“How specifically are you doing that?”
“I’ve been texting her more, and—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no?’”
“What I mean, Oscar, is that while we may live in an age of technological advancement, your wife is worth picking up the phone for. I’m sure you have the technology to Skype or video chat with her when you’re on the road.”
“Oh, we do that.”
“Good, now, what have you been telling her exactly? Have you told her that you are meeting with me?”
“No!”
“I understand these are private sessions, Oscar, and that you would like to keep some of the details to yourself, but I think Dani would be hurt if she found out about our meetings and you hadn’t told her.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell her.”
“What are your concerns about? She is your wife. From what you’ve told me about her, she’s a very compassionate individual and one that you love very deeply.”
“I’m supposed to be the one in charge.”
“Says who? The media? Gender stereotypes? So far, you’ve struck me as a bit more evolved than others, Mr. Carlton.”
“Fine, I know we’re supposed to be a partnership.”
“Are you not?”
“Sometimes. But sometimes she’s just so independent – I feel like I’m not even needed.”
“Have you expressed this to her?”
“No.”
“Are you intimidated by her?”
“No. Her attitude is one of the things I love most about her.”
“So, let’s go back a few steps, why are you ‘supposed’ to be in charge?”
“I guess I’m not, but what if she finds out I’m seeing you and she thinks I’m a puss— sorry, less than a man? What if she doesn’t want to be with a guy who goes to a therapist? Who can’t even handle his well funded life?”
“Or what if something else happens?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if by telling her you are talking to someone, that you are able to begin a discussion of your own. You can share some of things you’ve been sharing with me.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s your life, Oscar, and you can make the decision as you see fit, but I believe there would be benefits.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Knowing she’s pushed her patient as far as she can on the topic for today, she asks, “How are you feeling about the medication? Have you noticed any changes?”
“A little.”
“Anything specific?”
“I’m starting to feel more connected again.”
“I’m glad to hear that. If you were open to it, I could write you a prescription for Xanax or similar.”
“No, Doc. Listen I’m okay with the Prozac, but I really want to work on the rest of my issues without medication, if possible.”
“I’m happy to respect your wishes, but please let me know if you change your mind.” Referring to her notes, Nancy says, “So, when we spoke last, you mentioned everything in your life was equally out of control. What I wanted to do today was to outline and try to identify how we could help you sort taking control. Does that sound like a good plan?”
“Yes.”`
“How is your relationship with your coach?”
“He’s fine. It’s his job and I have to respect the decisions he makes.”
“You don’t feel you are being ‘controlled’ by him?”
“No. He’s approachable. I honestly think he respects my opinion and what I bring to the team.”
“How about the rest of the coaching staff?”
“They’re okay.”
“How about the team management? The trainers and others involved with the organization?”
“I see what they’re doing. They are a business, and they have to make decisions accordingly.”
“Do you agree with their decisions?”
“For the most part, yes. I generate revenue for them, but I’m not so precious they won’t sell me off.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“That’s part of what being a professional athlete is. Do I dislike how I have almost no control about the direction of my career? Of course I do. However, I still get paid to play the game I love.”
“Do you share your opinion when you don’t?”
“Not really.”
“Any particular reason?”
“No one wants to get a reputation of being difficult.”
“Because it could impact your career?”
“Pretty much.”
“Even if you disagree?”
Oscar puts his hands up defensively and says, “As I’ve just said, I’m paid to play.”
“Who do you look up to in this sport?”
“Uh… I thought Michael Jordan was cool growing up.”
“And now?”
Oscar considers the questions and answers, “No one in particular.”
“Do you think there are any role models in today’s game?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think people look up to you?”
“Maybe. Look, I don’t see how this all relates.”
“I think we need to find ways to build your confidence and to do that we need to talk about the major supporting people in your life. How do you feel about your agent?”
Oscar remains silent.
“How long have you been with him?” Nancy prompts.
“The end of my senior year of college.”
“Are you happy with how he handles your career? I need you to be honest. Remember, no one is going to know what we discuss.”
“You know what? No, I’m not happy.”
“What prompted you to choose him in the first place?”
“By my senior year at Georgetown, I knew I was going to have my pick of agents. In my junior year I was named Naismith College Player of the Year. After that, it was hard to keep them away.”
“So, why did you choose him? And no point mentioning his name, because it won’t mean anything to me.”
“Allegedly, he was the best.”
“Did you talk to some of his other clients?”
“No.”
“Did anyone help guide you in this process? A coach? A professor? I can imagine it could be an intimidating decision.”
