by MJ Knight
I could as easily send Julianne to someone else. There are pros and cons on both sides. Adrian is the newer patient and would adjust more easily to a change in therapist. However, it is possible that Julianne might benefit from a different perspective since I believe that she doesn’t entirely trust my perspective. I believe she thinks I am too conservative in terms of making real world progress.
At this time I think it best that I end my professional relationship with Adrian, but though I’ll be compiling a list of therapists for his next session, I will be giving this situation a great deal more thought in the coming week.
Unfortunately as I feared, the result of the revelation was that my session with Julianne was unprofitable. When she spoke of a new man in her life, and her desire to explore a physical relationship with him, I was quite uncomfortable. If I had been able to tell her that I knew who she was talking about, I might have managed to turn our discussion to a topic which might have proven useful, but with his insistence that she is not to know, he has tied my hands completely. I was forced to take professional neutrality into the realm of near-apathy and it hurt our session.
I have to admit that I’m quite angry with Adrian, which is another reason why I am feeling as if he must be the one to leave, not Julianne. That is an unfair metric, though; my anger is my own and has no bearing on how I treat my patients. I need to make a more thorough evaluation before I make any decisions.
Chapter Eight
As he’d promised, Adrian was waiting for Julianne in the cafe downstairs at the same table they’d sat at the previous week. She greeted him with a light touch to the arm. She had a brief, amusing notion that it was the touch-phobe’s equivalent to a passionate kiss and was a little surprised at how much that mental image excited her. “Hi, I’m glad you waited.”
“Me too.” He waved the waitress over and Julianne ordered coffee and asked what sort of pie they had. They both ordered slices of blueberry pie, warm, with ice cream.
“I had the oddest session just now,” Julianne told him as she turned her phone off.
“How so?”
“I had the sense that Dr. Lange was distracted, or even annoyed with me, but I couldn’t get anything out of her.”
Adrian’s expression was troubled. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well, I was talking about the last week, and I mentioned that I’d met someone nice, and she didn’t say anything, not even her standard, “How does that make you feel?” She just sat there and stared at her note pad. Are you all right? You just went all pale.”
“Um... I’m fine. I just realized that I’d forgotten something I needed to do at work.”
“Do you need to go? Because—”
“No. No, it’s fine. I’ll stop on my way home. Never mind, it’s really not the problem my brain was making it. You know I think Lange’s worried about that patient who had the breakdown last week.”
“Ohhhh,” Julianne breathed. “Of course. Yes, that must be awful to be, well not responsible certainly, but to have a sort of responsibility for the emotional well being of someone like that.” She reflected that “someone like that” sounded a little over confident. She was “someone like that” herself.
“It is. It really is,” Adrian said.
Julianne tilted her head. “I’m sorry, have I walked on any toes here? If I have...”
“No. I know someone who, well she’s not fragile, but she’s unpredictable and while I don’t have any responsibility for her, sometimes the relationship is overwhelming.”
Julianne wondered what the relationship was, exactly. To be overwhelming it had to be something close. At least she assumed it did. “Let’s talk about something else,” Julianne said as the pie arrived. “We can talk about pie!”
It made him laugh. “You’re good for me,” he told her. “You make me laugh, and not many people do that. Tell me about your week,” he asked as she dug into her slice of pie.
The ice cream was beginning to melt as Julianne broke the crust with her fork. “That’s so pretty,” she observed as the vanilla white mixed with the purplish blue of the berries.
“And you notice things like that, too. You must be an artist.”
“I must be, mustn’t I? And I have the work to prove it.” Julianne told him about some new jobs she’d gotten, and from there she began to talk about how she’d taken a bus to the initial meeting with her new client. “Imagine a new person to shake hands with, and a bus ride!”
“I’m all a-twitter over it,” Adrian said with a blueberry-stained smile.
“I had an early appointment and finished pretty quickly, so I went over to the shopping mall where the bus stop was, and I actually went inside.”
“You did not!”
“I did. It was still pretty early. None of the stores open much before ten so only the mall walkers were there. They’re concentrating on their own exercise and they paid no attention to me which was fine. I bought coffee and a donut and sat in the atrium watching people walk by. I had my portfolio with me and put it on the seat beside me so that nobody could sit next to me, but nobody tried.”
“And when the stores opened?”
“I bought some new clothing! The stores don’t fill up early on a weekday so I had the clothing store pretty much to myself. It was nice. The only thing I didn’t like was the sales woman trying to come into the fitting room. I told her I’d step out when I was ready, and she apologized. I think she was just bored and trying to sell me something else.”
“Probably.”
She felt as if she’d been doing nothing but talking about herself. She didn’t want to seem like a conversation hog, and she also wanted to know more about Adrian so she asked, “What did you do, this week?”
“The usual things. Nine-to-five, more or less. I do have a bit of flexibility.” He didn’t talk about going to Olivia’s over the weekend and fucking until he could barely walk. “I caught up on some TV shows I’d recorded.”
