“You wanted to see me, boss?” Aimee said, stepping into his cluttered office. She closed the door and the clatter of the newsroom subsided somewhat.
Mr. Hooper grunted and put down his red pen. He held up the article he had been editing. It was a long story with a lot of small strike-outs in the text. “This”, he said, “is good. It’s darn good.”
Aimee allowed herself a small smile. “Thanks Chief.” She threw herself loosely into one of the chairs in front of his desk, resting one foot on the little table there. Aimee wore faded jeans and a loose T-shirt with an unbuttoned plaid workshirt over it. Hooper could see the treads on her worn hiking boots. Even her total disregard for the dress code couldn’t disguise Aimee’s natural build. “Hey, why all the red ink?” Aimee demanded.
“I had to tone down the invective. And cut out the sarcasm. As usual.” He went on more briskly. “Still, it’s great stuff. You’ve got City Hall backed into a corner and they know it. There’s word of a full investigation. Unfair hiring practices and discrimination.”
Aimee couldn’t contain her sneer. “Is that what they’re calling it? Discrimination? Systematically rewarding woman workers for sexual favors and demoting those that won’t play along? Discrimination my ass! Those execs are bloody pimps.”
Her boss held up a hand. “Aimee, please, cover your fangs. Remember, there wouldn’t even be an investigation if you hadn’t dug up the dirt. Do you have any follow-up planned?”
“Maybe. I have an insider in the mayor’s office. She says the big man himself may have been involved. She’s trying to get me some documentation, but this isn’t the kind of thing that get’s written down.” Aimee flipped back her blonde ponytail. “Man I would just love to nail the mayor on this!” she said, almost gleeful. “That sexist pig.”
Mr. Hooper said, “But in the meantime, there’s something else I would like you to look into.” He held up a newspaper clipping and pointed at the grainy photograph. “This man. Dr. Morton Melrose. He opened a new practice a few months ago. He bills himself as the best thing going for quitting smoking, losing weight, getting over old boyfriends, that sort of thing.” He handed her the clipping.
Aimee studied it briefly. “Well, what do you expect, Chief, he advertises in the Tribune.”
“He advertises with us too my dear, but that’s not the point. He has been garnering a lot of high-profile publicity. Read the endorsements in the ad. He has many enthusiastic clients. Rich clients. Mostly women. There are rumors he uses hypnotherapy. It smells fishy to me.”
“Boss, don’t tell me you want me to go duck hunting.”
“That’s it exactly. Go see the man. Check him out. If he’s on the up and up, fine. If not, well, he’d make a great addition to your Quack Medicine series.”
Aimee groaned. She got to her feet reluctantly and took the file from Hooper. “All right, Chief, all right. I’ll go duck hunting. Quack! Quack!”
She turned and headed out the door. “Oh, Aimee, one more thing,” her boss said.
“Yes?”
“Don’t wear jeans.”
Dr. Melrose’s office turned out to be right downtown, in the Morrissey Building. As she stepped off the elevator at the eighth floor, Aimee decided that if the man was a fraud he was either very good or very brass.
The outer office was expensively furnished, if a little too feminine for Aimee’s functional taste. So this is Melrose’s Place, she thought wryly. The smiling young receptionist told Aimee that Dr. Melrose was with a client right now—she didn’t say “patient”—and invited her to sit in the waiting room.
Aimee had decided on the direct approach. She had simply made an appointment to interview Dr. Melrose. She got in to see him that same afternoon.
The chairs in the waiting room were surprisingly comfortable, although the decor relied rather too heavily on pastels. There wasn’t much to read either, just fashion revues and women’s magazines. “Women” apparently defined to exclude females with a real career and to whom attractiveness to men was not the prime measure of success.
The receptionist, Aimee decided, would fit their readership profile perfectly. She was a young and strikingly attractive blonde with a figure that could stop traffic. The tight, stretch-fit minidress she was wearing would have been provocative in a nightclub, much less in an uptown office. It was deeply scooped in front, presenting her round, heavy boobs like two ostrich eggs falling out of the nest. The receptionist was a stark contrast to Aimee, in her brown sweater and trousers, black flats. Aimee wondered idly how long she spent on her hair each morning.
