The Doctors Artist

Monday

"Mr. Marcus Cameron? Please come on in," she said.

The man who stood up in the waiting room looked exactly as she expected when she agreed to this ridiculous idea. He was in his late 30s, with a scruffy beard, blue eyes, and brown hair that went to his shoulders. The jeans had splatters of paint, and the T-shirt featured some band she had never heard of.

But it wasn't the man who made Elizabeth nervous. It was the backpack, or rather, its contents.

He smiled and nodded as he walked inside. Then Elizabeth closed the door behind them. If her receptionist noticed anything odd about her behaviour, she said nothing.

"Nice to meet you at last, Elizabeth," he said as she settled behind her desk. He sat down in the chair across from her. She looked at him and sighed again.

"Please, Dr. Joly, while I'm in the office," she said. He nodded and looked like he was about to apologize when she continued. I don't suppose I could persuade you to let me do a physical, and we could forget the whole thing?"

He grinned, and Elizabeth imagined many women found it charming. She was long past finding roguish grins affecting her sex drive.

"That's not what the Medical College paid me for, I'm afraid," he said, as if things were simply beyond his control.

"I think you'll find that the Medical College wants a picture of a woman on the wall to prove they're not all old men. Considering the fees I'm paying, I'm indirectly paying for this humiliation," she said.

The grin dropped, and she took some small satisfaction in this. Elizabeth wasn't enjoying this, so she saw no reason why he should.

"Dr. Joly, when did you know you wanted to be a doctor?"

The question threw her. Little kids asked it when they came in for exams, but not grown men. Grown men wanted her to tell them what was wrong, second-guess her based on something they read on WebMD, or leer. Although there had been a lot less leering in the last few years.

"As long as I can remember," Elizabeth said. "There are pictures of me with a stethoscope when I was three," she said.

"Because you love being a doctor and take it seriously."

"Yes, exactly."

"Doctor, there are pictures of me drawing when I was two. Now, you can say every kid does that. I noticed kids' art on the wall - some of it is really good - but there are pictures of me doing it every year. I got in trouble in school because all I wanted to do was draw. I went to school to learn how to paint. I didn't spend as many years in school as you did, but I did attend school.

"This is my life's work. I take it very seriously. Please show a little respect for it."

Elizabeth blushed, which was something she rarely did.

"My apologies. You're right, of course. Most organizations are happy with a photograph, but this group is more traditional. They believe a painting adds something extra when you walk into the building," she said.

"Well, I'm glad about that, but I'm biased," he said, undoing his bag and pulling out art supplies. She began to get nervous again. Her office was professional and neat. Her only concession to making the space welcoming were a couple of chairs by a floor-to-ceiling window. She did not want paint splattered all over the place.

"Is there going to be a mess?"

He smiled and it was more calming than roguish. One more infuriating thing. She was a doctor and used to being in control and reassuring. Now, here she was in the reverse position.

"As I promised, Dr. Joly, there will be no mess. These are preliminary sketches and painting, so I capture certain colours and complexions. Don't let my appearance fool you. I would never make a mess in your office," he said.

"Now, perhaps you'd like to come out from behind the desk? The light there by the window is lovely. You could sit there, and I can capture some of that," he said.

Elizabeth stood up and brushed herself off, fussing with her suit jacket. She walked over to the window as he set up a portable easel. Marcus put it together, put paper on it, and took out pencils and a small paint set. She sat in the chair, bolt straight, and stared ahead. She heard a small laugh and looked over.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing towards her.

She nodded.

He came over and adjusted the chair so the light fell differently on her face. He touched her ponytail and looked at her to ensure it was okay. She nodded. He pulled her hair out of it and let it fall across her face. He pushed down on her hunched-up shoulders, forcing them to relax.

He did that and a dozen other little adjustments. Elizabeth couldn't remember the last time a man touched her that much in a short time. Although, surprisingly, there was nothing sexual about it. Quick, efficient, and professional.

He went back to his easel and looked at her again. She thought she saw a look of disappointment, but she was probably projecting.

"How long will this take?" she asked.

He glanced at his watch.

