CHAPTER ONE

Dr. Charlotte Cousins

Dr. Charlotte Cousins sat on a bench outside the atrium of the University Medical Center. The spring sun was warm on her face and the scent of cherry blossoms filled the air in the small courtyard. In early May, the day was still chilly enough to keep most of the staff inside, but Charlotte was warm in her gray cape. Eyes closed, face turned up to the light, she sat composing a letter to an on-line magazine. Her missive was in response to an interview with the writer, Mary Gaitskill-one of Charlotte's favorite writers.

She had already mentally drafted the opening and closing and was working on the two middle paragraphs when she became aware of a shadow blocking the light. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and tried to focus on the figure in front of her.

"Dr. Cousins," said the short young woman. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, I truly am. I can see that you're thinking, but I simply had to stop and tell you how much I admire your work."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, but didn't reply. The girl was wearing a white lab- coat over blue scrubs and white clogs on her feet. It took less than a second for Charlotte's radar to beep -First Year Resident. She sighed inwardly, and hit the mental delete button on the middle paragraph of her letter. Perhaps it was for the best. The great gender divide was going nowhere. She would pick up her thoughts after clinic.

The girl shifted from foot to foot in front of Charlotte. She was a redhead, with a band of freckles across her nose, and a scattering on the exposed skin at the throat of her scrub-top. She appeared to have the compact curves of a gymnast under the loose uniform. Charlotte waited. She was as famous for her silences as she was for her acerbic wit, her books, her journal articles, and numerous appearances on TV talk-shows.

"Bitches Be Crazy was my most favorite of all, but Galley Slaves was super too," the girl said. "Oops, sorry. I'm Rachel-Rachel Van Hoven. General Surgery."

Charlotte smiled. She didn't place the girl's name immediately, but it had a familiar ring to it.

Her first book-written long ago-was always the one younger women mentioned. They insisted on misunderstanding its point. Bitches Be Crazy: sexual ambiguity as gender stratagem, was never intended as an admonition, but rather as an observation piece on negotiations within relationships. It had started as an article for the American Journal of Psychiatry on sexual addictions among bisexual and poly-amorous couples, and had grown-like a friendly cancer-into a treatise for the general audience. In hindsight, Charlotte hated that book, despite the fact it had jump-started her writing career.

Galley Slaves: the tyranny of sexual identity was her second book. It had been better and it had made her a lot of money. After GS-TSI came out, she had done the television circuit for a while. That had been horrible, but it made her money. Notoriety was a two-edged sword. For a few years it was hard to get any real work done. Both the Hospital, and the University that sheltered it, had encouraged her celebrity-it was another feather, one of many, in their glorious cap. Personally, Charlotte was glad when the furor died down. She hated being liked by anyone, but in particular, the undifferentiated public.

"Oh, golly," Rachel said. "I'm so sorry for bothering you."

Charlotte's eyes widened. The child had actually said the word golly to her. She wondered where the hospital was getting their residents these days. Perhaps the deep streams flowing from John Hopkins and Stanford were drying up at last, and-ensconced in her big office on the very top floor-she had somehow failed to notice the sea change.

"How can I be of service, Dr. Van Hoven?" Charlotte said. "I can only assume that you are blocking my sunlight for a purpose."

"I was hoping to sit in on your lectures this summer term-I understand that they are all booked right through until next year."

"It's not the usual case for the general surgery staff." There was a tiny fishhook of recollection nagging at the back of Charlotte's brain. The name Van Hoven kept bouncing around in the bustling corridors of her mind.

"I may be a surgery resident, but I'm interested in psycho-sexual theory too-as well as surgery." The girl stammered.

"That makes for a rather diverse portfolio." Charlotte said. "Van Hoven-the Van Hoven Heart Center?"

"Yep," Rachel smiled. "Winslow Van Hoven is my Grampa Winnie."

The girl had said the word grampa, using the letter 'M'. Charlotte was pleased. No one had said that particular version of the word in her presence-not ever. For the first time in days, weeks possibly, life had presented her with a small bit of the unexpected.

