Emma Knows All

by Briggs, Laura

  She was astonished by this speech, the longest and friendliest he had ever made in front of her. "Agreed," she answered, feeling a little relief. "I mean, who are we to help this girl find love in six weeks? Even if we help her self confidence, it could take months before she was ready for a relationship."

  "The media sources expect too much of us, absolutely," he said. "Even my agent, who's usually a voice of reason, thinks this is an acceptable plan."

  "Obviously, she's not a hopeless case, " continued Em.

  "It depends on your definition of hopeless after we examine the evidence." A snort of contempt from Colin. "There's every possibility this young woman is an impressionable, empty-headed half-child who's in love with a pop star and measures every man by celebrity standards. Contending with that would be a perfect horror."

  "I didn't think she sounded delusional," Em countered. "Just a little sad and impressionable. She's probably timid and easily bullied, so she needs to learn to focus on her personal core, not outside influences."

  "She needs to face reality before anything else," said Colin. "And the truth that love is largely painful." He took a sip from his water glass. "Again, who are we to influence her after a mere three minutes' phone conversation? One half of our team doesn't have the capability of conducting an authentic psychoanalysis — and as for myself, I'm hardly prepared to assume a therapist's role —"

  Yet another slap at her career. Em did her best not to look insulted by this, although it rubbed against her nerves like sandpaper. "I'm sorry," she interrupted him, "but I think I'm just as capable of analyzing Harriet's problems and limitations as you are. Degree or no."

  "Is that your vast listening audience speaking for you?" He was hiding a smirk, she thought, judging from the way his eyebrow quirked with this question. He had remembered her defense from yesterday.

  "Just ask them," said Em, stoutly. "I think you'll find that the majority of my callers felt our conversation was the first step in a lifetime of change for them. You'd be surprised how high therapy patients rank the sound of a sympathetic voice — or, then again, maybe you wouldn't be."

  She took a sip from her water glass, studying the affect of this verbal shot. Colin's face was giving nothing away. Arrogant, she thought. If you hit him in just the right place, he'd topple like a big, stone pillar.

  She was supposed to be playing nice, wasn't she? She made herself smile at him. "Never mind how we each think it should be handled," she said. "We get our chance to prove our respective points on the air, right? And may the best man win." She held out her hand in a truce.

  "Or woman," he replied. For formality's sake, she supposed. He shook her hand, but with more enthusiasm than before. She felt the strength of his fingers this time.

  "Best of luck to you, Doctor Ferris."

  "And to you."

  *****

  "I think it's great." Frank motioned to the bartender for a second glass. "This is exactly what you need, Em."

  "It's cheap, Frank. It's a cheap reality show, with the two of us making some poor girl jump through hoops — romantic ones — for entertainment. Surely you see that, of all people." Em was nursing her own glass, with little interest in its contents.

  This was supposed to be a quick late-night drink to discuss his book, but they had been sidetracked by the stunning developments of Em's day. Talk of the manuscript had dropped off quickly in the face of the televised debate, the horrifying website link Isabel had emailed her, where the powers that be would keep tabs on their weekly progress with Harriet.

  Frank loosened his tie, the one he had worn to his business dinner. "Does it have to be?" he asked.

  "Can you expect better of me and Doctor Frankenstein?" she asked. "Well, that's how he thinks of us. The cold scientist with the half-brained assistant at his elbow. What kind of monster do you think the two of us will create?" Frank was hiding a smile for her comment, one hand over his mouth as he listened.

  "I know your opinion of him," she reminded Frank. "You don't have to say it for me to see that you think he's as much a pompous prig as I do."

  "True," admitted Frank. "He's not my taste in relationship theories, as you know. But maybe that's just because of the difference between us. Established authors never like the wunderkind who just pops up overnight. Until the star burns out, the world is blind to the rest of us."

  "I wish he had burned out a lot faster," said Em, ruefully. "Then I wouldn't have to face a future with him. And with poor, poor Harriet, the victim of our dueling opinions." She puffed her cheeks out with frustration.

