Spin Doctor (18 page)

“I think she's really missing Dominick,” Alice replied. “It's like
that scene in
Woman of the Year
when Katharine Hepburn attends her aunt's wedding and it makes her realize how much she loves Spencer Tracy. I hate to miss this—it's rude of me—and the ceremony is so beautiful—but I'd better go check on her.”

“They'll understand,” I murmured sympathetically. I looked around, afraid we were drawing too much attention to ourselves. The minister had just asked everyone to rise and join in on “Lift Every Voice and Sing.”

“This is probably a better time than most to slip out,” Alice said softly, and scooched past Dan.

Ten seconds later Dan said, “I'd better check on Alice.” He gave me a pained look. “I just hope that Claude and Naomi don't think their friends are deserting them in droves. It's actually
because
Alice and Izzy are so affected—in a positive way—that they had to step outside for a breather.”

Claude and Naomi offered words of their own to one another before the official vows were taken and they exchanged rings. I wondered what the minister would say when it came down to the “I now pronounce you…” part of the ceremony. But she said, “I now pronounce you married,” and the brides kissed, Mr. Sciorra visibly winced, Mrs. Sciorra smacked his arm with her program, and the Mannes quartet struck up the Mendelssohn recessional.

Outside the chapel, the brides were pelted with rice—Claude made a joke about how her family didn't understand why the guests were throwing away their dinner—and there were hugs and kisses all around. After I congratulated the brides, I made my way over to where Izzy was standing, her back to the crowd, still on the cell phone. She noticed me out of the corner of her eye and turned her tearstained face in my direction.

“Well can we at least talk about it, Dominick?” She waited for about fifteen seconds before replying. “I'm telling you, it makes you realize why people do it in the first place. All the
right
reasons, I mean. What? I can't hear you?…No, I'm in North Bumfuck, the connection's terrible…Well, there's nothing I can do about that now. What am I, AT& T? Yes…yes…we should have switched to Verizon…Okay. Well…we can talk about that when I get home too. Get back to Alice's I mean. No, it's gonna be late. We're something like five-plus hours out of the city and the reception hasn't even started yet. And I'll see you at Starbucks tomorrow at eighty-thirty…No, not that Starbucks, the other Starbucks. The one on the opposite corner, I mean. Next to the Gap. No, the other Gap. Dominick…What? I can't hear you anymore. This thing is breaking up again.” She banged the cell phone against her palm, then brought it back to her ear. “What?” Izzy listened for a moment, then snapped the phone shut. “Fuck. The connection went dead.”

“Well, the connection might have been breaking up, but it sounded—forgive me for overhearing—”

“You can't help but overhear when people have to yell into their cell phones. They probably overheard me in Buffalo.”

“Anyway, I was saying that while the connection might have been breaking up, it sounded to me like you and Dominick might be getting back together.”

“Bless you; you look so hopeful, Susan,” Izzy said. “Well, it's a start,” she added, shoving the phone into her purse. “At least he's willing to talk about it.” She pointed to the church. “They really got me going in there. I mean, you were really reminded what commitment is all about. And love. And the risks you take if you want to love and be loved fully. And all that. Well,
I
was reminded anyway. I wish Dominick had been here. He would have bawled like a baby too, I bet. You know, there's just not a
whole lot of love in this world,” she said, starting to cry again. “Forgive me for being maudlin, but weddings always do that to me. And when you've got love, someone who loves you and someone to love back, even if you fight like hell sometimes, you realize what a precious commodity it is. Love, of course. Not fighting.”

“I didn't think you meant fighting. But, speaking as a therapist for two seconds—there's often a blurred line between my personal and professional lives, so bear with me—speaking as a therapist, there are times when it's better to fight and get stuff out in the open than to pretend that everything is hunky-dory, and, in the interest of avoiding conflict or pain, not talking about what's really going on. Because then you're not being real. And that's no way to go through life, especially with your spouse! Speaking of which, I'm going to dance with Eli at this wedding if it kills him. He hates to dance in front of other people. But I think it's bad luck, or at least an insult to the bridal couple, not to dance at their wedding, so he'll have to shelve his self-consciousness for five minutes to honor Naomi and Claude.”

