Chapter 1
It was a frustrating moment for Dr. Roger Harper. Duty called, and so did the half-nude body of Susan Crisp, the new and utterly sexual student nurse who was on duty in the gynecology ward.
"Come on, Rog, for Crissakes, don't leave me like this," Susan cried.
Roger looked at where she was already settled on the examining table and marveled at her quickness, at the way she had scampered to the table and braced herself upon it by the time he had closed and locked the door.
"Come on," Susan said again, a note of urgency in her tone.
Roger walked to the foot of the table. He glanced at the full length of Susan Crisp and thought of the scores of female patients he had examined on this very table. And Susan was braced like the patients, too. She had kicked off shoes and stockings and was naked from her waist down. Her gray and white striped student nurse's uniform was crinkled and billowed above her waist as if it were an inner tube securing a non-swimmer. But above the jam of starched uniform, Susan's breasts still showed the protrusion they made against the tight fitting top. They were very large. They pushed dramatically, causing the material to mound in perfect moulds that did not show, but hinted, at hard nipples that were placed perfectly in the centers. And above that there was her auburn hair, her green, cat-quick and sensual eyes, and her wide, red, and very wicked mouth. And below, wav below, there was her white and wanton-looking flesh. Her knees were braced high, made that wav by the jam of her feet where they locked within the stirrups of the examination table. Her thighs trembled as she tensed her body in a way that made her open and ready for Roger Harper's desire.
When Susan shifted slightly on the table and brought her hips nearer the end, Roger sighed, took another step forward, looked down at her, paused, fumbled at the front of his white intern's uniform, took another step closer to the girl's body, drew his hips backwards, preparing for the forward lash of his mighty, manly strength.
And then the public address system issued its frustrating command once again.
"Dr. Harper-I-3, please-Dr. Harper-I-3," the dronesome female voice called.
Roger paused at the very font of Susan's lust. "Godamn-why don't they go away."
"Don't go baby-come," Susan said. Her voice had turned to a low, throaty, anxious plea.
The public address system called his name again, beckoning him to the third floor where the problems of Internal Medicine awaited his attention.
"Susan-look, I'd better go," Roger said, saying it like an apology.
"The hell you're goin'-I said you were going to do the opposite," Susan shot at him, the words quick and mounting in volume.
"But--. "
"But nothing," she interrupted.
She wiggled her bare buttocks against the smoothness of the table, pressing and pulsating even closer to the pose of him that was physically ready but emotionally detached.
"Besides, darling," Susan continued. "This won't take long-I already told you that."
"But-, " he stammered again.
"But you're the goddamndest intern I've ever known," she blurted. "So stop the 'buts' and--. "
Now he interrupted with, "But, what the hell Susan, won't you ever realize that we're in medicine-that we're doctor and nurse and supposed to be devoted to our duty."
"Yeah, and isn't it great," she said, smiling broadly. "You're a doctor, I'm a nurse, and here we are in an examination room with the door locked. So, baby, give."
The public address system again intruded upon them.
"Who could want me in Internal Medicine," Roger said, questioning himself.
"Some fuzzy old matron that probably wants you to feel her belly," Susan said. "Well, I'm not a matron-and I don't even need to be felt."
Roger smiled, then, in a voice that was low and secretive, said, "Susan-are you really a nymphomaniac? Some of the guys say you are. What about it, eh?"
"Please, no analysis," she said, her voice going into a tired, bored tone. "And, yes, at this very moment I am a nympho, so come on, stop playing Dr. Casey and give to your little ole' mama."
"How old are you, Susan?"
"For Crissakes, will you please stop it!"
Roger grinned. It was more than even a smile could do for his attractiveness, for he was very dark, both in complexion and curly, short-cut hair, and the wav he grinned with his mouth turning diagonally had the effect of lightening him, making him seem fairer than he really was. And the grin made him seem less foreboding, for usually he wore a frown and his broad shoulders were constantly stooped a bit, reducing him considerably from his six foot, two inch height.
The public address system cackled its incessant call again.
