by Alice Quinn
Gaston rolled his eyes. “Goodness me! You’re in love already! You don’t even know who he is!”
“What’s your problem, Gaston? Are you deaf? Didn’t I just say I couldn’t care less about the guy?”
He smiled his knowing smile. My oh my, that can be as annoying as shit!
The pretty young journalist was now speaking directly to the camera.
“Linus Robinson, the famous psychoanalyst, who has just described at length the theory of the Oedipus complex . . .”
She really accentuated her English accent when she pronounced his surname. Robinson. She couldn’t have sounded more like a snooty hooty snobbity snob if she’d tried.
I couldn’t stop giggling. I also couldn’t resist imitating her fake English accent.
“Wobinsone! Wobinsone! Wobinsone! Wobinsone! What do you sound like? You sound like a weird little chatty batty birdy!”
She couldn’t hear me (obviously), so she carried on yapping.
“. . . has accepted our request to respond to our questions and to say a few words which will then go on record at the Freudian Academy . . .”
This snobby little bitch turned toward Linus and questioned him as if her life depended on it. It was all very over the top.
“Doctor Robinson . . . the Oedipus complex . . . blah, blah, blah?”
Linus Robinson answered slowly, and his strong Canadian accent was hard to miss. He sighed between sentences—big long sighs. In his eyes, it was clear to anyone with intuition to see how annoyed he was, bored even.
“As for Freud, he, hmm, wasn’t afraid of saying how it is. He explained that there is no distinction between a mother and love. Hmm, not love, but attachment. And this is where the real question lies . . .”
I thought this broad was about to ask for his hand in marriage.
She interrupted him excitedly. “But what about the part about having sex with your mother? Do you think psychoanalysis can be an instrument used to talk about this?”
And that’s when I exploded. It came on pretty fast. I was angry! I couldn’t hold back! This was a scandal!
“She’s coming on to him! My God! And she’s coming on strong! I can’t believe that! Look at her! I’ve never seen anything like it! How unprofessional can you get?”
“So what, Cricri? She has every right to be in love, hasn’t she?”
I had to agree. What he was saying made sense.
Linus Robinson repeated what he’d just heard. He was dumbstruck—like he was thinking, But how can someone come out with such garbage? I couldn’t even remember what question the journalist had asked, but I agreed with him 100 percent. That girl just didn’t come across as credible. She didn’t know her subject. In fact, she was talking a pile of bull, as far as I could tell.
“Sex with your mother . . . Um . . . ?” he repeated. His slight smile turned into a fit of laughter. “I find these terms so amusing, let me think. Excuse me . . . Uhhh . . . It’s about a son’s relationship with his mother . . .” Then suddenly, and fairly aggressively, he added, “It’s a lot more complicated than that . . .”
I applauded, delighted by this. “Bravo! That sure did shut her up! All righty . . .”
Gaston had to have his say at this point. “Cricri, you’re not exactly being impartial here. And this young man is being more than a little condescending. All things considered, this woman, even though she is clearly under his charms and is not doing her job properly, doesn’t deserve to be humiliated . . .”
“Give it a rest, Gaston! Stop taking sides!”
“Me? Taking sides?”
During Gaston’s and my brief discussion, Linus Robinson had answered the questions but was no longer making eye contact with the journalist. He appeared precise, serious, sarcastic, and intimidated by the camera. So many emotions in such a short space of time.
Too cute for words.
He gestured to the camera to stop filming and scuttled away before the cameraman had a chance to obey him. It was a kind of natural authority. Firm but gentle at the same time.
He was out of there. The film stopped.
“Gaston, what can I say? This guy’s a cutie, sure, but would I really go for him? Honestly, I don’t care either way.”
“I’m not buying it, Cricri. One doesn’t have to be the sharpest tool in the box to notice that you could totally fall for someone like him.”
“Whatever!”
“No, really. What did you think of him? Objectively?”