At length the intercom chirped. The receptionist pushed a button with one pearly fingernail. “Dr. Melrose will see you now,” she said to Aimee, beaming. “Go right in.” Aimee just grunted rudely as she walked by, marvelling at how anyone could wear a dress like that to work.
As she approached the inner office the door opened, and a young woman, presumably Dr. Melrose’s client, stepped out. She was wearing a brief, powder-blue suit that suggested one of the exclusive downtown shops. Matching shoes too, that Aimee guessed cost as much as everything she was wearing. The woman had a sort of goofy, far-away smile on her face. She drifted off to the receptionist, swinging her purse on one finger. Aimee heard her eagerly confirm her appointment for next week before she closed the door behind her.
The inner office, unlike the cloyingly feminine waiting room, was furnished tastefully in light oak. Heavy rows of books lined one wall, behind the polished desk. Aimee was surprised to discover much of the office was occupied by computers. There were no less than five monitors, four of them surrounding a central screen the size of a big-screen television. Disk drives and processors hummed quietly. The screens were oriented to face a black reclining chair, sort of a cross between a psychiatrist’s couch and a dentist’s chair.
A small, trim man wearing a conservative black suit and glasses was seated behind the desk, jotting down notes. He leapt to his feet to greet her. “Ah, you would be Aimee, from the paper. A pleasure to meet you. I’m Morton Melrose.” He extended a hand.
“Delighted, Doctor Melrose,” Aimee said coolly, taking his hand. “I appreciate you taking the time to see my so quickly. I hope you won’t mind answering a few questions about your new practice.”
“Not at all!”
“Great. To begin with, Dr. Melrose—”
“Please, call me Morton.”
“Dr. Melrose“ Aimee said pointedly. “You are practising “therapy”, according to your ads, on a range of subjects, including sexual dysfunction, depression and addictions. But you have no licence to practice as either a psychologist or a psychiatrist.” It was a fast attack to throw him off guard.
“And I don’t need one, either,” he replied evenly. “I am a counsellor, nothing more. No licence is needed to use that title in this state. If people come to me with serious psychological disorders I refer them to a hospital. I merely help people work through ordinary life crises, using a variety of therapies.”
“Including hypnotism?” Aimee had her notebook out.
“Never,” he replied firmly. “I rely on a number of much more sophisticated methods, mostly relaxation therapy and subconscious learning.”
The last phrase set off Aimee’s sensors. It sounded like standard quack terminology.
“Relaxation therapy? And that would be?”
“Just what it sounds like. In order to help people you first have to get past there defense mechanisms, the mental blocks that resist positive change. I have developed a number of very effective relaxation techniques. My clients will attest to that.”
“Frankly, Dr. Melrose,” Aimee replied. “Many of your client’s endorsements seem a little too good to be true. By the way, how much do your clients pay for this very effective therapy?”
Dr. Morton chuckled. “Ah, entirely the hard-nosed journalist, aren’t we. Look, before you pass judgement on my therapeutic approach, why don’t you try it?” He gestured toward the chair in front of the computer screens.
Aimee hesitated. “You want me to...”
“Why not? It’s perfectly harmless, I assure you. This environment is the cornerstone of my practice. All my patients spend time there, learning to relax and gain better control of their emotional lives. The technology is proprietary, I’m afraid, so I can’t tell you much about the details.”
“How convenient,” Aimee said.
Dr. Melrose sounded only mildly annoyed. “Come come, Investigative Reporter, how can you say whether it works or not if you aren’t willing to try it? Just lie down for a moment. It’ll give you a bit of perspective.” He cocked an eyebrow at her expectantly.
“Oh, all right,” said Aimee. She sat down on the long chair. Dr. Melrose sat down at another computer console off to the side.
