I shifted, trying to move away from him, but in the packed elevator, it was impossible. The invisible groper started working on my other cheek. Stop that! I yelped.
My fellow passengers regarded me curiously, and there was a decided leaning away from me. Fury choked me. Where did this pervert get off feeling me up like that? Id show him.
I shifted my weight to my left leg and swung my right foot back, connecting solidly with the jokers kneecap. If Id had more room, I would have aimed higher. As it was, he grunted and let me go.
The doors opened and I surged forward, elbowing two old women out of the way as I broke for freedom.
I stood beside a potted palm in the corridor and tried to see into the elevator, to identify the man whod groped me. But the doors shut before I could make out anyone. Sighing, I adjusted my purse on my shoulder and headed for the stairs to hike up the three floors to Family Practice.
Phoebe, youre late. The office manager, Joan Lee, shoved a stack of patient folders into my hands. Dr. Patterson is in rare form this morning. Standing four foot eleven inches in a size-one Jones New York suit, Joan looked like a geisha whod gotten lost on her way to Wall Street. Her voice was soft as silk, but her backbone was diamond-hard steel. Insurance companies quaked at the sound of her name, and even the most bullheaded surgeon addressed her respectfully as Ms. Lee, maam.
He wants those charts on his desk by noon, Joan continued. So youd better get busy.
No problem. I shifted the folders to my left arm and headed for the coffee machine for a fortifying cup. Barb and I will split them up and have them done by eleven.
Sorry, but Barb cant help you. I had to put her on the front desk this morning.
I turned, empty cup in hand. Why? Wheres Kathleen?
Joan shook her head and disappeared around the corner. Dr. Pattersons nurse, Michelle, joined me at the coffee machine. Kathleen was dismissed, she whispered as she spooned creamer into her cup.
I raised my eyebrows. Turned him down again, did she? Dr. Patterson had been badgering the receptionist to go out with him for weeks nowdespite the fact that both of them were married, and not to each other.
Michelle shrugged. I guess so. Or maybe he decided to move on to greener pastures and didnt want her hanging around.
Michelle, the doctor needs you in room three. Joan hurried past us, dragging a loaded lab cart. Phoebe, dont forget those charts have to be done by noon.
I can do it if the system cooperates. When is the new transcription system supposed to be installed? I called after Joans retreating back.
Soon. Youll have to make do until then. She disappeared around the corner, test tubes rattling in her wake.
I headed for my workroom at the back of the office suite. Windowless and cramped, it resembled the supply closet it had once been. A long counter had been installed to hold the two computers and transcription equipment, and a single filing cabinet provided a place to stash my purse. Nothing fancy, but it was quiet, out of the flow of traffic and no one cared how many empty coffee cups or Diet Coke cans I let pile up as long as I got my work done on time.
I booted up my computer and popped the first tape into the transcription machine. Dr. Pattersons Texas twang filled my headphones. The patient is a well-developed young woman of sixteen, presenting with pain in the left patella. I rolled my eyes as I typed. Patterson was always going on about the beauty or physical developments of his female patients. If they were over twenty-one hed note if they were married or single and if they had any children. I wondered if he was making notes to himself for future reference.
I busted butt and finished the last of the tapes at ten after twelve and was fastening a printout onto the front of a patient chart when the intercom buzzed. Doctor Patterson would like to see you in his office, Joan announced.
I groaned. What was he going to do, chew me out for being ten minutes late? If he didnt go on so much about how big a patients boobs or behind were, hed shave half an hour off my transcription time, I muttered as I gathered up the charts and headed for the doctors lair at the other end of the office.
Dr. Ken Patterson was a tall man with the broad shoulders and thick neck of a former football player. He, in fact, had been a linebacker for the University of Texas before deciding on a career in medicine. His hairline had receded in twin widows peaks, frosted with gray, which only added to his distinguished good looks. Patients talked about how charming he was, but I thought there was more smarm than charm in the good doctor.
Here are the charts you wanted. I deposited the stack of file folders on the corner of his desk. It was a massive mahogany piece that was big enough for a grown man to stretch out on. Rumor had it that Patterson had made good use of that space with more than one woman. Frankly, I was glad it wasnt my job to polish the thing. I turned to leave, but Patterson caught me by the arm.