by Alice Quinn
“Of courthe not!” shouted Sabrina triumphantly. “Becauthe it’th nothing! Nothing can’t be mithed!”
“Exactly,” responded Alexandre with a sardonic smile, his cheeks burning up. “She knows what’s she’s talking about, this girl! Exactly! Nothing can’t be mithed—uh, missed—by anyone!”
All this weepy, moody moping was getting on my nerves. Big time. The old gray matter was working like crazy, trying to think of something to say to such a sad sack.
“Oh no, no. It’s hopeless . . .” he wailed.
I’d had it.
“Just stop! Stop! You’ve got to put a lid on it now, I’m afraid. I did not agree to this just so you can lie there and feel sorry for yourself!”
“Mommy doethn’t like people who complain all the time!” explained Sabrina. “We have no time for complainerth! Mommy alwayth thayth the’th not the wailing wall! It annoyth her and the doethn’t like it. It thtopth her thinking clearly. Mommy liketh to be happy all the time. Like a Thmurf! Thmurfth have fun all day long!”
“You mean Smurfs? So you think I whine, do you? Put a lid on it? You stop me and tell me to put a lid on it? B-but . . .” He spluttered and stumbled and then stopped. There was silence for a good few seconds, and then he asked, “What school of thought do you follow?”
“The elementary school down on Rue Macé. Why?”
I could see how bewildered he looked. He must have meant something else.
I forced out a laugh. “Hey! Just a joke! Wow! You’re so uptight! For an orgy boy, you’re a real stiff!”
“What’th an orgy, Mommy? An orgy boy?”
“It’s like Georgie Porgie pudding and pie, kissing the girls and . . . you know, the nursery rhyme, from when you were a little tot?”
Laroche must have been really put out. I felt like giving it to him once and for all. He was seriously getting on my last nerve. It was just that I didn’t want him to kill himself. I’d have felt so responsible if he went and did that. So I decided to try reasoning with the miserable little . . .
“I just don’t think all this misery is going to get you very far in life!”
“Oh, really? You don’t say! So? What do you suggest?”
I thought about it awhile. “I want you to do everything I tell you and do it exactly as I say. Stand up.”
Looking defeated, he stood up, put his back to the wall and his hands behind him. Damn, where was the gun?
It was at that point that Léo stormed in, a notepad and pen in hand.
“I’ll never understand this! I’m going to miss my date! You know what? This morning, in class, I listened real hard! I swear, Cricri! But I just don’t get it. I must have fallen too far behind. It’s way over my head! Anyhow, next week is vacation. It’s too late to catch up, so . . .”
I suddenly got an idea. If Alexandre Laroche wanted to take the step from being nothing to being something, he could tutor Léo in math.
I asked him, “What were you before you did that web thingamajig?”
“You mean before my start-up? Before I became the French Bill Gates? I was an IT engineer. Why?”
“Ask him about your math problems, Léo!”
“It’s Thales’ theorem. I don’t get it. I can’t remember it,” Léo said.
“Go ahead. Tell me what you think it is,” said Laroche.
“Um, you’ve got a triangle ABC with points DE . . .”
At this point, I zoned out on all the stuff with right angles and proportions and theorems. Who the heck knows? Well, other than Laroche, anyway. But I zoned right back in when I heard Laroche say, “It’s how they measured out the pyramids. It’s just unbelievable, isn’t it?” Now I was pissed! I wanted to know how the pyramids were measured out! But I guess I’d missed the boat on that one.
“I can’t believe it!” Léo exclaimed. “I didn’t get it at all with my teacher. Zilch! And with you, it’s in the bag in less than two minutes! You’re awesome! Respect!”
Laroche brought his hands out from behind his back. I think he was a little agitated by the shower of compliments. The gun was in his left hand.
Léo spotted it quick as a flash. “What is it? A Smith & Wesson? OK, so double respect! A math teacher who comes heavy! Wow! Cricri, you know the coolest people! It’s like Prison Break in this joint—or a cowboys-and-Indians movie. I love all that!”
