by Jackie Rose
“I’ll give you something to look at!” I yelled at her, then slapped Bruce across the face. Or, I tried to, anyway. He pulled back at the last second, but I did make contact with the corner of his glasses, and sent them flying into the air. Instead of smashing dramatically into a thousand pieces, they landed softly on a mossy rock. He shook his head, laughed and then picked them up.
“I’m glad you’re so amused, Bruce,” I sobbed. “Well, congratulations for being the first to move on with your life. From now on, you won’t have to worry about me. I promise. I’m calling a mover on Monday to go pick up all my stuff.”
“Um, you don’t really have anything there, unless you count the stacks of old magazines and stuffed animals. The furniture’s all mine.”
“But we bought everything together,” I cried.
“Yes, but, um…let’s see…how can I put this? Oh yes—I paid for it all.”
Pointing out something like that was the height of rudeness, especially in front of her. “I won’t stand here and be humiliated.”
“Fine. Goodbye, then,” he said.
“But before I go,” I said, turning to Daphne, “there’s something I want to say to you….”
They both eyed me nervously.
I planned to explode into a rant about what a tramp she was, and how she didn’t deserve Bruce, and how she better keep away from him if she knew what was good for her, but the words just wouldn’t come. Probably because I barely believed it myself. All of my anger just melted into sadness. Bruce deserved to stop hurting, even if I was destined to suffer on forever. And Daphne was cute—there was no trace of the scar I thought I’d seen earlier—and she seemed nice. Why the hell would Bruce want to be with someone like me when here was Daphne, doting on his every word? Daphne, who wanted to go on picnics with him. Daphne who hadn’t broken his heart.
“…take good care of him.”
I walked away slowly, careful not to kick over their bottle of wine, although I wanted to very much.
21
The famous Dr. Shloff stared at me from across her big wooden desk. She was about a hundred years old, and I didn’t trust her. Not for one second. How could anyone trust a woman who wears a tie? Especially when it comes to your love life.
“Evelyn—”
“It’s Evie, actually,” I told her.
“Sorry. Evie, then. Since this is our first session, let’s take things slowly. I want you to tell me a bit about yourself and why you’re here, and what you hope to accomplish from our sessions together.”
“Sessions? I don’t know that I need sessions, exactly. I thought maybe this could be like a one-time thing. Just to get me through this rough patch.”
She glared at me through oversized glasses. On the editor of Vogue, they might have worked. But not on her.
“Therapy involves a serious commitment. It takes months, sometimes years to make real progress and see the effects in your everyday life.”
Sounded like the only effect she was interested in was my money on her life. “I’ll think about it, but I’m pretty sure this will be a one-shot deal,” I explained.
“Fine. Let’s start with today, and see how it goes,” she said.
“So…where do I start?”
“Start at the beginning.”
“Okay.” I took a sip of water and undid the top button of my shorts so I could breathe a little better. “There’s not much to say. I guess I was pretty much doomed from birth….”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just was. I used to think it was my mother’s fault, but now I’m not so sure.”
Dr. Shloff sighed and took off her glasses, a ponderous task. “Maybe we could start with something a little less…deep-seated, especially since we only have forty-five minutes left and you don’t plan on coming back.”
“All right.”
“I understand you’ve had some changes in your life recently, something that precipitated your coming to see me. What was that?”
“I was engaged. But we broke it off.”
“Who did?”
“Bruce.”
“Ah,” she said and scribbled on her pad.
She was taking his side already. It seemed I couldn’t even buy a whiff of sympathy in this town. “But it was the right decision. I know that. At least, for him it was.”
“And why is that?”
I thought about it for a bit, then said, “I guess because if I were him I would have done the same thing. I cheated on him. Just once. And he found out.”
“You told him?”
“No, he caught me.”
“In the act?” She looked up from her pad.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but no. He walked in on me trying to dispose of the evidence. It’s a long story.”
“Did you consider your relationship to be a good one, before this happened?”
“We’d been together since college. He annoyed me sometimes, but he was my best friend.”
“That sounds good.”
“It was.” I shifted uncomfortably. The last thing I needed was for her to tell me what I already knew.
“So why did you have an affair?”
“You’re not very subtle, you know,” I told her. “Aren’t you supposed to beat around the bush a little here?”
“Tick-tock…”
“If you’re trying to get me to promise to come back, it’s not going to work.”
“I don’t care if you come back or not,” she said. “It makes no difference to me.” Sure it didn’t. “But may I ask why you came here at all if you weren’t planning to return?”
“Because Bruce wanted me to. He’s worried about me.”
“He still cares….”
“Yes,” I said definitively.
“And you want to please him.”
“You make it sound sick. I feel bad. I hurt him.”
“How does he feel about everything that’s happened between you?”
“Well, not very good. He dumped me, remember? He’s mad. And incredibly depressed.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Daphne. Sometimes, in my darkest moments, I thought I’d be happier if Bruce really was depressed. At least that would prove that he still cared.
