Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Twenty-Eight (Role Play Edition)

 

The Next Day…

 

 

You look through your window and your eyes drift upward to the seven-story building. You look back at your GPS for the fifth or sixth time, making sure you’re at the right place.

 

Again.

 

You don’t know why you keep re-checking. Nicole already told you it would be a seven-story building when she gave you the address. The thing is, what you’re looking at right now looks absolutely nothing like the headquarters of a high-end escort service. At least not from the outside.

 

I mean, you don’t exactly know what escort service buildings are supposed to look like, but you really don’t think they’re supposed to look so rundown and pretty much on the verge of being abandoned. The place actually looks like it’s up for demolition.

 

Maybe that’s the whole point, though? You know, having a low profile or hiding in plain sight or something along those lines? Whatever. You don’t have time to ponder it.

 

You turn off the ignition and head inside. You straighten your posture as you walk through the entrance, running your hands along the length of your black pencil skirt. You really hope you’re dressed appropriately for this.

 

Naturally, you had quite a bit of trouble figuring out what to wear for this interview. You’re not exactly well-versed with the escort service hiring process.

 

The main floor is vacant except for a bellman and a security guard stationed at the door. You look around, feeling uncertain. Nicole said you should head to the basement, but you have no idea where that is. You don’t see an elevator anywhere, or any type of stairwell for that matter.

 

The bellman walks up to you, seemingly sensing your uncertainty.

 

“Hi, may I help you?” he asks.

 

He looks fairly young, like in his late teens or early twenties. He has a kind smile, and his dark curly hair sits high on his head. It actually reminds you of your own tresses.

 

“Hi. Yes, uh, I need to head to the basement,” you say.

 

“Oh, I can take you. This way,” he says, gesturing toward the other end of the floor. You follow after him, walking briskly across the main area and bending into a corner several feet away where you spot an antique cage lift.

 

“After you,” he says, gesturing with his hand again. He gets in after you and pulls the gate closed. He pulls some sort of lever and the lift begins to descend, taking you down with it.

 

It gets a lot darker the further down you go, and for a few seconds, you can barely see anything. But soon enough, you’re immersed in daylight once again, and the cage lift finally brakes to a stop.

 

“Here you go,” he says, pulling the gate open. You slide past him and out of the lift. He points over to a button pad located just outside of it. “Just push this button over here when you’re ready to head upstairs again and I’ll come down to get you.”

 

You nod, smiling gratefully. “Thank you.”

 

“Not a problem,” he says with another smile before he closes the gate once more and heads up.

 

You’re finally at the basement, as per Nicole’s instructions. You come into a sort of lounging area. There’s a receptionist sitting at the front desk.

 

You walk up to her tentatively, feeling more and more unsure of yourself with each passing second. You can’t help but feel like you’re making a huge mistake by being here.

 

All of a sudden, a platinum blonde woman emerges from behind a closed door, her face twisted in an angry expression. She storms across the lounge without a word, exiting the area with nothing but the sound of her pumps clicking harshly against the floor.

 

You’re not sure what the hell that was about, but you have your own issues to deal with right now. You turn back to the receptionist.

 

“Hi…uh, I’m here to see Mindy,” you say.

 

 “What time is your appointment for?” she asks.

 

“Three-thirty.”

 

You glance at the overhead clock behind her. You still have fifteen minutes to spare—more than enough time for your nerves to get the best of you.

 

Her hands go to work on her keyboard and she types away as if her hands have a life of their own.

 

“Let’s see here,” she mumbles, “Three-thirty, three-thirty…Ramona?”

 

“Yes, that’s me,” you say, feeling a bit timid.

 

She hands you a clipboard with a form attached to it and a pen. “Alright, I’ll just have you sign in here.”

 

Your hands are trembling and you can see just how badly they’re shaking as you take the pen and clipboard from her. You can’t even begin to say how absurd and surreal this feels right now. You feel so weird actually signing in for an interview appointment; an interview appointment to see if you can get hired to be a damn call girl!

 

The receptionist seems perfectly normal as she continues to type away at her keyboard. She’s actually fairly pleasant. You don’t know why, but you keep waiting for her to look at you funny or in a judgmental way, but she doesn’t.

 

You realize then that she might be a call girl herself, or might have been one in the past. You suppose if she had any moral qualms with the “profession”, she wouldn’t be here checking people in for interviews.

 

You think you might be overthinking it. You’re obviously not the first potential hire she’s ever come across, and you’re pretty sure you won’t be the last. Actually, you know you’re over-thinking things, because you’re nervous and uncertain, and honestly, you’re not even sure which you’re more afraid of; getting the job or not getting it.

 

Whatever happens, you’ll still end up caught between a rock and a hard place. It’s like a fucking lose-lose situation.

 

Christ. You really wish you had another practical alternative, but you don’t, and you need to come to terms with that—and the sooner you do, the better it’ll be for you. The ugly truth is that your hands are tied. You don’t exactly have many options here, and like anybody else, you can only do your best with what you have at any given moment.

 

Besides, it’s not like you intend to do this forever. As a matter of fact, as soon as all of Gran’s debts are paid off and you have enough to cover your medical expenses, you’ll quit. Hopefully, that’ll be much sooner than later. Much, much sooner.

 

After a few moments, another young woman emerges from a closed door and looks toward you. The first thing you notice about her is her hair. She has a sleek, jet black asymmetrical bob that frames her heart-shaped face incredibly well. She looks younger than you, and she’s even better dressed than the receptionist.

 

“Ramona, Mindy will see you now,” she says. “Please follow me.”

 

You take another deep breath as you stand, your muscles tensing in anticipation.

 

Here goes nothing.

 

***

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