Dr. Aubrey Prentice reclined in her office with the door closed, staring at the ceiling. She was carefully considering how she had arrived at this point in her practice and what direction the whole socially deviant behavior project was taking.
Her practice would never have taken off with traditional therapy. This new therapy was a way to save it. Right? That’s all it was. And to eventually publish a book. But a book about what?
Aubrey observed that as these men’s files grew larger, her notes on their sessions were beginning to read like hardcore erotica. What kind of credible book could she publish from that kind of research?
And things were getting more public with every new male patient she took on.
Were people talking? Hopefully not. Or maybe they should be. It was all so confusing.
Aubrey thought back to when she introduced herself to the man who would volunteer to be her first patient.
Grant Dalton.
Aubrey didn’t realize that by accepting Grant Dalton as her first patient, she would unwittingly become the focal point of a newly awakened sexuality in the Orchard Park area.
The first few therapy sessions with Grant went well. They started innocently enough, but things got out of hand.
So while Dr. Prentice was gleefully counting the billable hours, she was wondering what kind of trouble she could be attracting with so many male patients with nothing but sex on the brain.
Maybe this bogus therapy course was a mistake.
Everything was going south in a way that Dr. Prentice could never have predicted. After a few months of daily sessions alone with these men and listening to their sexual activities, she realized that she was getting turned on by hearing these men’s sexual fantasies every day. Eventually, she began getting some sexually deviant ideas of her own. She was even considering the real possibility of acting on her new sexual desires.
This was dangerous.
And there was only one person she could talk to about this.
Her assistant, Jennifer.
Surely Jennifer had noticed the way things were going. Was she reading the files?
Since she probably was, Aubrey decided to take Jennifer into her confidence in an attempt to regain control of her practice.
She asked Jennifer into her office one Thursday afternoon.
“So, Jennifer, what do you think of this new business? I know you’ve been reading the patient files. I don’t mind. I need to talk to someone about this uncharted territory, and since you’ve witnessed everything, I wanted to get your opinion.”
Jennifer felt a hot flush creep up from her chest to her cheeks.
“Uh,” stammered Jennifer. “I didn’t mean to read the files.”
“Why not? They’re right there, and you’re studying to be a psychiatrist. Why wouldn’t you look at them? Now that you have, I’d like your honest opinion.”
“Well, I think it borders on junk science, but I must admit,” said Jennifer, “I’ve never seen files like these, and I find them fascinating.”
“Okay, so what now? Do I have material that can be published as a series of case studies? And what’s my hypothesis?”
Jennifer was slow to reply. She had her opinions, but she proceeded with caution.
Jennifer chose her words with clinical precision. Something Aubrey had trained her to do, ironically.
“I think…” Jennifer began, then stopped, shook her head, and tried again. “I think you could publish case studies, but not like this. Not in their current form.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that right now, your files read like a cross between behavioral analysis and erotica. It’s not that the material isn’t valuable. It’s that it’s unfocused. You’re documenting behaviors, but you’re also documenting your reactions to the behaviors. Those two things should never be in the same file.”
Aubrey winced. “I know. Believe me, I know. But I can’t seem to separate myself from it anymore.”
“You can,” Jennifer said. “You just haven’t.”
Aubrey’s gaze drifted toward the window before returning to her assistant. “So what’s my hypothesis, then? What am I even doing?”
Jennifer hesitated too long. Aubrey caught it immediately.
“Just say it,” Aubrey ordered.
Jennifer took a breath. “Your hypothesis could be that controlled therapy can heal sexual addictions and increase productivity in the workplace. Isn’t that what Ian Henshaw Senior wanted?”
Aubrey sighed. “Yes, it is, but that’s not what you wanted to say.”
“Okay,” Jennifer admitted. “That hypothesis isn’t interesting outside of psychological circles. You need something more provocative. To sound like you’re analyzing these fantasies because women enjoy them.”
Aubrey dropped her head back against her chair. “God. You’re right.”
“But you still need to turn this into something legitimate. You need boundaries. And consistency. And maybe more sessions alone with men whose fantasies are specifically about domineering women in positions of power. That’s hot. And you can tell women how to notice the signs of a domineering male.”
Aubrey groaned.
“I know, but it will sell books,” Jennifer said, suppressing a smile.
“Jennifer, can I ask you something personal?”
Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Um. Sure?”
“Have you ever been attracted to someone because of their vulnerability when they’re alone with you? Because they say something to you in confidence that they’d never admit publicly? Something intimate?”
“You mean, like Ian? As in, when you get him into therapy?”
Aubrey looked away.
Jennifer thought out loud. “Well, I mean, that’s kind of what intimacy is. Even in therapy. You share something that exposes you. It’s human. It's what you want from Ian, isn’t it? To get him to confess things in therapy that only you will know. That’s genius. Or outright female manipulation. Depending on how you look at it.”
“It’s also unethical and underhanded,” Aubrey said. “That’s what scares me.”
“Dr. Prentice, you’re not the only psychiatrist who’s ever thought of this. And you’re not unethical. Not yet. You’re just at a crossroads.”
