele quantity took a turn for that as opposed to the more common "I can't please my woman" complaint.
Frankly she had a lot of fun with the transgender folks who came to see her. It was always like chatting with girlfriends- not that she had many of those anymore. But she and her patients were always laughing and cracking jokes the whole while, no matter what specific reason the patient was there for. Those who'd not had a sex change came to her for their personal exams, feeling more comfortable with a doctor that knew that he was still a she biologically and needed a pelvic, or a she who needed her prostate or scrotum checked.
But due to Sam and Addison's harping, and the fact that some of her patients were a bit colorful, or clearly one sex physically while portraying another, Charlotte made sure that all calls for sexology appointments went to her voicemail extension, and she placed a special outgoing message that served it's original purpose as well as detered some of the freaky losers. It stated loosely that "Please be aware that this is a multi-discipline practice. There will be little kids, sick people, parents, and sweet old folks. Please come for your appointment dressed comfortably and appropriately for this environment."
She never had a problem. It seemed to do the trick. Soon after there were not nearly as many losers- or not nearly as many losers at first glance, as there had been before.
She'd also trained the desk staff to inquire when patients called for an appointment that if there was any doubt which specialty the person was in need of (usually the patient coughed up that information first, but not always) they ask them, "Are you looking to book an appointment with Dr. King our sexologist, or Dr. King the urologist?"
It definitely helped her to know what she was getting into, and she was called in her office as soon as a patient signed in.
"Oh hell," she grabbed her patient's file from the desk, giving up her game as futile.
"Abigail-" Oh crap. She looked at the last name, and made a conscious effort not to make a face. Those Polish names always screwed her up. If I had my way, everyone who comes to see me would have to have a pronounceable last name like, Smith or Up Yours. She muffled a laugh at her inner joke.
"W.?" She finished and scanned the room with her "I'm a safe harmless white person", look. Wide open eyes and easy smile.
A young woman rose from a chair in the corner, slung a large black tote bag more securely over her shoulder and stepped forward. Her air was confident, her chin up, her eyes locked on Charlotte. Safe white girl look, she thought, maybe there is such a thing. This Abigail W. would probably be dubbed a 'safe white girl' by Tiffany's standards as well; thin, pale skin, large green eyes and long brown hair.
She met Charlotte with a warm smile. "It's Wroblewski," she explained. "Abigail Wroblewski."
Charlotte smiled back, she loved it when there was something to break the ice with. She motioned down the hall, and said while walking after her, "You know I always mess up with the last names with ski at the end, they always seem to have a lot of letters, and a lot of letters that aren't pronounced. In your case, all the w's."
"Yeah," Abigail agreed as they reached Charlotte's office door, "it's weird like that."
Charlotte found herself smiling back happy to feel at ease as she opened her office door for Abigail and motioned her in. Quite often the emotions of her embarrassed, tense patients wore off on her. She gave a small sigh of relief when she realized she didn't feel tense, just comfortable. Then to her own embarrassment Charlotte realized she'd forgotten to introduce herself!
Wroblewski walked into the room as Charlotte closed the door. Once done, Charlotte turned to her patient, ready to rectify the oversight.
"Sorry, I seem to have forgotten my manners," she extended her hand, and Abigail took it readily, shaking her hand firmly making eye contact and still smiling.
"I'm Dr. Charlotte King," she introduced herself. "It's very nice to meet you," she smiled. "Now, what can I do for you?"
Quick as gunshot, Abigail Wroblewski's warm open face changed. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in shock. She stood looking like a gaping fish for a moment, then stammered, "I'm sorry," she gasped in a breath, "I didn't realize...I didn't realize you were the doctor." She shut her mouth then, pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin.
Abigail gave a forced laugh and forced a smile as well. "I mean, I just assumed you were a nurse or something. Doctors aren't usually the ones to come and get you."
Charlotte smiled back, mouth closed this time and nodded slowly as if in understanding.