I waited until Izzy pulled herself together, then we went under the tent to enjoy what I have to say might have been the hit of the day: the Jamaican wedding feast (with wedding cake and fortune cookies for dessert) concocted by Meriel and William on behalf of No Problem, William's fledgling Flatbush restaurant.

“This is fabulous,” Alice said to me, munching on a jerk chicken drumstick. “How did Claude and Naomi get hooked up with them?”

I told her about the frantic two
A.M
. phone call from Claude. “They suddenly lost their caterer and asked me if I knew of anyone who could come in at the last minute, more or less.”

“And you thought for a moment and said ‘No Problem!'” Alice posited, mimicking a Jamaican accent.

I took a sip of sorrel. This time it had been liberally laced with rum, and nearly sent me spinning halfway across the dance floor. “I wish I'd been that clever!”

FAITH

“Well, Stevo could give me no good reason why he won't, or can't, replace the washing machines,” Faith said. “It's like Ten Little Indians. Now we're down to only two fully operating units. He took away the broken numbers two and four, leaving one and three still working tolerably well; but five apparently isn't draining the water after the rinse cycle, so no one will use it, of course; and six makes such an awful whirring sound during the spin cycle that you think it's in torment.” She grinned mischievously at me. “I just wanted to get that in before you start telling me I'm avoiding again!”

“Touché! So what's really up this week?”

Faith settled back into the couch. Even in her body language she had come a long way from the cautious perching she used to do only a few months ago. And the fact that she was now comfortable undergoing therapy on what had been her own couch made me even more pleased with her progress.

“Well…I decided that it was finally time for me to sort through all of Ben's books and papers. After all, what am I going to do with shelf after shelf of medical textbooks and treatises,
and I think one of the local medical schools, or at least the public library, could use them. If not, if they're too outdated, perhaps a theatre or film company could gut them and use the spines as props. I've read about that, you know. I e-mailed—yes,
e-mailed
—Columbia University, Ben's alma mater, to ask if they might want his papers. After all, he was highly respected in his field. They were very receptive, and are sending a grad student to look them over next week. He'll take what he thinks the university might like to archive, and leave the rest to me to either retain or discard.”

I couldn't resist applauding. “Faith, this is fantastic! You have no idea how proud I am of you!”

“Oh, it was like a grand treasure hunt,” she continued. “Thank you. I'm pleased as punch with myself, if you really want to know. After so many decades, one forgets what one owns, so it was quite a journey of discovery in a number of ways. Firstly, that I could tackle Ben's voluminous library without weeping, which felt more like a broad jump than baby steps, I'll have you know; and then to find all kinds of wonderful things that I had completely forgotten about.” Faith tapped her head. “When your brain gets old, a lot begins to seep through the cracks.”

“Tell me about some of the other stuff you found. What else you discovered,” I urged her. “And how you felt about it.”

Faith glanced down at her purse. “How I felt about it? Young. A girl again. Yes, I have to admit I felt young in some ways. My God, I unearthed items I hadn't seen since my college days, and suddenly there I was back at Smith, a shy freshman…too timid to speak up in poetry class. I think I never raised my hand in any of my classes until my second semester as a sophomore. I found something for Molly too,” Faith added, her cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile revealing a dimple I don't think I'd ever noticed before. “Do you happen to have a cell phone? On you, I mean.”

I patted the pocket of my jumper. I always keep it on vibrate when I'm down here, in case Molly or Ian needs to reach me before they head off to school.

“Do you think Molly is still upstairs?” Faith asked. “I know we're in the middle of a session, but I don't mind the interruption. In fact I'm sure it would be worth it.”

Reluctantly, I rang the apartment and summoned Molly to the laundry room.

“What's up?” she said, dropping her backpack on the center table with a tremendous thud. “I was almost halfway out the door.”

“Faith has something for you.”

