Jennifer Mills was sitting at the receptionist desk in Dr. Prentice’s office, where she worked, idly flipping through a social sciences textbook from college.
It was a book on deviant sexual behavior, which got Jennifer to thinking about how Dr. Prentice’s practice had recently flourished since she began treating male patients who she claimed, ‘suffered deep depression and acute anxiety stemming from their socially deviant behavior.’
Being an aspiring psychiatrist herself, Jennifer knew this was medical quackery, but it was interesting as hell.
Dr. Prentice had hired Jennifer when she opened her new practice about eight months ago in Orchard Park, where there wasn’t much demand for psychiatrists. Most people only wanted prescriptions for Xanax or benzodiazepines. Dr. Prentice had no real patients, so Jennifer thought it would be a quiet place to study for her own degree in psychiatry while she attended grad school.
But everything changed when Ian Henshaw III became Dr. Prentice's first regular patient. Aubrey had met Ian’s grandfather at the Orchard Park Country Club. They were both waiting at the bar for a drink, and Ian Henshaw Senior struck up a conversation with her. Aubrey told him she was a psychiatrist, and Ian senior remarked that his grandson needed straightening out. He said, half-kidding, that he should send Ian to Aubrey. The more they talked about it, the more it made sense.
During their entire conversation, Ian Henshaw III was sulking at the other end of the bar. Aubrey had seen him around the club before, but he never looked so good as when he was in a bad mood.
So Dr. Prentice got in touch with Ian Henshaw Senior and convinced him that all of his male workers could improve their work ethic and moral outlook with an informal course of psychotherapy that corrected the sexual deviations linked to their emotional issues.
Ian Henshaw Senior liked the sound of that.
After a meeting in Aubrey’s office, Jennifer could see why Ian Senior was eager to have his entire workforce go through therapy. Aubrey had an answer for all of the company’s productivity woes.
Aubrey excitedly told Jennifer that if she focused her entire practice on treating his workers who suffered from depression caused by unstable relationships with women, Henshaw Industry’s company health insurance would foot the whole bill.
What a goldmine.
And whether Aubrey was curing their sexual hangups or not, Jennifer had no problem with the new eye candy sitting in the waiting room every day.
Out of curiosity, Jennifer read Ian Senior’s proposal file while Dr. Prentice was at lunch.
There were notes about the pressures of being a Henshaw and how tired Ian was. He was unhappily married and deeply depressed. He felt too much pressure to run Henshaw Industries. Other men at the factories appeared to be suffering from the same depression.
There was a note in the file to that effect.
Maybe the company's factory workers could benefit from some therapy sessions?
It turned out Ian’s grandfather was old-fashioned and wanted his grandson to fix his marriage and the morality of his workers.
To start the project, Dr. Prentice went to a few sex therapy symposiums in New York City and came up with what she billed as ‘sex therapy method of healing for the modern man.’
To complete the deal, she signed up to take Henshaw Industries' health insurance plan. The insurance company's money would finance the whole venture.
“Pretty clever, Dr. Prentice,” thought Jennifer.
After about a month, Dr. Prentice was making a nice income from the health insurance claims filed on behalf of the Henshaw factory workers, declaring they all suffered from depression that was covered under the health plan.
A billing irregularity, however, made Jennifer suspicious of Dr. Prentice. While the run-of-the-mill guys got the ten visits as covered by the insurance plan, the good-looking ones seemed to qualify for long-term care.
Jennifer, deep in thought about this whole situation, came back to reality when Dr. Prentice’s door opened, and a dock worker stopped at reception to make his next appointment.
When he was gone, Jennifer struck up a conversation with the good doctor.
“You must be tired,” said Jennifer.
“Having such a busy schedule can wear you out,” said Dr. Prentice, “but I’m gathering a lot of information.”
“What kind of information?”
“Information I’m going to use to write a book.”
“Really? What’s it about?”
Dr. Prentice lowered her voice, as if she was revealing a big secret she didn’t want anyone to know about.
“It’s a book about male sexuality, but it’s much more than that.”
“Didn’t the Kinsey reports already cover that?”
“Those were just nameless, faceless interviews,” Aubry replied. “I’m going to be writing about real men that I treat in therapy for their sexual issues and desires. This makes it more personal and gives solutions to the problems men are facing.”
“So I assume you’re going to use the men you treat as subjects for your book.”
“Yes,” Aubrey said. “I can’t let an opportunity like this go to waste.”
“Won’t you get into trouble for that? I mean, can’t you be sued for violation of doctor-client privilege?”
“I’ll change the names,” Aubery said. “And what man do you know that will come forward and admit he only lasts three minutes or has erectile dysfunction?”
Jennifer laughed. “No, I guess they won’t.”
“And they have to come here to see me, so they don’t have a choice. So I’ll have a great cross-reference of all the men I treat,” Aubrey said. “Treat, not interview, that’s the key.”
“Sounds like a plan if you can pull it off.”
“I have a plan for that,” Aubrey said. “Don’t you remember having a hot female teacher in grade school, one the boys all liked?”
“Sure,” Jennifer said. “They would do anything just to get a whiff of her hair. And forget about it if she leaned over their desk and her breasts were in direct proximity to her breasts.”
