Engineered To Please

This is the first installment of a new series that will be in the Sci fi/Fantasy category. It is more of an introduction to the rest of the series, so it might not be as steamy as the next segments.

*****

It was almost 6pm when the bus rolled into the stop outside of the flat terrain near Olivet, Illinois. Forgetting this quaint and boring town 20 miles west of Chicago was easy. In fact, Francesca had pretty much let it fade out of her mind. Life over there was pretty much a dead end, and she had been glad four years earlier when she had found a way to escape its bourgeois mediocrity for college.

She stood defiantly at the stop waiting for her ride in the mid-November chill. Maybe life had defeated her, but that wasn't going to make her admit it and sit on the dusty bench a couple feet from her. The prospects ahead of her were few, yet that didn't mean she would start living like a loser. The temptation to pack it in and settle for mediocrity was creeping at her. She had noticed it earlier that day when her last bus made a stop in a rest area, and she felt the urge to buy one of the trucker cheeseburgers sold in the guest shop.

She was mildly relieved to see a black Dodge pickup plodding down the road toward them. It belonged to her cousin Leo, who was perched behind the wheel and rolling steadily toward the bus stop. She threw her stuff in the bed and joined him in the two-seat cab.

"Sup, sup?" asked Leo nonchalantly. She would expect from a relative more affection, but he was exactly as she remembered him, a bizarre mix of stoner and hill country. His own heritage was also a contradiction; Leo's dad Phil Servino, was a Catholic who had only left Illinois during two tours in Vietnam. It's ironic that he met Leo's mom, now known as Diane, a war refugee from Vietnam, and also from a Catholic family, while doing contract work in Chicago. Leo and his sisters Patrice and Anne were the products of this marriage. Leo's Asian features sort of clashed with the shell necklace, scraggly beard, and faded island style pants he wore. Leo's catch phrase had always been "I don't belong here", and he seemed absolutely determined to show everyone why.

The first minute of the drive to the Servino property in the Olivet area were quiet, until Francesca broke the silence. "So what've you been doing with yourself?"

Leo cleared his throat. "Oh you know, been keepin' busy. You remember Troy's biz, right?"

"Troy Busby? The car accessories?"

"Yeah, so we at least got a stream of work there." He coughed. " Not the most sophisticated clients, granted. A lotta dumb confederate pot leaf decals, for example."

"And there's business to go with it?"

"I guess the pricing is hard to beat."

They continued to make small talk about life in the area and the Servino family. Patrice was still a junior in high school, while Anne was a pre-law student at Illinois State. They were related to Francesca through her dad, Vance Servino. Vance and her mom, Bridget, had split up while she was a college sophomore, a consequence of them having stayed together until the nest got empty. Vance moved to Washington state to work in a machine shop, whereas Bridget moved to Indianapolis and accepted a promotion with her home insurance company. Francesca and her older brother Mark were both bitter about it. Their younger brother Ben was coping with it using a steady regimen of weed and Need for Speed.

They finally pulled up at the single level house that the Servinos called home. Phil was on the deck replacing the lamp of a wall fixture when he saw them approaching the porch. His dreary eyes danced a bit as they climbed the stoop. "Huh, you grown somewhere since I last seen you," he opined simply.

"Yeah," she answered blandly. "Glad to see those late study nights didn't stunt me."

Francesca brought her belongings over to the guest room that was at the north end of the house. The room was fully accommodated with separate bathroom, a fully furnished bed, and sliding closets, but its walls were bare white and it looked plain to the observer.

After taking a relieving shower, Francesca heard a bustle from the kitchen. "Supper!" came the high voice of Diane bellowing down the hallway. Francesca still had her hair wrapped in a towel, and thought about waiting to venture out. She decided it would be kind of rude, so she took out her blow dryer and did a hasty job of drying out her raven black locks.

She arrived at the table in time to see Leo sit his scrawny frame down and begin digging in to the meal of Nem Cuon salad rolls. Phil sat down at the head of the table and unfolded a copy of the Tribune business section that he'd kept under his armpit. One of the reasons the Servinos were able to have a relatively prosperous lifestyle was Phil's close attention to the local commodities markets. He was constantly observing the local hog and corn farmers and kept tabs on the general trends using trade magazines. Anything not within local reach he developed through long distance contacts.