Molly looked stupefied. “For
me?
”

Faith nodded and withdrew a slim volume from her handbag. “I understand you like to write,” she told my daughter. “And your mother is turning me into a firm believer in risk-taking and moving on. So…I am taking the risk that you will enjoy this…and moving on in the sense that I have derived much pleasure in the past from this book, and from a brief acquaintanceship with its author…and feel it's time for another to reap its rewards.” She handed the book to Molly, who looked at the cover, opened it up to inspect the flyleaf, and began to tremble.

“Oh. My. God.”

I couldn't tell whether she was going to shout or break down in tears. “What? What is it?”

My sullen, surly teenage daughter had been transformed, at least for a few moments, into an utterly awestruck girl. I appreciated the change, however long it lasted. “Oh. My. God. Mom, look. Youhavetolookatthis.” She handed me the book. “Where did you get it?” she asked Faith.

I read the inscription. “‘To my old classmate Faith. A Smith girl through and through and one I will never forget. ‘To Virtue,
Knowledge'…and happiness always, Victoria Lucas, a.k.a Sylvia Plath.'”

“It's
The Bell Jar,
Mom.
The Bell Jar.
And Sylvia Plath
autographed
it! This
so
rocks!”

“Yes, I know, sweetheart. Faith, this is a tremendous gift. Oh, my God,” I said to Molly, “don't you dare even consider selling this on eBay or I will have to kill you.”

“Ma, are you crazy? I would never!” She hugged the book to her chest and a tear rolled past the right side of her nose. “Don't tell my mother, but this is the best present I ever got!” she said, embracing Faith. “I can't believe you
knew
Sylvia Plath. That is so awesome! Ohmigod, thank you
so
much! I can't wait to show this to Mr. Werner.”

“Sweetheart, perhaps you should leave it at home and just tell Mr. Werner about it. It makes me nervous, bringing something so precious, so obviously special to you—not to mention, irreplaceable—up to school, and have it banging around in your knapsack and everything. Don't you think? We could photocopy the flyleaf on our all-in-one printer and you could show him that.”

Molly sighed. “Okay. For once I agree with you. If this got wet or ripped, or ripped-off, I think I'd kill myself. Oops. See what Sylvia Plath'll get you! I've had her book for two minutes and already I'm thinking of suicide.” She leaned in to Faith and gave her another kiss on the cheek, then threw her arms around me, grabbed her knapsack, and without another word left the laundry room like she'd just been shot out of a cannon.

“Amazing.” I shook my head. “My daughter receives a gift that makes her mention suicide, and here I am thinking that it could be the best thing that ever happened to her!”

Faith grinned. “You are talking about the
book
of course. Being the best thing.”

“Yes, the book. Of course, the book.” I laughed. “Eli and I have been struggling for years to find the silver bullet, the ‘open sesame,' the magic
something
that would jolt Molly into raptures. I was hoping that it actually existed. And apparently it does, as we have just witnessed. I just had to have faith, I suppose, that the answer would eventually reveal itself.”

My client winked. “Yes,
that
—and isn't it funny how
Faith
had the answer!”

Progress Notes

Naomi Sciorra and Claude Chan:
Things are more than back on track for this couple; I hadn't hoped for this much progress this fast. The partners decided to get married, affirming the importance of the commitment they share with one another. In the same session we revisited the issue of the adoption, and through a bit of active prodding, the partners discovered an irony in their lives as business owners that illuminated the issue even further, and served to crystallize key elements of the process for them. Feeling more emotionally secure after Claude's wedding proposal, followed by the epiphany they experienced in their session, Naomi was able to open herself up to alternative ways to view the thorniest issue (for her) of the adoption process. With a new eye on the humorous, or at least ironic, aspect of the situation, she made tremendous progress. Claude is visibly happier now that Naomi is happy; and her epiphany made the decision regarding the adoption papers a far less onerous one than it had previously seemed. Additionally, their public ceremony serves to further cement their partnership and provides them with an even more solid foundation on which to raise a child.

