Psychology of Submission

by Livia Grant

  "Of course. Every day."

  "So then I guess the question is, is that enough for you? Are you willing to turn your back on the millions of people living outside of Corbin's Bend who might benefit from the knowledge you can pass along? Because that's what you'd be doing. Your peers at the conference can learn from you. They can go back and help their own patients. Your research can influence them. You have the opportunity to impact many outside of this small town. The question is, are you willing to risk personal ridicule to help them? You have something important to share. You've worked hard at it and deserve your time at the podium. If you stay home, those small-minded bigots have won and you'll be making the most submissive decision of your life. The decision to submit to their immature scare tactics."

  Traci's heart raced. Her brother had a way of cutting through all the crap in just a few minutes on topics she'd wasted endless hours worrying about over the last twelve months. Could she face her fears and go to the conference?

  "I'd like to make a date with you, Trace, for one week from today. I'll meet you here on this very bench and we'll talk about how your week went. I'll want to hear every detail from you. Now here's the million-dollar question. What will make you feel better one week from now? Having stayed home to safely go about your daily life without fear of ridicule? Or, will you feel better sitting here telling me about your week in Chicago? Even if some people act like idiots, I suspect you'll feel better by proving you can hold your head up high, by not letting them stop you from doing what you've earned the right to do: present as an expert in your field."

  His words were a direct hit. He knew her so well.

  Finally, all of the self-doubt started to fall away. She knew it was probably going to be the hardest week of her life, but her brother had helped her understand the only thing worse than going to the conference was... not going to the conference.

  Traci tried to smile. "I guess I'd better hurry up and finish eating. I have to get home to pack."

  Troy pulled her into a big hug. "That's my girl. I'm so very proud of you."

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Chicago O'Hare airport. The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return your tray tables and seats to their upright and locked position in preparation for landing."

  Traci handed her empty cup to the passing flight attendant. She wished she'd taken the time to go to the lavatory when she could. Her stomach did flip-flops. Since making the final decision to attend the conference two days ago, she'd barely been able to sleep. In her heart Traci knew that Troy had been right, yet it didn’t stop the internal battle to stay positive. She had worked hard and had important material to present. It wasn't her fault there were small-minded idiots out there who chose to act like adolescents when faced with sexually charged research.

  Still, she wasn't looking forward to putting herself through the same hell she went through last year. She held out hope that Robert wouldn't be at the convention this year.

  Just thinking of Dr. Robert Meyer got her heart racing. One year ago today had been one of the happiest days of her life. She had secretly admired the handsome doctor from afar for several years, having attended many of his forums. When he had struck up a conversation with her at the welcome cocktail party the year before, she had been thrilled. He'd swept her off her feet, making her think he'd been crushing on her for years, too. Several drinks later, she'd happily gone to his bed, dreaming of their future together. She, of course, had no intention of joining the one-night-stand club. Unfortunately, Robert had other ideas.

  Had he simply rebuffed her after one night of passionate sex, it would have been humiliating enough. When the nature of her research had been discussed in an open panel the next afternoon, Robert had taken it upon himself to publicly dub Traci the 'Spanko Shrink', taking the lead at not only ridiculing her professionally, but making sure to drop enough innuendo to smear her reputation personally. One of her biggest regrets was that she'd never confronted him on his atrocious behavior. She'd tucked her tail between her legs and left the conference two days early and she hadn't looked herself in the mirror with pride since.

  How could I have been such a poor judge of character? I'm a psychologist, paid to help people sort through their emotional issues and I can't even dig myself out of this year long funk.

  Of course, she hadn't shared those juicy tidbits with her brother when discussing the many reasons why she hadn't wanted to attend the convention this year. It wasn't easy telling your brother you'd acted like a whore—sleeping with a man you barely knew—and then letting him annihilate you personally and professionally in the eyes of your peers. Troy already had reason to doubt her choices after her thirtieth birthday debacle. The last thing she needed was for him to decide she needed another round with Mom's wicked hairbrush for her choices last summer. Still, she wondered if it might help her dump some of the guilt she'd been carrying around like a heavy cloak. As stupid as she had acted on her birthday, she never felt guilty about it. She assumed that was courtesy of the butt-burner punishment she'd received, wiping the slate clean.

