The Perfect Mistress (19 page)

“So, Mrs. Robinson, how are you feeling today?” the therapist asked, greeting Joyce inside the doorway to her office. She was petite, with cat-eye glasses and a mushroom haircut that didn't fit her tiny face. Her plant-looking hair appeared to be sitting on her head, trying to swallow it up. So it aggravated Joyce not only that she had to sit here and pretend to open up, but that she had to do so looking at this woman, who was looking a hot mess.

“I'm doing the same way I was doing two days ago,” she snapped.

“Did you do any of the exercises I gave you?” She motioned for Joyce to take a seat. On their first meeting, she'd given her homework like she was an eighth grader.

“Umm, nope. So sorry. I've just been so busy. You know I keep a full calendar around here.” Joyce didn't bother hiding her sarcasm as she plopped down on the chaise. She was too old for this therapist mess. Even if she was one of those Chatty Pattys who told people all her business, how would it have any impact?

The therapist—Joyce didn't remember her name—didn't seem fazed by her sarcasm. She sat down across from Joyce, crossing her legs primly as she opened up her notepad.

“So, as I told you last week, today I really want to talk to you about your family, your husband, your children,” she began. Joyce didn't know if she was used to reluctant patients or what, but she showed no reaction to the way Joyce was acting.

“I don't understand why we have to keep rehashing this,” Joyce said wearily, although she did stretch her legs out on the chaise. If she had to be here, she might as well get comfortable. Maybe she could even nod off.

“We're all concerned about your state of mind.”

“My husband cheated on me from the day he said ‘I do.' My daughter betrayed me by keeping his secret, to the point of killing him. And my son is too busy to be bothered with me. That's my story. The end. Can I go now? The Home Shopping Network is having a sale. Oh, wait. I can't do that either because I'm broke. Just give me some morphine and take me out,” Joyce quipped.

Again, the good doctor didn't react to the rant. She simply said, “You seem to focus a lot on the bad stuff.”

Joyce shrugged. “That's all there is.”

“I doubt that,” she said soothingly. “How long were you married?”

“Twenty-four years.”

“Well, those years couldn't have been all bad.”

Joyce weighed that statement. She was right. They weren't all bad, just mostly. But Joyce had stayed because she thought he would change.

“You didn't fall in love with a bad man, did you?”

That made Joyce smile against her will. She was right about that. She had a flashback to some of their happier times.

“Do you mind sharing what you're thinking about?” the therapist asked.

Joyce turned her attention back to her mousy inquisitor. “Sorry, I was thinking about that awesome applesauce they have lined up for dinner today.”

The therapist let out a disgusted sigh, which Joyce was sure had to be against the shrink code of ethics.

“Let's get started,” she said, returning to her usual chirpy brightness. “So, the last time we were here, you ran off the list of women that your husband had cheated with, or with whom you at least thought something inappropriate was going on.” She flipped the page on her legal notepad. “I think you said you have seventeen on your list.”

“Those are just the ones I know about. I'm sure it was triple that, given all of those I don't know.”

The therapist went back to her original page. “So then the question begs to be asked, why did you stay?”

Joyce didn't answer.

“Joyce, I don't know why you keep tuning me out, but we're not going to make progress if you don't open up,” the therapist said. “You have to talk about Vernon.”

“I don't want to talk about him,” she finally said, shaking away her memories.

The therapist let out a sigh, then said, “Okay, let's talk about Lauren.”

“I don't want to talk about her, either.”

“Joyce, you're not well. And we believe in healing the whole person. The mind and body go hand in hand. I'm very concerned about your psyche.”

“My psyche is just fine. I'm bitter and I have every right to be.”

There, she couldn't be more plain about how she felt.

“Fine. What do you want to talk about then?” the therapist asked.

“Since you want to talk about my family, let's talk about Julian.” Just saying her son's name made her smile. Yes, it hurt that he didn't want to be bothered with her, but in a way, she understood. He had an important job and a family.

“Your relationship with Julian is fine,” she said. “It's your relationship with your daughter that I'm concerned about. You have some issues that you really need to address to help you both heal. We have to do this before . . .”

Before I die?
Joyce wanted to snap. The therapist let her words trail off, but Joyce knew that that was why she was here. This was supposed to be a state-of-the-art facility, but she'd seen too many people die. It's like they sent anyone over sixty and battling a disease here to wait on death.

“I'm trying to help you,” she said, her tone even as if she was trying to put Joyce at ease.

“You tell me how I'm supposed to get over betrayal from a child I brought into this world?” She sat up. “You know what?
Don't tell me because there is nothing that you can say to me. The only reason I tolerate her now is so that she can constantly be reminded of the pain she put me through.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Don't tell me what I mean.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared.

“You don't,” the therapist said. The calmness of her voice was pissing Joyce off.

“You may not be ready yet,” the therapist continued, “but we have to address it. You may not know this, but I'm honest with my patients. You're on a downward spiral. Cancer is . . .”

Joyce covered her ears like a two-year-old. She hated when they brought up the C-word. If cancer was gonna take her, she just wished it would show up in the middle of the night and do it, the end.

“I'm stressed, I've had a hard life, now my body is all jacked up on the inside, and I'm pissed. That's what's wrong with me,” Joyce retorted.

