by Tom Bierdz
“Smart man. He makes his money on tips.”
Carrie laid a credit card on the bar. “This is on me. The jury acquitted David Carney, thanks to you.”
“Smart jury. I never cease to understand why the police stop searching for the killer once they have a suspect, especially not a very good one.”
“From a defense attorney’s perspective, I hope that always continues.” She picked up her beer.
“Salute!”
I clinked her mug, gulped mine halfway down. I asked, “Can I ask you a serious question? Confidentially? Megan - the women you saw me with on the porch - she’s not really a patient. She sees me for her sister who won’t come in. Theoretically, if a therapist got involved...
“Sexually?”
“Romantically.” I hesitated, then blurted it out, “Yeah, sexually. Would that be an ethics violation?”
“You’re not!”
“No, Carrie, I’m not. Your earlier teasing made me think of such a scenario. You know I gave a paper on ethics. This never came up.”
After taking a long draw on her beer, Carrie said, “Seems to me she’s still seeing you professionally. You have a professional responsibility.” She hesitated, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Let me research it. Get back to you.”
“No hurry. Just curious.”
“A word of caution: don’t be such a risk-taker. Your risks haven’t always worked out.”
A colleague of Carrie’s stumbled up to her seizing her attention for which I was grateful. I didn’t want to admit that she was right. My drinking and DUI were a case in point. And rumors of my philandering was hurting my reputation and my practice. Yet, I couldn’t get Megan out of my mind. Her image intruded on my thoughts, became as constant as my breathing in and out. I was impatient to see her, to immerse myself in her presence. I was treading on dangerous ground.
An attractive redhead sitting at the end of the bar with another woman caught my eye and grinned seductively when I noticed her. It took a few laps around the tracks of my mind before I recalled I had picked her up, taken her home, and slept with her when I was in that pity-me stage, needing women to prove my worth.
Carrie returned. Noticed the emanating heat. “Hmm. I wander away for a few minutes and, already, some babe with great headlights has got her eyes on you.”
“Yeah,” I said, both flattered and embarrassed, my eyes still on the redhead, “and she’s flashing her high beams.” The quip about her breasts brought back the night in question. I recalled that she was divorced, out on a night of fun, with no serious expectations. “I’d taken her out.”
“You better go over there and douse the fire or she’s going to be on the prowl all night.”
“You’re right,” I said, pushing through the crowd and going over to her.
Gleaming, she swiveled her stool around, her knees bumping my thighs.
I stepped back “Hi, how have you been?”
“Debbie. Remember?”
“Of course, I said.” I glanced at her girlfriend who then turned back to face the bar.
“You never called me.”
“Truth is I planned to, but lost your number.”
“That’s what they all say.” Her smile was erased.
“Really. Several things happened. And, I’m seeing someone now.”
“I see.”
She probably thought I meant Carrie, but there was no need to explain. I simply needed to put this to rest. “I just wanted to come over say hi and thanks. I enjoyed your company and under different circumstances, who knows?”
With moist eyes, she hesitated as if she wanted to say more. Then simply, “Good luck.”
I nodded and returned to Carrie.
“Hey,” she said, nudging me back to the moment. “Do they deliver organs for transplants in a cooler?”
“I guess. Why?”
“Now I know what’s going on at the Noble Company. They’re doing something with organs–probably heart transplants. I saw these guys wheel in a huge cooler yesterday.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I suppose they do the operating right there.”
She clucked her tongue. “Of course, not. It’s not sanitary. They harvest and sell them on the black market.”
I burst out laughing. “Good Carrie. Very good! It’ll be hard to top that one.”
Happy Hour ended. Someone brought out the karaoke machine. Animatedly, Carrie said,
“Remember when we sang a duet, You’ve Got a Friend?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Let’s do it again.”
I shook my head. No way was I in the mood to get up in front of the crowd and sing. Wasn’t I a different person back then? She grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the stage. Some of the patrons, recognizing what was happening, helped her, shoving me forward. I cringed with embarrassment. The words skipped across the screen. I joined Carrie.
Afterward, we were greeted with applause and cheers despite my stumbling over the lyrics and missing notes. I had to admit I enjoyed myself, being with Carrie. It was heartening to know our friendship could continue to thrive.