“Just stop it! You’re being ridiculous! He’s not bad, OK. But me, I . . .”
And the doorbell rang. I went to open up while Gaston stayed sprawled out on the couch.
9
A woman stepped in. She was striking—simply exquisite, with beautiful bronzed skin. She wore a superb long robe cut from a brightly colored, slightly shiny, orange-and-pink fabric. A huge flashy scarf covered her hair like a turban. She gave the impression that she wanted to come across as an African tribal woman. She wasn’t one. But to each their own. It even looked like her cheeks were tattooed, but it must have been makeup. On her arm, she had a very expensive Longchamp bag, which didn’t go at all with the rest of the outfit.
“Hello there,” she said with a strong Parisian accent. “Are you new?”
I didn’t know how to answer so I just nodded.
She continued, “Hmm, Eudoxie Apraksine. I have an appoi—”
“Um, with Rachel Amar, I’m sure—” I started to explain, but she just carried on.
“Of course with Rachel. I’m not quite unzipped to the point of not knowing what door I’m knocking at. Not yet, anyway. Yes. I have an appointment with her.”
“Well, it’s not possible. Listen, Madame Aspirin, I—”
“Apraksine!”
“As you wish. So, I was just saying, Madame Asspiercing, I’m very sorry, but Rachel Amar is absent at the moment. You’ll have to call her back in a few days to schedule another appointment. I don’t know exactly when she’ll be back.”
“Oh no! I can’t do without her! I really can’t!”
“That’s just the way these things go. Sorry. Nothing I can do. I’m just the maid—”
She hurried toward the psychologist’s office, making a multitude of choking and spluttering noises. She was slightly taken aback when she saw Gaston spread out like a corpse on the couch.
“Am I early or late here? Where’s the shrink? She’s here, right?”
Gaston stood up hastily. He was clearly embarrassed. “No, it’s just that—”
I picked up where I’d left off, speaking drily. “I’ve told you everything there is to know. Rachel Amar isn’t here. She’s gone away on business for a few days. I’m the maid, Maldonne. Pleased to meet you. She asked me to make sure all her patients were in the know. She also mentioned something about calling you to set up another appointment when she got back.”
“Her maid? Wrong!”
“Wrong? How’s that?”
“I know her maid! Her name is Véro. She’s shorter than you, petite, brunette, sweet little thing.”
I glanced at Gaston. Boy, this was going to take some explaining. She spotted the way we’d eyeballed each other and now appeared to be very much intrigued by the whole situation. She peered over at the desk and saw my coffee cup in front of the big chair.
“Very well, very well. I understand exactly what’s going on and I find your attitude very impolite!
“How’s that?”
“Is that all you can say?”
Now, I really hate it when people make that sort of remark. If anyone’s going to speak like that to others, it sure as hell better be me. Everything was ass-backward here and I didn’t like it.
“Listen. This is all a bit complicated to explain. Actually, I’m replacing—”
“I knew it! You’re replacing Amar!”
I couldn’t get my head around what she was saying and smiled. “No! The other one! I’m replacing Véro! I’m replacing the maid!”
“Of cours
e, sure, I believe you! And you know what? I’m replacing a patient. And this is very good timing, because I love when the couch is already nice and warm.”
And without further ado, she banged her butt cheeks down on the exact spot Gaston had just left.
The Patsy Cline song came back to me: “I’m bonkers for trying . . .” That’s exactly what this was. No point in trying! It was high time everyone just got the hell out of there and left me alone. They were driving me over the edge.
Gaston studied me, clearly waiting to see how I was going to get myself out of this situation.
I decided to tackle him first. “Gaston, when you’ve finished getting on my nerves, you let me know, OK?”
I stopped, not saying another word. The woman had closed her eyes. Gaston backed out of the room and made his way toward the kitchen.
“Coffee for everyone?” he cried out from a distance.
Neither of us replied. He tried a little joke.
“Don’t all shout out at once!”