He raised his eyes to the spread in front of him, and spooned Bo Luc Lac, a rice and beef dish, into his dish. Francesca accepted the dishes when they were passed to her and decided to try everything. She had had Diane's cooking before, but it a lot of time had passed and some of the flavours now tasted new to her. Everyone else seemed somewhat accustomed to it, although Phil always seemed like someone who would have been content with fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

Diane started making conversation. "So Francesca, do you have any plans now that you're living with us?" Her deliberate manner of speech was still heavily accented.

"Um, I need to really get my affairs in order. That degree programme didn't offer as many career prospects as I'd hoped." That was an understatement. Bradley University in Peoria had a lot of good degrees, but her biology and nursing degree was useless until she could improve her score on the MCAT so that eventually she could go to medical school and fulfill her dream of becoming a doctor. She couldn't even think of a specialty yet.

Phil folded his newspaper briefly. "Not gonna be a lot for you to do 'round here. Our closest hospital is in Danville. Maybe you can apply to teach or tutor there and eventually work at the hospital."

Phil's comment started off a rash of people proposing all sorts of crazy solutions. Leo even asked her if she wanted to keep the books at Troy's shop. She imagined what if it would be like dealing with the hilljack clientèle there, who probably significantly overlapped with that of Nippy's, the local topless bar.

"I got an idea," interjected Leo,"what about Uncle Fed's lab?"

A groan emerged from Phil. "OK, I guess after that she could list some experience at a mental facility."

"Philip!" scolded Diane. "This is your family." She obviously had a different standard as to what you could say about relatives. Uncle Fed was Federico Cuoco, Phil's brother-in-law through his sister Lorraine. He was a native Italian from Catanzano, a city on the toe of the boot. He was also as eccentric as they came, always dressing stylishly even under his white doctor's smock. The entire Servino family had been members at St Anthony in Hoopeston. Uncle Fed was a regular attendee at services, and a constant nuisance to the priests with whom he would have loud arguments about the catechism and other philosophical points. Other than that, he was an animated, lecherous, and hyper person.

"Refresh my memory, what does Uncle Fed do?"

"Well, he's been running a medical lab that does blood work, and also works as a general practitioner," answered Leo.

"He might as well be raising ducks, because he's a quack," scoffed Phil.

Diane cleared her throat in irritation. "Let Francesca explore her options, Phillip. You haven't given any solutions so far."

A few more options were thrown around, and after a while, Phil got up and stretched. He shuffled over to the den and turned on Headline News. The rest of the family also adjourned. "Hey Frenchie," Leo called using Francesca's childhood name, "you wanna come with us to Mulligan's house? He's gonna be having some folks over."

"Who d'ye mean by us?"

"Me, Troy, Gillian Connors."

Francesca pondered it for a second. "C'mon," urged Leo, "what are you gonna do here, read one of those Bronte novels that we had to swallow in sophomore year?"

"Hey I liked that class. I got an A in British Lit."

"Well tonight how's about you do an independent study in getting lit."

"Haha. What time?"

===The Bakery===

So in typical fashion Troy showed up in his Chrysler Crossfire almost forty-five minutes later than he had told them.

"Hey, what are you on herbal time?" Leo shouted into the driver side window.

"Just get in, we still have to pick up Gillian." Troy Busby was a burly, scruffy guy who constantly wore an old Jeff Gordon Racing baseball cap. Francesca and Leo climbed in, and Troy put the car into gear. They then pulled up to Gillian Connors house, where Troy honked the horn. He had already phoned her to tell her that he was a couple minutes away, so she swiftly was out the door, wearing denim Capri pants and lavender button down sweater.

Gillian climbed in the passenger side back door and they were out. Francesca looked over to see her familiar natural brown curls."Frenchie!" screeched Gillian. "How long you been back and you ain't come by?"

"Relax, she just got back today," said Leo.

"Well, we got a lot of catching up to do," continued Gillian.

Francesca listened with mild interest as Gillian recounted her own story since graduating from high school a year before her. She had gone to Danville Area CC for two years and earned an associates degree - in criminology. Since then she had worked as a receptionist at the sheriff's department in preparation for becoming a deputy.

