Silent Partner

She placed her hand on my thigh. Her palm was wet. “I knew she resented me, Alex, but I never imagined she’d carry it that far. When we first got together, she acted as if she loved me.”

“When was that?”

“My second year of grad school. Autumn.”

Surprised, I said, “Not the summer?”

“No. Autumn. October.”

“What was the family business that prevented you from going to San Francisco?”

“Therapy.”

“Conducting or receiving?”

“My therapy.”

“With Kruse.”

Nod. “It was a crucial time. I couldn’t leave. We were dealing with issues… It really was family business.”

“Where were you staying?”

“His house.”

I’d gone there, looking for her, watching Kruse’s face split in two…

Have a nice day…

“It was pretty intense,” she said. “He wanted to monitor all the variables.”

“You had no trouble sleeping there?”

“I… No, he helped me. Relaxed me.”

“Hypnosis.”

“Yes. He was preparing me- for meeting her. He thought it would be a healing process. For both of us. But he underestimated how much hatred remained.”

She stayed calm but the pressure of her hand increased. “She was pretending, Alex. It was easy for her- she’d studied acting.”

Some gravitate to the stage and screen… “Interesting career choice,” I said.

“It wasn’t a career, just a fling. Just like everything else. First she used it to get close to me, then again to target what she knew was dearest to me: you; then, years later, my work. She knew how much my work meant to me.”

“Why didn’t you get licensed?”

She tugged her earlobe. “Too many… distractions. I wasn’t ready.”

“Paul’s opinion?”

“And mine.”

She pressed against me. Her touch felt burdensome.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Alex.”

“What about Jasper? And Paul.”

The mention of Kruse’s name made her flinch. “I mean romantic love. Physical love. You’re the only one who’s ever been inside of me.”

I said nothing.

“Alex, it’s true. I know you suspected things, but Paul and I were never like that. I was his patient- sleeping with a patient’s like incest. Even after therapy stops.”

Something in her voice made me back off. “Okay. But let’s not forget Mickey Starbuck.”

“Who?”

“Your co-star. Checkup.”

“Was that his name? Mickey? All I knew about him was that he was an actor whom Paul had treated for cocaine addiction. Back in Florida. I’ve never been to Florida.”

“Her?”

She nodded.

I said, “Who cast her?”

“I know what it looks like, but Paul thought it might be curative.”

“Radical therapy. Working it through.”

“You’d have to see it in context, Alex. He’d worked with her for years without much success. He had to try something.”

I looked away, took in my surroundings. Hooked rug on the blue carpet. The samplers spouting truisms. No goddam place like home.

Spaceship homey. As if extraterrestrials had swooped down on a specimen-hunt, plundered Middle America of its clichés.

When I turned back, she was smiling. A shiny smile. Too shiny. Like glaze before crackling.

“Alex, I understand how strange all this must sound to you. It’s hard to sum up so many years in just a few minutes.”

I smiled back, let my confusion show. “It’s overwhelming- the dynamics- how it all fits together.”

“I’ll do my best to clear it up for you.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Where would you like me to start?”

“Right at the begi

She put her head on my shoulder. “That’s the problem. There really is no begi

“Age regression?”

“Age regression, free association, Gestalt exercises- all the standard techniques. Things I’ve used myself with patients. But nothing worked. I couldn’t remember a thing. I mean, intellectually I understood the defensive process, knew I was repressing, but that didn’t help me in here.” She placed my hand on her belly.

“How far back could you recall?” I asked.

“Happy times. Shirlee and Jasper. And Helen. Uncle Billy told me you met her yesterday. Isn’t she an exceptional person?”

“Yes, she is.” Yesterday. It seemed like centuries. “Does she know you’re alive?”

She winced as if bitten. Hard tug on the lobe. “Uncle Billy said he’d take care of it.”

“I’m sure he will. What were you and he talking about at the party?”

“Her. She was forcing herself on me again- dropping in at all hours, waking me up, screaming and cursing, or crawling into bed with me and mauling me, trying to suck my breasts. Once I caught her with scissors, trying to snip off my hair. Other times, she’d arrive stoned or drunk on her daiquiris, get sick all over the place, lose bladder control on the carpet. I kept changing the locks; she always found a way to get in. She ate pills like candy.”

Old scars between the toes. “Was she shooting dope?”

“She used to, years ago. I don’t know, maybe she started again- cocaine, speedballs. Over the years, she must have overdosed at least a dozen times. I had one of Uncle Billy’s doctors on call twenty-four hours a day, just for pumping her stomach. By the day of the party she’d really deteriorated and was trying to take me down with her. Kept saying we were going to be eternal roomies. I was scared, just couldn’t handle it anymore. So I asked Uncle Billy to handle it. Even after all she’d put me through, it was rough, knowing she’d be put away. So seeing you there at the party really lifted my spirits. A week before, I’d been at Paul’s house and Suza

She took my hand and ran it down toward her mons. I felt heat, heaviness, the soft mesh of pubic hair through silk.

“I hoped you’d attend,” she said. “Checked a couple of times to see if you’d RSVP’d, but you hadn’t. So when our eyes met I couldn’t believe it. Destiny. I knew I had to try to make contact.” She kissed my cheek. “And now you’re here. Hello, stranger.”

“Hello.” I sat there and allowed her to kiss me some more, run her fingers through my hair, touch me. Endured it and kissed back and knew how hookers feel. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I wiped it on my sleeve.

She said, “Would you like water?” Got up and poured me some from Shirlee’s pitcher.

I used the time to clear my head. When she came back I said, “Was Paul treating you for anything other than unblocking the past?”

“Actually it didn’t start out as real therapy- just clinical supervision, the usual stuff about how my feelings and communications style affected my work. But as we got into it, he could see that I had… identity problems, a poor sense of self, low self-esteem. I felt incomplete. And guilty.”

“Guilty about what?”

“Everything. Leaving Shirlee and Jasper- they’re darling. I really cared for them, but I never felt I belonged to them. And Helen. Even though she’d basically raised me, she wasn’t my mother- there was always a wall between us. It was confusing.”

I nodded.

“That first year of grad school,” she said, “there was a lot of pressure, being expected to actually help other people. It terrified me- that’s why I broke down in practicum. I guess, down deep, I agreed with what the others were saying, felt like an impostor.”

“Everyone feels that way at first.”

She smiled. “Always the therapist. That’s what you were that night. My rock. When I saw your name on the party list I guess I thought history might repeat itself.”