The couch was very comfortable. Aimee felt herself sinking deep into the cushions. Without lifting her head she had a perfect view of all five screens. There were stereo speakers built into the headrest, she discovered a moment later when soft music began to play. The room lights went down. A multicolored pattern of lines and shapes began to play across the screens.
Aimee’s scepticism remained. The music was standard “environmental music” available in any new-age health store. The patterns on the screen looked suspiciously like commercial screen-savers. There would be an article in this for sure.
After a while she began to wonder if the movements of the screen-savers were completely random. The patterns on the small screens seemed to be connected to that on the big screen, ramifying and varying it in a dozen different ways. She couldn’t be sure though.
It was intriguing. Aimee found herself studying the shifting colors, looking for an overall pattern in the sequence. Her eyes darted from one screen to the next: up, down, left, right, then back to the big screen in the middle. Over and over and over. It wasn’t relaxing at all. In fact, it took a lot of concentration.
After a while she began to suspect that the music was somehow tied in with the screen-savers too. It seemed to rise and fall in time with the patterns on the monitors, as if it were leading them or they were leading it, or something. Every time she thought she had it figured out the music and the patterns would diverge and she would have to start all over.
Dr. Melrose asked her several times if she was relaxing. Of course she wasn’t relaxed, this was much too distracting. She answered him only briefly, not wanting to lose her concentration. When he said something she just grunted in agreement so he would leave her alone. She could almost see it, the whole big pattern, the lights, the music, everything. Almost....
Abruptly the screens went blank. The music stopped. Aimee lay on the couch, blinking at the suddenly bright overhead lights. “Well, that’s it,” Dr. Melrose said briskly. “So, what do you think?”
Aimee thought about it for a moment. “That’s uhm, very, interesting,” she said. She sat up and looked at her watch. Had she really been lying there for twenty minutes?
“But did it work? Did it relax you?”
“Well...” Aimee shook her head. She felt a little sluggish, but good. “Yeah, I guess. Yes. Yes, I do feel more relaxed.” It was like waking up from a sound night’s sleep.
“Excellent!” Dr. Melrose exclaimed. “So you concede that my methods have some validity?”
“Not so fast,” Aimee said, her acuity returning. “There’s a big difference between snoozing on a couch for a few minutes and quitting smoking.”
He gave her that little chuckle. “Still the Sceptical Reporter, I see.” He looked at his own watch. “Say, I have an idea. If you are seriously interested in seeing if my technique works, why don’t you sit in on a few sessions?”
“What, you mean with your patients?”
“Exactly. That way you could see for yourself that it really does help people. I’ll need permission from the patients, but I’ll try to get you in on one session per day. This is Monday. If by Friday you aren’t convinced my work is legitimate, I promise not to write angry letters. And you could still make your story in time for the big Saturday edition.”
Aimee smiled lopsidedly. Evidently Dr. Melrose knew something about newspapers. “OK, Doctor,” she said decisively. “You’re on. You have four more days to convince me you’re not a quack.”
“More than enough time,” Dr. Melrose said obliquely, moving back to his desk. “Now let’s see, Mrs. Humpwell is coming to see me tomorrow at two. You could join us then. Please check with Holly on your way out so she will know to expect you.” He extended a hand. “Looking forward to seeing you again, Aimee,” he said.
They shook. “Me too,” Aimee said. She headed out into the outer office to talk to Big Boobs. The hot receptionist was carefully applying a new coat of shiny crimson nail polish.
Aimee couldn’t believe how good she felt. Unusual for her, she was actually smiling as she left the office. She couldn’t see that Dr. Melrose, studying the readings on his computer screen, was smiling too.
Aimee showed up Tuesday afternoon in her best navy-blue suit, the short one with the leather trim. She wore a simple white blouse and low-heeled pumps. She had decided that if she was going to fit in with Dr. Melrose’s clientele, she would have to dress the part. Her blonde hair was still drawn back into a tight ponytail. She couldn’t be bothered fussing with it.