She was telling a story about the drunk tank when they pulled up to Dale Mulligan's pad. They piled out and climbed the stoop into the one level house with adjacent garage. Francesca immediately was confronted with the odour of weed and cheap beer. Mulligan was perched on the couch Indian style with his girl Celia resting her head on his thigh in front of the TV.

"What're you watching?" asked Leo.

"Finishing the Illini game."

Francesca turned to Gillian. "You won't get in trouble for-"

"See no evil, smell no evil," she cut her off. "Gotta sample the pastry when you go to the bakery."

They all settled down to watch the waning moments of the NCAA game, and Celia chattered away with Gillian. All the while Francesca spaced out in boredom.

She was startled when Troy tapped her on the shoulder. "Hey. You alright?"

"Um, yeah... why?"

"Cuz I asked you something and you seem like your mind's flying over the ocean."

"Oh. I'm sorry. What did you ask, again?"

"Just what're you planning to do now that you're back."

"Mmmm. I needa get back to you on that one."

Troy continued to make small talk with her about how her undergrad had gone, and what her future prospects were. She sensed at certain points that he was probing for information, but his line of questioning was too subtle for her to figure out his agenda. Finally he seemed to show where his cards were leading.

"Well, we know about your opportunity with Dr. Federico. I think there's a lot you can gain from it."

"Aw yeah? I haven't really looked into it seriously."

"Hmmm. I don't wanna be a wet blanket, but there's not a lot to do here; this is a dog town."

"Maybe I'm not planning to stay," her tone got challenging.

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? This isn't a place you make a stopover in; you just drive straight through."

She began to react, but he stopped her with an open palm in the air. "Now maybe you have an interest in his clinic, but so do I. Maybe I can make it worth it to you."

"What makes-"

"Nuh uh," he stopped her again, and this time she felt his hand in her hand. She was about to object and call him out, but she felt his hand withdraw and some paper was left in hers. "Don't count it here. It's our little secret. Just for you going in and talking to him. There's more if you come looking for it."

The rest of the night was a descent into stoner slacking territory, but Francesca's mind was still on Troy's bizarre conversation with her. She was put off that he seemed capable of dominating her with words. When she got home that night and retreated to her room, she withdrew the wad of cash from her pocket. When she counted it a shock wave passed over her. $750.

==The Clinic==

It was another week before Francesca worked up the stones to call into the Sense and Sensations Medical Clinic. The receptionist, Joy, seemed to have a friendly though raspy voice, and was more than willing to place an appointment for her to apply for a position there, although she cautioned that it would have to be after hours. "Dr. Cuoco doesn't mind it, because he practically lives here anyway." Francesca thought it was great that it was so easy to get an interview at the clinic, although she did notice after hanging up that she hadn't even had to pull out the "I'm his niece" card.

On the appointed day, a still chilly and rainy Wednesday in March, she picked out a professional looking jacket, shirt, and skirt. Around her neck she wore the silver chained necklace that her dad had given her years ago in middle school. Leo gave her a lift to the clinic, and then promptly slumped back as he parked and began playing on his phone. "You don't wanna go somewhere and come back?" asked Francesca.

"If you take too long. Furthest I'll go is to Troy's shop."

She exited the cab and walked through the fresh blacktop parking lot towards the clinic. It was a a rather plain two story building, but was clean and well tended, and she wondered if such a large amount of space was really taken up by one clinic. When she reached the waiting room a receptionist looked up brightly from some paperwork. She appeared to be in her mid forties and had a bookish look to her with the plastic rimmed glasses and shoulder length swept back hair. "Francesca Servino, 9:30?"

"Yes ma'am," she replied stiffly.

"Oh just call me Pam," came the syrupy answer. Indeed, the nameplate above the receptionist desk said Pamela Harvey and was garnished with all sorts of Easter and St. Patrick's Day trinkets like a stuffed bunny and a small green bowler hat.

Pam chatted rather cheerily a few minutes, apparently thrilled to be able to speak to somebody who was not a patient. Conversations with patients could be touchy depending on their ailment, she said. They broached the topic of Francesca's college experience, and the different nuances of taking a degree in biology. Finally Pam's phone rang and she picked up the flashing line. "Oh, OK Dr. Cuoco." She hung up. "You can go right in."