"Yes, I know," she agreed amiably. "We do things a little differently around here." She gave a nudging glance to the chair. "Why don't you have a seat and tell me a little about yourself? Why you're here?"
"Oh," she laughed nervously pulling at her bag with one hand, shakily grabbing the chair back with another, "of course!" She obediently, but clearly reluctantly sat.
Charlotte kept the smile on her face, but as she saw her patient swallow, she glanced at the door. Great, now I'm tense.
"So," she literally pushed back her sudden apprehension by walking forward from her desk towards Abigail, then plopping down in the chair across from her, "what can I do for you? Why are you here, today, Abigail?"
"Or," she brightened at the sudden added tension breaker that came to mind, "do you prefer Abbie?"
Abigail glanced furtively to the door, opened her mouth wide as if to speak, then closed it dumbly.
Charlotte pursed her lips for a moment, before remembering herself and continuing to project both a demeanor and expression that said she was calm, at ease and nothing was wrong.
She glanced at the door as her patient did wondering, Why do I get the feeling like this girl oughta be here to see Violet, and not me?
She looked terrorized, and about to bolt. Charlotte King knew a lot about bolting, she'd had a horse after all.
Marjorie used to bolt all the time, any time a person came up to her. Big Daddy had told her Marjorie had been a wild horse, and from the looks of it young Charlotte had to agree, either that or abused. So maybe Big Daddy'd gotten her cheap, but she was a beautiful horse. But she liked to bolt, run like hell if given the chance, not trusting anyone or anything. It'd tried Charlotte's own patience, but she'd earned the horse's trust by doing simply that, being patient and being present allowing the animal to come to her.
She glanced at Wroblewski again and wondered if she could lock the door. This one was definitely a bolter.
"Abigail's fine," her voice cracked, but Charlotte could see her set her jaw. Her tone said that Abigail was fine because now Charlotte King wasn't someone that could be her girlfriend, but a doctor, someone who was about to know things about her . That meant Charlotte King needed to be kept at a distance. No friendly nicknames could be allowed here. Not now.
Just smile and act natural. She glanced down at Wroblewski's chart.
"I see you traveled a bit of a distance to get here, hope traffic wasn't too bad." A bit of a distance was an understatement. If her address was correct, she must've driven over an hour to get there. There were other sexologists closer to where she lived.
Doesn't want anyone she knows to see her going to a sexologist. That was common.
She gave a small smile and nodded. "A bit. Traffic was fine." She was no longer meeting Charlotte's gaze, something that did not go unnoticed.
Charlotte nodded trying to buy herself time to figure this out. "Good, that's good." This girl seemed more uncomfortable and trying harder to hide that fact than any of her other sexology patients. She didn't have many female patients to begin with, sex stigmas and all that of course. So it was as unusual for this young woman to be there, as it was that she was so afraid. It was one thing to be nervous, but this chick was scared.
She was about to ask, Did you mean to schedule an appointment with Violet Turner? When her mouth decided to say instead, "When is your birth-date?"
She was staring right at it. But doctors sometimes liked to verify random shit. It was plausible, and innocuous.
She answered as automatically as Charlotte'd expected. "Twelve, fifteen, eighty." The way you give your birth-date if your identity were being verified. Fine. No biggie.
Nodding appreciatively, she made eye contact with her then smiled. "So, that means you're almost thirty! Big milestone!" It was random crap. Just ask her why she's here and be done with it!
The woman looked to the door again, her hands tightened on the chair arms, and Charlotte could take her pulse just by watching the vein in her neck throb. What the hell?
Abigail gave her a smile that showed she was none too happy about that fact.
Charlotte took a deep breath. "So, tell me why you're here."
Smile. Look not uncomfortable and non-intimidating. Safe. White. Girl. Smile! But not a huge smile. Just a nice inviting spill your guts kinda smile. Good Lord, I'm talking to myself in my head. Maybe I'm the one that needs to go see Violet. Oh my god, I'm still doing it!