The topheavy receptionist was wearing a suit too, a grey pinstripe with a skirt so short it stopped above the edge of the jacket. She wore only a thin camisole beneath. Her capacious cleavage was not so much contained as presented by the black lace bra. She gave Aimee her megawatt smile as she came in. “Hi!” she said. “You’re Aimee, right? I’m sorry I didn’t, like, introduce myself properly yesterday. I’m Holly.”
“Hi Holly,” Aimee said, with more friendliness than the previous day. She had slept very well that night, and had actually proceeded through the day without snarling at her co-workers. She was feeling a little guilty about her rude attitude on the previous day. She was thinking as well that it might be handy to get a look at Dr. Melrose’s client list. Maybe she could interview some of these happy clients and see if they really were cured.
Aimee studied the buxom blonde still smiling at her. The girl certainly had her own sense of style, she had to admit. Not everybody could pull off a look like that. You could hardly blame her for showing off her chest a little. If Aimee had a rack like that she probably would too.
“Uhm, Dr. Melrose said I should drop in around two today, remember? He said I could sit in on a session.”
“Yes, of course,” Holly said. She brushed back a bit of permed hair and her bracelets glittered. “Mrs. Humpwell just went in. Give him a couple of minutes to get her settled. You can sit here in the wait—”
“Holly, how long have you been with Dr. Melrose?” Aimee asked.
“Oh, from like the beginning. I even helped him set up his office and everything. It’s a great job!” She had her knees crossed casually, hiking the pinstriped skirt up around her hips. The room lights glistened off mirror-black pumps.
“Well, I’m glad you like it. How did you land it? Did you answer an employment ad?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. It was... where? Oh, at the university, I think.” She frowned, bothered by the effort to remember something trivial. “I was a student or something. Pre-med? Well, whatever. Anyway, Morty comes up to me one day, right after a cheerleader practice, and tells me he’s looking for people with a particular, like, psychological profile to help him test this new therapy thing. So I did, and before you know it, he’s offered me a job! Isn’t that great? And Morty—I mean, Dr. Melrose, is super nice to work for.” Her eyes took on a far-away look, like she was remembering a pleasant dream.
“You mean you gave up a promising career in medicine to take a job as a receptionist?”
Holly looked puzzled by the question. “Well... yeah. I guess so.” She shrugged. The movement made her heavy chest bounce.
Aimee said, “Holly, about Dr. Melrose’s clients, I was wondering—”
“Oh, there’s the signal,” Holly said, pointing out the blinking light on the intercom. “You can go in now. It was nice chatting with you, Aimee.”
“Sure,” said Aimee. Dr. Melrose opened the door to the inner office in answer to her knock. He put a finger to his lips to indicate quiet.
“Please come in, Aimee,” he said. “Mrs. Humpwell is just starting her relaxation program for this week.” A petite, dark-haired woman in a designer dress was lying on the couch, watching the colours shift and flow on the computer screens. Soft music filled the darkened room. She didn’t appear to hear them.
“What’s her problem?” Aimee asked.
“Mrs. Humpwell asked for a little help quitting smoking. This is her second session and it’s going very well. Another couple of sessions and she should be able to kick the habit for good.”
“Are you saying you can cure smoking in just four visits?” Aimee cried incredulously.
Dr. Melrose shushed her urgently. “Please, keep your voice down. Look, there will be plenty of time for questions later. Here, you can sit back here where you won’t miss anything.” He led her to a black leather office chair situated behind the big couch. Sitting comfortably, Aimee could clearly see the five screens and hear the gentle music playing in the headrest speakers.
Dr. Melrose took a seat on his little leather stool, facing toward Mrs. Humpwell, and away from the screens. He began talking to her in a low, gentle monotone. “Mrs. Humpwell, listen to me. You don’t want to smoke. You want to stop smoking. Look at the images. Listen to the music. Let them relax you. The next time you feel the urge to smoke, let the images and the music relax you instead. Let them take you to the comfy, safe, warm place you are now. You don’t need to smoke. Look at the images... Listen to the music....
