by Fox Brison
“Good afternoon George, you can come through now,” she said before addressing Zuul - the gatekeeper of Gozer and my new nickname for Mary.
Okay, I might have been an out and proud lesbian but I was firmly hidden at the back of the nerd closet. Maybe I should get a trendy woman as my merkin?
“You can get off home, Mary, George here is my last appointment.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need me?” At Emma’s smile, Mary began shutting down her computer. “You leave the door locked now, Dr Myers, you don’t know who could just walk in off the street.” She admonished Emma like a mother would a child and I mouthed sorry, and sheepishly at that.
“I will, I promise,” Emma laughed and winked at me. “See you tomorrow. George, come on through.” The wind had whipped up viciously and I watched the oak trees dance and sway through the French doors in Emma’s office. “I’m sorry about that. I forgot to put your appointment into the diary on the computer so Mary wasn’t expecting you.”
“It’s okay, I thought for a moment she was going to call the police or put me in a headlock!” I said, only half joking. “She’s very vigilant.”
“You noticed that?” I nodded with a grin. “Yes, she’s very protective. There was a bit of trouble a few years back, a bit of something and nothing really.” Emma said as we took our usual seats. “So, George, how are you?” I think we made some real progress yesterday. What do you think?”
I sensed Emma was hiding the truth behind the locked doors, but it really was none of my business. Although I wouldn’t mind making it my business… I groaned, silently. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate, now I wanted to take on other people’s problems. However, that one thought told me Emma was becoming more important to me and wasn’t just a sexy, potential conquest.
“I’m good, thanks.” I looked around the room, trying to be subtle.
Emma must have sensed my confusion because she asked, “Is there something wrong?”
“No, it’s only that Mary said there was someone in with you, but no one left.”
“That’s because they leave through a different door.” She pointed to the one behind her shoulder. I was surprised because I’d never noticed it before.
Funny how easy it is to miss something you’re not looking for, even when it’s staring you right in the face.
“It leads outside, that way my clients never meet,” Emma continued. “You generally go out the front because up until now you’ve always been my last appointment.” I liked how she took the time to elucidate (three across in yesterday’s crossword, to expound one’s knowledge) she never made me feel stupid or became aggravated. She raised her eyebrows, the movement recognised the world over as silent permission to carry on. When she received a smile in response she continued. “Because of our time constraints I thought we might carry on from where we left off yesterday and discuss what happened in Melbourne a bit more.”
I knew what she was getting at, and my heckles immediately rose. “No, Emma, what happened there was a huge mistake, a monumental fuck up. I don’t need to go over it again.”
“I think it could help if we understood why you did something so completely out of character. It might be what’s holding you back now. We need to consider what would happen if you attained the same level of success as you did before. Would you be able to cope?”
“I’ll cope just fine. It wasn’t my success that caused the problem. I’m here, in case you’ve forgotten, because it’s the losing that I’m finding hard to cope with.” And the sarcasm was back. In spades.
“So what did cause the problem in Melbourne? The breakdown of your relationship with Ana?”
“No.”
“George, I’ve noticed you don’t like referring to your ban as a drugs ban. Is that because you’re ashamed?”
“Of course I’m ashamed. Wow, I thought you were a shrink. Maybe I should look at those credentials of yours after all. Look, Emma, I…” I was practically pleading. I wanted to be open and transparent but I just couldn’t be, not yet.
“I’m sorry, George,” she must have recognised my distress because she was immediately contrite. “I told you I wouldn’t push.” She touched my arm and I softened. I hadn’t realised just how tight my muscles were. “Is there something you’d like to talk about instead? It can be anything at all.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Well I was wondering why you became a psychologist?” It wasn’t necessarily the first question that sprang to mind, but I knew asking her anything uber personal was off limits.
And I’d say asking if she was a top or bottom would be considered uber personal.
“Oh, ok not what I was expecting. Uhhm. Well, both my parents were in the field so that probably had a lot to do with it, the same as you with your parents and tennis.”
“Were they sports psychologists?” I skirted the mention of my parents. Go me.
“No, I chose that speciality because as a former athlete it was an area that interested me and was close to my heart.”
“I knew you had to have been sporty with a figure like yours.” Wow foot, get out of mouth. Now. “I mean you look very fit, I mean...” I tried to save myself from further embarrassment by quickly asking, “What sport did you play?”
“I rowed eights, and competed at the Sydney Olympics.”
“Wow. Just. Wow. That’s incredible. I would’ve loved to compete at the Olympics, I was really looking forward to… anyway. That’s really impressive. It’s no wonder you’re so insightful because you’ve been there and done it.” Holy shit, do I have to sound quite so sycophantic?
“Maybe my background does help me relate to my patients, regardless of what level they’re at. Being a psychologist can be very rewarding. I love the breakthrough moment when I help a client cross the brow of the mental hill and they reach their goal. No matter how big or small that goal may be. Now how about we get back to, hopefully, helping you?”