“My DVR is so full, it’s ridiculous. I should just go through and delete stuff.”
“I know what you mean. Having one makes it too easy to think you’ll watch all sorts of things you’d normally not bother with.”
They talked for a while about the shows he’d watched, and the ones she hadn’t. He urged her to watch a couple of the things on her DVR before she deleted them. “They’re so worth watching,” he promised her.
“Okay then. Maybe tonight I’ll start this evening. What are you doing tonight?” No sooner was it out of her mouth than she realized that it sounded like she was asking him to her place. She realized that she’d taken him by surprise too, and felt a rush of heat to her face. “I—um, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. It’s not that you wouldn’t be welcome of course, but it wasn’t that I--”
“No, no, don’t apologize. I understand,” he began. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. That is I’m sure you didn’t mean—Oh my god...” He put his hands over his face and started to laugh.
“Yeah, we’re all grown up,” she said wryly. “Listen to us.”
“I actually have an engagement tonight,” he said, glad finally to be able to speak a complete sentence without falling over it.
“Date?”
“No, not really. Just a standing engagement. It’s not quite business, but it certainly isn’t a social event. And you’re going to be watching movies.”
“And drinking tea and maybe I’ll be wild and make some popcorn.”
“Take it slow,” he advised.
They talked for almost two hours. At one point Julianne saw Dr. Lange leaving the building and held her breath, hoping the doctor wouldn’t want a cup of coffee. Her hand tightened around her fork, but she didn’t tell Adrian who was talking about an exhibition he’d seen at the Art Institute the previous autumn. In a few moments, Lange was gone
“I want to start going to things like that,” Julianne said, relaxing back into the conversation.
It was growing dark when they finally paid their check—
true to her word, Julianne picked it up—and walked out into the twilight.
“You should take a cab tonight,” he suggested.
She gave him a considering look. “I took a bus here.”
“But it’s getting dark.”
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “You make a good point, Adrian. All right, a cab it is.”
He stood with her again while she hailed a cab, and again, he opened the door for her and stood a respectful distance from her as she moved to step inside. At the last minute she turned and pressed a kiss to his cheek, a light brush of lips, cool and non-committal for most women, but something he knew must have cost her dearly.
As she slipped into the cab he said, “Goodnight, my friend.” He saw her turn to watch him as the cab sped away from the curb, her face pale in the darkness. The sight of it made his heart hurt with happiness.
Chapter Nine
He hadn’t wanted to deal with Olivia that night, but it wasn’t worth the fight they’d have about him missing two Thursdays in a row in spite of having spent the previous Saturday and half of Sunday in her bed. And to be honest, he wanted sex. He didn’t just like Julianne, he desired her, and while he understood that sleeping with Olivia under those circumstances was just displacing that desire, he was okay with it.
It was nearly eight when he rang Olivia’s bell. She must’ve been waiting by the door because she buzzed him in almost immediately. That wasn’t a good sign. She was going to be upset about his lateness.
She was standing in the hallway in her white peignoir. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
Adrian hustled her into the apartment. “Cover yourself up in public,” he told her. “Anyone could have been on that elevator.” Best defense and all.
“It’s not public, it’s my building and I’m not ashamed of my body.” In truth she had no reason to be. “Not many women my age are in shape like this,” she said, emphasizing her point by opening the peignoir. As he had expected, she was nude under it. For a woman just north of fifty years old she was in superb shape. Of course much of her day and her considerable wealth was spent on maintenance. If crocodiles had her money and leisure they’d have toned, baby soft skin too.
“That’s not the point,” he insisted, turning away. It was crazy how much he wanted to have her right there on the living room floor. But he’d managed to short circuit her anger with a bit of his own.
She closed the negligee and went to the bar. “Do you want a drink? Brandy?”
“Whiskey, thank you. I’m sorry I’m late. Work.”
“Yes, I know. Always work. You don’t answer your phone when you’re working late, do you?”
So she’d been calling him. “No, not usually. Not unless I’m expecting a call. And when I finished I went down to the Exeter for a quick dinner.”
“So you’ve eaten?”
“Yes.”
“You could have come here and had dinner with me.”
That was a bit more domestic than he liked. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” They’d tried that once before and Olivia had turned a perfectly nice meal into a food orgy in which more of their dinner ended up smeared on her skin, or stuck in various orifices than actually made it into his stomach. He preferred to eat alone and actually get some nourishment.
“You’re angry with me,” she observed as she handed him a glass of single malt scotch. She always had the best liquor.
“No I’m not. It’s been a rough week and I’m tired.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But it’s over now, isn’t it?” As in, leave your troubles outside my door, you’re not here for tea and sympathy.
Adrian had to admit that was fair, and it was something Carolyn had taught him. You leave your troubles on the other side of the door when you sit down to work. Funny how he thought of Olivia as work. Or maybe not so funny.