  "If you're worried he's going to show you up somehow, metaphorically spank your hand with a ruler like an errant schoolgirl, I don't think it's going to happen," said Frank. "You are so much better than him, Em. I've scraped stuff off the bottom of my shoes that would be more therapeutic to this girl than his opinion."

  Em stifled a giggle. "I'm not afraid of him," she answered. "I'm afraid this will turn into a horrible mess that won't do this girl any good at all. How am I going to help her with his opinion contradicting mine every time?"

  "Save some for when he's not around," suggested Frank.

  "Not fair. That would be going behind his back. We're supposed to be a team, inasmuch as our advice is stated publicly — at least whatever part the video editors choose to show on the website."

  "You don't think he'll go behind yours sometimes?" Frank asked, archly.

  "Let's not go there right now, Frank." Suddenly, she felt tired at the thought of it all. Pretending to smile, pretending to know all the answers — or could she simply be honest if she didn't know, and let the coldhearted Doctor Ferris surpass her on that occasion?

  "He's like a fish," she said, not realizing she was speaking her thoughts aloud at first. "All cold and clammy and flat-eyed. No wonder he stuck to academia."

  "Who would think a romantic would be such a realist?" muttered Frank, as he took a sip from his glass.

  "What?"

  "His book. You know, Chivalry for Cavemen in an Era of the Genderless, Enlightened Society." Frank grinned at his own little joke.

  "Oh. That." She fell silent again.

  Frank glanced at her. "This is an opportunity to show him that therapy is about humanity," he said. "Show him that it's more than just the degrees, the books, the knowledge. And that a certain amount of personal charisma is essential if you're going to help people understand human relationships."

  "That's easy for you to say," Em answered. As Isabel once put it, Frank's charm could lure a lizard out of its hole in the dead of winter. "You have all of them. Degrees, knowledge, and charm."

  "Maybe." Frank's expression was dismissive. "But this is about having that intuitive spark, Em. You have a gift. Don't sell yourself short." He raised his glass and toasted her with these words.

  Chapter Four

  Harriet Smith looked nervous. On the first day of their meeting, when the publicist took her photograph for the website, the digital shop captured her perfectly. A roundish face, a blank smile, too-wide eyes filled with fear beneath a limp mop of corkscrew auburn curls.

  Em suppressed a grimace as she watched. Poor girl. What had persuaded her to go through with this? Was it romantic desperation? Fear of chronic loneliness, like the previous caller, Claire Bates? Or was it as Doctor Ferris suggested — a chronic desire for fifteen seconds of fame?

  Colin. Not Doctor Ferris. She would have to work on that part, since her brain kept inserting the cold formalities whenever she thought about him. Not that she did very often, or very willingly, with the man himself beside her providing constant reminders of why.

  "All right. Let's get this thing on a roll. You'll make your introductions, then you'll start your questions, and just pretend I'm not here." Their videographer was a producer from the WMZ news team, armed with a simple handheld camera — nothing fancy for mere webisodes, Em surmised, tidy little five-minute segments featuring her and Colin sniping at each other, Harriet's timidity in the background.

/>   "Harriet, nice to meet you." Em shook hands with the girl. A clammy palm was clasped against her own, briefly. "I'm Doctor Emma from Heart Therapy."

  "Yeah, I recognize your voice." Harriet perked up slightly at this point. Her normal tones were uncertain ones, as if her voice was one of those which perpetually seeks reassurance for any statement it makes. Pale freckles were scattered like sand on her cheeks, her complexion somewhere in between sunny afternoons and too much time indoors.

  "I'm sure you remember Doctor Colin Ferris —"

  "A pleasure." He took Harriet's hand for a brief handshake, the girl's small hand disappearing in his own. Harriet was shrinking away from him instinctively, Em noticed.

  He's certainly made an impression on her, Em thought. She thinks she's an insect he's about to step on.