Even if Emma was a Sherpa I think she would still struggle to help me, ‘cos my hill was as high as Everest… or K2 at a push. However, I didn’t want to appear totally defeatist, so I smiled and said, “Sure, that’s what I’m paying you for after all.”
Emma laughed. “Well yes, ma’am, it certainly is. Okay, as we won’t have another session until Sunday I’m going to give you some homework.”
“Homework? Seriously?” What was I, thirteen again?
“Yes. Seriously. David sent me a highlights reel of some of your matches post and pre-suspension. I want you to watch them, pretend you’re the coach. Analyse them. I’m going to do the same and in our next session we’ll discuss our findings together.”
“Okay?” Yeah, that sounded a convincing response. Emma patted my knee and gave me a confident smile, obviously sensing my scepticism.
So that worked much better than any reassuring words. I could get used to this whole non-verbal communication thing Emma had going on.
Oh yes, very used to it.
Chapter 15
Emma
“Client notes Georgia Maskel. George was reluctant to discuss Melbourne today. I thought we’d had a breakthrough moment, but it really is too early.”
Come on Emma, it’s only been three sessions. You’re good but not that good.
“Her body language is difficult to read. Most of the time she is wound tight, keeps herself closed off and in control. She seemed to relax when asking me questions.
Control
Trust
She struggles with these issues.
Why?
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Georgia was a contradiction in every way shape and form. She was making all the right noises, the words leaving her mouth generally positive.
But did she truly mean them?
My phone gave a beep.
Are we still on for Saturday? I could hear my friend Dana’s voice echoing in the text message. Dana and I were supposed to be going out for lunch.
Yes. I thought
some more. Can we go shopping?
What’s up?
Dana knew me too well. Some people, when they had things on their mind, went for a walk, or watched a mindless film, or even wrote it down in a diary.
I went shopping.
Nothing. Not yet anyway. Okay where did that come from? Awkward client. You know how it is.
I certainly do. See you Saturday morning at ten?
Perfect. Four days. Maybe in the meantime I could sort my head out. Maybe.
Chapter 16
Emma
“What can I get for you,” a soft voice, almost a whisper, asked the question; I didn’t have to look up from the menu to see who was speaking because I would have recognised it anywhere. George was standing next to my table wearing a crisp white polo shirt with ‘The Birdcage’ embroidered on the breast. Her beaming smile lit up her whole face and her eyes were bright and welcoming. If it wasn’t for the voice I might not have recognised her, she looked so completely different from the woman who sat across from me in my office. This George looked confident. This George reeked of self-assurance. This George was even more attractive...
Woah! Just stop right there, missy!
“George, hi, what’s this? Are you moonlighting?” After recovering from the shock of my totally improper last thought, I managed to blurt something out, hoping against hope I didn’t look like a blithering idiot.
“You could call it that. This is the little business I mentioned owning. One of my staff called in to say she’s running late, she was meant to be here at eleven am, and as it was nearing the lunchtime rush I thought I’d better come in, just in case.” George laughed, not a gentle little giggle, or the soft chuckle I was used to in our sessions. No. This was a really belly wobbling laugh.
Not that her belly would wobble, her flat stomach shows she can do more than one crunch…
Oh fuck, really. Twice?
“Actually, I was over at the tennis centre for some early lessons and Sally roped me into giving a hand. I think she sometimes forgets who the boss is,” she called over her shoulder to the barista, a fuller figured woman who I’d seen on my previous visits. I wondered if that was Sally. She was a true chameleon. The last time I was in her hair was vibrant red but today she had a fifties vibe going on; jet black hair and heavy eye make-up, she was quite striking. She waved at George and shook her head. “Yeah, you know I’m talking about you!”
“You own the Birdcage?” I asked.
“I do, for almost three years now. Do you come here often?” she asked and we both smiled. “And no, that’s not a pick up line I favour by the way.”
“I didn’t even know it existed up until about a year ago when a friend of mine introduced me to the place. Since then I’ve been to a few of the poetry evenings and if, like today, I have an appointment at the hospital I’ll pop in for a coffee and a bite to eat. I love the paninis here.”
“Wait…” George had a cute little frown on her forehead. “Oh my God, yes it was you! I thought you looked familiar when I first met you. Did you come to our Sylvia Plath event?”
“Yes, I did.” Oh crap, I grimaced, ever so slightly. I remembered the night in question straight away because it was one of the few dates I’d been on since the acrimonious end of a long-term relationship. “And you remember me?” I was taken aback and a little pleased.
Wait. Why would I be pleased?
“Yes and no. You were with a short woman and I think that’s why I remember, the discrepancy in height kind of made you stand out.” George smiled, softly, her head tilted and her eyes hazy; she was clearly lost in thought. I hoped it was a good one. I waited patiently until she finally shared with me. “But that was also the first Friday night for three years I went home alone. That was the first Friday night I went home sober. And that was the Friday night I decided to go back to tennis.”
“A big night.” A sense of something even bigger washed over me. George was sharing with me, not in the cold sterility of my office, but in the warmth of somewhere she felt safe. A place where she could be herself, where she didn’t have to hide or second guess herself.