“They’re not playing cowboyth and Indianth. Thith ith jutht how they do thingth at the thychiatritht’th.”
“Hey, I have to go!” Léo said. “I got a date! Did I tell you? Ha-ha! I’ll copy out the theorem later!”
“Wait, come here a sec.”
I searched my pockets and found a few bits of loose change.
“Here’s bus fare for you and Erina. You’ll have to get a drink from the fountain on the way, because I don’t have enough.”
“Don’t sweat it, Cricri. I’ve got more than enough. My mom gave me a ton of cash last weekend. I haven’t spent any of it yet.”
I felt my cheeks flush. I didn’t know why, but I was touched that he understood I wasn’t rolling in cash.
“You make sure you’re back around six, OK? And you’ve got my number? Yes, of course you do. Call me when you get to the beach.”
“See y’all later!” said Léo.
He hopped out of the room, and we heard the front door shut behind him with a clack.
I was really concerned and upset that Sabrina had seen the gun. I was worried about the effect it would have on her. Trauma much? As for the loon, I was scared he’d have another breakdown.
“Put down that stupid weapon! You’re ridiculous! Aren’t you ashamed to wave it around like that in front a child? You should be.”
He gripped it tighter than ever. I breathed in sharply. I had to find a way to get him to drop it. I didn’t even know if the stupid old thing had a safety on!
“Stand facing me. We’re going to try to take a journey together. A journey into your past. It’s like a role-play. I did it with some buddies of mine back in high school. They were big manga fans. But that has nothing to do with this. I used to like being the princess, but it also used to piss me off that I was never allowed to make any decisions. Anyway, let’s go back and try to find out when all this first started, OK?”
“Thith ith a funny game, Mommy! I like being the printheth too. But thith boy in my clath thaid I couldn’t be a real printheth becauthe I am too bothy.”
“These things never change, my love. You’ll always find there are stupid boys like him. Princesses are supposed to be bossy. And they’re excellent fighters. You’ve seen Shrek, haven’t you?”
“But she’s an ogress, not a princess.”
“She’s both. And you’re not bossy. You’re the boss. OK, Alexandre, concentrate, please. You’re your mother and I’m you at ten years old. Do you want to give this a try?”
He nodded, but I could sense the fear. It showed in his eyes.
Let’s see if Linus Robinson’s Oedipus thing works here.
“So, what’s your mother saying to you? Come on! Go! Go! Spit it out!”
“Well, she was always saying to me—”
“No, no, not like that! You’re supposed to pretend to be your mother!”
“Oh, I see!”
He acted weary and worn out all of a sudden, and then mewled in a high voice, “Oh no, Alexandre! What are you doing now? I told you not to touch that television set! You really are a good-for-nothing! When will you ever stop bugging us? Oh, well, we all have our crosses to bear . . .”
“I think hith mother wanted him to get out of her hair and go off to camp,” reasoned Sabrina.
“OK, listen. We’re swapping. I’m your mother and you’re you at ten years old. You respond now.”
Then the tears started and they wouldn’t stop. He was shaking the gun as he blubbered.
“Mommy! Please! I’m sorry! I won’t bug you anymore! Sorry, Mommy! You’re right! I’m stupid! I’ll get out of here! I don’t want to bother you. You’ll see! I
’m going! But I love you!”
“Oh, no! He’th whining again, Mommy. Don’t freak out.”
I whispered, “When I think about how short life is and that there are some people who want out even sooner . . .” And then in a louder voice, “Very good!” I pretended I knew exactly what I was doing and that this was something I did all the time. “Take a few steps to the side.”
He did as I asked.
“Great. Now who do you see in front of you?”
Laroche wiped his eyes, snorted, and then stood there speechless.
“This is my own method. Just go with it. There’s nobody there now, right?”
“Right. You were in front of me before, then I moved, and now there’s nobody in front of me. What’s your point?”
“It’s simple enough, isn’t it? Who just noticed there’s nobody there?”