“So you’re trying to make it up to him.”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s a pretty tall order, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.” It probably was. And his new girlfriend definitely wasn’t a good sign (Mademoiselle, July: “Will He Forgive You or Forget You? Five Ways To Tell”).
“This man you had an affair with—”
“Why do you assume it was a man?”
“Was it?” she asked, without looking up this time.
“Yes.”
“So this man, do you still see him?”
“No,” I said. “He’s a complete and total loser.”
“Did you know that at the time?”
“No. Why would I have slept with him if I knew he was an asshole?” It sounded like Dr. Shloff needed some help in the romance department herself.
“Were you emotionally involved with him as well?”
“At one point, I thought he was really into me, but I was just attracted to him physically. Then, after…you know…I realized I was probably just using him, and that it wasn’t going to work out. And even the thought of him was making me sick. It was a constant reminder of what I did to Bruce,” I said. Summing it all up made everything sound a whole lot simpler than it really was. Or maybe not.
“What were you using him for?”
“At first, validation, I guess. He made me feel attractive again for the first time in years.” I didn’t want to tell her the rest of it, that it had been the surest way to shut down everything else that was going on in my life. If she was a good shrink, she’d be able to figure that out on her own.
“Did you and your fiancé enjoy a good sex life?”
“That’s a little personal, if you don’t mind.”
“Everyth
ing we say in here is personal,” she said. “On the off chance you do decide to come back and work with me, which I can already tell you would be a good idea, then I’d like you to understand that sharing emotional intimacy and sexual intimacy are two sides of the same coin. Being honest counts for a lot here. Filtering what you tell me won’t speed up your progress.”
“Would you prefer I save us both a lot of time and tell you when this crap really started? It all started with that damn dress!” Where the hell did that come from?
“Dress?”
“My wedding dress.”
“Ah. Everything was fine before you bought the dress?”
“I think so. At least, it was all stuff I could handle—just nerves.”
“So tell me about the dress.” She was practically foaming at the mouth. It was like I’d just told her I was dreaming about big, fat cigars.
“It’s beautiful. It’s a Vera Wang. You know Vera Wang?”
Dr. Shloff shook her head. She had a practice on the Upper West Side and she didn’t know about Vera Wang. The woman probably made her living off rich and jittery young brides, yet she’d never bothered to ask any of them about their dresses? It didn’t sound like she was doing her job very well.
“Anyway,” I continued, “It’s my dream dress, or at least I thought it was. Now it’s more like a nightmare—a two-thousand-dollar nightmare sitting in my mother’s closet wrapped in plastic. It’ll probably never see the light of day. Not that I care, because I never want to see it again. Maybe I should sell it…” I mused. “Or burn it!”
“Let’s stay on track,” Dr. Shloff interjected.
“Yeah, well, this is what happened. I bought the dress in…I guess it was December. But it was a size eight because it was a sample sale and they were all size eights. So I had to lose weight in order to fit into it. Fifty pounds. I never thought I could do it, but I did.”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “You lost fifty pounds since December?”
“Pretty much,” I said nonchalantly. “Except that I’ve gained some of it back. At least ten pounds, maybe fifteen. I’m not exactly sure, because Morgan, who I’ve been staying with, doesn’t have a scale. I just can’t seem to stop eating. But that’s a normal part of depression, isn’t it?” I was looking for any excuse other than run-of-the-mill gluttony.
“That’s quite a bit to lose,” Dr. Shloff said. “How did you do it?”
“Bruce thought I had an eating disorder. Don’t get excited—I didn’t. The truth is, I did it the old-fashioned way—exercise and semi-starvation. And positive visualization. When you have a goal that’s important enough to you, anything’s possible.”
Or, almost anything. Losing a few pounds was one thing, but I seriously doubted that positive visualization would be enough to get Bruce to take me back. After seeing him with Daphne, I knew things were never going to be the same. Even me coming to see Dr. Shloff wouldn’t be enough to make him forget what I’d done to him, or convince him that I’d changed. The only reason he wanted me to come here was for my own good, so that I’d feel better. But that was Bruce—always thinking about my well-being, even when I didn’t deserve it.
He had his own life to live now, and whether or not he forgave me was probably irrelevant at this point, although it would be nice. So there was no point in obsessing over it—the most important thing now was getting a life back. Not my old one though, a better one. One in which maybe I could even be a little happy again one day. That’s why I was here. Bruce thought that seeing this kook would help, and I secretly hoped he was right.
Dr. Shloff cleared her throat. “And your goal was fitting into that dress.”
“By August 18. That was supposed to be our wedding day.” I couldn’t believe it was coming up so quickly. I made a mental note to get the hell out of the city that day and find something interesting to do, because if I sat around and thought about it, I’d probably lose my mind.
