The Day the Doctors Disappeared
I
Margaret sighed and looked at her watch.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” said the man in the chair to her left.
“I swear,” she replied. They were sitting in the nondescript waiting room of their general-practitioner doc. “I feel like I’ve been here two hours.”
“Well,” he answered, “I’ve been here.. mmm … ” He looked at his watch. “Two and a quarter.”
“You’re kidding me!” she said. “This is ridiculous.” Scanning around the various generic art prints and waiting-room chairs, she noticed that the whole place was empty.
“Huh.”
A beam blocked her view of the reception desk. She stood up and walked around the beam. There was no one behind the counter.
“Were you here when…” She walked back to her seat and put a torn copy of Prevention back on the end table. “Who’s the last person you saw go in?”
“There was a man in a Shriners cap. Like a fez.”
“Oh, yeah. Him.”
“I think that’s the last one. A nurse called his name, Mr. Richelieu.”
“That’s right. Mr. Richelieu, and no one since then?”
“Uh uh.”
“And no receptionist, and no foot traffic. This is really weird.”
For lack of anyone else to look at, she got a better look at the man. Rather good looking, wearing little round specs, dark blue jacket, no tie. Young but for six or seven white hairs strewn through his otherwise brown hair.
She blinked.
“Peter Song,” he said.
“Hi, I’m Margaret.” They shook. She blinked again. “I mean, it’s a minor mystery! What’s going on? Should I just go back there?”
Peter nodded an I-don’t-know-either.
“Hmm,” he said. “Give it fifteen minutes and then leave?”
“But I don’t want to give up my appointment!”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“No, nothing serious,” Margaret said. “I had poison oak a few weeks ago and they made me come in because they were worried about an allergy. But I don’t think… so what about you?” She smiled.
“I’m just here for a periodic checkup.”
“What do you do?”
“Well,” he said, “You’re not going to believe this, but I did the cooling ducts for this whole place.”
“Ducts?”
“The etlik escort temperature control system. It’s supported by a whole little system of air tunnels.”
She peered and smiled.
“But I don’t want to bore you. Uh, what about you?”
“Oh, I work downtown, and I’m getting a Masters.”
“Oh really,” Peter said. “What’s it about?”
“Mm, history, sociology. Right now I’m writing a social history of Coney Island.”
“Very interesting!”
“Well, I don’t know, it interests me. I just– hey, what’s the time?”
“Quarter after.”
“So it’s been fifteen minutes. What is UP with this place?”
“Maybe it’s a general strike.”
“Do doctors strike? I hope they don’t strike. I mean, it wouldn’t just HAPPEN.”
Peter reached in his pocket. “Margaret, would you like to continue this conversation in the employees’ lounge?” He brandished a loop of keys.
Margaret blinked.
“I’d be willing to bet five bucks they’ll never know we’re gone. Besides, if we raise a fuss, they’ll have to see us. This really is ridiculous. We can go and drink a 7-Up and come back.”
“A 7-Up.”
“Or something.”
“Sure,” Margaret said. “Why not?”
II
Once Peter had unlocked the access door, they stepped inside the service shaft. The staircases back here were much less adorned. Just a fire extinguisher and a placard and that’s all.
“It’s right up here,” Peter said. “Oh.” He gestured at a misplaced wrench and his arms caught Margaret’s sides, pressing her white blouse. “Look out!”
“Hmm,” Margaret said. “Thank you.”
Peter opened the door to the employees’ lounge and they stepped in. A couple of old couches, a vending machine and a pool table.
“You know,” Margaret said, “It’s not much back here, but I’m still surprised they have it.”
“Today seems to be full of surprises,” Peter said.
Margaret blinked and nodded.
They both stood with their backs and arms against the pool table. Peter’s ring of keys sat on the green felt.
“So, um, what school are you going to?”
“Central U.”
“Oh. Nice. I have some friends who went there and–“
Margaret kızılay escort bayan broke in. “I’m still hung up on the minor mystery of why. Did the doctors and the nurses and the orderlies and the PA’s all take Mr. Richelieu out to lunch for being a wonderfully selfless Shriner?”
They both looked at each other for a tick of time. Then Peter gripped Margaret’s shoulders. Their lips met. Margaret’s eyes widened. It was weird all right, but a warm feeling crept over her and she kissed him back.
“I– I don’t know what happened to them either, Margaret,” Peter said, breaking away.
Margaret’s mouth was open a centimeter. “Wha–” Their fingertips pressed and they dove back in.
It makes no sense, she thought, and kept kissing him.
My appointment?, she thought.
“I don’t–” she said.
He paused, his face back.
“It’s just so … incongruous,” Margaret said.
Peter grinned. “When is it not?”
Margaret smiled slightly.
“Do you want to stop?” Peter asked.
“No,” Margaret answered. “Kiss me again.”
Their fingertips played and then interlaced. Peter lifted from next to her, leaning back on the pool table, and swung around to face her. His hands played over her shoulders and sides and her soft white fabric. She reached out and ringed his back, still incredulous, grabbed him tighter and their tips tore together, pulling away and he went after her neck and shoulder and neck, kissing and breathing.
He took his jacket off and undid one of his shirt buttons, then leaned against her again.
“I … I don’t like the angle, I need to put my back on something,” she said. He nodded and they sat down on a burnt-yellow couch, definitely not a treasure of fashion.
“What the hell are we doing?” Margaret said.
Peter held her face in both hands, pulled her closer. Margaret felt Peter leaning against her with his body, rubbing her breasts and stomach.
“God, that feels good,” she said.
He ran his palms over her chest. In the V where his middle and pointer fingers came together, he felt for one of her nipples and found it, surrounded it, pointy against her blouse and bra.
They let out breaths into each others’ mouths. He touched her differently, all over her breasts, kissing her lips, cupping her, lifting, squeezing. She rubbed his sides, up and down his chest. Defiant enthusiasm came to her as an idea and she kissed him harder. Their tongues licked in and around, and she caught his tongue in a suck. His hands snaked into the loose tails of her blouse and touched her bare skin underneath, while he kissed the exposed tops of her breasts. She gave a low mmm, pulled his head against her harder. He leaned in and laid his weight on top of her, with one arm and hand sandwiched and stuck between their stomachs.
“Mm-not too heavy?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I like it.”
“OK, just—you know.”
She nodded.
His fingers couldn’t maneuver far, but he petted her stomach. Then he arched himself off of her and held himself up in an arch that was hard to sustain. He still licked the tops of her breasts, then all of them, concealed by bra cloth. His hand and his palm crept down to her slacks, mostly light, then pressing forwards… She exhaled, feeling him touch her.
“Ah, I think I’d better rearrange,” he said, and she nodded. They got on their sides instead. They kissed each others lips and he touched her, warm and responsive and soft, his palm on her slacks between her legs and pressing up and forward. She grabbed his waist and pulled him. She felt something — his erection — mischievous and hard against one of her hips.
Margaret licked Peter’s lips, then kissed his face sideways to his ear.
“Mmmm,” Peter said. He lost a little composure, working her with his palm, then his fingers, higher and harder.
Under her clothes his fingertips even nudged her clit. “Ohh,” Margaret said creamily and leaned into his hand.
Peter slipped under the tops of Margaret’s bra cups with his tongue and she gestured for a second’s respite. She reached to undo the clasps and her bra went slack. Peter obligingly nuzzled in deeper, making his tongue hard on one of her nipples, then over to the other one. Margaret felt little dams breaking one by one.
“Don’t stop, Peter,” she said, bunching his hair. “Don’t stop that…”
———–
This story will be continued if there is interest from a reader. 🙂