Immortally Yours (2 page)

“Why don’t you tell me what your life is like now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you lived here for a while? Do you live alone? Do you
have a job? What are your circumstances?”

“That’s just it. Now would be the time to move on, but I’m
tired of running away. Tired of starting over. I have a nice low rent and it’s
not easy to find jobs that pay under the table and let you stay under the
radar. Hey, that doctor-patient confidentiality thing is still true, right?”

“You’re not running guns or selling illegal drugs are you?”

She laughed. “No. I’m not sure what to do. I can’t even rely
on becoming a mistress anymore. My last lover died years ago and, thanks to
AIDS, finding someone who believes in free love isn’t as easy as it used to be.
Besides, I want to be a modern woman. I’ve heard about using the internet to
make money without anyone knowing who you are but this eighteenth-century girl
just can’t catch up.” Taking a deep breath, she asked what she had been
wondering for the last fifteen minutes. “You seem like you believe my story. Do
you?”

“I have no reason to doubt your sincerity.”

“Why?”

She wasn’t challenging him. He could see she was genuinely
puzzled. “Lizette, I’m more open-minded than some health professionals. Perhaps
you’ve met them already. Don’t judge me by them and I won’t judge you by my
other patients. It’s just you and me here. Now, you were talking about the
internet?”

She nodded. “Things like technology have progressed so fast
in the last thirty or forty years, they’ve left my head spinning.”

“I imagine the twenty-first century must be daunting.”

“It’s unbelievable. I thought the changes during the
Industrial Revolution were overwhelming but this…this is just madness! I
hesitate to buy a music system, a cell phone or a computer—even my camera is
out of date and it’s hard to find film at my convenience store. That’s not very
convenient, is it? Whatever is in vogue one day will be improved upon the
next.”

Colin thought about how helpless his elderly mother was with
technology. He coughed to cover his smile.

“Don’t you know anyone who could help you? Young men and
women who look your age grew up learning the basics of computer technology in
grade school. Even I learned the basics in middle school and I’m thirty.”

She smirked. “Practically an infant.”

He’d let that go. “Do you live with a roommate or have any
close friends?”

“No. That’s also part of my problem. I have to cut myself
off from anyone I’ve known for more than a few years but I’m sick and tired of
being alone in a new city over and over again.” In a small voice, she said,
“You’re the first person I’ve ever told my secret to.”

Her lip quivered and she looked like she was about to break
down, crying. Colin’s heart went out to her but he had to maintain his
professional distance, no matter how much he wanted to take her in his arms and
comfort her…
Don’t go there, Colin, or you might not be Dr. Brayer much
longer.

He handed her a tissue. “Really?”

She nodded, sniffed and dabbed at her tears. “Oh, there were
times when I laughed off people’s comments on my
eternal youth
that were
veiled as compliments. I made up things like having found the greatest face
cream. Then people wanted to know the specific brand name. I wish I could have
invented a face cream! I’d have made a mint just from being my own
advertisement. I finally just shrugged and said that women were taking care of
themselves and looking better as they aged these days. The thirties are the new
twenties.”

“I’ve heard that about each decade and it seems to hold
true.”

“Yeah. They got it from me. The truth is, I drink, I used to
smoke and I don’t use sunscreen.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting skin cancer?”

She snorted. “I wish.”

Confused by her quip, he asked, “So, if you’ve never told
anyone up to now, what made you tell me?”

“I know the world has changed and I’m not going to be burned
at the stake for being different. But even though people are more open-minded,
how do I explain this to a long-term landlady or a friend I’d like to keep?
Some women look damn good at fifty but pretty soon people will ask me where I
go for my kick-ass plastic surgery.”

He waited for her to continue but she said nothing. Pretty
soon the quiet became uncomfortable.

She bent over to bury her face in her hands and her
shoulder-length blonde hair fell forward. A few sniffles followed. Damn, he
wanted to reach out and touch her hair, maybe smooth it out of her face, but
no. What could he do to comfort her without losing his license?

Listen. Sympathize. Then, as with any other patient, arm her
with knowledge and give her hope. But that might require divulging more than he
wanted to. He walked a fine line, since his other patients deserved their
confidences kept too. She wasn’t his only immortal patient. If only he could
tell her that.

“Lizette, do you know of anyone else with this condition?”

“No, none. In fact, I don’t even know why I have it. I don’t
sprout fangs. I don’t get all furry during the full moon. And I don’t have
lucky charms that are magically delicious.”