“Not really. I talked it over with Dani a little, but that’s about it.”
“What about your parents? You haven’t mentioned them so far.”
“I don’t think they understood.”
“How?”
“My dad’s in insurance, my mom’s a dental hygienist. They are the least athletic people on the planet.”
“How about now? Do they try to understand?”
“How do you mean?”
“Just because we aren’t good at something, doesn’t mean we can’t be interested in it to support those we love. For example, my daughter is very big into ballet. I was born with two left feet, but I see that dancing is important to her, and a big part of who she is going to be. Because I love her, even though I don’t necessarily understand all the technicalities, I can see what ballet means to her. I can show her that I care for her and what she does. What’s important to her is important to me.”
“Then, no. I mean, they took me to practice, bought my gear and paid for me to go to tournaments and camps, but that’s about it.”
“Even after all your success?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I know deep down they care, but it was always hard being around other players whose parents are very proud. Even some of my teammates at Georgetown, who didn’t get picked in the draft, from the way their parents were, you would never know.”
“And now? What is your relationship with them?”
“We talk now and then.”
&
nbsp; “Where do they live?”
“Back on the East coast where I grew up.”
“Are you okay with this relationship?”
Oscar leans back on the couch, his legs hanging over the end and answers, “Not really. Dani is always ragging on me to have a real conversation with them.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Same reason I haven’t done anything else. I’d just rather avoid shit like that.”
“Okay, so I think we’ve found your homework for the next couple of weeks.”
“What would that be?”
“A few things. Firstly, I want you to research your agent. Actually take time to meet with him and see if you are on the same page. If you’re not, then I want you to speak to your teammates, to former teammates, to anyone you think can given you a good opinion on who is the right agent for you. I’m not sure what you’re looking for in this person. Maybe you need to talk it over with Dani and see what’s best for your family. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“If and when you find someone you prefer, we’ll discuss how you can empower yourself to end things with your current agent. Are you comfortable with what we’ve discussed today?”
“Yes.”
“Additionally, I think your relationship with your parents may be stunting you more than you realize. It sounds like you’ve been passive for too long.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“If you feel up to it, and can find time in your schedule, perhaps you should meet with them in person. Where’s your next away game?”
“Chicago.”
“Maybe you could fly them up to watch you play.”
“I don’t know.”
“When was the last time they watched a game?”
“I’m not sure exactly.”
“Really?” She is unable to mask her surprise. “Not even on TV?”
“I don’t expect them to be super fans, sometimes I just thought they would have more than a passing interest in my success. Anyway, so they come up, we have a nice weekend, and I talk to them about how their lack of interest disappoints and affects me?”
“If you’re not comfortable going that far, then maybe you can aim for establishing or restarting a good relationship.”
“Should Dani be there?”
“If you think she’ll support you.”
“She will.”
“How is your relationship with her parents?”
“That’s the funny thing – they couldn’t be prouder. My father-in-law doesn’t understand basketball, but I can see how hard he tries.”
“Did they approve of you marrying their daughter?”
Oscar considers the question and answers, “Yes, I really think they did. They can see past all that ‘baller’ stuff. They know I am honestly in love with their daughter.”
“Are you happy with them?”
“Yes.”
“Good, you have an established relationship in your life for how you would like things to be – that’s a great place to start.”
“I guess.”
“Listen, Oscar, change has to come from you. Ultimately, you’re the only person who can take control over your life.”
“It sounds easy when you say it.”
“I know the reality is much more difficult. However, you made the choice to call me last month and now you can start to do things to push away your disconnected feelings. I know sometimes it would be easier just to continue living your life the way you have, but think about how you feel now and what your future could be like on this current path.”
“I see what you’re getting at.”
Nancy closes her notes and says, “Thank you for your time and honesty – that’s all I ask for.”
CHAPTER NINE
February 11, 1:37 A.M.
“How is there anything left in my stomach?” Danny groans from the tiled bathroom floor, his home for the past four miserable hours. His boyfriend, Matt, lies in the fetal position in the nearby shower.
“I don’t know. We didn’t eat that much for the farewell dinner.”
“Goddamn you norovirus!” Danny tries to joke, but lacks the energy to put up a fight.
Several hours previously, their ship docked in Long Beach, the end of a fantastic cruise to Mexico. For their first real vacation together as a couple, Danny had surprised Matt by building in an extra night in Los Angeles at the Winchester. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a combination romantic pre-Valentine’s night and birthday present for his boyfriend, morphed into an all out sick fest. Having shared a small cabin together on the ship over the past week had put them in close quarters, but in a romantic, can’t keep our hands off each other kind of way. When the norovirus arrived, the forced intimacy had been on another level entirely.
