"Doc, I'm constipated and I've tried everything to overcome this blockage that I've got down below but nothing seems to work, I feel bloated, like my ass is on fire," Suzanne Moreau said with a sigh, as she looked at Dr. Francis Duchene. The tall, broad-shouldered, gorgeously dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome physician nodded with empathy, as was his custom. If it weren't for hypochondriacs like you, doctors worldwide would have less business, Dr. Duchene thought as he looked at Suzanne.
At the age of twenty four, Suzanne Moreau had already been married twice, and divorced twice. Her latest divorce proved quite scandalous, even in the small town of Trois-Rivières, Quebec. Especially after she was sent to jail when it was revealed that her former husband, Nigerian newcomer Malik Adewale, had paid her to marry him so he could get his papers. Long story short? Malik was on the lam, and Suzanne had done some jail time. And now she was back in town...
The chubby, red-haired and green-eyed, pretty-faced and curvaceous young French Canadian woman was locally known for her debauchery. Dr. Duchene remembered her parents, Richard and Gina Moreau, who died in a tragic car accident almost a decade ago. Since that day, Suzanne Moreau had been in the care of her elderly aunt Nicole Moreau, who could do very little to tame her wild ways. Not that Dr. Duchene thought there was even a snowball's chance in hell that Suzanne could tame her wild ways...
"We'll have to find the right laxative for you, my dear," Dr. Duchene said impassively, and Suzanne smiled. She'd been coming to Dr. Duchene's office for as long as she could remember. Truth be told, if Suzanne were honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she had a long-standing crush on Dr. Duchene. The guy reminded her of Hollywood actor Dennis Haysbert, from the Allstate Insurance commercials on television.
There weren't a lot of McGill-educated, devastatingly handsome Haitian-Canadian men practicing medicine in rural Quebec, that's for damn sure. Such men usually preferred the bigger cities like Toronto, Montreal or Vancouver. And they sure didn't make them like Dr. Duchene anymore. With his serious, handsome face and his athletic good looks, Dr. Duchene looked more like a retired NFL player than a physician. At the age of forty four, the good doctor looked pretty damn good...
"Perhaps it's not the laxatives, Doc, perhaps my ass is too loose," Suzanne almost said, but she caught herself on time. Dr. Duchene was otherwise occupied, looking at her chart. On his office wall hung his degree from the prestigious Medical School of McGill University. Suzanne was impressed. After graduating from the local high school, Suzanne thought about joining the Canadian Armed Forces but washed out after eight months. She was not cut out for army life...
Returning to her hometown of Trois-Rivières, Suzanne Moreau got a job at the local mill, where her welding skills helped her earn decent pay. She continued to live with her aunt, and usually spent her nights at Harry's Tavern, drinking, fighting, and often bringing home the odd trucker, especially the Black, Latino and Aboriginal ones. Suzanne had always been fond of men of color, and didn't apologize for it. This irked the hell out of the local white dudes, since Suzanne was a fairly attractive woman...
Suzanne noticed that besides his fancy degree, there were other things on the good doctor's office wall, like a family portrait. She carefully looked at the picture of Dr. Duchene standing next to a slender, well-dressed, blonde-haired Caucasian woman, and their two mixed-race daughters. Suzanne recognized Dr. Duchene's late wife, former city councilwoman Patricia Saint-Laurent, and their adult daughters Joanne and Stephanie, both of whom were studying at the University of Montreal. Nice family, Suzanne thought wistfully...
"You and your wife made for a lovely couple, Doc, I'm so sorry she's gone," Suzanne said out of the blue, and Dr. Duchene looked at her, a puzzled expression on his handsome face. Dr. Duchene nodded courteously, even though he seemed a bit put-off by what she'd just said. Suzanne wasn't surprised. Most of the people in Trois-Rivières thought little of her. To them, Suzanne was an odd duck. A woman who drank a lot, got into bar fights, and slept with minority men. A scandalous woman whom decent people didn't associate with, that's what Suzanne was...
"Thank you, Suzanne, it's been two years but I miss my Patricia more day by day," Dr. Duchene replied, his voice choked with emotion. Suzanne bit her lip, unsure what to do. At six-foot-two, the good doctor was a solid man, and with his casual confidence and deep voice, he seemed like the type who could handle anything. Yet all of a sudden, he seemed almost...frail.
"It's alright, Doc, we all feel pain and loss," Suzanne said, as she got up, and then, gently put her arms around Dr. Duchene. Dr. Duchene trembled slightly, and a smiling Suzanne patted him...all over. When she looked up at him, Dr. Duchene seemed confused. Slowly but firmly, he extricated himself from her arms, and then apologized for his moment of weakness, as he put it. Suzanne looked at the handsome physician and smiled innocently. The things I could do to you, sexy chocolate man, Suzanne thought, smiling.
"Thank you for your sympathy, Suzanne, means a lot, I'll write you a prescription and then go on home, I think I'm not feeling well," Dr. Duchene said, and he put down his chart, and then scribbled something on a piece of paper, which he then handed over to Suzanne. The young woman looked at him and smiled, loving the effect that she was having on the normally unflappable doctor...
"You're welcome, Doc, and if there is anything I can do to help you feel better, just let me know," Suzanne said, and then she gave Dr. Duchene another impromptu and definitely unwanted hug, then sauntered out of his office. The doctor's receptionist, an elderly Asian lady named Mira Chan, shot her a look. Suzanne winked at Mira, who evidently knew all about her bad reputation, then shrugged at the disapproving old woman and walked out of the office.
