“Love in Bedlam” Character Bios: The Doctors

Dr. Naimee Tudor

Before she opened TeRoMa with Dr. Marcella, she ran what was referred to by the masses as the best dance club this side of the unisphere: The Total Assult Cantina.  If she ever hears Robert Miles’ “Children” again, she’ll turn into a candy rave of fire (“One and One” is so much better).  After she graduated valedictorian with her doctorate in psychology, she felt that she needed to get back the friendless years she spent in lecture halls and tearily missing out on fun.  During the time she was in college, she opened a savings account and put inside all the money from her waitressing job she didn’t need for bills and rent.  One loft in Hyde Park and dream car later, she realized she had a lot of money and no goal.
Dance music was the only thing that kept her going during those doldrum years, and she wanted her body to catch up to her ears.  So she toured the world in the greatest tale of clubhopping known to man.  From Ibiza to Rotterdam to Miami, and everywhere in between.  She prayed at the Ministry of Sound and bathed at Spundae.  But her travels always brought her home to Chicago.  Exit, Soundbar, Excalibur, Berlin, Spin, wherever as long as she could feel the breeze of Lake Michigan on her sweat-glazed face.  One day, she decided that she wanted to open her own club for two reasons.  One being that she wanted to make ravers and clubheads feel as great as she did under a roof she created.  Another being that she wanted to save gas and not drive across her metropolis for The Perfect Experience.
So she opened TAC, in an old paint factory she had rennovated.  The architect she hired, Anderson Smith, nicknamed it “the chameleon” because of her mad ideas.  She wanted the Swiss Army Knife of clubs, a place that could go from something like a rave to a 1920s club in a busy morning.  It took more planning than the architect was used to, but he loved the challenge.  A while later, her mad ideas were made iron and fluorescent and her Total Assault Cantina was born.  She took the name from Ed Sanders’ “Tales of Beatnik Glory”.  She also wanted to start things with a bang so she got two of her favorite DJs, Caffeine and Irene, to have a night-long mixdown.  The dance community still talks about it… “Coffee and the Hurricane”.
Things were great for a long time, she even threw down on the turntables a few nights as Henri VII (complete with custom-made tiara headphones), then she realized that she couldn’t run the club and dance in it.  Well, she could, but many clubs have crumbled because their owners get high on their own supply.  She wanted to dance more than rule so she handed the keys to someone she trusted and decended to the dancefloor.  She enjoyed the lack of responsibility but missed the feeling she got from running her Total Assault Cantina.  Knowing that she had a direct influence on making people feel happy, at least for a night.
Then she remembered her doctorate, and found Dr. Clark Marcella.

Dr. Clark Marcella

The world’s a special place in St. Charles, IL.  Anyone who doesn’t live there and sees it is immediately jealous of the tranquility.  Anyone who does live there enjoys life too much to notice the jealousy.  He was one of the latter.  He became a psychiatrist because he loved people, but his idyllic life was about to be crushed by the realities of humanity.  While he was studying to be a psychiatrist, it never quite settled how fucked-up the human mind can get.  A part of him always kept a distance from the truth, convincing himself that the darkness was the exception and not the rule.  Until his first patient came in.
His second-floor office looked like it was decorated by someone who loved the idea of being a psychiatrist more than they knew how to be one.  He was one of the former.  That’s not to say that he was a bad psychiatrist: he was a great one.  But his perception of his job was a little skewed.  The Talking Couch of Freud with stuffed animals scattered on it, a bookcase full of seemingly important books, a wood-and-brass astrolabe near a life-size skeleton, a poster of a cat hanging from a branch (“Hang in there!”), a banker’s lamp with a mica shade atop a polished wood desk, things on top of the desk gathered by someone who really loves stationary stores, and so on.  An overeager psychiatrist with a childlike love of his job.  Until his first patient came in.
Robyn Lawson came in on a Monday around 10 in the morning.  He wore blue, she wore whatever she could find.  He wanted to know how she felt, she wanted to know what she had to do to get some Ambien (or Halomonth… or Zoplicone… or Trimipramine… or Oprymea).  He was at a loss, she was waiting for an answer.  He asked her how she felt, she was annoyed.  He was confused, she made up a half-assed sob story and waited to be kicked out.  He bought it, she was shocked.  Dr. Clark Marcella was a lot of things, a lonely and maladjusted hopeless romantic being one of them.  He wanted to be a sort of savior to every patient who walked past the skeleton, and she was attractive enough to want something more.
He gave her what she wanted and patients came in after her.  The exception of darkness came to rule his second-floor corner office.  He kept a straight face, but his interior walls were coming down in a bad way.  When the day was over, he opened his appointment folder and called the first person he felt could understand him.  Robyn picked up her phone and told him she’d listen to whatever he wanted if he brought her some Valium (or Phenelzine… and so on).  And so became his routine: every day, he’d play psychiatrist and every night, he’d play drug dealer.  Then eventually, drug user.  She knew how to play him and told him everything he needed to hear, even threw him a mercy fuck once in a while.  For all intents and purposes, he loved her.
He managed to keep his nightlife and worklife separate.  She knew what his overseers were looking for and made sure to puppet him accordingly.  Then, in a drug daze, he asked her to marry him.  He couldn’t remember if she said “yes” or “no”, all that he knew is that he woke up the next day in a bathtub in his own shit and vomit.  He took a vacation from work, checked into rehab with one of the fake IDs Robyn got for him, and worked through his pain and regret.  When he was clean and with a calloused outlook, he swore that he’d make sure no one would go through what he did.  He’d find a way to help those abused in love and make them better people.
He scoured a few forums for doctors and soon found a Dr. Naimee Tudor.  Together, they opened TeRoMa.


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