Let Me Call You Sweetheart

18

Dr. Charles Smith did not have office hours on Wednesday afternoon. It was a time usually reserved for surgical procedures or hospital follow-up visits. Today, however, Dr. Smith had cleared his calendar completely. As he drove down East Sixty-eighth Street, toward the brownstone where the public relations firm Barbara Tompkins worked for was located, his eyes widened at his good luck. There was a parking spot open across from the entrance of her building; he would be able to sit there and watch for her to leave.

When she finally did appear in the doorway, he smiled involuntarily. She looked lovely, he decided. As he had suggested, she wore her hair full and loose around her face; the best style, he had told her, to frame her new features. She was wearing a fitted red jacket, black calf-length skirt and granny shoes. From a distance she looked smart and successful. He knew every detail of how she looked up close.

As she hailed a cab, he turned on the ignition of his twelve-year-old black Mercedes and began to follow. Even though Park Avenue was bumper-to-bumper as was usual in the rush hour, keeping up with the taxi was not a problem.

They drove south, the cab finally stopping at The Four Seasons on East Fifty-second. Barbara must be meeting someone for a drink there, he thought. The bar would be crowded now. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to slip in undetected.

Shaking his head, he decided to drive home instead. The glimpse of her had been enough. Almost too much, actually. For a moment he had really believed that she was Suzanne. Now he just wanted to be alone. A sob rose in his throat. As the traffic inched slowly downtown, he repeated over and over, “I’m sorry, Suzanne. I’m sorry, Suzanne.”