Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 04

"One of what?"

"Coffee. Wha'dya think I meant?"

"Oh, um, nothing. Sure, I'll bring one in a sec."

She squeezed the grinder until it whirred noisily. To her relief Adams continued on his way down the hall.

"What the hell," she swore under her breath. "I can't do this all summer!"

Half of her expected a Mitchell to appear, fully nude, and drag her back to his office on her knees. But he didn't.

Instead an awareness settled on her that the clinic's glass entrance doors offered no concealment from the parking lot outside. No patients were expected but the prospect of other people stopping by was hardly remote.

With renewed self-consciousness she got the brew started and then locked the door before doing a quick tour of the room, making sure everything was clean and orderly. Then she washed her face in the bathroom sink, donned her headset and transcribed the overnight voicemails.

By that point the coffee was done, so she got out two mugs and some milk. She had to stare past her boobs while pouring the milk, which provided an unnecessary reminder of her exposure.

She quaffed a half cup straight down and then she poured Doctor Jacobsen's, increasingly terrified by the prospect of his mood after such a long wait for caffeine.

With his favorite mug full to the brim she padded barefoot down the corridor as quietly as possible, keeping one hand over her bell to muffle it. At the very end she stopped outside Ivan's door and tucked her hair behind one ear.

She still felt more afraid of him than any of the other doctors, mostly on account of his severe demeanor and the rigor of his spanking on Monday. She'd been unable to compartmentalize that memory yet.

His coffee wobbled in her grip.

Nowhere near calm, she raised her fist and knocked.

"Enter!" his voice shouted.

She whimpered through a bitten lip while twisting the handle and then forced a smile.

The modern, solid-core door swung inward, revealing his domain.

Ivan had worked-up a good scowl already that morning, imagining all sorts of opening lines to greet her with, each more stinging than the last. He prided himself on being stern and unflappable; on having an utterly convincing professional mask.

He was, however, quite unready for Tiffany's present appearance. Her breasts were half-out and her clothes covered so little they may as well have been underwear. She was barefoot, grinning, and had a silver bell at her neck like some sort of dystopian nymph.

Words failed him. He attempted to stand but immediately had to catch himself because the floor swam. He swiped his bifocals from his face and peered at her with his jaw agape and neck craned.

"Good morning, sir," she began sweetly, maintaining the widest possible grin. "I've brought your coffee, just how you like it; Milk and no sugar."

He perceived only curves of freckled skin, wobbling at the offbeat, accompanied by a gently tinging bell.

He went pale.

"You alright, sir?" she asked, narrowing the distance between them.

"What... what are you...?' he managed, gesturing with his spectacles.

"Oh... um... Doctor Mitchell did it. Sorta a joke I guess."

She reached the desk and bent over, lowering his mug onto a leather coaster he kept aside for the purpose.

From Ivan's perspective this posture made her breasts appear to grow. They crowded forward and nearly spilled from her neckline. Even for an avowed foot-man like himself this proved too much. He reached out and squeezed one.

"Ah!" she sprang back, ringing loudly. "Sorry, I—I'm just really sensitive this morning."

His cerebrum turned to treacle. "Sens...?"

"Yes sir," she answered, back-pedaling toward the door with her nipples covered.

"Wait. He put a bell on you?"

"Yeah, I dunno. There's your coffee, sir. You don't need anything else, do you? Mitchell's got me running very tightly."

"T-tightly?"

"My schedule, I mean. Yes sir."

"But you're so late."

"I know an' I'm real sorry. I'll bring you more in a bit, okay?"

She'd almost reached the doorway, continuing: "There's a fresh pot in the lobby. And Doctor Mitchell wants me to remind you about billing."

Ivan spread his arms. "But—"

She felt the threshold underfoot and brightened her smile: "Be back soon!"

"Sto—!"

She pulled his door shut and ran, clutching her chest, slapping her feet and chanting Jesus' name.

Jacobsen collapsed into his chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He was aroused and dejected all at once. He hadn't even had time to admire her feet.

"A fucking bell?" he exclaimed. "Damn it, Mitchell!"