“Just because you don't face unpleasant truths doesn't mean they go away,” the therapist said as she closed her notebook. “I think you know that. But I'll let you go for today. I need you to understand, though, I'm not releasing you from the sessions until I see a breakthrough.”

Joyce swung her legs off the chaise and onto the floor, then stood up. She guessed they would be doing these sessions until the day she died because when it came to her daughter, there would never be a breakthrough.

“I'll see you next week,” the therapist said as Joyce walked to the door.

Joyce silently cursed all the way back to her room.

L
auren had known Vivian Harold less than a year, since they met in a hot yoga class. But the two had instantly connected and had become extremely close—closer than Lauren had been to any woman since high school. That's why Lauren looked forward to their twice-a-month happy-hour outings.

Vivian was divorced. She didn't like to talk about her ex much, but she didn't seem bitter, which was surprising since she'd lost custody of her son in the divorce. Vivian said that losing her son had torn out her soul and sent her into a deep depression for over a year. But she said she was doing better and now trying to focus on the positive: her ex was a lousy husband but a great dad.

Vivian had now embraced her single life. She did get to see her son every other weekend, so that gave her some joy. Lauren had never met him because Vivian was adamant that their time together was sacred.

“Sorry, girl,” Vivian said as she returned to the table. “These margaritas are going straight through me.”

They'd been sitting in the bar area at Saltgrass Steak House for the past hour. Vivian was on her third margarita.

“Pick up any new men while I was gone?” Vivian asked, sliding back into her seat.

“Ha-ha,” Lauren replied. “No, I don't need any new men.”

“Oh, that's right. Your roster is full.” Vivian shook her head. “I don't know how you do it. So what's up for the weekend? Which one of your guys is up?”

“Believe it or not, I'm free. And the only one I want to spend time with is heading out of town.”

“Oh yeah, Prince Matthew.”

As Lauren laughed, her phone started vibrating. She picked it up, then smiled and turned the phone to show Vivian who was calling.

“We talked him up,” Lauren said. She pushed the
ACCEPT
button. “Hello?”

“Hello, beautiful.”

Matthew's voice had a way of warming her insides.

“What are you doing?” Matthew asked.

“Having drinks with my friend Vivian.”

“I can't wait to meet her. The fact that a female managed to get close to you is mind-boggling,” he replied.

“I know, right?” Lauren laughed and smiled in Vivian's direction. “She's cool. I like her a lot. You'll get to meet her at some point. What are you doing?”

“Leaving a meeting. Trying to see what your plans are for this evening. My flight was pushed back till tomorrow, so I won't be going out of town tonight. I was seeing if you wanted to go catch the old-school hip-hop concert with me.”

“The one with LL Cool J and Doug E. Fresh at the PNC Center?” she said eagerly.

“Yep. That one. Front row, baby.”

Lauren hadn't done anything like that in years. Despite her initial reaction, though, she started feeling a fluttering in her stomach. That sensation was growing every moment she spent with Matthew. He was so easy to love, and that, Lauren didn't want, especially because it had taken her so long to stop loving him.

“Ah, you know, I'd love to, but I have a full calendar this weekend. How about I give you a call later?”

His voice was filled with disappointment. “Oh, okay,” he said. “You do that. Call me if anything changes.”

Lauren ended the call and looked across the table at a shocked Vivian.

“I thought you said you didn't have anything to do this weekend.”

“I don't.”

Vivian looked confused. “I thought you said you liked him.”

“I do.” Lauren shook her head. “But he's single.”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “That's the person you should be going out with.”

Vivian didn't understand how complicated it was. “He's single and I have feelings for him. Shoot, I used to be madly in love with him. Maybe I
still
love him. Nope, not a good combo. I'm not about to get my heart broken.”

Vivian swirled her finger around the rim of her glass. “Maybe that's what you need. A man of your own.”

Lauren wasn't that crazy about all the free advice. “Well, my, aren't we the judgmental one?”

“I'm not trying to be judgmental. It's just that I watch you with all of these guys and you try to pretend that you're happy, but you're really not. And here's this guy that you
already know, that you have feelings for, that has a good job with benefits, that is really feeling you. You want to push him away because he's not wearing a wedding ring. Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”

Lauren couldn't deny that to most people it did sound strange. “Sure, but . . .”

Vivian seized upon her hesitation. “I'm just saying, you should give Matthew a real shot. You and these married men, all you're doing is helping with the
destruction of the black family.”

“I date white and Latino guys, too,” Lauren said, laughing.

Vivian didn't laugh with her. “It's not funny.”

Lauren lost her smile, getting irritated with the remarks from someone who couldn't possibly know where she was coming from. The reason she and Vivian had gotten along was that Vivian didn't judge her. If that was about to change . . .

“Wow, who pissed on your parade?”

Vivian's look of anger quickly disappeared. “I just want you to get your own slice of happiness. That's all.”

Lauren took out her credit card to pay for their drinks. Vivian had pissed her off and she was ready to wrap up this unhappy hour outing. “Well, don't worry about me. I'm good.”

“Are you really?” Vivian asked. “Everyone gets tired of playing the field. I know you say you don't want to ever get married, but do you really want a lifetime of being second?”

Lauren didn't reply. She didn't want Vivian to know how much those words were cutting her.