“Honey?”
“Yes?”
“Can you roll me the water? I think I want to try and wash my mouth out.”
Matt sends the plastic bottle rolling and Danny tries to rinse the taste of vomit from his system. Lying back down on the cool tile, he says, “You know what I’ve heard?”
“What’s that?”
“The couple that poops together stays together.”
Laughing, Matt says, “Stop – please – my stomach is already dead.”
The sounds of MTV filter around them, an earlier and not quite complete fix to drown out the sound of their being sick. They both zone out for a few minutes to an old episode of Cribs before Danny laughs to himself.
“What’s cracking you up? I fail to find any humor in this situation.”
“I was just thinking of that horrible couple we met on the day trip.”
“And?”
“It’s terrible, but I hope they’re suffering too!”
Matt asks, “They deserve it. Plus, you haven’t even thought of the ultimate silver lining.”
“Which is?”
“We might be the only people who come home from vacation weighing less than when we started.”
CHAPTER TEN
February 14, 7:24 P.M.
A woman sits on the plush couch, staring at the muted television. She barely notices as the screen plays nothing but the cheerful loop of the hotel channel. On perhaps the seventh repetition, she moves stiffly across the room to look at her reflection in the mirror above the mini bar.
With the exception of a bruised lip – only partially covered in MAC’s Hot Tahiti – her face is lovely. Lush lips, classic nose (although slightly off center having been broken once), blonde hair tumbles limply around her shoulders. She unbuttons her long sleeved black silk shirt and places the expensive garment carefully on the bed. He is clever enough to keep the injuries to a place where no one will see them. Looking in the mirror, she sees the ugly purple bruise on her upper arm from last week fading to a sickly yellow.
He gave her that memento when dinner was five minutes later than he requested.
Turning around, she seems to finally notice her surroundings. The sun has set. On the luggage stand sits her Louis Vuitton duffle and matching purse. The contents – the sum total of what she has in this world, do not amount to much. Some clothes, no pictures and all the jewelry he’s given over the years. These gems were meant as his misguided apologies. In her bag, scrimped and saved over months, she’s managed to hoard close to two thousand dollars from the weekly ‘allowance’ he gave her.
She’s been in denial for years, maybe even since the beginning of their relationship. What had started as a fairy tale is now ending in tragedy. He was rich, handsome and through it all she believed she didn’t deserve him. Until recently, the verbal attacks and physical abuse all came from the fact he was somehow better than she was. Feeling rather like a terrible cliché, she always believed domestic abuse to be some trait associated with lower economic classes. Prior to meeting him, she believed once your net income was over six figures that problems became different – more complicated and not as shallow
as domestic abuse. And yet, their problems were as real as anyone else’s.
She thinks back to a few hours ago – already it feels like weeks.
Tonight was supposed to be a new start, something special.
Betsy had booked the room as a surprise for him. Having gone to school with Dawn, the day shift manager, she had been able to negotiate a good deal on a night that was, by definition, guaranteed to be more expensive than others. With limited access to funds, it was only a forgotten credit card she had left over from her student days that she had been able to secretly secure the room.
He had come home from work. She already had her bag packed for the night. She knew from his lack of calls and short texts during the day that he was going to be in a bad mood. She had come to recognize the signs. He was under stress. It was someone else’s fault. Always.
She had a drink waiting for him, gripped in trembling hands. An offering to appease him. Whiskey, neat. Waterford crystal. No ice.
“How was your day?”
“Gupta fucked up the reports again.” The response is spat out as he grabs the drink out of her hands. He does not thank her.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” She knows from previous incidents that trying to reason or side with the person in question will only lead to a painful experience and horrible accusations. It is best she keeps her answers limited, submissive and as apathetic as possible.
On his way to the immaculate den, he trips on a rug. Looking down at the slightly askew piece of fabric, he shouts, “This place is a mess!”
She takes a deep breath and physically prepares herself for the inevitable follow up. The backhand, with his signet ring no less, whips across her face, drawing blood.
Amber liquid swells out of the glass and spills onto the pristine white carpet.
It was rare he hit her in the face.
She put a hand on her mouth, already swelling and filling with blood. For reasons she can not explain, at this exact moment, she decides she is going to leave him forever.
But how to get away without suspicion?
Choosing not to comment on his action – he wants a reaction – she says, “I planned something special for us tonight.”
She tenses again. He didn’t like surprises.
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