This time Roger ignored it. He readjusted his position. Hunched over a bit, smiled at Susan, then, very carefully, with much the same grace as he would use with a patient, he sneaked his hands beneath her bare buttocks and jerked her toward him as he lashed all of his strength forward.
"Ahhhh-h-h-h-h," Susan whimpered, arching, lowering, then arching again even before Roger had drawn back.
Roger gripped the flesh of her buttocks hard. He liked feeling of it. It was like security. And, strangely, it seemed less a part of sexual pleasure than it did some other force within him; some call that sought pain, or cure, or a combination of the two.
Roger lurched forward again, captured her and continued his own entrapment by her body during the long, hard drive that he made. He paused. He felt the rumbling growth of himself, felt it bubble and cram together in its anxiety for release. He felt Susan arch, carrying him upward with her movement. He looked at her face and saw the now narrow-slitted eyes, the mouth partially open as if it were preparing for a scream. And then she lowered and it was his signal to move again, to draw back, lunge forward, withdraw, move close again, then thump all of his energy in a series of harsh, telling thrusts to her body.
Susan met all his strength, even surpassed it as her toes curled around the leather of the gynecological stirrups and she pushed upward, trying, it seemed, for even closer contact when the ultimate in closeness had already been achieved.
The moment soon came when Roger had driven himself to his endurance's end, when he, as all men find, had reached that point that promised the remarkable end for all of his physical endeavors. And, as Roger looked at her, he knew that the next few moments would also mark the end of sexual journey for Susan, for she was strained and ready, breathing hard, quivering at stomach and thighs and calves, tense at every part of her body as it readied for unleashing and the peace that would follow. But it was then that she bid Roger pause a moment for reflection and promises.
"Wait-wait-just for a second, Rog," Susan whispered.
He had just completed a mighty lunge to her body, one that gave evidence that he was closer to climax than he had yet been with the pretty student nurse. And here-very close to her, so close that the pulsation of their muscles seemed like those of only one being-he paused and looked into her eyes.
"Do you like it, Rog?" she asked. "Am I good for you, baby?"
"Yes," he answered. His tone was strained, showing by sound the silent strain of his body.
"And do you like me, too, Rog?" Susan asked. "Really like me for myself."
"Yes," he said again.
"And are you going to make love to me again?" she asked, the quiver of a cry making the words sharper than they should have been.
"I hope so," Roger said.
"Hope so?" she questioned. She tensed her lower body, making him so' terribly aware of her that he could barely speak. Then she said, "Only hope so? That's not very good. Say you will for sure."
"What-what the hell are you doing, anyway?" he said. "This is hardly the-the--. "
"Promise me," she interrupted. "Promise that you'll make love to me again. All the time. And different ways. Please promise, because-because I'm stuck on you, Rog, really gone, I mean, and
I couldn't stand it if you wouldn't again. This is the first time, but promise that there'll be more."
"You're crazy," he said, half-amused in spite of the close joining of their bodies that was maintained.
"Yeah-crazy. But so are you. And I'm more crazy than you think, but in a way that you can't help liking, Rog, honest, so, please, prom--. "
Once again, the public address announcement for the presence of Dr. Roger Harper in the Internal Medicine ward, split through the cool, polished, examination room.
Susan seemed not to have heard it. Roger, this time, was more urgently aware of it, and the call it made, than at any time since he and the girl had entered the room for the sole purpose of making love.
He shot his hips backward, then lashed forward. So rapidly did he move that it seemed like a single motion. And Susan, the askance of a promise still on her lips and her eyes imploring at the handsome intern, could not help but react, could not help but forget words and promises and crazy, during-sex-talk, for Roger's new movement rippled all of her to a new, high pitch of readiness.
She thrashed herself to him. So hard and high did she arch that her buttocks left Roger's grip, shot above the smoothly polished table and stayed suspended above it as she continued to lurch and spin and grind herself to Roger's forward movement in perfect timing with his rhythm, in the exact, body-slapping-together motion that drew from him the very last of his resistance and endurance. And the words she called to him as he tore to and away from her body, were like an aphrodisiac that forced him to relinquish that which she yearned for and nearly had achieved.