Charlotte looked the girl over. She couldn't very well dismiss Winslow Van Hoven's grandchild. It would be seen as ungenerous. It would be seen as bad politics-personal politics, career politics.

"What would you hope to gain from my lectures, Rachel?"

The girl brightened. She had light brown eyes and full lips that revealed the perfect, white teeth endemic to her generation. Charlotte looked at Rachel's hands, and was unsurprised to see strong, blunt fingers that appeared serviceable but inelegant. Hands were important to Charlotte. Good hands made a world of difference-in any kind of endeavor.

Rachel wore no wedding ring, or ring of any sort. Of course, jewelry was not the norm in surgery. Charlotte wondered what those capable hands might feel like squeezing her bottom-or tweaking her nipples. She felt the tiniest flush of warmth at the thought.

"I just love the way you deal with sex," the girl said. Her eyes were wide, and they were looking straight at Charlotte. "I want to explore my edges- what makes me tick, where my limits are-sexually that is. I want to learn from you..."

"Um," charlotte said. "Don't you think it might be prudent to wait until a seat opens in the winter term? That way you could give yourself time to acclimate to the hospital's culture."

"No," Rachel said, without the slightest pause. "I want to do it now."

Charlotte remained silent. Despite appearing to be in her late-twenties-the usual bottom limit for surgical residents-the girl really was a child. Charlotte let her eyes drift over Rachel's figure. She was carrying a bit more weight than she should, but everything was in the right place. The girl looked taut and full of energy. She looked to be just the kind of girl Charlotte could come to like.

"I'm going to be late for clinic. Perhaps we could carry on with this conversation in my office, after seven?"

"I'm booked," said Rachel. She had edged closer to Charlotte, until she was standing less than three feet from Charlotte's knees. "You know what it's like. They don't allow us much time for personal stuff."

"I don't consider my lectures personal stuff, but I do know what residency is like." God, Charlotte thought, the little twit was insistent. There was the unmistakable, and highly inappropriate, look of wry amusement on Rachel's face.

"What if I came by your office after my shift, tomorrow night?"

"What if you met me at Lucrezia's at eight thirty tomorrow night. I'm gathering data." Charlotte said. "Do not be late."

"I'm never late."

Charlotte cocked a brow at Rachel, but remained silent.

The girl turned and walked away. A few steps toward the atrium entrance she turned to Charlotte, "See ya, Dr. Cousins."

Charlotte sat for a few minutes cogitating on what had transpired. She did like the saucy glance Rachel had given her at the end-however, intuition suggested a bit of caution with this new resident. After all, Charlotte was in the middle of research for another book-this time exhibitionism/voyeurism, and its attendant masturbation addiction. She was busy.

She decided to stop by Lydia's office during her clinic. The Chief Medical Officer tended to know everything that mattered at the hospital. Lydia might have the lowdown on Rachel Van Hoven.

* * *

Mid-way through her afternoon clinic Charlotte had a break. She walked five doors down from her office and knocked on the CMO's door. Lydia had her feet up on her desk and was staring out the window at a bank of clouds that were moving in from the west.

When Charlotte stuck her head in, Lydia turned in her chair slightly, "Sweet Charlotte, what a nice surprise."

Charlotte stood in the doorway, but didn't enter. "Rachel Van Hoven-general surgery? I think she's new."

Lydia threw her head back and laughed, "Well, that didn't you take long."

"What do you know about her?"

"Not much more than her bloodline," Lydia swung around in her chair to face Charlotte, but kept her Stuart Weitzman pumps propped on the desktop. "Third in her class at Penn. Winslow Van Hoven's granddaughter. Heart money-big time."

"I spoke with her in the courtyard this noon. I was composing a missive-she interrupted my thought."

Lydia eyed her with a quizzical look.

"She's a cute little bug," Charlotte said. "Wanted to audit my summer lecture."

"That's curious. Surgeons are mostly interested in slicing and dicing red meat."

"To cut is to cure-all that rot."

"Um," Lydia smiled distractedly. "A cunt is a cure-that's what they said when I was in medical school."