It all sounded like pretty standard stuff to Aimee. Monotonous too. Aimee settled deeper into her chair to watch. It was a little distracting, having the monitors right there, because she could see the screen-savers doing their slow, fluid dance, and they drew the eye. They formed globes and teardrops and crescents and flower petals, all wheeling and rolling gracefully about the screen. The music was very pleasant too.
Again Aimee had the impression that the small screens reflected the images on the main screen in the middle. They were all moving and dancing randomly, independently. Yet there seemed to be some sort of connection, a common sequence or pattern. If she could only find it. Her eyes darted from one screen to the next. Dr. Melrose continued his treatment of Mrs. Humpwell: “Listen to the music. Watch the images on the screens. Let them relax you. Relax you. Relax you....”
“Excuse me. Aimee. Wake up Investigative Reporter.” It was Dr. Melrose’s voice. He was gently shaking her shoulder.
“Wha? Huh?” Aimee said dully. She looked around. The computer screens were blank and the music had stopped. Mrs. Humpwell was gone.
Aimee worked to throw off her grogginess. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I, I must have drifted off.”
“So it would seem,” Dr. Melrose said, chiding her gently. “I thought my technique was a little more interesting than that!” He chuckled.
How.... um, how long have I been dozing?”
“Just a few minutes. I thought it best to finish with Mrs. Humpwell first. But now I’m afraid I have to show you out. I have another client waiting.”
Aimee got to her feet. She felt incredibly relaxed. Her whole body felt loose and limp. It reminded her of the time she and a friend had gone out for a full body message. “Uhm, I have...., uh.... questions?” she said.
“Not today, I’m afraid,” Dr. Melrose said quickly. “I don’t like to keep clients waiting. But there’s still tomorrow. Tell Holly to book you in with Mrs. Lovemee. All right?”
“Sure,” Aimee agreed, heading for the door.
Back on the street a few minutes later, Aimee felt the warm sun against her face. She stretched lazily. She must not be getting enough sleep at night, she told herself. That little midday nap had done her a world of good. She looked at her watch. It was three-thirty, quite a bit later than she had guessed. She considered going back to the office and giving her City Hall contact a buzz, but decided against it. Hardly worth it for just an hour or two. She was right downtown already, and she suddenly felt like doing a little shopping.
She hailed a taxi and watched the driver study her legs as she climbed into the back. It occurred to her briefly that she had meant to get a look at Dr. Melrose’s client list. Oh well, tomorrow would be soon enough.
Late that evening Aimee lay comfortably on the rumpled bed in her apartment. Boxes and bags and items of clothing were scattered everywhere about the room. She hadn’t been on a shopping spree like that one in a long time. She had discovered she was missing out on a whole range of really hot fashions. When she got home, she spent the rest of the evening excitedly trying on different outfits.
Now she was just resting, pleasantly tired, unwinding a little before turning in for the night. She was still wearing the last thing she had tried on, a little shortie nightgown in satiny mauve. Generally she was an avid watcher of the nightly news but she decided to skip it tonight. It was always the same old stuff.
She smoothed down the skimpy nightgown, enjoying the feel of the luxurious fabric against her body. She admired the smooth mounds of her well-shaped breasts. The nipples were hard, poking through the fabric. Aimee knew she was a beautiful woman, despite her practical nature.
She shifted on the bed a little, rubbing her thighs together. Her hands roved searchingly. She had been sleeping alone far too often, she realized. She would have to do something about that. Her questing fingers found her lovebox, already moist, and began to stroke urgently. She gasped, and threw her head back on the pillow.
Later, the fire in her loins slaked for the moment, Aimee slept. Swirling patterns of line and colour danced behind her eyes.