"Now, Rog-Rog, baby, baby, baby-you're so good-so strong-ready-everything! Ohhhhhh, R-o-g-e-r! Now! Let's go it, b-a-b-y, go it now!
He had not paused as she cried the words of her passion to him and he did not pause now. He thrashed and spun and ripped and tore and backed off, then pivoted from side to side as he brought the final volley of his passion to her, as his own emotions soared and spun above his head like demons intent upon driving him insane-like demons and angels and devils and monsters and all those things that had cascaded him high and now released him in searing orgasm.
And Susan erupted with a short cry, a near scream that she stifled by jamming her fist into her mouth and biting down hard, so hard that blood trickled from the corners of her mouth, making Roger view her with awe, with that remembrance of pain and cure and the perplexities of the two that lately had plagued him at every turn of his life. But he forgot it-it and everything as he worked out the denouement of sex with Susan's still lurching, but erupting and quieting body, as his motion slowed and finally ceased.
He wheezed a long sigh, pushed backward, then collapsed the upper half of his body across Susan's stretched and sated thighs. She relaxed too. They remained quiet for a few moments but then the silence of their surroundings moved them to push away from each other, to part, for Susan to climb from the table and reassemble her clothing as Roger did the same to his.
Within a minute they were at the door, preparing to leave the examining room that had been the setting for their first sexual engagement. Roger unlocked the door, gripped the door knob and carefully began to turn it and release them both back into the world of the hospital.
Susan slid her arm through Roger's free one. Even now, so recently gratified, she cuddled her breast to the intern's arm, pressing it in toward him with the same fervor she had used in order to entice him to the examination room in the first place.
Roger felt the touch. He felt the entire outline of her breast and for the barest moment he thought he could also discern the pressure of her nipple, that he could feel it even though it had underclothes and starched uniform as a bulwark against that sign of her extreme sexuality. But Roger did not react to it. He could not. And he wondered why he had even become involved with the young nurse in the first place, why he had allowed her to lure him from the duty that was his life, why he had traded the devotion of his calling for a few minutes of lust. Then he joshed himself for such thoughts. He was being overly dramatic, acting, as Susan had said, like a Dr. Kildare. It had only been a few minutes. Even the call to report to Internal Medicine could not be serious. There were no patients there who were in danger. That ward was quiet. After all, he reminded himself, joshing the seriousness from himself once again, it was not Emergency. At least the call had not been for that section of the hospital that brought near-death in by th carloads. The Emergency Room was a different story. He would have answered the call of that sad place despite Susan Crisp, despite her half-naked body, despite everything.
"When will I see you again?" Susan asked, turning her green eyes up to him and smiling.
"I-I don't know," he answered.
"Well, I'm around. Anytime for you, Rog. Anytime at all, on duty, or off. Just ring me, eh?"
"Yeah. Sure, you bet," he said, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Now you stand back while I give a look down the corridor. Give me a couple of minutes, then you can get the devil out of here, too."
"Sure, Rog," she said. She released her hold on his arm and stepped back.
Roger turned the door knob fully to one side, then he inched open the door. He paused. He pulled it further apart and pressed his face against the opening. Then he opened it fully and stepped into the corridor with a confident stride. He shut the door behind him, then headed for the end of the corridor and the elevator that would lift him to the Internal Medicine Department on the third floor.
Roger Harper did not pass any of the other hospital personnel until he was near the elevator and well away from the incriminating examination room. And, he was nearly ready to pause in front of the elevator before he was stopped by a fellow-intern. Rog smiled when he saw his roommate, Jack Belton, approaching with a busy wave of his hand.
"Where the hell have you been?" Jack asked, stopping in front of Roger.
"Out for a breath of air. Guess they been calling me, eh?"
"Calling you ? " Jack said. "Man-that's no word for it. And now that they've stopped, that's even more ominous in this crummy place."
Roger smiled, looking down at the shorter man, thinking, as he always did when in the presence of Jack Belton, of the odd, un-doctor-like people who were, nevertheless, in the profession. "You going up to I-3 now?" Jack asked. "Yeah. They called."