  "So let's sit down. Tell us about yourself, Harriet," said Em, drawing a chair from the loneliest corner table, which had four chairs. This venue was Harriet's regular hangout, apparently, where she and her coworkers came after hours — it had been Colin's suggestion, surprisingly enough, to meet somewhere natural to Harriet.

  "Okay." Harriet kept her smile, even though her hands were still clasped in desperate prayer beneath the table. She took a deep breath. "Um, well, you know that I'm — I'm single. I live in an apartment with my cat ... I have a mom, she's in Portland ... and there's my job, which is an over-the-phone customer service assistant at the Lunden Staple Company's headquarters. You know? They make staples, obviously, and office supplies..."

  "And your friends?" Em prompted. "Talk to us about them."

  She was taking the lead thus far, which surprised her also. She had expected Colin would appropriate it as his right. He was busy sifting through the portfolio they had both been issued: one which covered the basics of Harriet's life, including photos of her apartment and workplace, a few personal snapshots from her life that she had dutifully yielded several days ago to the producer.

  "From work, mostly. Well, there's Bobby, who's a sign painter, actually. But the rest are just the staple crew. That's what we call ourselves. Well, what I call us, anyway." For a second only, the smile flickered with doubt. "That's me, Mickey, Charisse, Tonya, Steve. And Elton. They're great. They don't know about this yet, but they'll be really supportive. Elton, especially ... he's really understanding about stuff."

  A nervous tell. Elton was an office crush of sorts, Em perceived.

  Colin spoke. "Tell us about your relationships," he said, setting aside the folder. "Whom do you think was the closest relationship you've shared with a potential date?"

  Harriet looked startled by his address. "Um. Well. With a friend in college? He was my lab partner in science class. We used to make up silly stuff about the professor. Tease each other about things."

  "Did you tell this person secrets? Intimate things about yourself?"

  Harriet's face flamed several shades brighter than her hair. "No?"

  "Whom do you tell those things?"

  "My mom. And my friends Bobby and Elyssa — she's my best friend back home."

  "Let's talk about what you want in a relationship, for starters," said Em. "And who you need to be to find that kind of happiness. That's what Doc—Colin and I are here to help you figure out."

  "What do I say?" Harriet looked bewildered.

  "Just — describe it."

  "Or, you can fill out these." Colin removed a stack of papers from the folder. "A personality profile and a relationship questionnaire." He pulled a pen from his breast coat pocket and clicked the tip open.

  "I think Harriet's words will do fine," said Em.

  "I'll take the quizzes," said Harriet, looking grateful. She pulled the pages towards her and accepted the pen meekly from Colin's possession. She glanced at both of them, timidly. Time for them to retreat, Em surmised.

  "Was that really necessary right now?" Em whispered under her breath as they moved away. "She was just beginning to open up to us."

  "No such thing was happening," he muttered back. "Trust me. The power of a pop quiz for the average woman will do more than two strangers asking questions."

  He was right. That truth peeved her more than she wanted to admit.

  *****

  It took Harriet two hours to fill out the personality and relationship assessments. An hour and a half too long, thought Em. Clearly, Harriet Smith was fumbling with hesitation and doubt for each question. Across the room at the table for four, she crossed out an answer for the third time.

  She could see the same sentiments on Colin's face. "We might as well throw this girl into a pool of sharks," he said. "That's what the world of dating and relationships is for someone of her limitations."

  "She's not that bad."

  "Look at her," he said. "That dress — a size too large. She never wears it, because it's too bold — she has a closet full of oversized sweaters and overly-mature office attire that she turns to first —"

  "So she's not stylish." But even Em could see from the way Harriet kept tugging at her dress — a brown, long-sleeved one with big blue and green flowers splashed all over it — that she was uncomfortable with the garment. "Next you'll be saying she's too heavy for a relationship."

