back door.
The Merkowitz Wellness Center had started out as a three-room building, but had been expanded over the years to house offices for six therapists. Sharon Merkowitz, a psychotherapist, had built the clinic twenty years ago as a single therapist operation. Now, four full-time therapists worked out of the offices, while part-time therapists shared the other two.
Two and a half months ago Lecia had joined the Merkowitz Wellness Center as a part-time therapist. Sharon had been ecstatic to have her, as the previous sex therapist had left to start his own practice. Between all the counselors, they covered every aspect of mental health, sexual health, and spiritual well-being.
Located on Wilshire Boulevard, the center was close to many film studios and busier than it had ever been. Several film executives had appointments during the day. Lecia had acquired regular patients almost from the moment the word went out that she had joined the clinic.
Between the clinic, her own website clinic, and her writing, she barely had any time to herself.
There was no one in the hallway when Lecia entered the building, and she quickly slipped into her office. As she dumped her purse in her desk drawer, she decided it was time to stop hiding. If nothing else, she needed to retrieve her mail.
When she reached the front desk, Samantha, the receptionist, grinned up at her widely. Sam was an attractive, robust woman of African-American and Mexican descent. Now in her mid-forties, she had been with the clinic from the moment it first opened its doors.
“Dr. Calhoun,” she said. “You’re finally coming up for air.”
“Yes.” Lecia smiled sheepishly. “It’s been a busy morning.”
Sam gave her a knowing look, but Lecia didn’t mind. If there was one thing she could rely on here, it was that the staff would respect her privacy.
“Saw you on the Tonight Show ,” Sam said. “I thought you were great.”
“Thanks.” Lecia supposed there was no avoiding the topic, which was to be expected, especially in this office.
The phone rang. As Sam answered it, Lecia turned to her mail slot. There was a ton of it. She had no doubt much of it was fan mail. Even though she hadn’t listed an address for mail in her book, people had tracked her down to this office.
“That was another woman interested in an appointment with you,” Sam said, spinning around in her swivel chair to face her. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook, by the way. More potential clients.”
Lecia knew that if she took on many more clients, she would have to increase her time at the office from three days a week to five. Sharon had already told her she would be more than happy to have her on a full-time schedule, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Yes, therapy was unlike obstetrics, where she had been on call during the middle of the night. But she wanted more time to work on her second book. She hadn’t decided yet what it would be, but she and her editor were tossing around the idea of a book based on actual clinical experience, something for which she would have to get permission from interested clients. She liked the idea, but wasn’t sold on it. For the time being, she was still in The Big O mode, and more than happy to continue promoting that book.
“I’ve input all the messages in the computer, and I’ll send you the attachment via e-mail.”
“Thanks.” Lecia had her phone set up to bump people directly to voice mail this morning, something she did when she was in the middle of a session. Sometimes, people called back to speak directly with the receptionist, feeling that was a better way to get through to her.
“Oh, and your publicist called twice already. Said she keeps getting bumped to your voice mail, and that she couldn’t reach you on your cell phone.”
“Oops. Must have forgotten to turn on the ringer.” In reality, she had deliberately left it off. She wasn’t interested in chatting with Angela right now. Knowing Angela,
The Merkowitz Wellness Center had started out as a three-room building, but had been expanded over the years to house offices for six therapists. Sharon Merkowitz, a psychotherapist, had built the clinic twenty years ago as a single therapist operation. Now, four full-time therapists worked out of the offices, while part-time therapists shared the other two.
Two and a half months ago Lecia had joined the Merkowitz Wellness Center as a part-time therapist. Sharon had been ecstatic to have her, as the previous sex therapist had left to start his own practice. Between all the counselors, they covered every aspect of mental health, sexual health, and spiritual well-being.
Located on Wilshire Boulevard, the center was close to many film studios and busier than it had ever been. Several film executives had appointments during the day. Lecia had acquired regular patients almost from the moment the word went out that she had joined the clinic.
Between the clinic, her own website clinic, and her writing, she barely had any time to herself.
There was no one in the hallway when Lecia entered the building, and she quickly slipped into her office. As she dumped her purse in her desk drawer, she decided it was time to stop hiding. If nothing else, she needed to retrieve her mail.
When she reached the front desk, Samantha, the receptionist, grinned up at her widely. Sam was an attractive, robust woman of African-American and Mexican descent. Now in her mid-forties, she had been with the clinic from the moment it first opened its doors.
“Dr. Calhoun,” she said. “You’re finally coming up for air.”
“Yes.” Lecia smiled sheepishly. “It’s been a busy morning.”
Sam gave her a knowing look, but Lecia didn’t mind. If there was one thing she could rely on here, it was that the staff would respect her privacy.
“Saw you on the Tonight Show ,” Sam said. “I thought you were great.”
“Thanks.” Lecia supposed there was no avoiding the topic, which was to be expected, especially in this office.
The phone rang. As Sam answered it, Lecia turned to her mail slot. There was a ton of it. She had no doubt much of it was fan mail. Even though she hadn’t listed an address for mail in her book, people had tracked her down to this office.
“That was another woman interested in an appointment with you,” Sam said, spinning around in her swivel chair to face her. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook, by the way. More potential clients.”
Lecia knew that if she took on many more clients, she would have to increase her time at the office from three days a week to five. Sharon had already told her she would be more than happy to have her on a full-time schedule, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Yes, therapy was unlike obstetrics, where she had been on call during the middle of the night. But she wanted more time to work on her second book. She hadn’t decided yet what it would be, but she and her editor were tossing around the idea of a book based on actual clinical experience, something for which she would have to get permission from interested clients. She liked the idea, but wasn’t sold on it. For the time being, she was still in The Big O mode, and more than happy to continue promoting that book.
“I’ve input all the messages in the computer, and I’ll send you the attachment via e-mail.”
“Thanks.” Lecia had her phone set up to bump people directly to voice mail this morning, something she did when she was in the middle of a session. Sometimes, people called back to speak directly with the receptionist, feeling that was a better way to get through to her.
“Oh, and your publicist called twice already. Said she keeps getting bumped to your voice mail, and that she couldn’t reach you on your cell phone.”
“Oops. Must have forgotten to turn on the ringer.” In reality, she had deliberately left it off. She wasn’t interested in chatting with Angela right now. Knowing Angela,
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