“You have no idea.”
I hoped she would eventually give me some idea of how big a night that really was.
George looked like she was trying to put two and two together. Hopefully she was bad at maths because that was a complication I could do without. “Sorry where were we? Ah yes paninis. You’re right they are delicious, and good for you too, all fresh ingredients. We get our salad and cheeses from a local organic farm in Linton.”
“You don’t have to convince me, George, I’m already sold, but great sales pitch nonetheless.”
“See, if you can’t fix me and this tennis thing doesn’t work out I’m covered. You wouldn’t believe what some of the girls working here make in tips.” I laughed. She was quite adorable and I hoped I could fix her and make her happy, she deserved to be.
What now? Adorable? Make her happy? Through my skills as a psychologist, obviously. Huh, huh, yep, that’s what you meant. “Good to see you have a back-up plan, takes a bit of the pressure off.” I joked and tried to get my mind back on track. Seriously, right now it was wandering in a million different directions, none of which were even remotely heading in the right one, unless of course that direction was to my bedroom… I blushed.
Get back in the game here, Emma, she’s waiting, the quicker you order the quicker she’ll be gone.
“I’ll have the roasted pepper, provolone cheese and turkey panini, please. Oh and an Americano.” I thought about the afternoon ahead of me. The long afternoon ahead of me. “You’d better make it a large one.” I was glad we’d got back to a neutral subject. It felt distinctly like we’d slipped into the realms of flirting. The conversation was so easy.
“Good choice,” George said and less than five minutes later she returned with my order. “Claire’s just turned up so you are officially my last customer of the day.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Emma, I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind that is, can I join you for lunch? I haven’t eaten yet and I’m starving.”
“Uhm?” My hesitation was due to the fact that Georgia was a patient, and socialising with patients was usually a big no no. However, our working relationship was only going to be short term so I couldn’t see the harm in having one lunch together.
That’s what I told myself anyway.
“Sure, a bit of company would be nice.”
“Great.” She went to the counter and came back with an espresso, “My guilty pleasure, along with this.” She held up a small plate with a huge piece of chocolate cake on.
“Your secret is safe with me.” I promised, holding my hand to my chest.
“I bet you’re good at keeping secrets.” George said this very seriously and our eyes met for a fraction of a second but it was enough. The intensity in hers stilled my rapidly beating heart, and caused a tightening in my…
What the fuck is happening? Was I having palpitations? Oh God was I having a heart attack? I needed to calm myself and I needed to do it quickly. “So I gather the tennis centre is busier than usual at the moment?”
“For sure. Hence the caffeine infusion; sometimes I wish I could have it on a drip, not necessarily the right thing for my training regimen, but oh so good for my mental health!”
I laughed at the reference and the wink Georgia suddenly threw me. “Maybe I could ask a doctor I know to write you a prescription.”
“Could you imagine? Me teaching at one end pulling the drip along after me…” Georgia paused and then chuckled, “actually that’s easier to imagine than I thought, my hitting partner is the biggest drip alive and I’m usually pulling him along anyway.” Georgia said honestly.
It was nice just talking. I forgot she was my patient and she forgot to look for the subtext in innocuous questions, something she was guilty of doing in our sessions. The conversation was easy and flowed so naturally it was like we’d been friends for years. We shared a similar sense of humour an
d the hour we spent having lunch together flew by.
It flew by far too swiftly.
Shopping on Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough.
Chapter 17
Georgia
The early morning spring mist held me in bed for an extra hour. I didn’t mind running in the damp fog, but I needed a break, just for one day, and this was as good an excuse as any. My sleep had been interrupted by nightmares waking me in a cold sweat, ranging from my mother’s stern face as she dragged me through JFK airport after losing to Genevieve Berthold in the semis of the junior open, to Diana, my first lover who begged me to play doubles with her only for it to be nixed by my mother – again.
I slumped back into my pillows. I hadn’t thought about Diana in a long while, not since we’d drifted apart after my career took off and hers stagnated. She didn’t make the transition from juniors to pro and eventually fell off the tour, just like hundreds of other decent young players who couldn’t hack the step up in quality. Diana and Anastasia were the only two proper relationships I’d had, and, actually, you couldn’t really count either. One occurred when I was too young to know better and the other took place in Narnia.
Seeing Emma in the Birdcage was a revelation of sorts. My gaydar had been pinging ever since we’d met, but on Wednesday it went into overdrive the minute I saw her step over the threshold and into my world. Okay, the Birdcage wasn’t exclusively a lesbian establishment, we were straight friendly too, but still.
Then there was the woman I saw her with. I knew for a fact she was gay because she’d asked Sally out several times, and besides the whole setup just looked like a date; you know, moving the chairs closer, the occasional touches and gestures, the scowling if any other woman dared to look in their direction – not that it was Emma doing the scowling.
If it looked like a duck and quacked like a duck…
And finally.
And finally call me crazy, but I swear there was some flirting going on. Gentle, but it was there.