"Bet you the old man and that goddamn snippy niece of his are up there acting like the Mayo brothers already. What the hell, why do they have to run to every department on every goddamn call that comes over the intercom?"
"I don't know," Roger said. "But I'll remind you, old boy, that at the last staff meeting there were some pretty harsh words from Dr. Amos Fiken about anybody who might be so rude as to refer to him as the 'old man'. "
Jack grinned a crooked smile and said, "Sorry I missed it. What did he say about the niece ? Maybe that we shouldn't refer to her as the bitch she is?"
"He skipped her this time," Roger said. "But you can bet that it figures."
"Yeah. What a creepy pair. Man, when I was in med school I was all starry eyed with dreams, then I come to this cruddy Riverdale Hospital and find a couple of creeps running the place-Huh, what a laugh, Amos, the superintendent and his niece supervisor of nurses. And her just out of training and neither one of them competent enough to work with poodles."
"Bear up, old buddy," Roger said. "We only got nine months to go and we'll be out of here."
"Yeah, and I think I'd rather carry a baby for those nine months," Jack said.
Roger pushed the elevator button then glanced to the hand that indicated that the machine was lowering to him.
"Hey, listen, what are you doing Saturday night?" Jack asked, glancing suspiciously from side to side and lowering his voice.
"Not much," Roger said. "On my money-and with the books I have to finish-I'll probably be in my room all night."
"Not if I can help it," Jack said. He looked up and down the tiled corridor again, then leaned closer in a confidential manner and said, "Listen, do you remember that Dorry Glenn broad who was up in plastic surgery?"
Rog cocked his head in a thoughtful pose, then shook it negatively.
"She was the one who had the scars on her rear repaired," Jack explained. "Hell, you should remember the rear if nothing else."
"Afraid not"
"Well anyway, she called the other day and she wants us all to come to a party out at her estate-yes, I said estate, friend, and that means wine, food, women-the works, and it might even mean a hell of a lot more seeing as how it's ole' Dorry who's throwing the brawl."
"Why a party?" Roger asked. "And why in the devil would she invite anybody from River-dale?"
"Appreciation, Rog, appreciation," Jack said, making the words sound lurid. "Ole' Dorry is so happy with her new rear end that she wants to reward everybody in the joint with a party."
"Appreciation, eh?"
"Yeah. She says that we really fixed her up-that the rear's working better than ever."
The steady hum of the descending elevator ceased and in a moment the doors glided open smoothly.
"I don't know, Jack," Rog said. "We'll see. Saturday's a long ways away yet. But I'll let you know. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure. But you've got to make it. Hell, you've been working too hard or something 'cause you've been moving around this place like an undertaker who heard about death being on a holiday."
"I'll try." Roger stepped into the elevator, hit the button indicating the third floor, then looked up and winked at Jack Belton as the doors glided shut.
In a moment, he was being lifted to the third floor. He stared straight ahead, but his mind would not quite from its restlessness. He thought of Susan Crisp, her wanton desire and the rumor that she was a nymphomaniac, and he thought of Amos Fiken and his niece, Mona Fiken, the twenty year old, recently graduated nurse who immediately became a superintendent. And Roger also thought of all the others at Riverdale Hospital personnel and patients alike, all of those who in one fashion or another would determine the making of his career. Why was everyone in a hospital so odd? he asked himself. Was it because the intimacy of illness, the hundreds of beds with night-dressed patients in them, made people more prone to sex ? Was it because a hospital dealt with life and death? Was this the reason that everyone he knew, young and old, patient and doctor and nurse, seemed vulnerable to sex and its temptations, its oddities, its pleasure and its doom? '
The elevator halted at the third floor. The doors opened. Roger stepped out of the small cubicle and into the corridor of the Internal Medicine Department, a corridor that was a duplicate of the others with its tiled floors, white-painted and scrubbed walls and ceiling, its overhead lights that tinted a hint of green from beneath their shades. The hospital-all of it-gave Roger Harper a feeling of sameness. It was a feeling that he did not like. It was as if it relegated him to a cabbage-row existence, alike to those in front of him and those who followed. Rog didn't like the feeling a bit. It added to the sensations of doom and boredom and hopelessness that had been developing within him for months. And it were these combined feelings that had converged upon him and made him the sexual victim of Susan Crisp less than ten minutes ago. If they could do that to him, what might they still do to work against him, he wondered.