6
I called Hanna picturing her in my mind as the vital woman she used to be, her hair loosely curled, brown eyes bright, and smiling impishly like a little girl with a secret to share. That woman had a happy ring to her voice, the Hanna that answered the phone did not. Hers was bland, lethargic.
“Hanna, you still got Kevin’s camera, right?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. It’s been well over a year. You might have given it away or something.”
“I’m sure it’s still on his closet shelf where he left it.”
Kevin’s room hadn’t been altered at all; it was cleaned and made presentable but otherwise looked just the way he left it. Hanna refused to change it as if it was waiting for his return. Did she consider it a shrine? When I lived there I avoided it, found it too painful to enter. I thought she should box up the items she treasured, and convert the room into something else. I thought Hanna needed to move on. “Do you think I can have it? I’ve been treating this young man who’s a photography buff. Someone took his camera. I thought I’d give it to him if it’s all right with you.”
“Sure, it’s much too complicated for me. Any pictures I take will be with my cell phone.” Melodically she added, “And Kevin would like that.”
“Thanks. I’ll come for it after work.”
“Is Bobby still working for you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll drop it off. I haven’t talked to Bobby in a while and you don’t have a car. Also, I need some more sleeping medication.” She yawned. “Do you want everything? All the equipment?”
“That would be great.” I wanted Hanna to wean herself off the sleeping pills. She had been taking them for over a year. I didn’t like her being dependent on them, but this was not the time to confront her.
“Grant, what do you know about Hank Gentry?”
“He seems like a nice guy. Why?”
“He asked me out.”
I felt a pang of jealousy. I knew it wasn’t logical. We were divorced and I had been with several women. Hanna had been out on a couple of dates. Apparently, they hadn’t amounted to much as they were short-lived. But I didn’t know the other men and heard about them after the fact. I knew Hank. A bit older, he was a successful dentist who had lost his wife to cancer. He was also handsome and charming. Hanna deserved someone like him. But the vison of the two of them making love bothered me. Each time I think I’ve gotten Hanna out of my system something happens to remind me that I haven’t. “I don’t know him well, just that he’s a dentist and respected in the community. Where’s he taking you?”
“That’s none of your business, Grant. I don’t ask you where you go and what you do.”
I was glad for that. “You brought it up.”
“Yes, I thought if you knew something bad about him, you’d tell me. I haven
’t committed to anything yet and if I do, I’ll decide what I want to tell you, if anything.”
She put me in my place. I wished she hadn’t used the committed word. It had serious connotations. “Well, I only want the best for you, Hanna. I’ll see you when you drop by the office.”
I saw a couple of patients, caught up on my dictation and added the tape to the pile awaiting Grace when she returned. By then it was near noon, so I stepped out from my office to check on my afternoon.
Bobby was watching a movie on the computer, the audio so loud he didn’t hear me approach. He startled, turned down the volume. “Mrs. Merriweather cancelled her appointment for this afternoon.”
“Again?” I had spent considerable time and effort on the telephone convincing her we were on the verge of making major strides and that she shouldn’t terminate treatment at this time. She came in after our talk. We had a productive session as I enumerated what we had accomplished and what more needed to be done. “She seemed committed when I saw her last.”
“She’s not quitting. She rescheduled.” He paused the movie.
“Oh, I guess I jumped the gun. No reason to stay here this afternoon then. Notify the answering service we’re taking the rest of day off.” I focused on the sleeping pills on Bobby’s desk. “It looks like Hanna hasn’t been by.”
“I’m meeting her for lunch. You can go. I’ll get the camera and lock up.”
I was disappointed, felt a rush of sadness. I looked forward to seeing Hanna, had envisioned in my mind a scene where we sat and talked in my office. Nothing serious, just comfortable chatter between friends. Apparently, she had other plans, preferring to spent time with her brother which was understandable. I considered hanging around for a while, then thought better about it. “Okay, Bobby.
Say hello to Hanna for me.”
The forecast was for rain. I returned to my office, checked the next day’s schedule and grabbed my umbrella. I stepped off the stairs when I heard a horn sound. I looked up to see Megan waving at me from her car window. I strutted over.