"As true now as then, I should think," Charlotte said. Lydia liked to shock the medical staff with her homey vulgarities. She told anyone who'd listen that her crude language made her more accessible as a medical administrator.

The very fact that Lydia knew about the Van Hoven girl was telling. Lydia's days were lately spent frying the biggest of donor fish. True, she oversaw all aspects of medical policy, but more and more she flirted finances with big guys. Normally, Lydia only knew her residents as a name on a roster, or through layers of intermediary supervisors.

Charlotte could feel Lydia's gaze. They had been friends for more than ten years. Lydia's partner, Maggie, was one of Charlotte's biggest fans. Through Lydia's mediation, Maggie saw to it that Charlotte was nominated for one internal award or another most years. Thanks to Lydia and Maggie, Charlotte was firmly, and ironically, ensconced as the face of mental health at the hospital-even if her specialty was considered a touch outré. Her colleagues tolerated it because she brought in buckets of grant money, because she was glamorous and fun, and mostly because she was acknowledged to have an ass worthy of legend.

"Look before you leap, my dear," Lydia finally said.

"Are we on for Saturday?" Charlotte asked.

"Of course. Bring your little friend," Lydia said, not very cryptically. "We'll have a bang-up do."

Charlotte gave her a smile as she closed the door.

* * *

Lucrezia's Bistro was small, dark and always crowded. It was close enough to the medical center to be convenient, and pricey enough to keep the nurses, interns and much of the admin staff away. The restaurant offered as much privacy as could be had within walking distance of the giant medical complex.

Charlotte kept a table reserved in a quiet corner. She hated waiting in line.

Her life was certainly busy enough. She had the book coming out at the end of the year that looked promising. She sat on two big medical committees, and one important university committee as well. All was good. But evidently her subconscious was telling her that something was missing. A box of some kind left un-ticked.

Charlotte looked up to find the little something standing by her table.

"Hullo Dr. Charlotte," Rachel Van Hoven said. "Here I am. I just love this place."

"Do you know Lucrezia's?" Charlotte put her book down.

"Oh yes, we come all the time whenever we're in town. I love the idea of a restaurant named after a famous poisoner, don't you?" Rachel took the chair opposite Charlotte. She had changed out of her scrubs and was wearing a skirt and sweater, topped off by a cute little tweed jacket cut with a peplum in the rear.

Charlotte thought she looked fetching.

"We?"

"Mommy and daddy moved to Tucson about five years ago, but they have a place here and come back to town pretty often." Rachel shrugged off her jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Charlotte couldn't help but notice a gold ring suspended by a chain around Rachel's neck. The ring hung just above the cleft between two modest, but admirably pert breasts.

Charlotte stared at the ring until Rachel noticed.

"It keeps the boys away," Rachel said, gazing levelly into Charlotte's eyes.

"I suppose that must take some doing," Charlotte said.

"Sometimes."

"I understand that you did your professional schooling in Philadelphia."

"God, what a dreary town. I hated Penn." Rachel exhaled deeply.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. She liked the fact that Rachel had put herself together for their meeting. The lush red hair that had been pinned up earlier in the day, fell in thick waves down past her shoulders.

A waitress came to their table and Rachel ordered a glass of white wine. When the wine arrived, she tasted it and made an unpleasant face.

"I could have suggested something better," Charlotte said.

"I'd rather have a double shot of Rye, if the truth were known."

"Aren't you on call?"

"Not for another twenty-one hours," Rachel said. "Are you going to let me into your lecture or not?"

"Not," Charlotte smiled. "I've checked the roster and the room they've assigned me is small. There just aren't enough places."

"Oh," Rachel's shoulders slumped a little. "I was hoping..."

"Perhaps in the fall if a space becomes available. It's not usual for the surgery staff to venture into the psychiatric curriculum-places are limited. I can't imagine what you hope to gain." Charlotte raised a finger for the waitress, and ordered Rachel a double Rye on the rocks.

"I've read all of your books, and most of your journal articles. There's something fascinating about the way that you see things. I want to get it-outside of the OR, all I seem to encounter are shadows. I want to see something more of life-real life."