“Maintaining good eating habits is important when you’re feeling down, so don’t be too hard on yourself if you put on a few pounds,” she said. “And exercise is a great stress-reliever. Do you still work out?”
“No. I couldn’t keep up my gym membership after I got fired. They paid for most of it.”
“You were fired recently, too?” she asked.
“Yeah. But it was a shitty job. I’m totally over it.” My fault or not, Kendra White was finally behind me. At least that was a good thing. I definitely needed a fresh start, career-wise. “You’re right about the exercising thing, though,” I told her. “It clears your head. Unfortunately, it also really has a lot of negative associations for me now.”
“Why is that?”
“Because my trainer was the one I slept with.”
“Ah!” she said, and almost fell out of her leather chair. “Your trainer!” It was a therapist’s dream. She couldn’t have been more excited if she’d struck gold.
I looked at my watch. “So what do you think?” I asked her. “The hour’s almost up.”
She put her pen down and leaned back.
“I’m sure you know that I can’t give you all the answers, Evie. You have to find those for yourself. All I can do is help steer you in the right direction.”
“Yeah, yeah. Save the touchy-feely crap and give it to me straight, Doc.”
“You’re a rare bird, Miss Mays,” Dr. Shloff declared, greatly amused. “All right. Here’s what I think. I think maybe you bought a dress you hoped you’d never be able to wear. And I think maybe you panicked when you found out one day that it fit you perfectly.”
“You mean, I never wanted to get married at all?”
“You tell me. Next week.”
Morgan decided that six weeks was plenty long to be in mourning for a seven-year relationship, so, despite my protests, she fixed me up with a friend of Billy’s, some guy he knew from work.
“Do you want Bruce to be the only one on the rebound?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I don’t want a boyfriend.”
“Everyone wants a boyfriend, Evie. Whether they admit it or not.”
“But this is the first time I’ve been single since college,” I protested.
“And look how much fun you’re having. Trust me. This guy’s great—a hell of a lot more interesting than most of Billy’s friends. If I were single, I’d snap him up in a second.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear.” I’d thrown out everything that was too big on me months ago. I never imagined my thin days would be so shortly numbered.
“You’ve got plenty of clothes,” she said, eyeing the mess that had taken over her second bedroom. “Just wear anything. Tight is sexy. Preston will like that. Billy said his last girlfriend was a scuba instructor and that he liked it when she wore her wet-suit in the sack.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“Maybe, but it does make for some interesting possibilities….” Morgan said thoughtfully.
I couldn’t think of a single one.
“Will you at least come with us? Please?” I begged. “If you’re going to ambush me with this, then it’s the least you can do!” She’d already told Preston all about me and he’d agreed to a date tonight, so there wasn’t much I could do to stop it now. If I didn’t go, I knew Morgan would hold it against me forever. It would be easier just to suffer through it.
“No. We’re not in high school anymore. Just go out and have a good time, get your mind off things. He’s picking you up at eight, so be ready. I’m trusting you.”
“I don’t want to,” I objected weakly. “It’s not right.” Even thinking about another guy right now felt like cheating on Bruce again.
“I can tell what you’re thinking, Evie, and you better stop it right now. I bet Bruce would be jealous if he found out. Maybe it would even be a good thing.”
“I don’t think Bruce feels jealousy. He thinks jealousy is for couples who don’t trust each other. And since we’re not even a couple…”
“Well,
he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you’re not going,” she said on her way out the door. “Don’t worry…it won’t be so bad. I promise. Besides—blondes have more fun!”
I threw a pillow at her.
At precisely 8:45, the buzzer rang from downstairs.
“Eve?” a voice crackled over the intercom system.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Preston. I’m here.”
“Only forty-five minutes late.”
“Sorry. Traffic in the tunnel.”
I waited for a better explanation.
“Hello?” he said. “You there?”
I pushed the button. “I’m coming down.”
When the elevator doors opened, he was standing right there. Not holding flowers, I should point out. He obviously wasn’t a romantic—Bruce had given me flowers on our first three or four dates. And after that, he brought me food.
“You must be Eve,” he said, licking his lips. He moved in to kiss me on the cheek.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, extending a hand instead. “And it’s Evie.”
“Whoa! So formal! Billy said you knew how to have a good time—I hope he was right!”
I grinned feebly.
“Let’s get going…my car’s out front and I hate the thought of her being all alone. No need to worry, though—I slipped the doorman a few bucks to watch her for me.”
“Good thinking,” I said.
He ran ahead of me through the lobby when he noticed that the doorman was inside on the phone instead. I seriously considered getting back into the elevator that second, but I figured it might make an interesting anecdote for my memoirs (Cosmopolitan, August: “10 Great Careers You Can Have from Home”).
“Let me get that for you,” he said when I finally made my way outside. “The handle can be a little tricky on this side.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t touch it,” I told him.
“So, Eve, you ever been in a Porsche before?” he asked as we headed for FDR Drive.
