by Ruth Hay
It was also worrying that she had not yet heard anything from Carla since Thursday night.
Arthur was watching television when she arrived. A pot of soup bubbled on the stove but her eyes were drawn to the envelope on the kitchen table. She pulled the papers out and scanned them quickly. Several pages formatted with space for comments and boxes for scores. There were no marks in those boxes. Arthur had got it right.
No comments written anywhere. What did this mean? Had Carla failed miserably? It wasn’t worth assessing her efforts at all?
Each page was the same. Why send something so depressing in such a hurry?
She dropped the pages onto the table and one flipped over. At once she saw a handwritten section on the back of the formal page. She immediately checked the other pages and there were notes also on those although written in a different hand. More importantly, a smaller paper had fallen out from the rest. It had the Excelsior Company heading and it was signed by Zoe Morton.
Corinne, I had this sent by courier as I knew you would be worried.
Carla is fine. We are having breakfast together Saturday morning and I will show her the same information you are receiving. She’ll call you on Sunday when she’s had time to decide what to do next.
The formal part of these reports will show you what is normally done in these sessions.
The important part for now is what has been written on the back.
Zoe.
Corinne called Arthur to come to the kitchen. She was going to need moral support for this. With trembling fingers she picked up one page and began to read out the comment from someone called Adrienne Arkan of a Dance and Movement Studio in London.
This is not normal procedure. I would never rush to conclusions like this. Zoe Morton can be a very persuasive patron!
Carla Carstairs is young and still flexible. She has a good body and a sense of the connection between music and movement. She is totally unschooled but she follows directions reasonably well.
I think she has some potential.
A sigh of relief passed from Corinne’s mouth. She selected another page and read in a slightly steadier voice. “From Patrice Knowles. She seems to be an acting coach.”
Who is this girl? She has no training; no background experience to bring to us. I am uncomfortable including her in a class today. She is unsure of herself. All I can say is, when I criticized her attempts at improvisation she did not fall apart but actually improved slightly. She needs a lot of work before she would be ready for public performance.
“Oh, God help her, Corinne! That’s not good news.”
“I know, Arthur, but it’s not totally hopeless, I think?”
“Go on, then! This is agonizing!”
The next comment was written by Bartholomew Yu. It was alarmingly brief.
A pleasant light voice. Nothing on the lower register. Would need serious work for months.
“Not too bad, don’t you think Arthur?”
“Hmmm! Go on. What’s left?”
“This one is from a photographer called Anton.”
Carla Carstairs is stunning. Her colouring and complexion are amazingly photogenic. The camera loves her from all angles. Give me her details. I can get her work on Monday but you should grab her for your next campaign. Honestly, Zoe, are there any more like her at home?
“Wow! That’s more like it. Go Carla!” Arthur banged his stick on the floor while Corinne clapped her hands in delight.
After the first thrill had subsided Corinne’s frown appeared between her eyebrows. Arthur knew the sign.
“You sit down and have the soup. There’s buttered bread ready. We’ll talk it over after that.”
The discussion ranged from speculation about how their daughter would receive this news to a closer analysis of each comment made by the experts. Corinne was inclined to accuse them of unfairness until her husband pointed out the entertainment field was something they had no personal experience of and they could hardly judge from movies and television performances they might have seen.
“Well, I suppose she can get a job as a model, according to what Anton wrote. Do you think Zoe would take his suggestion and include our girl in a magazine campaign?”
“I have no clue, Love. This stuff is way outside my comfort area. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
Maybe when Carla calls tomorrow we’ll have a better idea.”
They decided not to call Brad with the news. It would be up to Carla to tell him whether she was heading home or not.
Zoe Morton was awake early on Saturday morning. She found it impossible to change her routine for the weekends and tried instead to do more relaxing things in the extra hours of her non-working days.
For the first time, however, she had a guest in her loft apartment and she had to make a choice between staying in her suite behind the double doors, or possibly waking Carla.
The need for coffee eventually made the decision for her. She realized the pungent aroma of fresh-brewed coffee would likely arouse the girl but, as she had already been fast asleep when Zoe had returned home the night before, chances were she had had sufficient sleep by now. She peeked over to see whether the girl was stirring and saw her dark red locks strewn across the pillows. There was a bare arm thrown over the duvet but no other signs of life.
She looks so young. I can’t remember being that young. And yet, we have something in common. When I was first here in London, I was, like Carla, an ingénue in every way. I had no clear idea what I was going to do to keep body and soul together and if I had not found the help of the YWCA, God alone knows what would have happened to me in this city. I was so foolish, I had actually carried with me from Glasgow, a bundle of cash from the sale of the family home. The good people in the Womens’ Mission took me to a bank and made sure the money was securely deposited. Only much later did I understand how vulnerable I was and how many less scrupulous Londoners would have relieved me of that money and cared not how they accomplished the task.