Tiffany made it back to the lobby and quickly poured Adams' coffee. Within seconds she was at his door, knocking quietly so as not to be overheard by anyone else.

"Come," Adams called.

She pushed through and shut herself in, careful not to spill.

"Hi sir," she said with her morning's most comfortable smile.

"Hey."

"Mitchell says everyone needs to do billing."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

She approached his desk and cast her gaze about for an uncluttered spot to set down his mug.

"Oh sorry. Here, I'll take it," he offered, removing his feet from the only clear place and sitting up to accept his coffee above the paper piles. Then he slowly settled back in his chair and continued, "So... How's Rifle's most talked-about girl today?"

"What?"

"Oh. You didn't see?"

"See what?" she asked, suddenly worried.

He took a sip to buy time.

"Oh, uh, nothing," he lied. "It's just... Small town, you know? People talk is all."

"About me? Did someone say something about yesterday? That stupid thing?! Does my grandma know?"

"No-no, not at all. Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out -- I was joking. Really. I mean... it's just... you're... very pretty so, people gossip. That's all. I'm sure your grandma hasn't heard anything."

She made a worried noise; churning through all sorts of negative potentialities. Up to then she hadn't really cared what people there thought of her. It was only a summer job after all and she planned to return to Boston as soon as possible. But now she reconsidered. She was meeting gobs of strangers every day and the various perversities being foisted on her by the four doctors suddenly seemed to pose a real risk. Word could get back to her family.

"Jesus," she worried aloud.

Adams used the opportunity to steal a glance at her barely-clad figure. Once his eyes had returned to more polite latitudes he said: "Don't worry. You're fine, okay?"

She nodded, unfocussed. For the first time all day she didn't feel horny. And this, she realized, was with Adams who'd originally been so enticing. Somehow the absence of any sort of exploitive guile on his part made her feel oddly bored.

"Huh," she wondered, pivoting to leave.

"Okay bye!" he joked.

"Sorry," she answered, snapping out of her reverie. "D'you need anything?"

"No, I'm cool. You just keep your chin up, okay? Forget what I said. We have a bunch of new patients on the calendar for next week and that's certainly because of you. You're doing a great job."

"Uh-huh."

"Mitchell is totally stoked about you."

"Shit!" she swore, remembering his twenty-minute deadline. "I'm late!"

She bolted from Adams' office so violently that the door's backswing nearly toppled a yard-high pile of files he'd been storing for a year. She sprinted toward the lobby and burst through the last door on the right.

"You're back!" Grisholm jumped, startled.

"Mitchell says do your billing, okay? I gotta run."

He noticed the bell, her feet and her clothes.

"Wha...?" his voice collapsed in wonderment.

"I know, I know. Mitchell did it. But you're all set, right? Please say yes."

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down."

He pushed his chair back and stood.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, chiming like a reindeer. "I hafta go."

"Good heavens! What kind of...?"

She followed his approaching gaze and realized just how dramatic she looked. Her clothes barely covered anything.

"I'd never wear this in public!" she blurted, trying to sound indignant.

"No, indeed," he agreed, going glassy eyed as he got nearer.

"Billing," she repeated, snapping her fingers in front of him. "That's what Doctor Mitchell says."

"You can't stay?" he mumbled, drawn to her like gravity.

She spun and darted out the door, fully reminded of his infatuation.

On her way to the next room she swiveled and flashed her blue eyes back, confirming that Grisholm's moony face was leaning out through his doorway, optically superglued to her behind.

SCENE TWENTY-THREE

"Done!" Tiffany announced as she tumbled into Mitchell's office. "Did I make it?"

Ian looked up from his computer and then checked his watch. "Nope."

"Urgh. But close, right? I did coffee and the phones and straightened the lobby and checked-in on everyone and reminded them all about billing. That's gotta count for something!"

She finished this speech with an emphatic gesture, one hand on her hip and the other tossed skyward.

He leaned back and gave her a steady stare, deliberately folding his arms. His expression said everything.

"Oh, right," she recalled, collapsing her pose. "Sorry, um... about earlier."

He sighed melodramatically and looked up at the ceiling, waiting for her to continue.