"Well, we have another 20 minutes in our appointment. Add the customary 10 to 15 minutes extra that all doctors take, and I have 30 minutes," he said. Then Marcus grabbed a pencil and began to sketch.

Feeling foolish, she said nothing for several minutes and posed rock solid beside the window. She looked outside and hoped no one could see in.

Finally, after 15 minutes of him sketching, she spoke up.

"Is it okay if I talk? I find it very odd to just sit here like this."

"I'd prefer if you did, actually. The quiet is...unpleasant for me."

"You listen to music?"

"Yes. Lots of loud, industrial bands you'd never have heard of. I suspect you'd hate it."

"I prefer classical," she said.

"I am completely unsurprised by that," he said, looking up from his sketching and smiling.

Again, she caught herself blushing. She continued, hoping to change the topic.

"Do you do this lots? Paint portraits?"

"Not as much as you might think," he said, returning his focus to the drawing. "I do lots of landscapes. It pays well, but it's kind of lonely being in nature by yourself all the time. The rest of the time, I'm working in the studio."

"So why do them?"

"I like the company. I like meeting people and trying to capture something about them in a painting. I like talking to and getting to know them, so I can try to capture that in the painting. And I like the practice. I won't say landscapes are easy for me, but capturing someone and who they are in a portrait is a challenge," he said.

"So why offer to paint me? You only have me for 20 minutes?"

"Well, that's an extra challenge. Can I capture you in this short period?" Marcus said before adding. "Plus, the money is always nice."

"Ah," she said. At least she could respect the bluntness.

"You know, this is more fun in my studio..."

"I bet," she said, feeling herself tense up.

"My apologies, I didn't mean anything suggestive. It's more relaxed--less stressful. You're out of this environment and in a new one. I'll even play classical music for you," he said.

When Elizabeth first agreed to this mad idea, Marcus... Mr. Cunningham.... had suggested the studio. She ruled it out completely. There was no way she would pose in some strange man's studio. Now, she had to admit it would have been a better idea. She was sure her receptionist was wondering what she was doing with the new patient.

"I'm also far too busy," she said.

"I can imagine. Being a doctor must be a lot of hard work and stress. Fortunately, I work pretty weird hours," Marcus said, then paused. He looked at the paper, looked back at her, and then resumed sketching. "It's 2 pm on a Monday. Sometimes I'm just getting up."

He was persistent; she had to give him that. She then saw him pause, put down the pencil and take a cloth out of the bag. He carefully spread it around the easel and opened a small paint set.

"I'll be careful, but just in case," he said, seeing the obvious tension on her face when he opened the paints.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said. She looked out the window again, feeling more relaxed this time. Almost bored. That was a rarity at work. She usually didn't even take a lunch break. She ate a salad at her desk and caught up on paperwork rather than going out somewhere.

"Why wasn't a photo good enough? Why couldn't I have sent you one, or you come here today and take one?"

His voice was different when he spoke. Less banter and more focus.

"A picture is a snapshot, and it can lie all over the place--especially these days with AI. People can touch it up. The lighting can change. You smiled that moment but frowned a moment later. Being here with you now means I capture a range of your emotions. It's much better this way," he said.

He continued to paint for a few more moments when she saw a light flash on her desk phone. The light must have also caught Marcus's eye because he paused in his work and looked at her.

"I guess our time is up," he said.

"I...I guess it is," she said, standing up and going to the phone. She picked it up and told her receptionist they were cueing up, and she'd take the next patient in five minutes.

"I've enjoyed the challenge. Thank you," Marcus said, holding his hand out to shake hers. Automatically, she took it. It was warm and surprisingly soft. Elizabeth felt a tingle go through her. When she pulled away, there was some paint on her hand.

"Damn, sorry. I can keep it off your floors, but not your hands," Marcus said, reaching into his bag to get some tissues.

"It's fine," she said. The paint should have annoyed her, but it didn't, for some reason. "I've had kids leave worse things on me."

"I bet," he said, breaking everything down and packing it up. He carefully placed the picture in a box. "I know you don't want me to leave here holding this. This isn't ideal, but as this is a rough draft for me to work on when I get to my studio, it should be ok."