“I did. Me.”
“Perfect! Yes! We’re getting there! You see? You’re you! Alexandre whatever-your-name-is.”
“He ithn’t nothing anymore, Mommy?”
“No, he isn’t. He just told us so himself. He’s him. The difference is pretty obvious, because nothing is what’s in front of him. Nothing. Nobody. Right?”
“Right! That’th real clever!”
“There you go! My work here is done! Now hop off out of here, because I have a pile of ironing to get through!”
In fact, what I was dying to do was to engage in an e-mail conversation with Linus Robinson. I’d had some great ideas on that exact subject during the role-play. What if I replied to Linus as if I were Rachel Amar? It wouldn’t be that big a deal if I did. It might even be good fun! I just wanted to live out the fantasy a little . . . Everyone else seemed to think I was her, so why not?
“Hold on a sec!” Laroche said. “I don’t get it. Do you expect me to believe this little game of yours has cured me?”
“That’s exactly what I expect you to believe. This is a brand-new method. You’d be surprised how effective it is. It’s come directly from California in the US of A! That’s right! I read all about it in the dentist’s waiting room the other day. You’ll soon see the effects in your everyday life.”
None of that was true. I hadn’t read anything at all, but I felt like we’d spent enough time together as patient and doctor. It had run its course and we’d all learned something. I’d learned that dishing out therapy wasn’t really my thing. I wasn’t patient enough for patients. Like Shakespeare wrote, “We’re all on a big stage and we’ve all got speaking parts.” Something like that. He said it prettier. Well, my part wasn’t here.
I heard the door open and close. Madame Adrenaline was back.
23
The journalist darted straight into the office. “Laroche? You all done in here? Could you please carry my shopping bags through to the kitchen?” She dropped a pile of brown paper grocery bags onto the floor and gawked at us both. “Are you finished up? Problem all dealt with?” she asked me.
Silence. Neither one of us answered.
“Well, does he still want to off himself?” she asked.
“I don’t think he doeth now!” trumpeted Sabrina.
“I was so sure you’d manage to do something!” she shouted gleefully. She nodded at me with what looked like great admiration. “You really are quite something!”
She was double pissing me off with all the praise.
“One session and see what you did! You saved his ass!”
Laroche seemed overwhelmed by all this, and he went from staring into the void to rolling his eyes into the back of his head. Was it some sort of fit?
“Ahhhh!” he moaned.
“Hurry, Madame Aspirin-or-whatever-you’re-called! Go get some vinegar! He’s having an episode.”
All she did was relay my message. “Get some vinegar! Someone get some vinegar now!”
Sabrina ran to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of balsamic vinegar. As Laroche fainted, he rolled across the floor like a rag doll, the gun sliding off in the opposite direction. Great!
Madame Submarine grabbed the vinegar and ran to pick up the gun. She stashed it in her purse. She sat Alexandre Laroche upright and made him sniff the vinegar. This woman was a fast worker! He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was her face inches away from his.
“Hello there,” he said, a wide smile on his face.
“Hello!” she replied shyly.
“You two go make friends somewhere else, would you?” I muttered. “I’ve got a trillion books to dust in here!”
I couldn’t believe all the drama! What was wrong with these people? All I wanted was five minutes’ peace and quiet so I could get back to Linus Robinson.
Laroche shook himself and stood up. He put his hands in his pockets.
“Sorry about the whole gun thing. I don’t know what came over me . . .” He took some money out of his wallet. “Do you charge the same rate as Amar?”
Was this guy ever going to leave?
“You’re as stubborn as a mule! I won’t tell you again that I’m the maid, OK? You don’t owe me a thing. This wasn’t a real session. And that makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you’re not actually cured, are you? And in this game, there’s no such thing as cured, is there? Haven’t you ever noticed that everyone you ever meet is nutty in his or her own way? Every single one of us.”
“I’m confused. But I think I get your meaning. You want me to go along with the method until we reach a conclusion. Until the end. Or when you say it’s the end. So, what can I do to thank you?”