Colin laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her sense of humor was
charming and charm might be what had saved her up until now. “How about your
business partners? Do you ever get questions from them?”

“No. I only see my colleagues on rare occasions and have
impersonated my own daughter successfully. I have an absentee landlady and as
long as she receives my checks on time, she shouldn’t have to show up. There’s
a maintenance man in the building but I’m not crazy about the smell of cigars and
he always has one hanging out of his mouth. Yuck. The only upside is I can
smell him coming and avoid him.”

“I imagine with your background in fragrance, you’ve taught
your nose to appreciate the finer scents.”

“Exactly. I like the fact that people wash more frequently
now than in days gone by and clean their homes, but many scents have
obliterated the desirable, natural ones and it’s a shame.”

Colin’s mind immediately jumped to the scent of musk on an
aroused woman or the heavy scent of sex on well-used sheets. He almost lost his
concentration but her sweet voice dragged him back to the moment.

“And air pollution. Have you ever been walking by a diesel
truck or a bus idling in traffic? It’s disgusting. Now, evergreen forests are
about the only places you can find fresh air.”

“Yes. I know what you mean.”

“So how about it, doctor? Can you help me?”

“Well, that depends on why you came to me? What do you want
help with?”

She took a deep, audible breath and folded her hands in her
lap. “Killing myself. I want to commit suicide and don’t dare muck it up or I
could be brain dead, incontinent and drooling until the end of time. I figured
a psychiatrist might know the best way.”

To desire immortality is to desire the eternal
perpetuation of a great mistake.

Arthur Schopenhauer

The admission slammed into Colin like a high-speed impact.
Shock waves reverberated through his body and prickles traveled up his spine.
“I—I can’t do that. I took the Hippocratic Oath and I’d violate my own
principles by trying to assist you in suicide. And in your case, you’re right,
it could be a disaster. Why would you want to do that?”
How can I stop her
from trying? My God. What a crime
that
would be!

She shrugged. “What’s to live for? I’ve already told you how
lonely I am. How isolated my life has become. What I haven’t told you is how
many nights I lie awake, crying my eyes out. And nowadays, I can’t even seek
solace in a bit of casual, uncommitted sex.”

Damn. How he’d love to help her out with that.
Watch it,
Brayer. She could be trying to manipulate you.
But for some reason, he
didn’t think so. Her face said she was deadly serious. A face so beautiful he
could barely take his eyes off her.

There were times Colin wished he weren’t a doctor and this
was one of them. He wanted to shake her, or cuddle her, but neither would be
very professional. He leaned forward, hands clasped together, and rested his
elbows on his knees. “Listen, Lizette, the reason I don’t believe in suicide is
because the very nature of life is change. And as such, feelings
change…circumstances change. And with change comes hope. Nothing is inescapable
forever.

“I sympathize with people’s emotional suffering—that’s why I
became a doctor in the first place. I’m here to help. If the problem is
depression, it can result in a chemical imbalance. Then the chemical imbalance
feeds the depression. It becomes a vicious cycle. The good news is that we have
chemicals to restore the balance. I know you don’t like the idea of nature
being aided by chemicals but you have no idea how many peoples’ lives have been
improved by psychopharmacology.”

“What’s that?”

“The science of medication to restore mental health or
alleviate emotional suffering. Are you allergic to any drugs?”

She held up her hand. “No, but stop right there. I don’t
want to take drugs.”

Colin sighed. How many times had he heard that? “They’re not
all
bad.”

“But I don’t need drugs.”

“You said you cry frequently and want to commit suicide.
That sounds to me like symptoms of depression—symptoms that could prove to be
dangerous. Sometimes, a short trial on antidepressant medication helps make the
final diagnosis when it works. And the diagnostic tool becomes the cure at the
same time.”
I desperately hope she understands. I can’t lose her.
Colin
questioned his own thought.
Why
couldn’t he lose her? She was already
more than just another patient. He couldn’t deny it. Well, he could but it
would probably come back to bite him in the ass. He was hopelessly attracted to
her. And not just that. He sympathized with her plight and admired her pluck.
Dammit, he cared about her in a deeply personal way.

After a long hesitation, she threw her hands in the air. “If
it might help, I guess I can try it. After all, I don’t need to worry about
them killing me, do I?”

Thank God.
He couldn’t stop a smile. “No, you don’t.
Neither do most people if they take them as prescribed. You may have some side
effects—read the enclosures the pharmacy gives you. Report any of those
symptoms to me right away.” He whipped out his prescription pad and scribbled
her name at the top. His pen hovered over it. “What do you use as your date of
birth?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have one. Care to make one up for
me?”