Aimee pretended to ignore the looks of surprise and appreciation she received at the office on Wednesday morning. She didn’t mind that much. She was wearing a carefully matched ensemble she had purchased the previous afternoon. The little black jumper was quite a bit shorter than what she usually wore. It contrasted fetchingly with a daisy-yellow sweater, tight enough to make no secret of her assets. Her two-colored loafers with the inch-thick platforms had a lot more heel than she was used to wearing, but hey, her legs were her best feature, so why not show them at their best? She liked the way the shoes lifted and shaped her legs. So, evidently, did pretty much every guy in the office.
She settled into her desk and started sorting through the various stories she was working on. There wasn’t much new on the City Hall scandal. The mayor had promised a full inquiry and suspended a bunch of planners. Aimee guessed she probably should be calling his office every hour or so, letting them feel the heat, but it seemed like too much bother today. Her appointment with Dr. Melrose was at ten, so there wasn’t much point starting on anything else. She examined her fingernails critically.
What about this Dr. Melrose? He did seem to be a very likable fellow. Aimee was almost convinced he was legitimate, though she hadn’t been able to pin him down on a lot of details yet. She found herself thinking about the screen savers again. She could almost see the patterns in her mind, the flowing lines of color shifting this way and that, almost but not quite pulsing in time with the soft background music. So maddening, yet so relaxing.
Aimee slipped into the ladies’ room and inspected herself in the mirror. Should she do something different with her hair? She had spent a good deal more time on her make-up that morning than had been her habit. She had decided to highlight her eyes more. It had made her a few minutes late for work.
Mr. Hooper had looked at the clock when Aimee waltzed into the office. Then he had noticed her new outfit and decided against chastising her. She grinned at that. Boss or not, the man had a serious weakness for her legs.
Aimee decided to head off to Dr. Melrose’s office right away. She would be a bit early, but she wasn’t getting much done anyway. She wanted to chat with Holly for a while. She freshened up her lipstick a little, then headed out onto the street to find a taxi.
“Hi Aimee!” cried Holly when Aimee walked in, “Hey you look great!”
Aimee smiled in return. “Thanks, Holly. I...uh, did a little shopping yesterday.”
Aimee’s new outfit was still sedate compared with Holly’s. The receptionist was wearing a criss-cross baby-T in soft blue that looked to be about two sizes too small. The pullover stretched lovingly over the generous orbs of her breasts, which in any case were spilling eagerly out of her cleavage. The thin blue skirt was floor length. Like the top, it hugged every curve and hollow of her exaggerated figure as faithfully as flowing water. The skirt was saved from touching the floor by the towering platform sandals on Holly’s dainty, nyloned feet.
“You’re a little early,” Holly said casually, “Mrs. Lovemee’s appointment just got started. You can sit—”
“Over there in the waiting room,” Aimee finished for her, laughing. “Holly, you always say that!”
“Do I? Yeah, I guess I do.” She laughed too. Aimee found herself watching the gentle bounce of her bra cups, clearly outlined beneath the baby-blue top. She was coming to rather like Holly. The girl dressed boldly, but she had a great sense of style and she was fun to talk to. Aimee was a little bit envious of Holly’s voluptuous figure.
They chatted lightly for a long while, laughing like old friends. Aimee had intended to steer the conversation around to Dr. Melrose’s clients, with the hope of coaxing out a name or two. Somehow they were still discussing hairstyles when the light on the intercom winked, indicating it was time for Aimee to join Dr. Melrose.
She knocked on the door of the inner office. “Morning Doc,” she said, slipping into the darkened room. Dr. Melrose was seated on his stool beside the couch. Swirling lights from the monitors reflected off his glasses. “Ah, Aimee, good to see you,” he said softly. “Please, sit down.” He gestured toward the black chair Aimee had enjoyed the day before.
“Mrs. Lovemee has been getting some help with weight control,” Dr. Melrose said. He indicated the svelte, fortyish woman lying on the couch. She was watching the monitors intently.
Aimee settled into the chair. She could hear the gentle music rising from the speakers in the headrest. “She doesn’t look like she needs to lose any weight,” she said. Mrs. Lovemee was wearing a surprisingly brief tailored suit with matching high heels. In the half light Aimee could make out a bit of a garter strap at the top of one leg.
