– Whitney
The first thing I see when I walk into my office is Dr. Davis.
He’s sitting in my office chair. I freeze in the doorway, before saying a startled, “Hello?”
“Whitney,” he says, and beckons at me to come in. “How nice to see you today. Please close the door.”
I do it, if only out of complete shock. He’s acting like this is his office.
Who let him in here? Who is allowing him to do this?
The questions fly through my mind faster than any answers can come. But it’s obvious that he has more power and control here than I thought he did. I’d best tread carefully.
I obediently sit down at the chair in front of my desk, which is supposed to be for patients. I wonder if Dr. Davis somehow knows what Harlow and I have been up to.
Would Harlow have told him? Does he somehow have Harlow on some sort of high-tech top-secret surveillance? He sure does seem to keep close tabs on him.
Dr. Davis is staring at me suspiciously, as if wondering how I’m going to play this. So, I decide to play it cool— pick up where I’d left off with Dr. Davis, or tried to anyway— and not show any of my fear. Not that that’s as easy as it sounds when the plan first crosses my mind.
“I’m so glad you’re here, too, Dr. Davis,” I say, taking a moment to regain my composure. I sit up straight in my chair and smile at him, as if nothing in the world is wrong. As if I didn’t just have sex with his prodigy patient. “I left you a message, and was hoping you’d get back to me soon about that. So, thank you.”
“Yes, I’m here to discuss Harlow, of course,” he says. “Which is something that obviously needs to happen.”
“Obviously,” I say, trying to suppress a gulp.
Is it possible that he’s really just here to discuss my voicemail and Harlow’s treatment plan? Could I be worrying for nothing?
I try to relax.
But I can’t. Harlow had told me not to worry until something happened, and now something is happening— or might be— so I’m really worried.
“He’s obviously not improving while working with you,” Dr. Davis says, with a frown.
“I’m sorry. He’s… what?”
“Not improving. Your message and your charts and notes are quite clear. We need to step up Harlow’s training. Have him work with someone more experienced, who can hopefully get better results out of him.”
“Not improving? Dr. Davis, I don’t think you heard my voicemail correctly…”
“Of course I did. But I’m beginning to think you’re the one who isn’t hearing me.”
He leans back in his chair— my chair— and crosses his arms across his chest. I’m beginning to realize that the situation is worse than I could have possibly thought.
“Dr. Davis,” I say, trying to sound firm and bold, as I pick up Harlow’s file that he had left in front of him on my desk, “My notes have well documented that…”
“…that Harlow is behind in many areas.” Dr. Davis finishes the sentence I had started—but he finishes it incorrectly. “And that he needs a lot of extra therapy.”
I flip frantically through the pages, until I find some of my notes. Except, they’re not my notes. They have my signature attached to them, but they are not what I put into the system.
I had printed out my notes to go over them with Lance and Dr. Davis. So at least I know I have the originals, but these are not them. Where I had given Harlow glowing reviews on his assessments, this imposter’s copy shows that he is lacking in many areas.
“I… I don’t understand…” I falter, at the same time that I’m beginning to realize that I do understand.
At first, I think that someone must have mistakenly switched my notes in Harlow’s file with those of a different patient. Then, broaching the possibility in my mind that it was something more nefarious, I begin to think that someone purposefully changed them.
But then I realize that that “someone” was Dr. Davis. And the light must dawn in my eyes, because he nods his head at me knowingly.
“Of course you understand,” he says. “You know exactly where Harlow stands. Even though you may have wanted to exaggerate how well he’s doing since you have a romantic interest in him. You know that’s not what’s best for the patient. You have to be truthful even when you wish the patients were doing better than they are.”
“Dr. Davis, these are not my notes,” I begin to say, feeling my face redden with heat and anger.
I was right about him all along, and I should have trusted my initial instincts. I’m determined to stand up to him.
At first, I thought he was lying about how far Harlow had come in his recovery but now I realize that for some reason he’s lying about how little progress Harlow has made. It makes no sense, but I’m certain I can get to the bottom of it.
