A sudden beep interrupts my morning perusal of files on my desk.
"I have a 'Jessica' on the line for you, Doctor," the receptionist's voice announces from my speaker phone.
"Thanks," I say and lower my coffee onto a coaster. It has been three days since Jessica's initial screening. I scoop the handset off the cradle when I hear the line click through.
"Hello?" she says, her voice sounding squeakier than I remember.
"Hi Jessica,' I reply. "How are you?"
"Hi, I'm fine Doc. I'm so glad you answered. Are you busy right now?"
"No, not at all. What's on your mind?"
"Um, I was just calling, you know, to see if you had my results yet."
"Oh. Well, no, actually I don't have your blood-work back yet, but that's normal. I probably won't hear from the lab until tomorrow; Friday. Don't worry yourself about it in the meantime. I still need to look at your tapes too. Like I said, I'll give you a call as soon as I have your results written up."
"Oh."
"It'll probably be Monday, okay?"
"Okay."
A pause stretches out between us over the phone. I can hear a faint static in the background so I presume she is on a cellular phone rather than a landline.
"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" I ask.
"Well... I'll be back at my college on Monday, so... um, OK this is totally random... Don't get mad, but I was wondering if, um... if you could meet me for lunch."
Suddenly I am grinning. I have to make a conscious effort to sound calm when I ask: "You mean today?"
"Yeah. Or tomorrow. Whenever's better."
"Well," I say slowly, "let me just check my calendar." Of course, I have no need to scroll through the next two days' appointments on the screen in front of me. I know I can make room for this.
"I tell you what, Jessica," I say after a pause, "tomorrow would be better for me."
"Great!" she says with obvious excitement.
"There is a little place a couple blocks from my office that I go to sometimes. If we get there at about one o'clock the worst of the lunchtime rush will be ending. How's that sound?"
"Awesome. What's the name and I'll Google it."
Sixty seconds later we are off the phone, but the rest of my afternoon is ruined. I can't concentrate on anything. Patients come and go. The staff hands me paperwork to sign. It is all a blur. Finally after my last patient leaves I decide I should sit and watch the 2 or 3 minutes of video made during Jessica's exam since I cannot keep her appointment out of my thoughts anyway. As I expected, the videos reveal nothing troubling. Of course, that was never the point. The process itself had been the more important component of the screening. Seeing how she adapted to that kind of physicality had been my primary objective and the tapes of course contain none of the wonderful reactions she displayed. All the images, textures and sounds of that appointment are seared far more vividly into my brain.
At four thirty I lock my office and head to the gym.
* * * * *
The next morning is busy at my office and noon arrives quickly. By twelve thirty I have already hung up my lab coat and washed my hands. I stride past the receptionist's desk in my suit with no tie, headed for the door.
"I'm headed to lunch," I say. "I'll be back around two."
"Have a good one," she replies without looking up.
Outside it is unseasonably warm. There is apparently a miniature heat wave headed our way this weekend. Given that the café is only three blocks away I decide to walk.
I arrive a few minutes early, and as I scan the busy crowd at the outdoor tables I see that Jessica is not there. I catch the young hostess' attention and point to a table near the stone wall that separates the outdoor dinning area from the main building. She smiles at me over the crowd of people and raises two fingers inquisitively. I nod back and she grabs two menus from her podium and waves me over toward the table.
I take the chair closest to the low stone wall, with my back to the sun, and take the liberty of ordering a couple of ice-teas. From here I can see the entrance and most of the guests. It is a pretty hip crowd -- mostly young working professionals trying to sneak in a long lunch away from the office or get an early start on the weekend.
The two ice-teas arrive on little plates with half a lemon wrapped in thin white cloth beside each glass. As the server arranges them on the table I catch a glimpse of Jessica's Nissan gliding passed. It slows and turns the corner, presumably pulling into the parking lot next door.
Jessica's tanned face and long hair bob into view less than a minute later as she walks along the sidewalk from the direction of the parking lot. I cannot see what she is wearing yet because of the crowd between us. She reaches the entrance, steps through the little gate and looks around.
The noise level actually drops by several decibels as every guy in the place stops talking and stares. Inside each of their brains, I imagine the same sequence of primal synapses firing. Probably half the women stop talking too, but for different reasons.
Inside my own head, endorphins run rampant as I scan Jessica from head to toe. She is wearing a white mini-dress that ends ten inches above her knees. Actually, it is not enough to say she is wearing it. She wields it like a weapon. It hijacks half my brain along with half the conversations in the restaurant.
I stand up and wave Jessica over. She flashes me a giant smile before picking her way between the tables. Conversations slowly resume themselves around us.
As she approaches, her outfit comes into sharper focus. Her dress appears to be made of elasticized cotton, bright white and tastefully tight. There is some kind of crisscross, woven pattern layered over the underlying fabric, lending the all-white dress an expensive, textured look. She leans in to give me a hug. A teardrop opening below the dress' neckline provides a peek-a-boo window into her cleavage.
We exchange pleasantries. She drags her chair around the little round table until it is almost next to mine. As we both sit down, she doffs her small purse onto the arm of her chair. She then turns in her seat to aim her knees at me and gracefully crosses her bare legs.
I lift my ice tea and we clink the glasses together. As she takes a pull from hers I glance down. Her legs are smooth, tan and utterly hairless. A subtle sheen reflects the sun's glare, suggesting a healthy coat of moisturizing lotion. The hemline of her dress is teasingly high, making her thighs appear longer than they are. If it were only another inch shorter, I am sure I would be able to see her panties from here.
"Gorgeous day, isn't it?" she asks.
"Absolutely," I reply, embarrassed to find her already staring at me when I lift my gaze up from her lap.
"Do you have to go back to work after this?" she asks.
"Yes, I do."
"That sucks. I'm headed to the pool. One of the few perks of spending Spring Break at home; I get to mooch off my parents' club membership."
"The Golf and Tennis Club?"
"Yeah, we have a pool at home, but it's more fun to go there. Are you a member too?"
"No. Golf is not my thing. I just go to the gym near my office... not too far from here."
Jessica lifts her iced tea off the table and takes another pull from the tall glass. A stream of condensation drips onto her exposed thigh. The icy water makes her jump and un-cross her legs, treating me to a flash of bright blue fabric from beneath her dress, like an azure triangle of joy.
I hold out my napkin to her. She accepts it and wipes her tanned thighs dry before laughing and offering me her unused napkin in return.
"Thanks," she says, re-crossing her legs. Another flash of the blue triangle, this one cut short when she tugs her hemline back down. "I hope the pool is a little warmer than that!"
I smile. Our server arrives and rattles off the specials while we belatedly scan our menus. Jessica settles on a Cobb salad. I go for one of the specials: capellini vongole in a wine reduction. As we hand off our menus it occurs to me that Jessica is still a year away from being able to legally order wine. A twinge of guilt runs through me for a moment, and I lean back into my chair as though adding some distance will somehow cleanse my conscience.
As if on cue, Jessica leans toward me conspiratorially, resting her elbows on her knees. "Do you know why I asked you to lunch?" she whispers.