"My," Charlotte said. "That sounds like philosophy-I deal exclusively in sexual proclivities and their attendant life-strategies."

"I know." As soon as her whiskey was placed on the table, Rachel took a long sip. "I'm not gay, but I'm not-content. I like what you say in your writing. What you say about neural-knowledge and pathways to gratification."

Charlotte tapped her long, red fingernails on the linen tablecloth. She couldn't tell if she was getting bored with Rachel, or if she was just tired of beating around the bush. The girl clearly wanted something from her, but was unable or unready to spit it out. Charlotte decided that she liked the sandy color of Rachel's eyes, and the way she twisted her mouth when she felt put out. She liked the looks of those breasts poking out the front of her sweater. She liked the stubby, deft little fingers. She decided to take a chance.

"Do you like sex, Rachel?"

"Sure, pretty much," Rachel blinked at her. "What do you mean exactly?"

"It seems obvious. My lectures are all about sex. I simply asked if you enjoyed it."

Rachel straightened her spine and took a deep breath. "Lots. I like it lots and lots. Don't you?"

"Of course," Charlotte said. "It can be great fun."

A moment of deep silence hung between them. The restaurant, its scurry of wait-staff, and clink of cutlery disappeared from Charlotte's awareness. Her eyes fixed on a tiny mole at the base of Rachel's throat, the loose curl of a brilliant red hair, the fine gold chain resting on white skin.

"Do you intend to fuck me, Dr. Cousins?" Rachel said. Her voice was steady. Her eyes captured and held Charlotte's.

Charlotte noticed that the girl's face had colored a bit. She liked the way the word fuck felt when Rachel said it-like something exotic. It sounded like something she really wanted.

"Not immediately," Charlotte said. She gave a small chuckle, smoothed her napkin on her lap.

She wondered what Rachel's face would look like as Charlotte eased two fingers up her pussy. She loved the soft, blurry look that a girl's eyes took on when she first began to fuck them. She decided then and there that she wanted to spend some time counting the freckles on Rachel's nose, while working her fingers all the way up, and flicking the girl's wet little clit with her thumbnail.

"When then?" The girl's eyes were wide and frank. When she leaned forward, the gold ring swung on its chain.

"Soon enough, Rachel." Charlotte finished her wine and set the glass down.

"Are you going to let me audit your lecture?"

"Possibly."

"That's all? Possibly?" Rachel's mouth twisted again. Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she was used to having her way.

Charlotte sat back in her chair and considered the girl. She wasn't a true beauty, but she was cute, and she had something-a certain fizz to her. She found herself wondering what kinds of sounds Rachel made while she was making love.

"Would you like to be spanked, Rachel?"

"What? I've never been spanked. I don't approve of physical violence." Rachel stammered, surprise written across her face. "I can't think I would like it. Why did you ask me that, Dr. Cousins?"

"Because I have it in mind to spank you." Charlotte watched the girl's reaction. She saw the idea settle into Rachel's mind. The only real resistance she perceived was to the newness of the thought, not the act itself. She could almost see the wheels turning inside Rachel's head.

"Why do you want to do that?" Rachel said. Neither of them believed that Rachel didn't know the answer to that question.

"To show you a thing," Charlotte said.

"What thing, Dr. Cousins?"

"That you're quite mistaken about me, and about yourself among other things, Rachel. Mistaken about so much."

"What do you mean?"

"Wrong that you don't approve, wrong that you won't like it, wrong that you actually know anything significant about sex." Charlotte eased herself out of her chair and prepared to depart.

Rachel sat still, both hands cupping her glass. Finally, she whispered the word, "When?"

"In my office tomorrow after your shift."

"Okay."

"Are you wearing panties, Rachel?"

"Yes."

"Are they wet?"

"Yes." Rachel glanced down. Her face was red.

"Be careful what you wish for, Rachel," Charlotte said, smiling to herself. She started to leave.

Rachel thought for a second. "You too, Dr. Cousins. Be careful." There was that look again.