Inside of a sparse office with white walls sat a thin and lanky forty-some man in a white lab coat with black hair, a scraggly beard and glasses hanging from a necklace.He had a drowsy expression on his face but his expression lit up once she had entered. "Good morning, come stai donna?" he asked.

"Hello," she replied haltingly, "I'm -"

"Si si. I remember you. I was at your birthday party, the one where your little brother broke his elbow."

Francesca could not believe he remembered that. She must have been eleven years old, and her nine year-old brother Ben had decided to steal the show by grinding down a hand railing with his skateboard.But after all, Dr. Cuoco was her uncle by marriage, and he obviously had at least kept tabs on some family business. Nevertheless, he had the reputation of being a flake, a workaholic, and a womanizer. Her aunt Lynne didn't seem to be very assertive in the marriage either.

"Oh, and how nice you did turn out," he commented. She could tell this was not going to be anything like a normal interview.

"Yes, um, so I wanted to know if you have any positions available here."

"Mmm hmm," he said, more to himself than her.

"Y'know, cuz I want to learn some practical skills before trying for medical school."

"Where did you go for college, again?"

She remembered that she had a folder with a resume in her bag, but instead she answered directly, "Bradley".

"Ahhh. Very nice. You see, my clinic is organized for a couple of purposes. First of all, of course, we have two general practitioners here that deal with routine physical ailments. Also, we run a biological lab that analyzes samples and forwards them to hospitals if the patient cannot travel there very easily. Do either of those seem appealing to you?"

She pursed her lips. "Mmm. I'd say that I could learn from either one, but what exactly would I be doing?"

"Well, we have two nurses working part of the time assisting me and Dr. Chandra with the GP duties. Another two lab technicians essentially run the bloodwork and all other test tasks. You'd probably be helping more with documentation there."

He brought his hands up onto the desk and laced them in a bridge, making him seem more serious. "Of course, there is a third division that our clinic runs, but I'd have to bring a couple of considerations into the mix in order to put you in it."

"What does that include?"

"Ehhh," he hesitated using the signature European stall. "I like to think of it as my research department. I wouldn't put too much thought into it yet. Maybe you like a challenge. Maybe not. It has to be right for you, AND-" he brought his hands parallel to one another at his sides and swung them up and down. "I have to see that it's the right judgment."

The rest of the interview Dr. Cuoco focused more on Francesca's knowledge and the skills she could bring to the team. She had some professional certifications, so it was not a problem to ease her in for the job.

"I'm so glad to have you with me, Francesca. You know, once you find your place here, it might seem like a new home."

===Anything but routine===

The arrangement worked well from the outset for Francesca, as she found her tasks in the lab were challenging but rewarding. It was giving her practical experience that she hoped would be put to good use when she decided to further her medical education.

The staff at the clinic didn't seem to be the most outgoing people, though. Running the labs were two technicians, Aaron Burroughs and Mallory Stewart. Aaron was the classic desk bound hermit who showed up, did his job, and rarely had much to say. He was in his mid-thirties, had a thin build, and dressed and behaved in a slightly hillbilly manner under his white lab coat. At his desk was a small TV set that was constantly turned to a NASCAR race or some similar event.

Mallory was a transplant from Connecticut as reflected by her New England accent and often seemed too stuck-up to really care about anyone in the clinic but herself. Nevertheless, Francesca was unselfish enough to reduce any conflicts between them.

A source of anxiety was the periodic appearance of Troy. Once in a while he would call her and make a short demand. "Meet me at the Stop-Gap," he would usually say, referring to a run-down convenient store on a back road leading east toward Indiana. Each time he would bring some cash and bankroll her. What he wanted in return was pretty obvious: Prescription drugs which she eventually started funneling to him. It wasn't that hard of a task to do, as the clinic had regular shipments that came in from Decatur, and one of Francesca's jobs early on was to enter the needed quantities. She was surprised how little anyone observed this aspect of the business, and at one point when she asked about over-ordering a prescription Mallory said, "I wouldn't worry. We can always store them. In fact we throw away ones close to expiration."