Authors: Emma Taylor
She didn’t dress up this time. She had felt too silly last time. She wore jeans and a t-shirt and applied minimal makeup.
If he wanted me before, in my best, let’s see if he wants me now. Let’s see what sort of man he really is.
She looked at herself once in the mirror, noting the redness of her eyes and the slight bags of her tired-looking face. She hadn’t been sleeping well at all this past week, mainly due to the doctor. Simone had asked if she was ill, and Charlotte had not been able to stop the slight smile that came to her face.
Ill indeed,
she thought as she left her apartment.
****
Here again.
The office was plain: no posters or pictures on the walls. There were no family photographs. Elliot Sanderson, she knew, had been married once but had divorced. Charlotte had been married once, too, and had divorced. At first, she thought that marriage had not been for her. But as she grew older, and grew away from the marriage, she realized that it had been Michael who had not been for her. He had been too needy, too dependent. He had resented the fact that she had her own career and her own life. When he cheated on her it was a mercy, in many ways. She would never admit it, but she was glad. The blame was away from her; he was the villain. She didn’t feel bad filing the divorce papers.
Elliot Sanderson was staring at her again. This time, she returned his gaze unflinchingly. She had to know who he was, what he was: what sort of man he was. She had to know because she wanted to accept his offer of dinner, and she couldn’t do that if he was a bad person.
It didn’t seem like he was going to say anything.
Fine,
Charlotte thought.
“I’m not ill,” she said. “I needed to talk with you. You asked me to dinner with you last time I was here. I need to know; do you ask a lot of your female patients that? And don’t lie to me. If you lie to me, I’ll never talk to you again.”
“Why do you imagine I care about you?” the doctor said, in a calm, unreadable voice.
Good question.
“Because you wanted me to return. Your receptionist was told, by you, to redirect me to you specifically.”
He shrugged. “Okay, so I want you. But I am also offended by how you reacted last time you were in here. If I speak to you frankly now, will you listen?”
She nodded.
He leaned forward. “I have never asked a patient to be romantic with me. I never would. At least, that’s what I thought. But when I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And I didn’t care that you were my patient. I wanted to take you to dinner, and I still do. The fact that you’re my patient does not change that. I want to take you to dinner. That is all.”
“That is all?”
“For now, yes.” His forest-green eyes seemed to twinkle in the midday sun. “Why, do you wish more?”
She hadn’t expected the question. She shrugged, and then let out an odd coughing noise. “I’m not—sure,” she managed, as images of this
more
whirred through her suddenly depraved mind. Doctor Elliot, taking her right here, his strong hands over her, his lips on her breasts…
No, that is not what I want..! Or do I?
“Then come to dinner with me,” he said, his gaze never leaving her.
Charlotte hesitated for a moment, and then decided that she wanted to do it. “Yes,” she breathed, and then rose to her feet. “Call me with details.”
“I will,” he said.
She spun on her heels and paced from the office, feeling his eyes on the back of her neck, almost as though his gaze burned into her. Even the stifling heat of the car was a respite from that burning gaze.
****
Doctor Sanderson was true to his word. Soon after their meeting in the doctor’s office she received a voicemail telling her to meet him at the clinic two nights from now. She doubted that their date was to take place at the clinic itself. Surely he would be taking her somewhere else. She warned herself not to expect or think she deserved anything overly lavish, despite his wealth. This was, after all, a first date. She was looking forward to the date more than she would admit, even to herself. She had a stupid grin on her face for those two days leading up to the date. Every so often the anticipation would vacate her mind, and when it returned the grin would inevitably twist her lips.
Soon the days of waiting were over, and it was time for the date. She dressed in a stylish, elegant, non-revealing dress and low heels. She hadn’t quite mastered walking in heels yet, even in her mid-thirties. Sometimes she looked at women who had mastered it with a sort of awe at the way their feet seemed to glide within the heels, as though the heels were a part of them. Perhaps it was because she rarely wore the uncomfortable things. But tonight was a special occasion.
It was a pleasant autumn twilight. She took a cab to the doctor’s office. A cool breeze whooshed through the taxi’s windows and the leaves on the trees that bordered the road were crisp and yellowish. Charlotte paid the driver and climbed from the taxi, hoping she wasn’t too early. The voicemail had said to be there at 6:30p.m. It was now 6:15. She walked to the doctor’s office and leant against the wall, trying to appear natural.
There weren’t many people around at this late hour apart from a few cleaners, janitors, and a couple of doctors who’d stayed late to finish paperwork. She waited for ten minutes, growing more uncomfortable with each moment. Perhaps he had forgotten all about the date. That wouldn’t have surprised her. It was hard to think, anyway, with that helicopter blaring above her. It had started a minute ago. The blades sliced through the air with near-deafening motions.
Charlotte looked up. The helicopter was landing on top of the clinic, a broad, three-story building. She wondered idly why they had not taken the poor patient to the hospital, instead of bringing him here where there were so few doctors available. Perhaps one of the doctors who had stayed late would help. But still, it was odd. She half-watched the helicopter land on the top of the building, and half-watched the road that led to the doctor’s offices, waiting to see any sign of Elliot.
“Charlotte!” a voice called.
She could hear now; the helicopter’s blades had stilled.
She looked around for the voice, but could see nobody. She turned full circle, checking the doctor’s office, but there was nobody and nothing apart from cleaners and janitors and a subtle breeze that touched her dress and caressed her legs. She looked again at the road, wondering if she was going utterly mad.
