The silence hung between them, making the air feel thicker. Was he waiting for her to speak again?
After another beat, he said, “Why don’t you believe your husband loves you?”
“Why would he?”
“You’re a very beautiful woman.”
“I’m on the wrong end of thirty-five. Beauty fades. Then what? I can’t be his trophy forever. He’d do just as well with a maid and a whore.”
The doctor visibly flinched at that. “You believe he feels obligated to you.” He paused for only a moment before asking his next question. “Do you masturbate?”
Whoa. That was quite a subject jump. “I . . . um . . . I’m not really comfortable with that question.”
“Very well. Let’s broach the subject from a less personal place. Have you ever had a massage, at a spa or from a massage therapist?”
“No.”
“Why not? Isn’t that a normal part of routine pampering for someone of your level of affluence?”
She shrugged, feeling awkward with how close they were sitting.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, the doctor stood and retreated to his desk. He fumbled in the top draw until he came out with a card and handed it to Vivian.
“What’s this?”
“Where I think you should start. You’ve exhibited discomfort with my gender, discomfort with your husband being intimate with you, and overall discomfort with being in touch with your own pleasure. I’d like you to make a weekly appointment for a massage. Allow yourself to feel something good for a change. Do you think you can do that for me?”
The business card was an aquamarine color with brown lettering that read, Dome in a blocky, modern font. In smaller letters in an elegant script underneath, it said, spa and massage therapy. She slipped the card into her purse.
“They accept walk-ins. No need for an appointment,” he said, moving behind his desk. The doctor didn’t say anything more, but began to busily shuffle through stacks of paper on his desk.
“What? Now? You want me to go now?”
He looked up as if shocked she was still in his office. “Why, yes, Mrs. Delaney.”
“But it’s only been twenty minutes. Don’t I get a full hour?”
His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Five minutes ago you couldn’t get away fast enough. Now you want forty more? Have you ever heard the term masochism?”
Was it okay for a therapist to say that? Then again, he was a sex therapist. Once a doctor asked if you masturbated, few topics were off the table.
“I only meant that I’m sure Michael paid for the full session.”
“You show that card I gave you at Dome and tell them I sent you, and your first massage will be free. That sounds fair, right?”
He went back to the papers on his desk, effectively dismissing her.
Vivian, not knowing what else to do, stood and headed for the door. Her hand was on the doorknob when his voice stopped her.
“Mrs. Delaney?”
She turned, still flustered. “Yes?”
His teeth flashed bright white as he smiled at her. “You’re going to lose all of your inhibitions.”
Thirty minutes later Vivian stood outside Dome, arguing with herself on whether she should go inside. She’d never gotten a massage because the idea of being naked underneath a towel while a stranger touched her had never held much appeal.
Yet, hope flared that maybe it was such a simple matter. Maybe massage could loosen her up and free her to experience in bed what she’d experienced with Michael so long ago. Her hand trembled as she pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
A silver bell jingled overhead. The place was deserted just as the therapist’s office had been. A warning buzzer in her brain started to sound, as if she were being led into a trap. And yet that seemed so silly. Before she could take the thought apart, a blonde woman in her twenties came out into the lobby.
“Oh, hi. Do you have an appointment? Fridays are generally for special appointments. Walk-ins are Monday through Thursday.”
Vivian chided herself for being so paranoid and felt a small relief that there was a logical explanation for another seemingly empty building.
“Dr. Smith gave me this and told me to come by today.” She retrieved the card from her purse. “I’ll just come back next week.” Maybe.
She felt herself blush, wondering if the receptionist would judge her for seeing a sex therapist. But the woman remained professional.
“If Dr. Smith sent you, we can work you in.” The blonde led Vivian to an empty room with candles and a burbling table fountain. Eastern music played in the background.
“You can undress in here, then drape yourself with the towel.” The girl pointed, indicating the cushioned table with a red button on the side. “Push that button when you’re ready, and someone will be right with you.”
“Thank you.”
The woman smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Vivian took in her surroundings. The room had a second door opposite from the one she’d been led into. Perhaps a bathroom? A flat screen television on one wall played a video with a low, calming voice talking about the spa and the various services offered by Dome.
Lucky bamboo grew in tiny pots around the room. There was an oriental-style privacy screen with a chair and large towel behind it. Thankfully there was no mirror. The staff at Dome must have realized how few women enjoyed looking at themselves naked, and how right before a massage wasn’t the time to be reminded of one’s imperfections. Though Michael had always told her she was perfect.
She considered walking out, still uneasy with the concept of being touched by a stranger. But she was afraid the receptionist might think her odd.
It was odd. The doctor was right. She was entirely too uptight for a woman in her thirties. She took a deep breath and disrobed, unsure what to do about her panties. Deciding to leave them on, she situated herself on the table. She hesitated a moment, then pressed the button.
Five minutes of tension passed before the door clicked open. Vivian lay there with her eyes shut, trying to relax. It was just a massage. Millions of women did this every day. And even liked it, if all the raving at the country club was any indication.
“You’re my next appointment?” A male Eastern European accent––possibly Russian––greeted her ears. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. Couldn’t she get a female for anything? She considered requesting a woman, but then she got a look at him.
Wavy, jet black hair fell over the best cheekbones she’d ever seen up close and in person on a man. The definition of his chest was visible through a white t-shirt. He had strong, well-defined arms, and large, yet elegant hands, like those of a concert pianist. She could see how those hands could be equally at home playing flesh draped over a massage table.
Her eyes traveled slowly back to his face. It was expectant. Waiting for something. Oh, yeah. An answer to his question.
“Yes,” she managed to stammer.
“Very good. My name is Anton. I’ll be taking care of you today.”
The way he said it seemed like both a sinful promise and a sinister threat, causing Vivian’s heart to start doing erratic things in her chest. He moved closer, and she tensed.
“Relax, my dear. Dr. Smith was correct. You are quite a closed-budded flower. We will open you.” He made it sound so sexual and wrong. A warmth fluttered in her center and spread outward.