The Frankenstein Candidate (15 page)

“Race him, Shadow!” Frank shouted.

If consciousness is a gift, then a consciousness that could interact with another is an even greater gift. How Shadow instinctively understood to keep the play at a fun level was beyond Frank’s understanding. Here was a four-legged, muscular animal that could have given the world’s fastest human a forty-meter start in a hundred meter race and still won, but the dog zigzagged around, letting Jimmy get from first base to second and from second to third and only then leaping toward home base.

Shadow knew the routine. As Jimmy slid over home plate, he would touch the ball down just a moment after and wag his tail in delirious joy at the effect he had on the young boy. Then, on a few occasions, the dog would outrace Jimmy, as if to keep up the illusion the game was for real and that Jimmy had beaten him most times.

“Ready for the slider, Jimmy?”

“That’s what you say when you are going for the fastball, Frankie.”

It was only after a hearty dinner and much coaxing from Daniela that Jimmy managed to say goodnight.

“Goodnight, Jimmy.” Frank scooped the boy up his arms. Jimmy’s father worked long hours and often needed to rush away late at night for emergency surgery. Between her job as a psychologist and home-making, Daniela did the best she could to keep Jimmy entertained.

“It won’t be long before his circle of friends expands,” Frank said.

“He adores you,” she said.

“I adore him too. One day, maybe…”

“You are not getting younger, Frank. And now you are embarking on an even bigger quest. Like I said, dangerous and complicated.”

“When did you say that?”

“You were too preoccupied to listen. Entrenched forces may be against you.”

“Don’t I know it?”

“Frank, you are trying to explain things that are beyond the reach of most people.”

He was pensive for a moment.

“What if I could explain it to Jimmy?”

“What?”

“If Jimmy can get it, anyone can—he is a bright kid for his age, yes. But he is only nine. So that’s what I will do. If I can get to him—”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“What happens if you get killed, did you ever think about that, Frank? What about me? What about Jimmy? He loves you.”

“What kind of world do you want your son to grow up in?”

Dr. Rohan Joshy lit a pipe because he had a meeting with Olivia Allen.

A psychologist and an academic researcher, Rohan was in his early forties, of medium height and slim build, with a compassionate face.

Occasionally, some of his research clients wanted therapy sessions. If they met him at his university office, it would disguise the personal session as one between a professional and a business client. This suited some patients. It worked especially well if the patient was a celebrity. Scandal lurked in the shadows for celebrities—what if the media found out a celebrity visited a clinical psychologist?

Seated in his office at George Washington University that day, Rohan was concerned. He had had famous clients before: federal court judges, company presidents, high-profile artists. In fact, low-profile clients could hardly afford his fee of $300 an hour.

This, though, was slightly different. He was sure his diagnosis of Olivia Allen was correct, in that she had Imposter Syndrome. It wasn’t difficult to get her conscious mind to accept it. Getting her subconscious to overcome it—and that was the only way to eventually overcome it—was proving difficult.

He needed to think hard about what would get Olivia over the line. Many with this syndrome never did. Olivia, however, was getting increasingly powerful and more successful in her professional life, and as is the case with people with Imposter Syndrome, her confidence actually fell with each success; her fear actually rose with each milestone. Unmanaged, this was driving her toward a complete nervous breakdown. Dr. Joshy didn’t have a way of stopping it, not yet anyway. Tobacco helped him think, it helped him concentrate. So although he never smoked cigarettes, he let himself partake of a pipe, just once in a while, when he needed to concentrate.

Today was one of those days.

Olivia was going to be traveling for a political campaign. This meant she would not have regular sessions. It meant speaking engagements, fundraisers. Applause. Attention. Fear. Medication. The cycle had to be broken.

So lost in his thought was he that he barely noticed Olivia walking in, closing the door behind her, taking her position on the reclining couch, smiling at him, and waiting for him to break the ice.

Reclining couches had long gone out of fashion; therapists preferred to see clients eye to eye, watching their emotions. But Dr. Joshy let his clients choose whatever felt more comfortable to them; sometimes watching the ceiling let them ease up and talk more.

“How’s the day been so far?” Rohan asked.

“Okay, I guess,” she said, gazing at the pale blue wall above her.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Something more is happening, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Colin Spain wants me to be his vice presidential nominee.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Nerves, I guess…”

“What else?”