“Charlotte!” the voice repeated, louder.
She looked around again, self-conscious in the extreme. If anyone was watching her now, they would think she was crazy, without question. She was about to leave from pure discomfort when her phone began to ring. It was an unknown number. She answered anyway.
“Yes?”
“Look up.”
“Excuse me? Who is this?”
The person at the other end of the line was either inside a washing-machine or atop a particularly windy mountain. “It’s Doctor Sanderson. Look up.”
Charlotte looked up and there, on top of the building, was a figure waving at her. “I thought we’d take the helicopter,” he said. “I’ll come down and get you.”
He hung up the phone. Charlotte returned it to her handbag and waited. Soon, Elliot Sanderson was walking from the building, a stern yet soft smile on his lips. He was wearing a suit that accentuated his athletic build. “I hope I didn’t keep you,” he said.
“No,” Charlotte heard herself mutter. “That was—quite an entrance.”
He shrugged. “It will be quicker, and more exciting. Have you ever been in a helicopter before?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Would you like to?”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
He offered his arm in an old-fashioned way. She didn’t know whether to laugh or squeal. In the end she just threaded her arm through his and together they walked towards the office. In the elevator he stood close to her, and she could sense the immense power in him. A part of her wanted him to kiss her now, here, and then, right here in the elevator.
The elevator went ding and they were on the roof, wind whipping them. Charlotte constantly smoothed her dress, as she crossed the roof to the helicopter.
“You alright, Jason?” Elliot said to the man leaning on the helicopter.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Ready to fly?”
The man nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Let me just get Charlotte settled.”
He climbed into the helicopter before her and offered his hand. She took it gratefully and made herself comfortable in the seat. Then he strapped her in and put a headset on her head. He strapped himself in and donned his own headset. “Can you hear me?” His voice came through the earphones of the headset.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Elliot said. “Now, let’s get going. I’ve booked us a private room at a pretty nice place.”
As the elevator ascended, the blades slicing and whizzing, Charlotte found herself trembling. She couldn’t believe that this metal box could just rise from the earth into the air. Of course she knew it was possible, but sitting there in the box, it seemed absurd. She clutched her knees until Elliot placed his hands upon hers. She gripped his hands hard, thankful for that comfort.
She turned her head and saw that he was looking at her. Now, the look did not excite or intimidate her. It simply comforted her.
****
Charlotte was glad the flight was only short. When they landed her legs were shaking and she thought she might be sick.
Wouldn’t that be a great way to start a date!
Despite the motion sickness, however, she was partly glad that they had travelled this way. During the whole journey, Elliot had had his hand on hers, comforting her, assuaging her more frantic moments of panic. The flight had taken only five minutes, and yet when he took his hands away she felt as though she was losing something.
He jumped nimbly from the helicopter and then offered his hand. She unstrapped herself, laid the headset on the chair, took his hand and climbed down. She smoothed her hair and smiled at her. Now they were no longer flying, she could appreciate the exhilaration. After-the-fact exhilaration was better in many ways. For one, she no longer felt sick.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “I wanted to.”
He offered her his arm once more. They were on the roof of a part of the city to which she had never been, or, if she had, she didn’t recognize it by night from this high up. The lights glittered below them to the horizon and the moon glared down with pale blue rays. Charlotte took Elliot’s arm and he led her to an elevator. They descended a few floors, then went to a private room.
The walls were decorated with landscape pictures of what looked like the English countryside, and the chairs and tables had a medieval look to them, all carved wood and patterned cloth. A man with a suave British accent came forward and pulled her chair back for her to be seated. “Allow me,” he said.
Elliot seated himself and ordered some champagne. Charlotte made a point of saying it was too much, but he just waved her concerns away. He wanted champagne, those eyes said, and what he wanted he got. Price was no concern to this man. It simply didn’t bother him; he had earned his money, and now he would enjoy it. When the waiter had taken their orders – two steaks, with soup to start – Elliot stared at her again.
“I take it you approve,” he said, after a pause.
Charlotte looked around at the cavernous room, at the privacy, at the furniture that probably cost more than some houses. “I love it,” she breathed.
He grinned back at her. “You haven’t tasted the food yet.”
They were sitting at opposites sides of the table, but two glasses of champagne later Charlotte looked up to see that Elliot was pulling his seat around, and she was smiling and telling him it would be a pleasure for him to sit so close to her. A tingle ran down her spine.
She bit her lip when he leaned forward.
****
She had thought he was going to kiss her on the lips. Instead, he leaned past her lips and kissed her softly on the neck. He touched her shoulder and kissed her neck again and again, each touch of his lips sending tiny jolts of pleasure through her body. She turned her head and kissed his smooth, strong cheek as he withdrew. He took another sip of champagne and poured her another glass. The remains of their meal were all around them.
Soon, the waiters came and cleared everything away. They did not even ask for the bill. Charlotte guessed Elliot had an account here. So he had been here often. Did that mean… She was too tipsy to stop the words. “How many women do you do this with?” She could half-hear herself: hear how needy she sounded. But she had to know if she was a one-night stand or something more.
Not that I’ll be sleeping with him tonight, of course.
Elliot sighed, met her eyes, and then nodded. “It is a fair question,” he said. “You are the only patient I have ever asked on a date. That I promise you. How many women have I been with? I’m forty-years-old.”
“What I mean is, are you a womanizer?”
Elliot met her eyes. “No.”
Charlotte nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry… Are you offended?”