“I thought you might need a ride. Bobby said he had other plans.”
“I am capable of walking,” I said, wondering why I’ve resisted having that talk with Bobby about not sharing my personal life with Megan. And, I had to admit her welcoming face was the pick me-up I needed after Hanna’s letdown.
“Get in. I’ll take you to lunch.” Reading my questioning look, she added, “I’m not here for Sasha. Simply I’m bored with time on my hands and craving excitement.”
Smiling, I climbed into the car.
“How much time do you have?”
“Actually, I’m done for the day”
“Fantastic! Then let’s go to my place. I’d like you to see it. I’ll make you lunch.”
Mentally, I brushed off that little super ego thing on my shoulder and decided to just go with the flow.
She pulled out of the parking lot and shot out into the street, her headlights on due to the graying sky.
I sat, absorbing her scent, unusual yet familiar somehow. It was unidentifiable, alluring in ways that were both subtle and wild. Her hair was shoulder length with just a hint of inward curl at the bottom. Her eyes were alert and mischievous. She looked expensively dressed in a knitted two-piece purple outfit with matching earrings. She was a prize. Strange I should think of her that way, that somehow she was the physical embodiment of success when I knew that was shallow thinking. Yet, wouldn’t she make the perfect trophy wife? Wasn’t that the term society coined? The other part of that from a male perspective was proof, or maybe self-deception, of one’s virility. When was I going to stop being so damn analytical and be in the present? Still, I was surprised that she was single and not married to some rich old gentlemen. Several times she expressed her delight in my being free, but neither of us said much, content to silently enjoy the moment.
She drove the expressways, leaving the city behind. Eventually a road spiraled past some mega-dollar palatial estates carved out of the thick surrounding woods, and snaked to the top of the hill. Sitting on the pinnacle was her king of the hill, an ultra-modern three-level, white stucco, with clean lines, tall windows and balconies with magnificent views in all directions. An approaching storm with darkening skies embraced the house giving it an impressive, but ominous feel. A strong wind kicked up, bending trees. A chair skittered across the lawn.
“Looks like we’re in for major storm,” I said.
“I love it! Makes me feel alive.” She opened the automatic wrought iron gate and pulled into the safety of the three-car garage that rivaled most living rooms with its plastered walls, white lacquered cabinets, and tiled floor. A Mercedes SUV was parked at the far side.
I followed her inside the house into a hallway that led to a great room. Spacious with white walls that bordered expansive wrap-around windows with views of the hillside drew my eyes in. A few of the homes had their lights on. I could imagine the glittering nightscape and how stunning the hillside must look lit by the sun.
“No window treatments?” I asked.
“Why obscure the view? And, who can see in?”
A passing airplane, maybe. But something told me the windows would look the same lower on the hill, that modesty was not one of Megan’s concerns. The room was elegant, yet comfortable with oversized contemporary furnishings in light earth-tones, teak flooring and built-ins, oriental rugs, and a massive, two-story stone fireplace. It was a page out of Architectural Digest.
“Impressive,” I said.
Flashing a pleasing smile, she pressed a button opening the stainless steel elevator lined in mirrors. She pressed three and the lift jerked upward. “You must see the balcony off my bedroom.”
I smiled, aware that both of us were studying the other from all angles provided by the mirrors. And she looked inviting from any direction. When we reached the top, she took my hand and led me through her purple bedroom, anchored by a king-sized bed beneath vaulted ceiling skylights. French doors opened to a large balcony cantilevered over the hillside, that dropped precipitously over the rocky shoreline and into the Puget Sound inlet. Plexiglas see-through, waist-high panels set into iron railings rimmed the perimeter. A glass patio table with plastic-webbed chairs, two chaise lounges, and a couple of Japanese Maples dancing in the wind, filled one side. The other was bare except for the air mattress on the floor that I assumed Megan used to sun herself. On a clear day you could see for miles, but today the view was dominated by the thick blackening clouds that shortened the horizon. Roiling waves crashed against the craggy rocks spewing foam. Distant rain was heading inward.