“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he said. He sipped his drink. “Come and sit with me for a minute. I want to talk to you.” He patted the sofa cushion.
Olivia got that guarded look she often got when she suspected, in this case rightly, that he wanted to end their affair, but she curled up beside him and ran her perfectly manicured fingers through his hair.
“Olivia...”
“Adrian...” She was smiling. Her hand moved from his head to his thigh.
“Don’t joke, I’m serious.”
Her hand slid higher and his cock began to stir.
“Olivia, please take me seriously and stop that.” He shoved her hand away. “I can’t go on with this. I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” she asked and put her hand back on his thigh.
“I don’t even like you!” he blurted. That wasn’t what he meant to say but talking nicely to her was proving impossible. “Stop that.” He shoved her away again and stood up.
“Well I don’t like you either, darling, but I love your cock.”
That, at least, made it simpler. “There are a million other cocks out there.”
“Not for me.”
“Yes, for you. You’re going to need to find another one, or however many you need to replace me because I’m ending this.”
Olivia got up and moved towards the bedroom. “Oh don’t be silly, of course you’re not. Come to bed.” She dropped her peignoir on the floor as she walked. He had to admire how tight her ass still was; apparently gravity had no power over it. Her breasts were like that, too, marvels of plastic surgery, he supposed. Well why not? She had the money and nothing else to spend it on.
He had to stop being distracted by sex. “You’re not listening.” Which wasn’t strictly true. She listened. She just didn’t care about what she heard.
“Don’t disappoint me, darling,” she cooed from the bedroom. She lay down on the bed and propped herself up on her elbows. Her legs were slightly splayed, teasing him. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Adrian put down his drink and began to undress. He could break up with Olivia later, he supposed. Sex could hardly change what they felt for one another.
And to be honest, he was hungry for it. For her.
Chapter Ten
It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Julianne made coffee and fixed herself a bowl of cereal. She ate it standing at the window looking down on the park across the street from her building. It was already filled with children and their parents, and the sounds of laughter, of dogs yapping, and people talking filtered up to her through the sun-dappled leaves.
Why not go down? She had to do some shopping anyway, so why not go down and walk through the park? The exercise would do her good, and being with people? That would do her good too.
She washed out her coffee pot and mug, gathered her shopping bags and stepped out into the sunlight. The world smelled surprisingly fresh and good, even here in the city. There was a scent of newly mown grass hanging in the air, and the wind was bright and sweet.
She walked across the street and into the park. Everything was so green this time of year, so new. Later in the summer the trees would become tired and dusty-looking, but right now they had a freshness that made her ache with happiness. She found a free bench, sat down and pulled her sketch book out of her bag. It was crayons today because she felt whimsical and new. She drew the trees before her first in a realistic style, then in a childlike abstract. She drew leaves, people on benches, and the odd dog. There was a wonderful kind of freedom to using crayons with their waxy boldness and childhood associations. She let her mind and hands play on the pages of her sketchbook, giving life to everything around her.
She began to attract attention, mostly from the children in the park who wanted to see what she was doing. Children were wonderful. They always had something to say, and it was always worth listening to. One told her the dog was the wrong color, another said she should use some purple in the leaves. A third one—a small girl wearing a bright red dress and emerald green shoes—asked if she could draw too, so Julianne handed her a sheet of paper and several crayons. While th
e little girl drew whatever it was she was drawing, Julianne drew her, crouched in front of the bench, tongue held between her tiny baby teeth.
They were interrupted by the girl’s mother who had been watching from close by. “Honey, you have to stop bothering the lady now. We need to go.”
“I’m almost finished. Don’t look,” the little girl told her.
To Julianne the woman said, “Thank you. She loves to draw.”
“Maybe she’ll be an artist.”
“That would be lovely for her. Is that what you are?”
Julianne nodded.
“Debbie, are you nearly finished?”
“I just have to do one more thing. Stop looking!”
Julianne and the girl’s mother shared a smile. “What can I do to encourage her?”
Have her molested by an older man so that she will draw to get the nightmare images out of her head.
She shook off that morbid thought and said, “When you ask her how her day was, or what she did in school, let her draw it if she wants. Sometimes artists are less verbal than parents would like, but a drawing will let her show you what she’s thinking. And pay attention to what she draws. Talk to her about it.” Let Debbie’s mom think it was all about appreciating what Debbie drew. She didn’t have to know the worst. Might never happen.
It was Julianne’s drawings that had alerted her parents to what was happening. The garish, terrifying pictures had been evidence in Uncle Gerald’s trial. Julianne wondered absently if they still existed somewhere, those awkward, childish drawings of naked old men, cocks garish in bubblegum pink or crimson, big green and blue hands touching her small, gray cartoon self.
“What a good idea!” the woman said and Julianne snapped back to the present. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”