“Exactly,” Said Dr. Prentice.
“So you mean you are going to seduce these men into confessing all their deepest sexual desires by mentally seducing them?”
“That’s right,” said Aubrey, “and then I’m going to write a book about it.”
“That sure beats the hell out of anything I’m learning in grad school.”
“And women will buy it to find out what their husbands are really thinking and how to fix it.”
“That sounds like a plan, Dr. Prentice,” Jennifer said.
“Where are you going to start?”
“I’m going to start with some low-level workers, like the guys on the loading docks. I bet they’ll want to tell me some dirty stories to offend me, but in reality, they will be in a section called deviant sexual behaviors in blue-collar men.”
“Documenting that will be like writing porn.”
“Yes, Jennifer, it will be. And sex sells. Especially dirty sex.”
“What if you find yourself in a situation you can’t handle?”
“I’ll tell them I have a direct line to Mr. Ian Henshaw senior, and they will lose their job.”
“That sounds a lot more interesting than reading the clinical sex studies in my course textbooks.”
“It is. And I am going to work my way up the ladder. Find out what the supervisors want from sex, and then the white-collar men.”
“White collar men?” Jennifer asked. “You mean men like Ian Henshaw the III?”
“Exactly. He’s number one on my list.”
“Wow, what about Foster?”
“Our marriage is over. He just doesn’t know it yet. But I still love Foster, and we get along fine; we just don’t connect anymore. No reason to kick him to the curb yet.”
There was a knock on the outside office door. It was Jake Andrews, one of Dr. Prentice’s new patients.
“Hi, Dr. Prentice,” he said. I’m here for my appointment.”
“That’s fine, Jake. Right on time,” Dr. Prentice said. Why don’t you check in with Jennifer, and I’ll be in my office.”
Aubrey left the reception area, and Jake filled out his insurance information.
When he went into Dr. Prentice’s office, she said, “Sit down over here, Jake.”
The door shut.
And then the session began. The walls were thin. Jennifer was trying to listen in. But Dr. Prentice’s voice became low. Gentle. Almost hypnotic. Jennifer could pick out fragments through the thin walls:
“…how did that make you feel…”
“…you’re safe here…”
“…you don’t have to pretend with me…”
Aubrey used the same tone with all her favorite patients. Soothing, breathy, slow. But there was a hint of schoolteacher in there that men responded to. Jennifer couldn’t help wondering whether her boss was practicing psychiatry or was using seduction to extract information for her book.
After ten minutes of listening to that voice coax out confessions, Jennifer quietly closed her textbook.
She wasn’t getting any studying done now.
She walked to the reception area file cabinet instead.
Just to put something away, she told herself. To straighten up.
But she found her hands drifting toward the drawer with the extended-care files. The ones with the most detailed notes. The ones full of raw, private admissions that would never make it into insurance coding.
She opened the drawer.
Ian’s file sat in front, thick with pages of notes. But Dr. Prentice hadn’t seen Ian yet. Why so many pages then? Jennifer pulled it up, but thought better of it and didn’t pull it out. Now that she knew about Dr. Prentice’s book, it wasn’t as much of a mystery.
Instead, she reached for the next name in the file cabinet: Grant Dalton, one of the welders from the South Plant. Like many of the men Aubrey kept around longer, Grant was handsome in a subdued, rugged way, all biceps and tattoos.
Jennifer opened the file and was shocked.
It wasn’t just therapy notes.
Aubrey had documented Grant’s sexual encounters, his childhood abuse, his ex-girlfriends, and his sexual shortcomings. Even an arrest for a domestic abuse charge.
A line toward the bottom caught Jennifer’s attention:
“Patient exhibits an increased attachment response to the therapist. Continue reinforcing therapeutic dependence.”
Jennifer stared.
This wasn’t normal, ethical, or even subtle.
But before she could process it, something else caught her eye. There was another note on the next page, underlined:
Possible inclusion for Chapter 4: Men Who Seek Permission to Feel.
Aubrey wasn’t lying about the book. She wasn’t even hiding it.
She was testing material for her book on her patients in real time.
She closed Grant’s file, slid it back into the drawer, and pushed it shut before anyone could see her.
The office door opened again. Jake stepped out, sullen and brooding, not saying a word.
Aubrey stood behind him, her expression concerned.
Her gaze flicked to Jennifer, as if she knew exactly what Jennifer had been doing.
But Aubrey only smiled. Slow, almost affectionate.
Jake left the office.
“We’ll need to adjust next week’s schedule,” she said, walking toward her. “Grant Dalton has decided to stop therapy.”
“He did?”
Jennifer tried to read the meaning behind the doctor’s eyes and failed.
“Of course,” Jennifer said. “I’ll make the changes.”
“You’re very helpful,” Aubrey said. “I rely on you more than you know.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer smiled, as if she appreciated the remark.
“Thank you,” Aubrey whispered, just for her. Then she returned to her office and closed the door.
Jennifer cancelled Grant’s appointment and sat back in her chair, pulse racing from almost getting caught snooping in the files.
In her mind, she came to the unsettling realization that she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to confront Dr. Prentice…
…or become part of whatever she was building.