  Too soon, Traci found herself in a taxi on the crowded expressway into downtown Chicago. Despite her dread of the conference, she was thrilled to visit one of her favorite cities. She hadn't been here since she was a kid with her parents and Troy on vacation. She had many fond memories of the city and she'd decided that even if she didn't attend all of the conference sessions, there was nothing stopping her from enjoying the sights and food the Windy City had to offer.

  Traci was excited that the conference was at the prestigious Royal Oak Hotel in the heart of the city. Located between Lake Michigan and iconic Michigan Avenue, there were literally dozens of fine restaurants and shopping venues within walking distance of the mid-size luxury hotel.

  Worst-case scenario, I escape and go shoe shopping. There are very few problems in life that can't be fixed by buying a new pair of shoes.

  She was met by a courteous doorman who helped her out of the taxi, handing off her large bag to a waiting bellman. She stopped just inside the lobby to admire the tasteful luxury surrounding her. Traci scanned the expanse, relieved when she failed to see anyone she knew.

  Approaching the front desk, she was greeted by a handsome Latino front desk agent. His nametag identified him as Carlos from Costa Rica.

  "Hello, Miss. Are you checking in?"

  "Yes. My name is Traci Jackson and I have a reservation."

  "I see you're with the Psychologist Conference checking in today, Dr. Jackson."

  "Miss. I'm not a doctor."

  "Oh, of course. Sorry about that. I see you'll be with us four nights. How many keys do you need for your room?"

  "Just one. I'm alone."

  Traci kicked herself. Must she announce her spinsterhood to every person she met? She hated how vulnerable being here made her feel. She forced the appearance of confidence front and center, even if inside she was falling apart.

  Just as she was about to escape, Carlos reached into a nearby box to come out with a manila envelope. "Here's your welcome packet. The registration desk will be opening at three this afternoon in the foyer of the Skyline Ballroom. You'll find the full schedule of events in your folder."

  She slid the information into her briefcase. "Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate your help."

  Traci walked slowly through the lobby, taking time to admire the many nooks and crannies available for patrons to meet and socialize before she made her way to her room. She was thrilled her room was on a high floor. She had a view to the east and glimpsed Lake Michigan peeking through several tall skyscrapers surrounding the hotel. How different the view was here than in Corbin's Bend. Both had a beauty; one man-made, the other natural.

  She took time to unpack, ironing all of her skirts and dresses for the week, knowing she'd feel more confident looking her best. Traci ordered lunch in her room and spent time reviewing her presentation. She'd had her research paper and supporting documents made into prof
essional looking handouts for other attendees. Even if her presentation wasn’t well received as she delivered the keynote speech, she hoped her research would speak for itself for anyone who took the time to review it.

  By 3:00 p.m., she felt ready to tackle the world. She'd spent time in front of the full-length mirror giving a final pep talk to the pale woman who stared back at her. It reminded her of her high school debate team days. She'd always done better if she'd spent time coaching herself before her performance. This week was no different.

  The registration area was already busy by the time she arrived. She was relieved to bump into a few peers she'd met several years ago. With each person she met, Traci's confidence grew. Everyone was friendly, and a few showed genuine interest in her upcoming presentation on Wednesday morning. All was going well. Until...

  She heard him first. Robert's booming, deep voice carried across the foyer with ease, washing over her like a blanket of dread. She plastered a smile on her face as she excused herself from her current conversation, planning on circling away from him to make her escape. She was almost away when she was stopped by another presenter to talk about the schedule. The delay gave Dr. Meyer time to make his way to her side.

