A small lift took us up unnumbered floors - two perhaps? three? four? I felt cramped, crushed between the two large men, who stared silently over my head. Sweat began to gather in my armpits. When the lift stopped and the door slid open, the first man gripped my elbow and escorted me out. The reception area was quietly carpeted, hushed, elegant. A young woman sat at a curving desk which carved the room in two. Miss K, I presumed. She wore a blonde wig piled high on her head and winged diamante glasses. Her lips were scarlet; her nails blood-red. She did not smile.
‘Delivery for Doctor J,’ said one of the men.
The woman picked up a white telephone and murmured something into it. The oppressive silence of the room seemed to thicken as she listened to the response, the receiver pressed against her ear. My entire body was now damp with perspiration. Surreptitiously, I rubbed my stocking soles against my legs. The soft carpet would show the imprints of my feet, I felt sure.
The woman turned her back on us - my captors and I - and looked at a flickering computer. She tapped something into it and said over her shoulder, as though in afterthought, ‘The Doctor will see you now.’ Without granting us the courtesy of a further glance, she raised a red talon and pointed to a door which, until then, I had not noticed. Set flush into the wall, it was almost invisible. I held my breath as it slid silently back to reveal an elderly man waiting on the other side.
At last, I stood face to face with the diabolic Dr J.
There could be no mistaking him: the white coat, the gold-rimmed spectacles, the fob watch. He was a walking cliché - wild professorial hair, eyes gleaming with an enthusiasm just this side of madness, fingernails well scrubbed. I had heard all the rumours, all the stories. The man who stood before me could be no one else.
From: THE LOVE MACHINE
Read the rest at The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories - UK
or The Stiletto Heel and Other Stories - USA
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