Dr. Melrose said, “No, she doesn’t. The counselling is to help her realize a new body image, and defeat the endless cycle of weight gain and dieting.”
Aimee nodded, watching the screen savers. That made sense, she conceded. She was having a little trouble maintaining a sceptical attitude. Even if Melrose’s therapy wasn’t science, how could these little talk sessions hurt anybody? She snuggled more deeply into the chair.
Dr. Melrose began speaking to Mrs. Lovemee. In a calm, reassuring voice he urged her to relax and let the music and the patterns take her to a safe, warm place. He reminded her that she was beautiful, that she didn’t need food as a reward, that she was confident enough to face life without the crutch of sweets.
Aimee tried to listen but it was pretty trite stuff. The screen-savers kept crying for her attention. The shifting, flowing colors on the four small screens danced around the big one in the middle like brightly dressed villagers dancing around a maypole. There had to be an overall pattern in the five screens, and the music too. She could almost see it. If she just watched a little closer, listened a little harder. Any moment now....
Someone was speaking to her. “Hmmm?” she said softly.
“Aimee. Aimee. It’s time to wake up now. Come on. Up and at ‘em.” It was Dr. Melrose.
Aimee struggled through the cloud of pink fog that enveloped her mind. “Wha?” she managed.
“You fell asleep again. I let you sleep for a while.”
Aimee sat up. She felt dazed. “How.... how long?”
“Oh, about half an hour. You were sleeping so soundly it seemed a pity to wake you. I have a client coming in now, so I’m afraid you’ll have to go.”
“Oh.” It was all she could think of to say.
“I wonder, Aimee,” Dr. Melrose said helpfully, “are you getting enough sleep at night?”
“Well, I... um, I guess. Yeah. Sure.” In fact she had been sleeping like a baby for the last few days.
“Just wondering.” He chuckled. “I thought maybe a pretty girl like you had better ways to spend her nights than sleeping.” He winked at her.
Aimee laughed. “Don’t I wish,” she confessed. She got to her feet, automatically pulling down her mini-length jumper. She felt marvellous.
“Don’t forget to come back tomorrow,” Dr. Melrose reminded her. “Say about four?”
“Sure thing, Doc,” Aimee said, shuffling to the door.
Aimee passed through the outer office and said good-bye to Holly. There were two women sitting in the waiting room, a shapely blonde in a head-turning designer dress and a young girl, also blonde, wearing the uniform of one of the city’s most exclusive private schools. The woman was leafing through a fashion magazine, but the schoolgirl was fidgeting.
“But Mom,” she said, “I don’t need to see a counsellor! I talked to the counsellor at school about the divorce and everything.”
“Well it obviously didn’t do any good, did it?” her mother replied. “You still have temper tantrums every time I mention moving in with Roger. So we’re going to talk to Dr. Melrose, and help you accept that you have a new father now.”
“I don’t like him, mom! He’s a jerk! He spends all your money, and tells you what to do all the time. He’s always drinking and acting crude.”
“Young lady you are talking about the man I love.”
“But Mom, you haven’t seen the way he looks at me. Whenever we’re alone, he—”
“April, stop it right now. I don’t want to hear another of your childish rants.” Then she put down the magazine. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said more softly, “Dr. Melrose will help you. The man is a miracle-worker.” She sighed happily.
Aimee made her way lazily to the elevators. She felt perfectly at ease, utterly without tension.
And unexpectedly horny.
Dr. Melrose’s remark about her unfilled nights had reminded her poignantly of her solitary condition. How had she let that happen? She was clearly in desperate need of some regular loving. You have got to get something between your legs besides your own hand, she told herself sternly. She bit her lip. She retraced her steps to a washroom and darted inside. She found a vacant cubicle, yanked down her panties and pantyhose and began to pleasure herself urgently. The orgasm was so intense she almost fell over.
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