As if he were retreating from the thoughts that plagued him, Roger quickened his step and moved quickly to the desk at the center of the floor. There, the middle-aged nurse who was on duty informed him that he was wanted in a nearby, private room. Rog nodded and moved to that room immediately.
He was ready to push the door inward, when he heard the voices from within. Unmistakably, they belonged to Dr. Amos Fiken and his niece, Mona. And there was a third voice, too, that of the patient, Roger assumed. He listened to the buzz of conversation for a moment. The third voice sounded very nice, he decided. It was feminine and young and had a fresh lilt to it that seemed incongruous to the surroundings. For a moment, it made him feel very good. Then he tapped twice on the door, pushed it inward and stepped into the room.
The tableau that greeted him was hospital academic; nurse on one side of the bed, doctor on the other, and the patient propped high on several pillows. But the patient was different and more enchanting than any Roger had ever seen in a hospital. She seemed about fifteen years old and her beauty was so exquisite that it made Rog think of museums and rare, immensely valued paintings. She was angel-hair blonde. It curled and glittered where it bounced at her ears. Her eyes were blue, but not of the conventional variety. Instead, they shined like skies that had the heat of the sun within them. And the girl's body, fully in view from the waist upward because of the bed-coverings that pulled flatly across her thighs, was exceptional, too. An expensive nightgown adorned her figure, the usual hospital nightshirt affair obviously having been rejected by the girl. The shoulder straps were ribbon-thin and stood wide apart in a V that descended to her navel miraculous showing the girl's rather large breasts off to full advantage, showing, too, the nipples as they pressed hard and brazenly against the frail material. And as he looked at her. Roger imagined that the rest of the girl-child was just as fetching as all of that that could be seen, that her legs would have to be long and lean and shapely, that her thighs were undoubtedly firm, that the feet would be small with the toes constantly curling like those of a playful kitten. All this he knew-all this he observed-before the mood of observance was broken by the crisp words of Dr. Amos Fiken.
"You've been a long time getting up here, Dr. Harper," Fiken said.
"Yes. Sorry I missed the call."
"Were you involved elsewhere?" Mona Fiken asked, burning her dark-chestnut eyes into Roger's.
"No. I was getting a breath of fresh air in the parking lot."
"The parking lot?" Mona Fiken exclaimed.
Roger stared at her, wondering how one who was so young, so attractive, could, so consistently, sound like a shrew.
"The parking lot's hardly the place for a doctor who is on duty until six tonight," Mona continued, shooting the words like BB's from a gun.
Roger glanced at the patient, then to Amos Fiken, then back to Mona, hoping that his action notified her of his distaste for such discussions in the presence of a patient.
If Mona did not catch Roger's inference, Amos did. He smiled and said, "Well, no harm done, and now that you're here, we're all settled again."
Roger nodded. Then he looked at the patient and gave her an affectionate smile as he said, "And what do we have here? Who, and what?"
"This is Patty Pen," Amos Fiken said. He uttered the name in an impressed, almost reverent tone.
Roger nodded and smiled at the girl.
She smiled back and Roger had the impression of being blessed or touched by sudden happiness for the girl's smile was bright and very personal, much as if it was an original smile, one that she had just created for him alone.
And after the smile there was her voice which also seemed newly created, brought from the depths of her breasts to say, "How-do-you-do, Dr. Harper. Pve been waiting to meet you."
"Yes. And now, what is it that brings you to Riverdale."
Mona cast a quick, nervous look at her uncle then looked away. Roger looked at Mona, thinking how odd it was that she did not immediately answer as was her custom.
"Fatigue, is my diagnosis, Dr. Harper," Amos Fiken said. "Patty needs a good rest-a rest, perhaps some B-12 intravenously-you know, everything we can do to relieve her fatigue, to put some pep into her again."
Roger looked at the girl and wondered why, or how, energy should be a requirement of a girl so young.