  She felt him join the small group gathered nearby. Out of the corner of her eye, she confirmed he was as hot as ever. Tall, dark, and handsome. She'd always been a sucker for a well-dressed guy. On the surface, he looked like the full-package–looks, brains, money, and even a doctor.

  "Well, if it isn't Traci Jackson. I was wondering if you'd show up. Too bad you had to cut out early last year. I hope it wasn't due to anything I'd said. I just call it like I see it."

  How could I have not seen what a fake blowhard this guy was last year?

  "Hello, Dr. Meyer. I'm surprised you wasted any time thinking about me and wondering if I'd be here. I got the impression from you last year that you weren't interested in my research." Traci added on a broad smile, forcing herself to remain calm.

  Unfortunately, he was joined by the two doctor wannabes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went, hanging on his every word. Their presence seemed to bolster Robert's confidence.

  "Oh, I wouldn't miss your presentation this year for anything. Every conference has at least one session meant to titillate us to keep everyone from getting bored. Looks like the organizers want to introduce a little hanky-spanky. I can't wait to hear what the Spanko Shrink has come up with. It will be entertaining, if nothing else."

  With each sentence he uttered, Traci felt her panic rising. She hated that she allowed anyone to intimidate her the way Robert did. She liked to think she would be handling him differently if she hadn't been intimate with him. Unfortunately, knowing her judgment had been so wrong about the kind of man he was, shook her confidence in herself.

  The small group had fallen into an awkward silence. It's not like she expected anyone to come to her defense.

  Why would they defend me if I can't even defend myself?

  Her stomach lurched and she regretted eating lunch. "If you'll all excuse me." She pressed through the group, rushing out the door in search of the nearest women's room. Traci wasn't too far away to hear the mean-spirited laughter chasing after her from the group she'd just left.

  At the end of the ballroom foyer, she turned a corner and found a pair of restrooms just in time. The large washroom was empty. Dropping her purse and briefcase in a nearby seating area, Traci ran into a stall just in time to deposit her Cobb salad into the toilet bowl.

  She hated throwing up. Who didn’t? Yet this time seemed worse, because she felt shame creeping in that she'd once again allowed an asshole like Robert Meyer to intimidate her. Traci vowed to wash her self-pity and fear down the toilet along with the last contents of her stomach.

  Her mouth was in need of a toothbrush, but she settled for rinsing her mouth at the row of sinks. The makeup around her eyes was smeared. She noted the reflection of the row of stalls behind her and saw that one door was closed. That wasn't what caught her attention. It was the smoke wafting up from the bay, burning her nose, which was of interest. Traci's annoyance at the sight quickly turned to concern that the errant smoker was going to set off the fire alarm.

  "You know smoking in here is against the law, right?" She tried not to sound accusatory.

  A fresh stream of smoke floated up and over the stall door just before a sassy response. "Yeah, well are you gonna call the smoke police on me or what? I'm not bothering you. Why don't you go back to puking?"

  It sounded like the voice of a teenager. Looking under the compartment door, Traci saw a pair of legs covered in grey knee-high socks, black flats and just a hint of a plaid skirt.

  A private school uniform.

  "No worries. I won't call the smoke police on you as long as you don't make fun of me for letting my nerves get to me enough that I threw up my lunch."

  She was greeted by silence. A last puff of smoke swirled over the wall before a brief sizzle of a lit cigarette hitting water was drowned out by a flushing toilet. The door slowly opened to unveil a lovely young brunette in her teens. She wore make-up and her sandy brown hair was pulled back into a chic ponytail.

  The women sized each other up. As time passed, the teenager looked to be preparing for an argument.

  Traci said the first thing that came into her head. "I wish I smoked. Maybe that would help calm my nerves."

  The young woman's eyes widened. "You mean you aren't going to go snitch on me?"

  "Why? Are you doing something that's my business?"

  "Well... no... I'm just used to everyone ragging on me, telling me how stupid I am to smoke."