There was no answer. He altered his course.

“What is your deepest desire?”

“To help. To help other people.”

“Like Colin?”

“No, the real people out there.”

“Colin isn’t real?”

“Oh, he is. Only because he wants to help the people out there. So I would like to help him. It’s really bad out there.”

“So you have said yes?”

“No…I mean yes, but I’m not sure he even heard me. I could still retract. And Iowa. I had agreed to Iowa. But that’s done now.”

“That was the first leg of the campaign, right?”

“It was. He won. That’s all I had agreed to. But my country needs me.”

“The way you say it…like it’s only a matter of time before you accept the whole lot…”

“Unless he fails at New Hampshire…”

“Which he—”

“That’s right, which he won’t because he is too darn good at this.”

“What would your mother say if she was alive today?”

“I don’t know.”

“Picture it. Picture yourself talking to your mother. Like she is in this room right now. You have just told her…that the front-runner has invited you to—”

Olivia did not even let him finish the sentence.

“Olivia, that’s wonderful. That’s my girl. Now say yes, of course. Maybe this can result in a vice presidency. My Olivia, the vice president. You know, this country missed out on a woman president because, in 2004, Hillary didn’t run.”

“What if you lose? Will she still like you?”

“I guess so. I was always first at school. That made her happy. But at U Penn, the first time when I did not top my class…”

Olivia sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“What do you want to say to your mother?”

“Mom, please. Please stop being a tiger mom. Why can’t I be like everyone else? She would say it is because you are gifted. Because you are destined, she would say. Destined to excel. Destined to be at the top. She was so disappointed when I married Gary. Even though he was a very successful architect then…if she saw him now…sitting at home…frustrated at the way his work is going…or not going.”

“Did you ever talk back to her?”

“I can’t remember. Certainly more often to Dad.”

“No Dad for now. Although we have to deal with him too. He is at Greenview Retirement, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“Same exercise for next week,” he said near the end of the session.

“But I will be out on the road.”

“I know. But you will be staying in a hotel. In your own room. It should make it easier, in fact. Keep doing the exercise as before. Every evening, before you go to bed, say to your mother what you would rather have done all those times you felt pressured to do what you thought her expectations were. Spend at least five minutes doing this, each night.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“I know. Even if it is the same as what you actually did anyway, say it. Say it to the person in the mirror.”

Olivia nodded. She sat up on the couch and turned toward the mirror in the room, as if to face her demons.

“Mom, I am scared.”

Behind her, Dr. Joshy softly said, “Of what?”

“Of so many things. But mainly, I am scared that one day I will get found out.”

“What did you do so wrong?”

“Nothing really. I should be grateful and happy. I have a wonderful, devoted husband. Two wonderful children. But…but I am scared.”

“Of what, dear?”

“Of being found out. I don’t deserve all this…all this success. I don’t ever feel up to it. It’s like I don’t…I don’t belong in this league, this league of high achievers, of high self-esteem, of confidence, of ability. I am just a fluke.”

“You are not a fluke, Olivia.”

“Yes, I am.”

“GPA scores over four, college debating team, an accomplished violinist with degrees in political science and law. An excellent mother and a loving wife. That’s you. Hardly a fluke.”

“No, that’s the…the person in the mirror…that’s what the world sees. It’s not how I feel. I feel…I feel inadequate.”

“Do Georgia and Natasha love you?”

“Yes.”

“And you are a good mother? They are not spoiled?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you fight hard? Hard for the things you believe in? Like the education reform bill, the veterans’ care bill?”

“Yes, I fought hard on those issues.”

“You are a good person, Olivia.”

“I believe that,” she said.

“Good. And you know you don’t need to be a high flier to be a good person.”

“Mom would never say that. I have gifts. I must use them. Use them to the utmost. Oh god!”

Olivia’s face cracked open like a dam with a hole in it. She was breaking down, her voice slipping. The more this happened, the more Dr. Joshy looked satisfied.

Then suddenly, as quickly and mysteriously as she had cracked, she composed herself. She was once again a high-ranking senator of the United States of America, off on a presidential campaign trail.

Dr. Joshy didn’t get any further for the rest of the session.