  "Of course not." He must have detected the ire in Em's voice, his own mollified for this statement. "A little plump, perhaps, by society's standards, but she's far from unattractive. I'm talking about her demeanor, her obvious insecurities. The way she bites her nail, and says half her words like she's afraid of instant contradiction. She's cringing. Her 'hurt puppy' attitude is hardly going to attract anyone."

  "I find that hard to believe," said Em, dryly, "given the number of men I've known who seem to find weak, helpless, and insecure women attractive — circling them like sharks sensing blood in the water. But those women had physical attributes which Harriet doesn't. That's the gist of your analysis, doctor."

  "I'd rather not discuss the weaknesses of attraction right now."

  "I think weaknesses may be all we have, according to you."

  He snorted. "As I said before, insecurity and self-doubt is like a bad smell. It holds people of either gender at arms' length," he said. "Which means that certain men are off the table, yes. Her best possible candidate right now is probably someone like him." He pointed towards a man slouched over his drink in the corner of the bar, skin pale beneath rosacea and straw-colored stubble, his body sporting a paint-splattered black t-shirt, shorts, and high-top sneakers.

  "He's probably a perfectly nice guy," said Em. "But are you seriously saying Harriet has no chance with anyone in her social circle? Her everyday sphere?" Colin had deliberately selected the grungiest figure in the bar, she detected, the only one dressed like a loafer and a bum in a place where three-piece-suit office lackeys were having an early round.

  Em spilled Harriet's portfolio pictures across the bar's surface. "None of these men are male supermodels," she answered. "Look at them. They have the same flaws on the outside. I'm sure they have the same insecurities on the inside, too. Are you saying none of them would give her a chance, if they truly noticed her?"

  He studied it. "Not the one on the right. The one in the middle already has a crush on the girl in the circle, the blonde. And the one on the left — difficult to say without actually meeting him. But I think the smirk on his lips says 'no,' don't you?"

  "And none of them will overlook her flaws for the sake of her better qualities?" pressed Em. "Like the fact that she's nice? And has deeper interests, hobbies, a pretty smile?"

  Colin didn't answer. One eyebrow quirked up, conveying his doubts with a single look.

  Romantic my foot. Frank's description about cavemen earned the top spot in Em's consideration of her opponent. Where was the old-fashioned chivalry mentioned on Doctor Ferris's book cover? What about the 'knights in shining armor' and 'rose and handkerchief tokens of love' equivalents his critics had bashed so eloquently in their reviews of his work?

  "I think she's done," observed Em, looking over his should
er. "We should go if we're going to finish building that profile you're so keen on."

  "I suppose you'd rather read her voice and trust the judgments you draw from it.”

  "You'd be surprised what the human voice can tell you," Em answered. His tone, for instance, told her that Doctor Ferris held a decidedly low faith in human resilience, Harriet's, in particular.

  Harriet had finished, sitting upright again in her chair with the papers stacked neatly in front of her, a hopeful and expectant look on her face. Like a puppy waiting to be rewarded, thought Em, painfully.

  "Where's Vic?" asked Em, referring to their cameraman and producer.

  "He's asleep over there," answered Colin, pointing to another table. "I think he found he had nothing to occupy his time."

  At the sound of his name, Vic begin to stir. With a stretch and exaggerated yawn, he glanced around. “Ready to get this on the road?” he asked them. “Maybe head to another location on the list? We could get some footage to contrast home life with the after-work hangout.”

  "You mean, you want to see my apartment?" Harriet looked uncomfortable. "I didn't make my bed today. Or put away my clothes."

  Apartment, workplace, friends — the whole shebang. The producers had made Harriet aware of this fact, but it was just now sinking in, apparently.

  "That's not a problem," answered Em. "We're just trying to get a sense of the kind of person you are, Harriet. Getting to know you through your real life. That way we understand how to help."

  The camera was rolling again, meaning Em was forced to put on her extra-bright smile. Colin clearly didn't feel the need to do the same, until Em discreetly poked him in the ribs and pointed while off-camera. He made an effort afterwards.