  Traci leaned her hip against the long marble vanity, crossing her arms before answering. "Well, by the look of things, you're old enough to read. I suspect you've been made aware of the dangers of smoking and yet you've made your informed decision to smoke anyway. From where I stand, that means I pretty much have jack to say about your choices."

  "Wow, where have you been all my life? I've never met an adult who didn't want to stick their nose in my business." The girl moved to a nearby sink and washed her hands, using the damp paper towel to fix her smeared makeup before popping a stick of gum in her mouth.

  "Did you ever think that maybe the adults in your life might want you to stop smoking because they love you?"

  "Oh, I know they love me, but that's not why they want me to stop."

  "Okay, I'll bite. Why do they want you to stop?"

  "Because it embarrasses them. They want me to be the perfect little girl who never breaks any rules."

  "Sorry, but sounds like good parenting to me. I bet your mom loves—"

  "Mom's dead. Listen, this has been fun but..."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Don't go. There are some jerks out there I really don't want to talk to. I could really use someone to talk to for a while until they leave."

  The teenager stopped at the door, turning around slowly. "You want to talk to me?"

  "Sure. If you have time."

  "But why? About what?"

  "I don't care. Anything you want. Just don't make me go out there yet."

  "You act like you're afraid or something. You're beautiful and smart. What in the world could you be afraid of?"

  Traci chuckled, plopping down into one of the cushioned chairs in the lounge area, sweeping her arm in an invitation for the teenager to sit. She wasn't sure why, but she felt a connection to the teen.

  "I've got news for you. Being afraid of things isn't exclusive to teenagers."

  "Hey, I'm not afraid. Who said I was afraid?"

  Traci pulled a bottle of water out of her briefcase, taking a swig before offering it up to her new friend.

  "Don't be paranoid. I was just making a general observation. No offense, but you did seem somewhat afraid I might call security when I found you smoking."

  It was the girl's turn to chuckle. "That doesn't scare me. Jimmy can't do shit anyway."

  "So, you're on a first name basis wi
th the security guard. That's interesting. If you don't mind me asking, whom are you staying with at the hotel?"

  Silence.

  "Are you here on vacation? You're in a school uniform, so you go to school around here?"

  Silence.

  "So, you're a big talker I see. How about we start with something easy. My name is Traci. Do you have a name?"

  Silence was finally broken by a quiet reply, "Ashley."

  "It's nice to meet you, Ashley." Traci extended her hand. The teen hesitated, but eventually offered her hand for a shake.

  "So, Ashley. Seems I've lost my lunch and there's no way I'm going to the welcome reception here at the hotel. Any restaurant recommendations in the area?"

  "You mean it? You aren't going to lecture me about smoking?"

  Traci chose her words carefully. "You seem disappointed. Would you like me to lecture you? I can you know. I could tell you how my sister-in-law lost her grandma to lung cancer when she was only sixty-three and how broken hearted she left her family. Of course, to a teen your age, sixty-three sounds ancient so you probably don't care about the added risk of cancer."

  Traci was surprised to see tears threatening Ashley's eyes. She was patient, letting the young woman choose her words. They were quiet when they came. "Cancer sucks."

  "Yes, cancer does indeed suck. It sounds like you have first-hand knowledge of just how bad." Traci watched her carefully and took a chance. "Your mom?"

  The tears that had been threatening spilled over. Ashley suddenly looked years younger, her vulnerability bubbling up to overshadow her teen bravado.

  Traci tried to comfort her. "I'm so sorry, Ashley. No one deserves to lose their mom like that. Do you mind me asking how long ago you lost her?"

  "Almost two years ago now. In some ways it seems like yesterday and in other ways..." Her young face filled with sorrow. "Sometimes I worry I'm going to forget things about her."

  "How old were you when she died?"

  Ashley was smart. She hesitated, knowing an answer to the question would give her age. The fact that she decided to trust Traci with the information made her inner therapist happy. "Thirteen."