He looked at her closely. “I’d say you could have been born
in the late Eighties.”

“Okay,” she said. “Make it today’s date,
nineteen-eighty-seven. It’s only two-hundred and seventy-five years off, give
or take.”

He paused, then jotted down the date and wrote the
instructions. Then he rose and handed the prescription to her. “Take this to a
pharmacy on your way home and follow the instructions to the letter. Then come
back in a week. Okay?”

“I might not be able to afford too many more visits. Is it
okay if I just call and check in once in a while?” She took the slip of paper
and tucked the prescription into her handbag.

“No. I’ll need to see you in a week.”
Need to or want to?
Both, if he was honest with himself.

She sighed.

He had to do something to ensure she’d come back. Perhaps he
could tell her something that would make her feel less alone, without giving
confidential details. She had to have felt like a freak for a couple centuries.

He took a deep breath. “You’re not the only one, you know.”

She bolted upright. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not the only immortal roaming the earth. You’re not
even the only immortal in Seattle.”

She focused on him intently, her eyes narrowed. “Are you
saying you’ve known people like me—and that you truly believe my story?”

“I’m not committing to that yet. As I said, I’m reserving
judgment until I get to know you better, but yes…I’ve had a couple patients
with immortality-related issues. That’s why I advertise the way I do.”

“Evening hours? Comfortable with unique cases?”

“Exactly.”

She locked eyes with him and breathed a quiet “Oh.” Her
perfect, delicate, pink lips formed a circle he imagined tightly wrapped around
his cock and he almost groaned out loud.
Stop it, Colin. For God’s sake!

“What if I need to talk to you earlier?”

“I have an answering service that can get in touch with me
in an emergency.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Good to know.
Thanks, doctor. I feel almost human again.”

“You’ll probably feel even better next week.”

“I guess you’ve tested this stuff on immortals before?”

He smiled. “You’d be surprised.”

“I wish you could tell me who they are and exactly where I
could find them but I suppose you can’t.”

“That’s right. Their confidentiality is important too.”

She smiled coquettishly and said, “Maybe just a hint?
Please?”

He gave her a sideways look that he hoped broached no
argument.

“I know, I know. It’s against the rules. See you next week.”
She waved and left.

Holy Moses!
He needed to have a serious talk with his
hormones.

* * * * *

As Lizette stood in front of the pharmacist, she thought
about how her original goal had been a bust. She couldn’t finagle the noble
doctor into helping her check out—permanently. Oh well. She had the next best
thing. A sexy-as-sin therapist she could talk to…and maybe she could talk him
into slipping her some details of where Seattle’s hip immortals hung out. She
might prefer to survive if she had someone to do it with.

She’d been told her prescription would be ready in about
fifteen minutes so she decided to browse the magazine rack. She could look
through some of the local ads and see if there might be a clue as to any
immortal haunts.

Now, which periodical looked promising? Ah-ha! Seattle After
Dark. She grabbed the paper and thumbed through it until she landed on the
section called Clubs.

Dance clubs, an Elks club, gay bars, goth bars, Irish bars,
Knights of Columbus…wait a minute. Back up. A goth bar? That sounded promising.
Of course, she had no intention of offering up an O-positive snack to
anyone—she had enough problems. Oh well.

At that moment, a rather goth-looking guy sidled up to her.
Where had he come from?

“I notice you’re looking at the entertainment section. Would
you—uh—like to go out sometime?”

She gave him a swift once-over. Stringy black hair. Nice
eyes, although black eyeliner was probably making them appear more prominent
than they were. A few too many piercings for her taste and, speaking of taste,
his clothes weren’t from the Gap, that was for damn sure.

“Listen, I’m not into your thing. I’m more the opera and
expensive restaurant type,” she said, hoping to discourage him.

“No problem. I’ll take you to the opera. Besides, how can
you tell what my ‘thing’ is? I’m into all kinds of music. I haven’t listened to
much opera but maybe it would be a nice change of pace.”

Great. That’s just great.
“Well, I have stuff to do
tonight.”

“So do I. How about some other night this week? When are you
free?”

“Um…let’s see. Tomorrow I’m meeting my lover for dinner,
Wednesday I’m taking care of his kids who are completely in love with me, and
Thursday I’m washing my hair. Don’t ask. It’s a big production.”

“What are you doing Friday?”