"Can I...can I see what you have?" she asked. She hated the sound of her voice or that she was even a little curious about the whole, mad process. But she did want to see what he came up with.

"Oh no. God no. This is a rough draft. You'd think I barely knew how to draw if you saw this. I'll let you know in a week or so if I have something for you to look at," he said. Then, he took a card from his pocket and placed it on her desk.

"In case you change your mind and want to pose in the studio. It'll be safe and fun. I promise. But no pressure."

Elizabeth picked up the card and saw a beautiful landscape with an address and contact information. She tucked it into her pants pocket.

"Unlikely, but thank you for understanding."

He finished packing and smiled.

"Thank you, Dr. Joly. It's been a pleasure. I'll be in touch."

He left her office, nodded at the receptionist, and wished her a nice day.

She must have been in a daze because her receptionist had to ask twice if she was ready for her next patient. She also had a smile on her face when she asked.

Blushing again, she told Helen to send in Mr. King. As she walked back in, she remembered the paint on her hand and went to look for a tissue. But when she looked, it was gone without a trace.

"Weird," she said. Then Mr. King came in, complaining about his gout again, and she put the paint from her mind.

--

Elizabeth walked home after spending a few hours on paperwork in the office. Keeping the townhouse after the divorce had been costly. Her ex-husband knew she loved the place and had pried concessions elsewhere out of her so she could keep it. But she loved the brick house, even if climbing the stairs to her third-floor bedroom was a nuisance. It was within walking distance of her clinic, with restaurants and cafes along the way.

When she got home, she made a light meal and then did some reading. It had been this way since she divorced her husband 15 years ago. His affair had been her fault due to her being so "unavailable." The humiliating process soured her so much she hadn't even dated anyone since then, let alone had sex.

It has never been spectacular with her ex. Sometimes, she missed sex, but only abstractly. It was like missing a discontinued favourite cereal from childhood.

After she showered, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. Normally, she would do her usual evening routines of moisturizing and getting ready for bed. But her conversation and posing with Marcus gave her pause this evening. She wasn't an idiot; she knew he was handsome, but that wasn't it. Perhaps it was the conversation where he asked when she wanted to be a doctor.

Elizabeth hadn't lied to him. Her earliest memories were of being a doctor. So much of her childhood had been awkward and uncomfortable. Her moments of joy came from helping someone who needed it.

And on the rare occasion when she got to save someone's life, it was the best feeling in the world. If you could bottle it, it would lead to world peace.

But it got lost along the way. It would be easy to blame a loveless marriage for it, but the marriage became loveless because she got lost. She was a good, diligent doctor, but the joy was gone. Too many years of unhappy patients, endless paperwork, and gratuitous, money-seeking lawsuits.

"Or maybe it was losing Angela," part of her mind whispered, but she quickly shut that thought down.

The joy was gone, and she didn't know how to get it back. The woman in the mirror told that story. She kept coming back to the line from Tolkien. "I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread."

Elizabeth didn't understand the line from

Lord of the Rings

as a child, but the woman in the mirror understood it too well.

She'd always been thin, with a high metabolism and never much of an appetite. So she stood 5'9" and looked more than a little like a straight twig. She never had much in the way of breasts or hips. Her face was narrow and angular. Her eyes used to be kinder but were duller now. Her receptionist had given up pleading with her to dye her hair. The grey in her hair had won the battle and was sweeping up any stragglers.

Sighing, Elizabeth had no idea what Marcus would find particularly interesting in this. She'd never been beautiful, but had a certain geeky appeal that interested a few men in medical school. It's how she met her husband. Now, she just looked tired.

Elizabeth climbed into bed and asked Siri to play some Bach.

The Goldberg Variations

began to play, and she tried to focus on a historical fiction novel. But soon, the piano, a dry book, and her exhaustion overtook her.

Tuesday

For as long as she could remember, Elizabeth slept like the dead. She used to joke that it dated back to the months of sleep lost during her residency. But even as a kid, her mom shoved her out of bed to get to school on time.

For the last 15 years, she had the same routine. The alarm blared at 6:30. After Elizabeth slammed the snooze button three or four times, she dragged herself out of bed and began pumping herself full of caffeine.