"I just... " she struggled, "You know...we got carried away, sir."

"I see."

He still refused to look at her.

She crept forward into the room, scanning for her sandals but making sure to keep his desk between them. No part of her, for once, wanted to venture to the other side.

When she spotted her shoes neatly arranged by the window behind him, she stilled and asked: "Are you mad?"

"Mad?" he replied with mock astonishment, unfolding his arms and looking directly at her. "Why would I be mad? Can you think of a reason?"

She knew better than to feed this. She dug one sandal into the carpet behind her and remained silent.

"Oh, I remember now!" he emoted like a B-movie villain; scowling and rising to his feet, "You were in the middle of giving me a blowjob..."

Her eyes flared and she knit her hands into a single fist.

"...then you ran away!"

Her expression went beyond deer-in-the-headlights, to Bambi-sees-the-Hindenburg.

He relished this, letting it stretch as long as he could. The effort of not laughing made it funnier. He leaned against the side of his desk and stretched his legs out toward her, crossing one shoe over the other.

"Happy and relaxed," he sighed. "That's your job. And I would also like a coffee."

"A-also?" she stuttered, having by then squeezed all the circulation out of her hands.

"Yes. Is that too much to ask?"

"Coffee? no."

"Good. That'll be perfect after you finish my blowj—"

"Don't say it!"

"Blowjob?"

"N-AH! Shh!"

"You prefer polishing helmet? Knob gob—"

"No! Not any—"

"Don't tell me fellatio."

"Not the word; the thing! I'm not doing that."

"Could've fooled me this morning."

"You know what I mean. That was a mistake."

"Well, that's odd because on Monday Jacobsen and Adams had their way with you and then yesterday Grisholm got you off, twice. Now suddenly today...?"

She couldn't breathe.

"...you claim chastity?"

"Sir, I..." "Hardly seem fair."

"But I didn't start any of that!"

"You certainly enjoyed it."

"I didn't do anything to them, they just did stuff to me, okay?"

"Is that a Millennial work-ethic?"

"No, sir... Come on!"

"Come? Where? In your mouth?"

"No!" she flapped her arms, equal parts exasperated and horrified. "Listen, can we please be normal for a sec? Just like, without all these crazy rules and clothes and stuff?"

"You want to get naked?"

"No! Omigod! I just want to come here and work; like a normal person!"

"Well, you do come here... loudly I might add, but I'd hardly call that work."

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I. You are not winning this debate."

"But some of the stuff you guys are making me do is crazy. You said to flirt, so I did, okay? But—"

"That's flirting? Leaving my balls half-exploded?"

She didn't answer. The mental picture was too much.

"I'm still all pent-up!" he continued, waving an aggrieved gesture toward the window.

Suddenly she wished she hadn't ventured into this conversation without so much as a toothbrush in preparedness.

He straightened to his full height and wandered off toward the other side of the room, leaving her to stew in her anxiety. Eventually he let out a long sigh and turned around.

"Look," he began. "Turnabout is fair play, okay? You pretty much killed me this morning, but I'm not mad. I did the same to you first, so..."

She squinted, struggling to discern whether this was just another rhetorical wind-up.

"Really?" she doubted.

"Sure. I just didn't know you had such... pluck. That's all."

"Oh."

For an instant a smile flitted through her lips, not long enough for him to see. It was the closest thing to a victory dance she could afford.

"So then..." she recovered. "What now?"

"I'll take that coffee, actually."

"Just a coffee?"

"Yup."

"N'kay. Sure," she shrugged; having decided it was safe to fetch her shoes first.

"Great, thanks. Oh, and by the way Tiff', just so you know, you might want to put a little hustle on that because we need to leave in five minutes."

"Leave? Why?"

"To go thank your new friend Cartwright."

This surprised her so completely that she coughed and swallowed simultaneously, nearly giving herself a case of hiccups.

"Oh did you forget that?" he asked with a Cheshire grin, sauntering closer. "I've already called the shop to let them know we're coming."

She did the Bambi thing again.

"We're bringing pastries," he purred. "And you... are going to hand them out."

*