“Yes, they are your notes,” he says, leaning forward to glare at me. “And we can work this one of two ways. A way that’s good for you, or a way that’s bad for you.”
He cocks his head to the side, to make sure I’m listening.
“I got a little call from someone who reported seeing you on a date with your patient, Ms. Reid,” he says, shaking his head and adding, tsk, tsk tsk. “You know that’s against company policy.”
“What…?” I ask. “Who would…?”
I stop, because I’ve already figured it out. Angela must have told Tony that she saw Harlow and me and Apothecary, and then Tony must have called and ratted me out to Dr. Davis. That asshole. He can’t just leave in peace; he has to kick up drama as he goes.
“Exactly,” Dr. Davis says, as he realizes that I know who reported me. “I recall a very public and unprofessional fight with that love interest recently here at the office. You obviously can’t be trusted to keep your personal and professional lives separate, and you’re dating a patient.”
He says tsk, tsk, tsk but I protest.
“Dr. Davis, Harlow and I are not… ummm….”
I falter, not knowing the appropriate way to say “having sex” in this context.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dr. Davis says. “That’s only one of many issues you’ll have to face should you not do what I want. And even if the caller hadn’t reported it, I’d have my ways of finding out. I know everything that goes on here.”
“What exactly are you saying?” I ask him, wondering if he hired Tony or his cohorts to spy on me.
I wouldn’t put it past him to do that, or past Tony to agree. I did think it was strange that Angela would be at Apothecary, which isn’t normally her type of scene, but I thought maybe she was there for a special occasion.
“I’m sure you know that I have everyone in this place in my back pocket,” Dr. Davis continues. “They listen to anything and everything I say. So, it all depends on how you want me to spin this. I can go out there and tell your boss that we had a nice chat and I appreciate the work you’ve done with Harlow but that you and I have decided he needs a higher level of treatment. I will give a glowing performance review and recommend that they keep you around here, for your ability to help Harlow as much as you could and to recognize when he needs very experienced care.”
Dr. Davis clears his throat, and then continues.
“Or I can go tell them that you don’t know what you’re doing, that you slowed down Harlow’s progress even more, due to a relationship you’re involved in with him, which I have documented proof of a phone call informing me about, and that you should be terminated immediately,” Dr. Davis threatens. “And just what do you think they will do if I tell them that?”
I look at him, but don’t say anything.
I know they would terminate me. He’s right. He’s like a God around here and I’m a brand new intern.
Now it makes sense as to why he chose me to work with Harlow. He thought he could intimidate me into doing whatever he wants. He’s since realized I won’t, but he doesn’t care because he knows they’ll never believe me over him. So, he just threatens to get me fired if I dare challenge him.
“Whitney? Are you alright? Or did our friendly little chat scare you?”
I just sit here, not saying anything. I don’t know what there is to say at this point, as he’s clearly got me right where he wants me.
“There, there,” he says, getting up from my desk and walking around to pat me on my shoulders. “I knew you’d see it my way. Everyone always does. I’ll just go out there and let them know that we had this nice little talk. You do know, that if you wish to continue working here, you shouldn’t contact Harlow at all. He needs to focus on getting better, not on relationship drama.”
“I— Dr. Davis,”
I gulp, truly not knowing what to say. My internship and career are clearly on the line, but so is this budding… whatever it is… that I have with Harlow. I know I’d be stupid to choose a guy I just met over my future.
But I can’t help but wonder if I should. It bothers me that this doctor is blackmailing me like this, but I can’t see any way out of it right now. I need time to think and plan.
“Which option will it be, Whitney?”
When I still don’t answer, because I figure it best to say nothing than to get myself into more hot water with whatever might come out of my mouth, Dr. Davis says, “I’ll go with Option A for the time being, but if I hear one little protesting squeak out of you, or any reason to think you’re still carrying on this ridiculous, torrid affair with Harlow, I’ll be sure to have Plan B as a backup.”
And with that, he leaves my office, taking my courage and dignity along with him.