Aubrey looked at her intently. “And which way am I going?”
Jennifer thought about it. “Toward the men, and toward the power you have over them. The attention. The way they look at you. I see it every day when they leave your office.”
Aubrey blinked. “You see that?”
“Of course I do. I’m your assistant, not blind.”
The room grew silent with anticipation.
“Jennifer, do you think I’m doing something unsafe?”
“I think you’re about to. And I think you brought me in here because part of you wants someone to pull you back.”
“Can you?”
Jennifer held her gaze, steady, unblinking. “If you want me to. But I have a confession to make before I say anything else. I’ve been thinking about your patient, the delivery boy Jake, in the same way you think about Ian.”
Aubrey froze. She didn’t catch the Ian part. All she heard was Jake’s name.
The air in the office, already warm, became smothering. “Jake?” she echoed, barely above a whisper. “My Jake?”
Jennifer’s cheeks flushed. “Yes. The delivery guy. The one who wears the wifebeater and growls when he says your name.”
“Jennifer, he’s practically a child.”
“He’s nineteen,” Jennifer corrected. “Which is not much younger than I am.”
Aubrey stared. “You’re twenty-two.”
The silence was back. Neither one of them knew what to say next.
It dawned on Aubrey that Caulder, her gardener, was also nineteen. So to break the silence, like she always did, Aubrey asked a question.
“Jennifer, why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” Jennifer said, “I want you to understand that I get it. This isn’t just you being reckless, or unprofessional, or morally confused. This environment you’ve created with these stories, these men, the energy in the office. It’s all going to lead to a great book. Not some stuffy, controlled psychiatric experiment. It’s going to be about real-life relationships between women who fall in love with dangerous men.”
Aubrey didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t know where this conversation was going.
Jennifer continued, in a hushed voice: “Every time Jake stops by, I can barely look at him. And when I read his file, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.”
“Oh, God. Jake’s file. I didn’t like you reading the files at first, but now I see it's necessary if I’m going to do this.”
“Yes, Jennifer said, and I feel so guilty. But it doesn’t stop me.”
Aubrey’s mouth went dry. “Why?”
“Because it’s so fascinating. When he described the fantasy about the older woman. The one who sits behind a desk, who intimidates him, who he wants to impress.” She paused. “I thought he was talking about me.”
“Jennifer…”
“But he wasn’t. “He was talking about you. Don’t you find it exciting?”
Aubrey felt a gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach. “Jennifer, that’s not appropriate.”
“I know. And it’s wrong for me to fantasize about your patients. But I can’t help it. And that’s what’s going to make this book great. Women are dying to get inside the headspace of these men to see how awful they are.”
“I don’t want to cross a line.”
“I don’t think you do either,” Jennifer said. “But you will if no one is here to check you.”
Jennifer was hinting at herself, but Aubrey didn’t seem to pick up on it.
Finally, Aubrey spoke. “Jennifer, what do you think I should do?”
Jennifer didn’t hesitate. “You need structure. Boundaries. Protocols. All the things I can help you with. To get the most information out of these guys, without getting caught.”
Aubrey nodded.
“So,” Jennifer added, “you also need someone who sees the real you. Someone who isn’t one of those men. Someone who can keep you grounded. Someone who isn’t smitten with you.”
“Are you saying that’s you?” Aubrey asked quietly.
Jennifer held her eyes without blinking. “I’m saying I want it to be.”
A mutual understanding flashed between them.
Something that was either going to lead to their downfall or skyrocket them to fame and fortune.
Before Aubrey could respond, before either woman could decide what that meant, the office phone started ringing.
Jennifer startled. Aubrey didn’t move.
The phone rang again. And again.
Jennifer reached for it, answering with practiced calm, though she could barely keep her voice steady.
“Dr. Prentice’s office,” she said.
Jennifer pressed the mute button. “It’s Ian Henshaw. He wants to speak to you."
She handed the phone to Aubrey with a look that was equal parts confusion and warning.
“He wants to schedule an appointment.” Jennifer was beside herself.
Aubrey took the phone. “Dr. Prentice speaking…”
“Aubrey, it’s Ian. Look, I don’t want to overthink this. Just have your receptionist book me an appointment and let me know when it is.”
Ian ended the call.
“Ian wants to make an appointment,” Aubrey reaffirmed.
“So this is really happening,” Jennifer replied.
“Yes, and I’m going forward.”
“So what do we do now?”
“You’re going to have to help me come up with a plan,” Aubrey said. “We have to go about this the right way. I think I’ve been making some mistakes. Going too far astray. I think that’s why Grant Dalton left. I got way too interested in his sex life. I had him describe the mechanics of it, not just his feelings, but the actions themselves.”
“I know,” Jennifer confessed. “I read the file. But it was so hot, Aubrey. But you have to be artful. Get these men to tell you about the mechanics of their sexual encounters by making them think that it’s their idea.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Ask them something like ‘how does it feel when a woman doesn’t orgasm when you make love to her? You can start with an example if you’d like.’”
“Are men that stupid?”
“Garson is. How about Foster?’
“Yes, maybe I’ll start with him.”