I have never before reached out to help someone as I was helped back then. It’s evidence that hopeful changes are happening for me. I’ll talk to Wesley about this tonight.
Carla must have sensed the watching presence. She opened her eyes and thought her mother was standing over her. Then, the new reality took its place. This was Zoe and it was her apartment and she was waiting to tell Carla what a mess she had made of yesterday’s opportunities. She bounced up to a sitting position.
“Oh, I am so sorry. Did I oversleep? Am I in your way, Miss Morton? I’ll get this bed tidied up right away then I’ll…..”
“Stop, Carla! It’s still early. No need to rush. Take your time and waken up properly. I’ll be over here with my coffee. Come and join me when you are ready.”
It was a chastened Carla who emerged with clean and shining face from the bathroom. She was wearing her newly washed workout clothes and putting these on had reminded her of the difficulties she had encountered in the various studio sessions of the previous day. She was afraid to hear Zoe’s comments but she had been summoned and she had no way out of it.
Zoe poured coffee and they chatted about weather and what London sights Carla had seen from the taxis the day before. After five minutes of this, Carla could stand no more chit chat.
“Look! You’ve been wonderful to me and I will never forget it, but if I am going home today, I would rather just know now.”
Zoe put her cup down in a deliberate way and looked Carla straight in the face. “Do you want to go home?”
“No, of course not but if that’s what’s going to happen I don’t want to prolong the agony.”
“You must know that decision is entirely up to you. No one can turn you away from your destiny if it is what you truly believe you need and want.”
These words woke something in Carla. Destiny. Believe. My decision.
“Miss Morton, I can’t be sure what my destiny is. I only know I want to try with everything that is in me. I want to be more than I ha
ve been. I need a bigger life. You have given me this amazing chance and if I haven’t already let you down, I want to continue more than I could ever tell you.”
Zoe turned away from the naked emotion on the girl’s face. Put that up on a screen and you have power, she told herself. She kept a calm exterior as she replied.
“That’s more like it, Carla. I am going to tell you there is a long way to go of course, and yet, with this kind of passion you will succeed. I know it. Now, put on that suit I saw you in yesterday. We are going out for breakfast in the best city in the world for those who want to make a name for themselves in the theatre or movies. After we’ve eaten I will share some information with you and we’ll plot your next moves. Don’t worry! You already have a job offer!”
With those enigmatic statements she shooed Carla away to get dressed. She was pleased to see the way the girl skipped across the floor. There would be no more defeatist talk from Carla Carstairs if she could help it. And she could.
Doctor Wesley Philips had already cancelled his regular appointment with Zoe Morton. She had phoned and asked for his understanding. An unexpected work problem had arisen. She insisted she was not avoiding him and she requested a most unusual Saturday appointment, promising she would be there without fail.
Normally he would not have agreed to this. His weekends were just as important at those of his clients. He needed time to unwind. Often the best ideas for continued therapy came when he was grocery shopping or mowing the lawn or walking his dog. Parts of the brain that are unconscious, respond well when entirely different physical activities take over.
He could have refused her request. He should have refused her request. One thing compelled him to break the unspoken rule.
At the conclusion of their last appointment, he had asked Zoe to think about her father in more positive terms than she had been able to do since her mother’s tragic death. To his complete surprise, Zoe had taken this homework assignment very seriously and sent him a letter outlining her early years at home and recording an incident, triggered by the act of reminiscing, which she had previously blocked from her mind.
It was not this incident of her father’s unsavoury behaviour during a party which had impressed him enough to invite Zoe to meet with him in his office on a Saturday evening. Rather, it was her ability to be objective enough to see both her mother and her father in a less emotional, more adult way. He had been nudging her toward forgiveness as a first step on the way to healing. There was no actual forgiveness in her account and yet, she had a firm grasp of the purpose of forgiveness as a benefit to herself. He had to admit, her progress was remarkable in such a short time and this letter was evidence of such.
He folded his copy of the letter and placed it in her file. She had concluded the letter by saying she would give the topic of forgiveness ‘further thought’. He could not wait to hear what she had to say.
He suspected it would be something as exceptional as her previous statements had been.
He met her at the front door of his office. Beth knew about the meeting but he had declined her suggestion to be present. She, at least, deserved an unbroken weekend.
Zoe Morton was wearing a black, knit trouser suit that looked casual only because she had a blue, patterned blouse peeking out from the jacket. He noticed her wedge shoes were also casual although the colour of the leather straps picked up the blue of her top. She looked relaxed and pleased to see him. He mentally thanked Beth again for providing his education regarding the significance of female clients’ attire as a guide to their psychological state.