She was never late to the clinic but couldn't always say she was fully awake for the first 15 minutes or so. That's when Helen handed her a triple espresso to knock away the last cobwebs.

So when Elizabeth bolted upright in bed at 5:30, she thought for sure there must have been an explosion. Something must have happened to wake her up. But as she strained her ears in the dark, there was nothing.

She flopped back in bed. Maybe it had been a bad dream or something. But as Elizabeth rolled over to go back to sleep, she realized she was wide awake. Not just that, she had energy. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Last night, she despaired at what she saw there. This morning, the woman looking back at her still had the same gray and was too thin. But at least she looked more alive and less like a zombie. Elizabeth felt good, as if she should go for a run or something, which was insane. She never went running. But...

Going back into the bedroom, Elizabeth went to her tiny walk-in closet. She pulled out an old yoga outfit she bought at Lululemon from one of the drawers. She did yoga for a few months after the divorce to keep herself busy. It fell by the wayside, as so many things had. Grabbing the pants, top, and mat, she went to her second-floor study.

After changing, Elizabeth realized it had been so long that she forgot what to do. Fortunately, she had her phone and found some beginning yoga routines. It felt surprisingly good. It hurt because she was stretching and doing things she hadn't done in ages, but the exercise felt great.

It felt so incredible, she didn't realize the time. She snapped out of her zone when she heard a garbage truck rumble outside her house. Elizabeth flopped down on the mat, pushing some hair back on her head. The clock on the wall said 7:05. She'd been doing yoga for over an hour and had lost track of the time.

"Weird," she muttered to herself. That's when she realized she was hungry. Famished. Elizabeth couldn't remember the last time she felt real hunger. Food was usually something she dealt with as a necessary evil.

Moving into the kitchen, she peeled and consumed an apple. Then she found some still-good yogurt and snacked on a granola bar. She was still hungry as she walked out the door to work. She stopped at a coffee shop and bought a breakfast sandwich. She polished that off before walking into her clinic.

When she walked in, Helen noticed that something was different about her.

"Did you get laid or something?" she asked.

Helen had been her receptionist for over 10 years. She was very good at her job and dealing with patients. Most importantly, she took Elizabeth out of her head, a trap she had a bad habit of falling into. She had other people who helped at the clinic, like her accountant and cleaner. But Helen was the only one not terrified of her or afraid to be blunt.

"I wish," she caught herself saying. She rarely talked about her personal life, and never in such a casual way. She looked mortified. Helen looked amused.

"I thought that pretty artsy fella I've never seen before might have jump-started you," she said. "While filing the paperwork, I noticed the details of what you two talked about were pretty sparse."

"He was a friend of the family. He needed to talk to me about a few things. I suspect it was a one-time-only appointment, so I didn't feel the need to do much paperwork on it," Elizabeth said.

It sounded weak even to her ears, and Helen, at least, did her the kindness of not busting her ass on it. Instead, she handed her boss her usual triple espresso. Elizabeth took it and entered her office to prepare for the day. After taking her first sip she discovered she didn't want the foul-tasting thing. She also realized she hadn't had anything caffeinated today.

It was one of Elizabeth's best days at her practice in... well, she didn't know how long. She felt more alert, energized, and better able to focus. She engaged with her patients better, although it was disturbing how many said it was nice to see her in such a good mood. It made her realize how unpleasant she must have been the last few months--no, probably years. She needed to do better.

Elizabeth's mood continued to perplex Helen for most of the day. Changing her lunch order to a club sandwich and fries nearly caused a mental wellness check. Helen was happy to see it; she just wasn't sure where it was coming from or if it would last. Elizabeth didn't know either.

After the clinic closed, Elizabeth started the usual paperwork. Except, for the first time that day, she found it hard to focus. Her energy levels had not dropped - they were still going surprisingly strong. But after working hard all day, she was restless and wanted to leave the office.

That's when she noticed Marcus's card. She couldn't recall leaving it on her desk. She thought she'd tossed it in the garbage. She picked it up and tapped it on the desk. It was absurd, of course. She might see him again when he 'unveiled' his work. That was it.