Our silence persisted. The woman opened her eyes and saw me just standing there between the couch and the desk, a terrified look on my face.
“Sit down, would you?” she said. “It would be more orthodox, you know?”
“Well, seeing as I’ve told you that one, I’m not a shrink, and two, I’m not replacing Rachel Amar, I have no place sitting behind this desk.”
But something in the way I spoke must not have quite rung true with her. Maybe she sensed that I wanted to play shrink, like little girls play shop. One thing was certain—she didn’t believe my protests.
“Now, now! I’m not going to eat you. If this is your first appointment, I can understand that you’re a little nervous. Please, take a seat and let me resume telling you what’s been happening.”
For reasons unknown to me, I obeyed. I sat behind the desk and stirred my (now cold) coffee.
She started yapping. “Well, I’ll sum up for you who I am and why I’m here. So, I’m Eudoxie Apraksine, but I have another name, Bintou, if it’s easier for you. I don’t use it very often, though. I am the unhappy mix of poor white Russian descendants and generous African ancestors who made a fortune in the diamond mines. Apparently they collaborated with the French government in situ. This is why I have to have these appointments with Amar. I’m having an identity crisis. Also, I have had some serious burnout issues with my job, but for totally different reasons.”
I was starting to get interested in this story of hers. That’s always been my problem. I can’t resist a good story.
“How do you know when you’ve burned out? What happens? Do you faint? Go mental? What?”
“Well, I don’t really know, actually. I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that I can’t even handle going anywhere near my office. As soon as I approach the building, I just start scratching my skin. Scratching, scratching . . . Scratching everywhere. And I feel like I’m going to suffocate. One day, I just told myself that enough was enough. I arrived early one morning, as usual, then spun around and traipsed straight back home again. I couldn’t look at their stupid faces any longer, listen to their voices, hand in the same old stories, lick the same assholes belonging to the same pricks. Excuse my language. I turned my back on it all. I didn’t believe in the job anymore. And it’s a real shame, you know. I mean, these people were my friends. I really liked them. I still do.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Journalist. But now that I’ve quit my job because of my never-ending depression, I have a heap of money difficulties.”
“Do you have any money coming in at all?”
“No, nothing at all. Well, no direct revenue. Not a salary as such. I have my shares and the money from my rental properties, but I don’t want to touch that any more than I have to.”
“I can help you there! I know the ins and outs of the state welfare system by heart!”
“That’s very kind of you. I forget that shrinks can also be a bit like social workers too, can’t they? It’s all part and parcel of the service.”
“Oh, I’ve always been like that. Except that I’m not a shrink. Or a social worker. In fact, I’m what they call a welfare mom!”
“Wow! Times must be so tough! It’s really very kind of you, but I don’t think I’m going to need any help with welfare money or unemployment and all the rest of it. I own a lot of property and I don’t think I’d qualify for assistance. Anyway, I’ve taken up Thai boxing.”
That was a curveball. She’d certainly gotten me thinking. It didn’t seem like she needed a shrink at all! She needed one a hell of a lot less than I did, at any rate! Her ideas and her words were all over the place, but she was sane enough.
“Do you have kids?” I asked.
“No. My ex-husband was ashamed of me because of it. He’s a big negotiator. Egyptian. I mean, he’s a bigwig in negotiating. Good at his job. Physically, he’s small. Not big at all. Honestly, with the life I lead, I’ve never had the time for kids. It’s something my ex always understood, being a pretty nice guy, but he was ashamed of me all the same.”
“Why did you split up if he was so nice?”
“He didn’t want me to go to Sydney to do a story on heart transplants with this young journalist colleague of mine. I hadn’t even told him I was crazily in love with this colleague. Hook, line, and sinker. It must have just felt off to him.”
I was stuck for a reply. What could I say to all that? “Hmm . . .”
“Anyway, now I have serious problems making ends meet on a daily basis. It’s been like that for a while now.”
“I have a job I could offer you. It’s short term, though.”