A good start.
He began by commenting on her homework letter and asking if there was anything she wished to add.
She hesitated before replying then offered an explanation. “The process of thinking back brought up something I had also forgotten. This concerns my mother rather than my father.”
“Go ahead.”
“For some reason, I never questioned the source of the pills my mother took to commit suicide. I was so focused on removing the evidence and saving her reputation that it never occurred to me to wonder how she had managed to accumulate such a supply of lethal drugs. I had not known of a serious illness of my mother’s that would require medication of that kind.”
“How did you dispose of the drugs?”
“I…. I’m not sure now. That day was such a blur. I can remember watching blue and red capsules swirling around in water so I must have flushed them. I don’t recall what happened to the containers. Perhaps the doctor took them away.”
“So you don’t know what the prescription was for?”
“No. The doctor said he had not issued them and that’s another strange thing.”
“Zoe, is it painful for you to re-visit these memories?”
She crossed her legs and took a deep breath before replying. “No. It’s almost like it happened to some other person. The worst of the pain has disappeared over time.”
“That is a healthy reaction. What do you make of this new query?”
“I suppose it is another incidence when I see how little I knew as a teenager about my parents’ marriage or my mother’s hidden adult life.”
He sensed she was about to change the subject but it was obviously not an escape from the unhappy events she had been describing so he held himself ready for a new revelation.
“I was anxious to see you, Wesley, because I have noticed changes in myself and I need your opinion about the cause.”
“What changes are those?” He watched her reaction closely.
“I have done some unusual things lately; things that would never have occurred to me before.”
“How do you feel about them?”
“That’s just it. I feel good. It’s a feeling that surprises me. Am I reacting to something we have been doing here? If so, I need to know. I want to keep this feeling and the new energy it brings to me.”
He did not need to make a note. She had given him the clue. Energy. It always signified a release of some kind.
“When did you first notice this new energy?”
“I suppose it was when I was in the Lake District with friends.” She laughed out loud. “You see, that is strange in itself! I can’t say I have had friends like other people do. I always said I had no time for friends in my busy life and I was content with that explanation until then, but I was forced during these few days away to accept the fact I needed people who were sympathetic and who could be trusted.
Of course! I see now it was when I confessed my story to them that the first burst of energy occurred.
I felt compelled to do something to help these women who had shared their holiday with me so generously. Yes, this is the point where it began. I had not understood it before.”
“And what were the results, other than the energy made available to you?”
“I can tell you about those results, Wesley. I gave them gifts from my talents and expertise. It was all I could think of at the time. Far more important to me now, is understanding why this happened at all and why then?” Can you help me with this?
He could have delayed and pushed her to the realization. She was so close. He made the judgment call and let her find the final piece.
“Nature supplies us with coping mechanisms, Zoe. Just as a deep physical wound will close over and heal in time, psychic wounds also retreat behind a protective barrier. Such a barrier requires energy to be maintained. Think of it as a locked room. Everything too hurtful is pushed away into the room and forgotten. It feels safe there but it is not truly gone. Sometimes the secret hurt erupts in different ways, in disguise if you like. Being excessively busy can be a result, or drinking too much alcohol, or working out obsessively, or unsafe sexual exploits, or shutting yourself away from life in some way.
You came here because there was a breach in the barrier, a crack in the locked door.”
She was listening intently and in a few moments she made the leap, as he had known she would.
It
was a quiet, thoughtful voice that began to speak, almost as if to herself only. He leaned forward to catch every word.
“What you are saying is that I have been holding the door shut forcibly for years. The energy it has taken has changed my true self. When I released the secret I recovered some of that energy and began to be a better version of myself.”
“Correct!” He could have cheered but it would have been unprofessional and somewhat disturbing for her to hear. Better to remain cool and collected.
“To put it in very simple terms, Zoe; no one can block out the bad stuff without also losing some of the good stuff.”
“It makes sense to me now. My reputation as an ‘ice princess’ in some quarters was my attempt to keep people, especially men, at bay. I was holding on to the image of my father as the deceiver. In many ways I have been living a lie. A lie to myself and to others.”
He let these revelations sink into the room’s silence until the ticking of the wall clock became strident to his ears. Now was the time to change gears. She would undoubtedly continue to ponder the deeper meanings on her own.
“You were going to tell me about the change this energy has brought into your life.”
She shook her head, much like a cat shaking its fur into place on awakening. A wing of dark hair that had descended to cover one side of her face while she deliberated, now swung back into place and he saw for a brief moment a flash of a dark purple strands on the underside.
