The nurse handed a stethoscope to Stark. He motioned Zoe to drop the sheet. She slid it from her shoulders, held it gathered about her waist.
He warmed the stethoscope on his hairy forearm for a moment, then applied the metal disk to Zoe's chest, sternum, ribcage.
"Deep breath," he said. "Another. Another."
She did as he commanded.
"Fine, fine, fine," he said. He spun her chair around and moved the plate over her shoulders, back. He rapped a few times with his knuckles. "All the machinery is in tiptop condition," he reported.
He hung the stethoscope around his neck and reached to Gladys without looking. The nurse had the sphygmomanometer ready and waiting. Stark wrapped the cuff about Zoe's upper arm and pumped the bulb. Gladys leaned down to take the readings.
"A little high," the doctor noted. "Just a tiny bit. Nothing to worry about. Now let's do the Dracula bit."
Gladys handed him the syringe and needle. She swabbed the inside of Zoe's forearm. Zoe looked away. She felt Dr. Stark's strong fingers feeling deftly along her arm. He found a vein; the needle went in unerringly. He had a light, butterfly touch. Still she felt the needle pierce, her body penetrated. Her tainted blood drained away.
In a few moments, the doctor pressed her arm, withdrew the needle and full syringe. He handed it to Gladys. The nurse set it aside, applied a small, round adhesive patch to the puncture in Zoe's arm.
"Now for the fun part," Dr. Oscar Stark said.
He hitched his wheeled stool closer and stared critically at Zoe Kohler's naked bosom through his half-glasses. He began to palpate her breasts. She hung her head. Through half-closed eyes she watched his furred fingers moving over her flesh. Like black caterpillars.
He used the flats of his wide fingertips, moving his hand in a small circle to feel the tissue under the skin. He examined each breast thoroughly, probing to the middle of her chest and under her arms. He finished by squeezing each nipple gently to detect exudation. By that time, Zoe Kohler had her eyes tightly shut.
"A-Okay," Stark said. "You can wake up now. Do you examine your breasts yourself, Zoe?"
"Uh… no, I don't."
"Why not? I showed you how."
"I, ah, rather have it done by a doctor. A professional."
"Uh-huh. Do you jog?"
"No."
"Good. You'd be surprised at how many women I'm getting with their boobs down to their knees. If you start to jog, make sure you wear a firm bra. All right, let's ride the iron pony."
Gladys assisted her onto the padded examination table, adjusted the pillow under her head. She placed Zoe's heels in the stirrups, smoothed the sheet to cover her body down to the waist. Dr. Stark, propelling himself with his feet, wheeled over to place himself between Zoe's legs. The nurse helped him into rubber gloves.
He leaned close, peering. He examined the vulva, using one hand to open the entrance to the vagina. He pushed back the clitoral hood. Then he reached sideways, and the nurse smacked a plastic speculum into his palm.
"Tell me if it hurts," the doctor said. "It shouldn't; it's your size."
He inserted the speculum slowly and gently, pressing with one finger on the bottom wall of her vagina to guide the instrument. Once inserted, the handle was turned to spread and lock the blades. They locked with an audible click. Zoe was expecting the sound, but couldn't resist twitching when she heard the crack.
"All right?" Dr. Stark asked.
"Fine," she said faintly.
She stared at the ceiling, biting on her lower lip. She felt no pain. Only the humiliation.
"Relax," he said. "It'll help if you try to relax. You're all rigid. Take deep breaths."
She tried to relax. She thought of blue skies, fair fields, calm waters. She breathed deeply.
"Spatula," the doctor said in a low voice.
She felt nothing, but knew he was getting the Pap smear, the plastic spatula scraping cells from her cervix. Part of Zoe Kohler ravaged and removed from her.
Stark and the nurse worked swiftly, efficiently. In a moment, the spatula was withdrawn, the speculum closed. She understood it was being withdrawn. Something, a stretched fullness, was subsiding.
Then Dr. Oscar, that sweet, sweet teddy bear of a man, was standing between her legs.
"Don't tense up," he cautioned.
He inserted two gloved fingers into her vagina slowly, pressing the walls apart as he went. He placed his other hand flat on her groin. Fingers pressed gently upward, palm downward.
"Pain?" he asked.
"No," she gasped.
"Tenderness?"
"No."
He began to probe her abdomen, feeling both sides, the center, down toward the junction of her thighs.
"Pain here?"
"No."
"Anything here?"
"No."
"Here?"
"No."
"Just another minute now."
She waited, knowing what was coming.
Slowly, easily, he inserted one gloved finger, coated with a jelly, into her rectum. Between that finger and the one still within her vagina, he felt the muscular wall separating the two passages as the fingertips of his other hand pressed deep into her groin.
She had been staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. She was determined not to cry. It was not the pain; she felt no pain. A twinge now and then, a sensation of being stretched, opened to the foreign world, but no pain. So why did she have to fight to hold back her tears? She did not know.
Slowly, easily, gently, fingers and hands were withdrawn. Dr. Stark stripped off his gloves. He slapped her bare knee lightly.
"Beautiful," he said. "Not a thing wrong. You're in great shape. Get dressed and stop by my office."
He reclaimed his cigar and lumbered out.
Gladys helped her off the table. Her legs were trembling. The big nurse held her until her knees steadied.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Fine. Thank you, Gladys."
"There are tissues in the bathroom if you have any jelly on you. You can go right into the doctor's when you're dressed."
She put on her clothes slowly. Drew a comb through her hair. She felt drained and, somehow, satisfied and content.
Dr. Stark was slumped behind his desk, his glasses pushed up atop that cloud of snowy hair. He rubbed his lined forehead wearily.
"Everything looks normal," he reported to Zoe. "We'll have the reports of the lab tests in three days. I don't anticipate anything unusual. If there is, I'll call. If not, I won't."
"Can I call?" she asked anxiously. "If I don't hear from you? In three or four days?"
"Sure," he said equably. "Why not?"
He put the short stub of his cigar aside. He yawned, showing those big, stained teeth. Then he laced his fingers comfortably across his thick middle. He regarded her kindly.
"Regular periods, Zoe?"
"Oh yes," she said. "Twenty-six or -seven or -eight days. Around there."
"Good," he said. "When's the next?"
"April tenth," she said promptly.
"Still have the cramps?"
"Yes."
"When do they start?"
"A day or two before."
"Severe?"
"They get worse. They don't stop until I begin to bleed."
He made an expression, a wince, then shook his head.
"I told you, Zoe, I can't find any physical cause. I wish you'd take my advice and see, uh, a counselor."
"Everyone wants me to see a shrink!" she burst out.
He looked up sharply. "Everyone?"
She wouldn't look at him. "A friend."
"And what did you say?"
"No."
He sighed. "Well, it's your body and your life. But you shouldn't have to suffer that. The cramps, I mean."
"They're not so bad," she said.
But they were.
At about 8:30 that evening, Dr. Oscar Stark pushed a button fixed to the doorjamb of his office. It rang a buzzer upstairs in the kitchen and alerted his wife that he'd be up in ten or fifteen minutes, ready for dinner.
He had already said goodnight to his receptionist and nurses. He took off his white cotton jacket. He washed up in one of the lavatories. He donned a worn velvet smoking jacket, so old that the elbows shone. He wandered tiredly through the first floor offices, turning off lights, making certain the drug cabinet was locked, trying doors and windows.