“Wow!” was all I could muster at the moment. Megan’s warm hand on my shoulder contrasted with the chill in the air.
“Scotch?”
“Yes.”
“I have some very aged Macallan” she yelled from the wet bar in her bedroom. “Ice?”
I bent over the railing and was hit with vertigo, nausea rocking through my head and stomach. This had to be what it looked like to Kevin, the drop high above the water. For him it was a bridge, not a balcony. I white-knuckled the railing in a spinning whirlpool. Gut-wrenching breathlessness. What were his thoughts as he jumped? Or, did he do a majestic swan dive?
“Are you okay?” Megan turned me around and pulled me away from the railing. She handed me the drink from which I swallowed greedily.
“Yeah, a little bit of vertigo. I’m uneasy with heights.” I guzzled the drink down. When Megan disappeared to get me a refill I composed myself, sucking in large breaths of air and focusing on the moment. I set the new drink down, gazed into Megan’s eyes, felt the deepening electricity surging between us.
A clap of thunder broke open the clouds and rain began to pelt down on us. I reached for Megan’s hand to take her into the bedroom, out of the rain, but she pulled back, resisting. Her smile hit me like the waves below, surging through me, sweeping me off my feet in its swell. She bent forward, pressing her lips against mine. Her sensual touch dissipated
my anxieties, and as I drew her closer I felt as if my fears about proper behavior were fantasies, and the only meaningful reality was the here and now of the two of us wrapped together
She ripped my shirt off my back and we watched it sail off the balcony. The unrelenting rain fell cold, melding the clothes to our bodies. But inside my flesh was on fire. Together we frantically undressed, assisting one another, stripping the wet clothing that stuck to our bodies. We fumbled, looking amateurish as virginal teens, laughing, then exploring with our eyes and hands. She was stunning, everything that I imagined. She pulled me down onto the mattress, hungrily attacked me, clawing, biting my neck, drawing blood. A bolt of lightning illuminated the feral-like spark in her eyes. She craved danger. She was in her element with the violent storm. I felt engaged in some kind of strange, primitive mating dance, as if our copulating channeled the thunder and lightning spirits. Sex was furious, frenzied, all-consuming. Spent, I slept on the mattress oblivious to the rain.
When I awoke sometime later, with the lower half of my body covered with a blanket, Megan took my picture with her cell phone. The rain had stopped. “Hey! None of that,” I said, shading my face with my hand.
“Just the one. You look so endearing.” She put the camera down. “You’ll notice I covered your private parts. Such a shame, I might add, but I do have the vision locked in my memory.”
She wore nothing but a see-thru swim wrap and I became aroused again. I stood, put on my underwear.
“Let me put some cream on those scratches,” she said, smiling. “Looks like you were attacked by a tiger.”
I grinned. “Something like that.”
7
I was consumed by Megan. My dreams and all of my thoughts this morning were on my afternoon with Megan. The sex was unbelievable, the best I ever had. I was bitten, my libido luxuriating in the experience and demanding more. But the professional part of me was flashing warnings, like one of those over-the-freeway signs blinking DANGER AHEAD. There was the whole ethical thing about sleeping with a patient. I rationalized that Megan was not the patient. Her sister, Sasha, was. Still, Carrie’s words about my seeing Megan professionally reverberated in my mind. I was hoping she’d forget to research it. But I couldn’t for the life of me see how consorting with Megan could hurt her. She was single, available, worldly, capable and wise. Our connecting wasn’t a matter of transference in the usual sense where the kindness, empathy, and the dependency of the therapeutic experience, fostered the patient’s redirecting unconscious feelings from a significant person, usually one from childhood, to the therapist. Simply, we were two available consenting adults attracted to one another. And I didn’t believe countertransference was in play here either; my transferring unconscious feelings to her. But what did I really know about Megan? Then, again, what does anybody know about the new person they’re dating? Isn’t that what the dating process is all about, to discover who this other person really is, to see how compatible he or she is to you? Knowing I had a tendency to question everything I did, one of the hazards of self-awareness which I believed was essential for successful therapy, I shook off the self-examination. It was one of the things Hanna faulted me for. I could hear her in my head, “Do you have to slice and dice everything? Be more spontaneous.”