 

Meriel Delacour:
At long last we are getting to what is at the core of Meriel's dissatisfaction, albeit still in a roundabout way. She lights up like a Macy's barge on the Fourth of July when she discusses her son's plans for his Jamaican restaurant. Despite her repeated avowals that this is his project and his alone, and that she needs to stay out of it as much as possible and let him do his own thing, it's evident how much joy she is deriving from her contributions—her input on the decor and recipe selection in particular. In our upcoming sessions, I plan to work deeper, confronting if need be, to encourage her to speak out regarding her
own needs. Does she really yearn to be an active part of William's new venture? Is it
this
desire
specifically
that is at the root of her disaffectation within her current employment, or is it simply the urge to be doing
anything
that gives her job satisfaction and self-worth? Depending on her answer, I need to give her a gentle nudge onto that yellow brick road to wherever her Oz is.

 

Faith Nesbit:
Faith's continued forward momentum continues to astonish me. I am unspeakably proud of her. After four and a half years, she is finally taking active steps to distribute or discard her late husband's medical books and papers, items that clearly have sentimental meaning to her, but which play no current role in her own life. To actually have those things removed from her apartment is tremendous. Faith's baby steps have become strides without any demonstrable loss of self-confidence. In many ways she would appear to be the model client; and in fact, clients like Faith give therapists faith (with a small
f
) in our own ability to make a difference. They reinforce our decision to enter this profession. I want to encourage Faith to keep up the good work, and make sure that she's not moving faster than she really feels comfortable going, in an effort to either please the therapist or to overreach—because if either of those is in play here, there exists the obvious danger of damaging backsliding and regressive behavior.

 

Me:
I must admit that in many ways I'm a pretty happy camper these days; happier than I've been in quite some time. On the professional front, a number of my clients have made tremendous progress recently. In addition to exchanging vows, Claude and Naomi are currently on the same page now regarding the adoption issue; one couldn't ask for a better client than Faith; Alice seems to have a firmer handle on her career issues and looks ra
diant and happy with Dan Carpenter; Izzy is taking steps toward a reconciliation with her husband Dominick; and Meriel has finally opened up—truly blossomed—in terms of expressing what really rings her bells.

And, miracle of miracles, on the home front the same has happened to Molly. Faith's wildly generous gift to my daughter of her own author-autographed edition of
The Bell Jar
blew both of us away. Molly has taken to keeping it on the night table by her bed and reading it only when she's wearing an old pair of her grand-mother's cotton gloves, the better to protect the book. In all her life I've never seen her treat a toy or a pet that well. Not that she's suddenly metamorphosed into a new person. That might be interesting, but actually unhealthy. No, she's still the same Molly, but she's Molly with a fire burning inside her about something. If I were Catholic, I'd light a candle to celebrate this most welcome sea change in her behavior.

The family had a delightful time up in Seneca Falls for Claude and Naomi's wedding. It was the first full family outing since Coney Island. And when Eli pulled me onto an empty dance floor, in front of seventy-five other guests, I thanked my lucky stars and planets for whatever had wrought that change in my husband, Mr. Too-shy-to-dance-in-front-of-anyone. Not only did he have the confidence to lead me out onto the floor, but he danced very well too! I don't know why he's been so reluctant all these years to strut his stuff. Yeah, there was that “ouchy” discussion in the bedroom a while back, but I have to trust Eli when he insists there's nothing wrong with
us.
In the more than two decades we've been together, counting our dating years, he's never given me any reason not to trust him, and it's true that he's never been a terribly verbal person. So I really have no right to fault him for not having those skills in his bag of tricks, and expect him to suddenly express himself with the agility of some
one who is considerably more articulate. I have to remind myself that as frustrated as I may get over his disconnected behavior of the past few months, maybe I need to cut him some slack.

So, I have to say that things are
relatively
good right now. I'm in a better place, emotionally, than I've been in a long time, even though I've been hesitant to admit that things were less than perfect. One of the principles of psychotherapy is that if the client and the therapist each have hope that the client can be cured, the cure will indeed be made manifest. I held out hope that my woes were only temporary and that with patience and persistence things would improve eventually, and indeed they have.

Not only that, they can only get better.