He clearly wanted a response for thanking me. But thank me for what? For the role-play nonsense I just made up on the spot? It was true that he seemed less jumpy. I thought about Léo and the issues the poor kid had been having with math.
“I have an idea! But it’s not for me, OK? It’s for my friend Mimi’s kid. You know, Léo? The whole mathematical dyslexia kid or whatever. He’s not so hot at that numbers stuff. Like me and his mom! I don’t know if it’s some kind of permanent mental block or whether maybe a few lessons would straighten him out. So, the two of us are going to cut a deal. After what I saw you do with him earlier, I think you could turn this kid’s life around. The math side of it, at any rate. So if you help him out, we’ll call it quits. What do you say?”
His grin told me he was delighted with this solution.
“Of course—it would be my pleasure.”
And then finally—finally—they all got the hell out of there so I could have some alone time with Linus Robinson.
Dear Rachel Amar,
I found your e-mail address on the Freudian Psychoanalysis Clinic site that I know we both frequent.
As you may know, if you’ve had the chance to download my latest podcast on the site, I am currently touring France and have recently traveled down to the Côte d’Azur. It was not only to get a glimpse of the Mediterranean, but hopefully to enjoy this opportunity to finally meet with you in person. I was asked to speak at the Mouans-Sartoux Book Fair, and when I noticed that this village is near yours, I accepted the invitation with great joy. And so, here I am! I must admit, however, that I detest hot climates and know that I am unlikely to see a patch of snow whilst in France, unless I go very high up into the Alps. This is unfortunate, as I am very much accustomed to spending ten months of the year snowed in. Goodness, it’s hot here.
Wow—he mentioned a patch of snow! Like in the Simon & Garfunkel winter song my mother had sent! I couldn’t believe it. I thanked my mommy. She was in top form, as ever. How did she do it? Well, I suppose she wasn’t right every time, but she impressed me on a pretty regular basis. She must have been trying to tell me that Linus and I were meant to cross paths. So Simon & Garfunkel were going to show me the way.
Thanks, Momma! You’re spot on again! The same words in an e-mail—that’s clever! You never even knew anything about e-mail when you were down here. Well done!
I continued reading Robinson’s message:
I’m sitting at a beautiful terrace bar on the fam
ous Croisette, overlooking the stunning seascape, and all I can think about is you, Rachel. I so admire your work. There is nothing of yours I haven’t had the pleasure of reading. Even now, I have Psychoanalysis and Criminality on this very table next to my coffee. But you must be used to such declarations of admiration. I would like to meet you before venturing back to deepest, darkest Canada.
I will be staying in the area for the next few days. I hope to hear from you shortly. I would very much enjoy comparing my latest theories with yours. It would certainly make for an interesting discussion.
Sincerely yours,
Linus Robinson
I didn’t know much about the latest theories on anything, but what I did know was that my Linus Robinson was in France! Not only in France, but in my neck of the woods! I absolutely had to see him! I’d get a copy of one of his books and have him sign it for me! I’d show up at the book fair that weekend. It would be the first time in my life going to something like that, and I hoped there’d at least be a few comic books there I hadn’t read. That would be a real bonus!
I started singing in a French-Canadian accent: “Linus Robinson . . . Robinson . . . Robinson . . .” And I added a Simon & Garfunkel twist: “And here’s to you, Monsieur Robinson, Cricri loves you more than you could know . . . ho, ho, ho . . .”
I pressed “Reply.” I thought for a moment, then wrote, “OK. When do you want to meet up?”
And whoooosh . . . I clicked “Send.”
24
The whole e-mail sitch had worked me up into a state of excitement. I jumped up from my chair and shook myself off from head to toe. I didn’t know what to do next. I couldn’t get over this. I was one brave little minx at times. A daredevil! Wowsers! But what was I expecting to happen next? Had I lost my marbles? How could I be so mental? What was I going to do now? Maybe I thought my life wasn’t complicated enough as it was? What in God’s name was I doing?