“OK! I can edit and proof articles. I can give private lessons to history majors, art majors, or any other subject, really, as long as it’s in the humanities. I can run writing workshops. I was a professional scriptwriter at one point. I’ve also helped people study for college entrance examinations. It’s not one of my favorite things to do, and a bit of a step down the career ladder, but when needs must—”
“Actually, I wasn’t thinking about any of that stuff.”
Her shoulders dropped. “What were you thinking of?”
“A friend of mine is hoping to find a waitress because his main girl is currently in the hospital. I sometimes work shifts at his place, but I can’t at the moment because I’m helping Véro out here.”
“Waitress?”
There was a long silence. She eyed me suspiciously and seemed to be waiting for me to go into further detail. All of a sudden, her face brightened.
She broke the quiet spell with a loud, “I get it!”
Again, I had no response. How do you react to this kind of statement? What was there to get? She interrupted my bewildered silence.
“Is this some kind of new method?”
“What do you mean? No, it’s not a new method! I don’t know why you won’t believe me, but never mind. I can’t keep battling you like this. It’s getting tiring! Why exactly do you need to see Rachel Amar again? Oh yeah, the burnout blues and all that bull, right?”
“Basically, I was shot to pieces following this investigation into something . . . well, something pretty dangerous, to put it simply. I reacted badly, and now I’m at a juncture between shame and fear and I’ve lost confidence in myself.”
Finally! Now I was in familiar territory. I didn’t have much confidence in myself either.
“And what sorts of effects has this had on you?” I asked. “Other than you not wanting to show up for work these days? Because all this seems pretty humdrum and ordinary to me.”
“Well, other than that, I go out shopping quite a lot and buy tons of stuff on my different credit cards. Buy now, pay later. This is why I’m in massive debt these days. You wouldn’t believe how far in the red I am on my checking account. And that puts me in a blind panic, because it means I have to start drawing money out of my savings and investments.”
“Don’t sweat it! There’s nothing I don’t kn
ow about being in debt. I don’t have a magic solution or anything, but there is one thing I can tell you: when you’re in debt, you get to stay in touch with folks! My old boss told me that just before he died. If you owe people money, they ain’t going nowhere, right?”
I had no clue how to help her out of her sitch, but I didn’t want to just dump her ass—it’d be like leaving a lizard out in the rain, or something like that, like my momma used to say. It would be just awful. So, I made some shit up on the spot.
“I want you to do everything I tell you, and to do it exactly as I say. You’re going to go to the grocery store, just as everything’s closing. Go take a look at those who really don’t have any money and what they do when they have to eat. Then gather the ingredients to make a dish from your country without spending a penny, and come back here tomorrow and cook it.”
“What? I can’t even cook an egg!”
“That’s exactly the idea. Go do something you’ve never done and get over this lack of self-worth! Allow yourself to just go with this, Madame Saccharine!”
“My name is—”
“Whatever, it doesn’t really matter. Stop trying to control everything.” I was pretty proud of my spiel. It turned out I was fairly convincing when it came to psychobabble.
She had what was obviously her grumpy face on. “You’re very funny,” she said. “You really are hilarious! And which country would that be?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you say ‘a dish from my country,’ do you mean Egypt, Russia, France, or some unspecified African nation?”
“It’s up to you!”
“OK. I’ll choose one. I’m willing to give this a go! I’m sure you’re right about all this, but I find you very hurried. You don’t leave much room for discussion.”
“That’s exactly what I am. Hurried. I don’t have a lot of time. I need to finish cleaning this office. So come on. It’s time to get out of here!”
She dragged her ass slowly out of the office and made her way to the living room, where I could hear her chatting with Gaston.
10
As I dusted the books on the shelves, I couldn’t resist putting Linus Robinson on replay. I must have pressed the wrong button, because instead of Linus, I got a man sobbing his guts out. He was lying on the couch in that very office! OK, so Rachel Amar must film some of her sessions.