“Killing myself. Well, that is, if the medication I’m
getting doesn’t work. Wanna watch?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Uh, well. Good luck with that. I have
to, um…”

She placed a fist on her hip. “Wash your hair?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He backed away and left the store. She mentally shrugged. He
had probably followed her in there just to ask her out. It had happened before.
Ah, the price of eternal youth and beauty.

She returned to her mission of finding others like herself.
“Now if I were an immortal, where would I go? Oh, yeah. I am. But that vampire
wannabe sure wasn’t,” she mumbled.

The pharmacist looked over his high shelf, gave her a
puzzled glance and quickly ducked his head.

“Don’t worry,” she called. “I’m just talking to myself, not
to little green aliens.”

The pharmacist chuckled. “That’s good,” he said. “I thought
he prescribed you the wrong stuff.”

“Nope. I’m just plain depressed. Not plain crazy.”

* * * * *

Lizette had spent the loneliest weekend of her life indoors
because of the constant rain. If only she could call the good doctor and talk
to him on the phone. Of course, seeing his handsome self in person would be
better, but he was so damned expensive and she really had to budget like crazy
right now.

On Monday morning, she called Dr. Brayer’s office. When the
secretary answered, Lizette asked for an emergency appointment.

“May I ask who this is and the nature of your emergency?”
the secretary asked nasally. Her tone was so unimpressed and bored, Lizette
pictured her filing her nails.

“I’m Lizette LaBelle. The shit—I mean, medication he gave me
isn’t working. I’m more depressed than ever.”

“What are you taking and how do you know it’s not working?
How long have you been taking it?”

“None of your fucking business,” Lizette snapped.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It isn’t working. When can you
come in?”

“How’s now for you?”

“I’ll have to page him at the hospital. Can you meet him
there?”

Lizette gasped. “You want me to go to a hospital?”

“Well, you did say it was an emergency. Can you wait until
this afternoon?”

She sighed. “If I lasted until now, I guess I’ll live until
this afternoon. Damn it.”

There was a hesitation. Finally, the secretary said, “Okay,
he can work you in at four. Is that okay?”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” the secretary answered.

“Fine!” she huffed.

That afternoon, Lizette had walked all over Seattle in the
rain, including down First Avenue, where the sex shops and hookers stood. Rain
made her hair frizz and for once she didn’t get propositioned but she hardly
noticed. She was ready to rip her doctor’s secretary a new one. And by the time
she was through with her the woman wouldn’t have an asshole at all—just a shoe
where it used to be. Okay, so that was a little too harsh, but she felt like
lashing out at
someone
.

Her confrontation was thwarted, because by four the
secretary had left and the doc’s door was ajar.

She knocked on it. “Can I come in or what?”

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Lizette. Have a seat and I’ll
come get you.”

She knew he meant for her to sit in the waiting room, but
she was in a rebellious mood. She pushed her way into his office and sat on his
couch, wet raincoat and all. He had been writing at his desk and whirled his
chair to face her. “Um, I meant sit in the waiting room and I’ll call you when
I’m ready.”

She stayed, scowling, with arms folded. “I’m fed up with
waiting. Give an old lady a break, will you?”

They eyed each other, immobile, both determined to get their
own way. At last, Lizette rose and stomped off to the waiting room. About five
minutes later, Dr. Brayer invited her in. She flopped back on the couch and
pouted.

“So what seems to be the problem, Lizette?”

“I’m immune to your stupid medicine and I barely slept all
weekend.”

“It may take a little longer to work. You just need to be
patient for now.”

“Be patient. Now I know why they call us patients.”

He smiled. His voice had been gentle. His smile looked
genuine, as if he were glad to see her despite how rotten she was being to him.
Was this the unconditional acceptance she had been hoping to find all her long
life?

She gentled her own voice. “You said to wait until next week
and now it’s next week.”

“I don’t want to change the medication just yet. Let’s give
it a few more days. Did something happen over the weekend that kept you awake?”

“No. It’s probably nothing. Bad dreams, that’s all. But I
kept trying to sleep and I couldn’t so I stayed awake and watched TV. I had a
chance to go to the opera, but I told the kid who asked me out that I had to
wash my hair and then kill myself, so he took off. Then I stayed in all weekend
because it was raining—again.”

“I thought you were lonely. Scaring off a potential date
doesn’t sound very friendly.”

“Frankly, I’m not feeling very friendly right now. I’m
feeling pretty lousy. Actually, you could say I feel like crap. An absolute
pile of steaming shit.”