The Therapist ~ h.s.

one

~ one

„Appointment,“ Alexander Brown mouthed as his fingers tapped on the marble counter. Hazel Clinton nodded, offering him a polite, almost non-existent smile and searched for the famous businessman’s name on the sheet of paper that was neatly placed on the huge desk.
Brown continued to talk to whoever that was on the phone, his tone sometimes sharper and sometimes softer.

“Look, I got to go, just give me a call later. I’m busy for an hour and half. Don’t you dare disturbing me.” His last words came out through his clenched teeth almost hostilely.

The young woman looked up to see Alexander’s furious expression. She couldn’t understand how these guys couldn’t even go a minute without their phone. Of course Alexander Brown was one of the richest businessmen of England and he needed to be organized and available all the time. But she hadn’t seen him once without his obnoxious Blackberry in his bold hands – typing something or talking to someone.

“The session hasn’t ended yet, although Professor Mason will finish it soon, I think. Please take a seat in the waiting room, Mister Brown.”

Hazel tried her best not to anger him more than that person on the phone had but she did know that Robert was fond of her. A little bit too fond for her liking even. He wouldn’t let his anger out on her.

“Sure. You’ll come and tell me when it’s my turn, won’t you?”, Robert gave her a disgusting smile of his and she had to force back the urge to throw up. Hazel was getting professional in hiding her dislike for that guy.

It wasn’t the looks he had which made him disgusting to Hazel; Alexander was definitely not ugly, he would pass as handsome, a George Clooney kind of man, he gained more attractiveness as the years passed him by. However, when you had a second look at him, you could see through his façade. He was nothing but a mischievous, loathsome, disgusting 50 year old guy seeing himself as the world’s most wanted man. He had asked Hazel out for ‘dinner’ – four times that is. Slowly, she was running out of excuses. She simply didn’t want to go out with him.

Hazel nodded indifferently. She wanted to roll her eyes at him so bad. “Yep, as always.”

Alexander didn’t get the message and Hazel was savvy, she noticed. He had this stupid grin on his face whilst walking towards the waiting room. How could someone be so dumb and one of England’s richest men at the same time? How would this guy make his money when he wasn’t even able to understand sarcasm or a sharp tone?

Hazel Clinton loved working with Professor Mason, she loved being part of all of this. But what she didn’t like were the clients. She didn’t like the way some of them would treat her like she was sort of a maid. They just wouldn’t realize that Hazel wasn’t a typical assistant. She was a doctor herself – on a lower level than Professor Mason but still. She was an intern, not just a low-levelled, unskilled worker being exploited.

Professor Trina Mason was known for being the ‘celebrity therapist’. She hated that nickname and tried to avoid it as much as she could but it was a common fact that there was no normal person that would have Professor Mason as her or his therapist. Models, actresses and actors, businessmen, journalists, singers – they all went for Professor Mason.

The thing was: Professor Mason’s office was neatly hidden in the centre of London, where no one would expect a therapist’s office to be. It was a former flat in a high-rise building. Trina had transformed it into an office. Adding up to this, it was well guarded – not everybody could walk in easily. For famous people it was of highest priority to keep the visit to a therapist secret. They didn’t want to be judged and labeled as a ‘psycho’. Hazel understood this being-famous-thing. You have an image and you need to keep it up. Like a therapist: you have an image as a therapist, you have got to be confident and determined – or you lose. Wherever you looked, it worked like this. It was always about images.