"How old are you, Patty?" Roger asked.
"Fifteen," she replied, saying it demurely.
"That's pretty young to be suffering from fatigue," Roger said seriously, moving a little closer to the bed.
"That may be," Mona Fiken said, "But nevertheless that is Amos' diagnosis, Dr. Harper."
"Umph, yes," Dr. Fiken mumbled, then, moving toward the door, added, "Well, we'll be moving along now that you're here, Doctor. You can take some time to get better acquainted with Patty-Miss Pen." He shot Roger a look that said the name should mean something to him. It didn't.
Mona Fiken smiled at Patty, then turned and joined her uncle at the door of the room.
"Umh, Dr. Harper, could I see you for just a moment, please?" Amos Fiken said from the door.
Roger turned and joined the couple. The three of them moved through the door and closed it behind them.
"Roger, surely you know who Patty Pen is, don't you?" Amos said very quickly, irritation sharpening his words.
Afraid not, Dr. Fiken," he replied.
"Well you should know," Mona added. "Every intern should also be aware of the politics that concerns a hospital."
"Politics?" Roger questioned. He looked into Mona's eyes and again wondered at the strangeness of her, at the crisp exterior of her that must, he was sure, conceal some very interesting things.
"Well, we don't have to say it quite that crudely," Amos Fiken said. "But, Patty Pen is the daughter of Elmer Pen, the State Commissioner of Hospitals. You know-the commissioner-hospital accreditation-all those problems we sometimes have here at Riverdale?"
"Oh. I see," Roger said.
"You're so quick," Mona said sarcastically.
"Yes, of course, I see," Roger said. "So, all of us are to make a very good impression on little Patty, eh?"
"Something like that," Amos replied. "It's-well, accreditation is coming up again soon and we had a miserable time getting acceptance from the Hospital Board the last time."
Roger nodded. The lines of his mouth turned very firm. Then he said, "But what the hell is this fatigue business? Hell, she's only fifteen. Fatigue-it's absurd."
"Well, let's call it that anyway," Mona said.
"Yes," her uncle agreed. "You see, Patty's father wants her out of action-no, that's not the way to say it-he wants her removed from society for a little while."
"He does?" Roger said, confused.
"Yes. You see, Roger, little Patty there has made some pretty fierce enemies. Quite recently, as a matter-of-fact, a suitor tried to kill her. So, as protection-and to--. " Amos glanced embarrassedly to the floor, letting his sentence die.
"Yes, go on," Roger urged.
"Patty is completely promiscuous," Mona Fiken said quickly. "Her father wants to keep her away from boys and men for awhile. He gave us the job. No one knows she's here-no one is to know. We're going to treat her, give her the things that are needed to reduce her sexual urge, and I'm sure you know what I mean, Dr. Harper. And while we're doing it she'll be safe from a few people who would like to cut her into little ribbons."
"But only fifteen," Roger said, amazed. "And we can't fail, Roger," Amos Fiken said. "This means everything to her father and we certainly want to accommodate him. This-this will mean a lot to Riverdale, too."
"Yes, I see," Roger said.
Amos slapped him on the shoulder. "So, don't fail us, boy. Now, go in and get better acquainted with your patient."
"But why me ? " Roger asked. "Why in the world did you give her to me?"
Amos Fiken's eyes fluttered, then lowered to stare at the tiled squares of the floor.
Mona's eyes did not lower, however. She looked straight and nastily at Roger and said, "Because that little brat asked that you take care of her. Seems she's heard about you from some friends. So, Daddy insisted that you be on the case. So now, Dr. Harper, you're a public relations man for Riverdale Hospital. And you had better not fail-not if you want the right kind of references for the residency you want. Do I make myself clear?"
"Too clear."
"Good." Mona glanced at her uncle, then, after a nod to Roger, Amos turned and with his niece moved down the corridor.
Roger turned and faced the closed door of the private room. He felt the pinpricks of anxiety and doom run their course up and down his spine. Then, very slowly, looking like a man moving toward the gallows, he turned the door handle and entered the room to confront the fifteen year old, Patty Pen.