The NOVA Trilogy Boxed Set

by Jayce, Aven

  “Perfect. I’ll have my father pick us up from her building and we can all head out together.”

  I continue talking on the phone while the dildo swings and slaps against the side of my cheek. Mera is especially cheerful this morning and I wonder if she got laid last night.

  “Soph?” Mera says in a happy voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “How’s your place?”

  “Oh. My. God. It’s fucking picture perfect. Did you get a good night’s sleep after all of the work we put in over the weekend?”

  “I was exhausted when I got home, but I relaxed with a movie and some popcorn, and now I’m getting ready for work. I realized last night just how lucky we are, and how happy I am, so yeah, I’m good.”

  “I’m glad. See you at five then?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  Dr. Rosen rocks gently back and forth in her chair as she taps her pen on the top of her desk. I told her about Worship and she’s none too pleased at another setback in our sessions.

  “On a lighter note, I finally have my own place. It’s a very sophisticated loft downtown,” I say.

  “I don’t want to discuss your new place, Sophia. We need to talk about what you did Friday night, and why. We need to figure out how you can move past these encounters.”

  “What if I don’t want to? What if I enjoy screwing around?”

  “Have you ever thought about why you abuse your body? Why you don’t have any respect for yourself? That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  Dr. Rosen stops pivoting her chair, looks at me, and asks me about my mother’s past relationships.

  “My mother is a prude. I’d be surprised if she had sex more than twice with my father. You know, once for each kid.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she never had another relationship after my father. Because we weren’t allowed to talk about our private parts, or discuss sex, or our bodies changing as teens. We couldn’t even use the word sex in the house. My mother was abusive, untrusting, a hermit, and completely asexual.”

  “So, you want to be the complete opposite of her?”

  “Well, of course. Not just because she’s my mother, but because I think of myself as an affectionate and outgoing person who likes to have fun.”

  “What I’m trying to say, Sophia, is that you may take some things, including your sexual relationships, to an extreme because of the person who raised you. Your mother wasn’t a very good role model. Her rigidity and lack of emotional support may have damaged both of her children. I also believe that you may use sex compulsively to find love. What happened Friday evening is not acceptable sexual behavior in the civilized world. I’m going to request that you start attending a sex addicts group on Thursday evenings. I think it may help if you meet and listen to other people talk about their behavior. You might begin to see that this style of living has no connection to love.”

  I look at Dr. Rosen’s chest. She’s wearing a tight, white, short-sleeved mock turtleneck with a long emerald gemstone necklace dangling down between her round breasts. She places a hand on her necklace, distracting my wandering eyes from her chest. I look up and she sends a warm smile my way, confirming that she’s right.

  “Okay. I enjoy sex. A lot. And I’d probably do it anytime, with anyone… of legal age of course. What I don’t believe is that I need help for it, or that I can’t control myself when necessary.”

  “Well, I gave you an assignment and you didn’t show any restraint or control with that. Let me ask you this, have you ever had any negative consequences because of your behavior, such as an unplanned pregnancy leading to an abortion, or how about a sexually transmitted disease?”

  “I’ve been pretty careful.”

  “Pretty careful? I’ll take that as a yes to one of those questions. What about feeling any shame for your one-night stands, and have you cheated on anyone in the past?”

  “Well, a lot of people cheat.”

  “Do you have sex in high-risk locations, like perhaps a bar, and do you leave friends behind to do so?”

  “Listen, Mera and I have an agreement when it comes to a night out at a club.”

  “Have you had more than fifty sexual partners, and do you enjoy anonymous sex?”

  Looking at Dr. Rosen, I can see that she won’t let up anytime soon, and her last question throws me off guard. Yes, I do enjoy anonymous sex. It’s thrilling.

  “Sophia. Have you ever exposed yourself in a window, or a car, and do you masturbate excessively?”

  “Yes, and yes, and I told you I love to masturbate.”

  We stare at one another, waiting for the other to cave. I listen to her breathe and watch her chest expand out, and in. Out. In. I’m not as smart as she is, and I hate it. Basically, I’m sitting in a room with a woman who thinks I’m a whore.

  “Fine,” I mumble.

  Dr. Rosen picks up her pen and writes something in my file. “I’ll let the counselor know that you’ll be joining the group this week. You probably won’t need to speak your first time there; you can just listen and decide how much of your life and experiences you’d like to share. It will be anonymous.”

  I slouch down into the brown leather chair, once again overwhelmed by my immense dissatisfaction and frustration about my childhood, my mother, and my relationship with her.

  “Sophia, would you like a cup of tea for the rest of our session?”

  “Yes, that would be nice. I’m having dinner with my father after this, and I’d like to relax a little after what we’ve just discussed.”

  “Why don’t we go over to the settee and we’ll finish our discussion on some furniture that’s a little more comfortable than these office chairs.”

  I take the cream pillow I’m leaning against with me to the settee. The corner area is peaceful and the peppermint tea calms my nerves.

  “I’ve been having panic attacks, and I started sleep walking again.”

  Dr. Rosen crosses her legs in the chair across from me as she places her tea on a side table.

  “I may need to talk to someone and have you placed on medication if that continues. When did all of this start?”

  “The day of the move. I woke up on Mera’s couch but I had fallen asleep in her guest bedroom, and I had two panic attacks while I was walking through my new place.”

  “When was the last time this happened?”

  “College.”

  “Try to be a little more specific, Sophia.”

  “There were a few times in the dorms, when Mera and I first lived together, and she was gone for the holidays or staying at her boyfriend’s. She never really observed it in person. The panicky feeling seems to go along with the sleepwalking. It happened a lot during final exams too. I guess it comes about during times of stress.”

  “Can you remember any other times besides college, and over the weekend?”

  I think for a few moments, sipping my tea as I try to remember anything that stands out from my childhood. I lean away from the pillow as I recall an event that was similar.

  “When I was very young, I woke up a few times in the field next to our home. My brother was always close by, and I can remember him laughing at me. I always thought he had carried me out while I was asleep as some kind of a joke.”

  “How old were you, and do you remember anything else from that time?”

  “I was probably around four,” I pause, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I think it was when my father left us. It was also around the time that my mother left me at that center and didn’t tell anyone who I was.”

  “Sophia, is this the first time you’ve lived by yourself?”

  “Yeah,” I respond, understanding that it’s not necessarily stressful situations, but rather fear of abandonment and being alone that causes this to happen. “More problems stemming from my childhood?”

  “Yes, but once again you’re smart enough to recognize them and move past the issues that may be activating your s
leepwalking. I’d like you to start meditating each evening before you go to bed. Try some deep breathing exercises and clear your mind before you fall asleep. I’ll give you a few pamphlets before you leave today. Also, do the same thing when you feel a panic attack coming on. Take deep breaths.” She continues sipping her tea with a smile. “Too much caffeine can put you on edge as well. Do you drink a lot of coffee, or soda?”

  “I’m addicted to coffee, but I only drink caffeine free soda.”

  “Cut back on the coffee for a while. You don’t have to stop drinking it all together, just have one cup a day, instead of two or three.”

  “Six.”

  She looks at me, her eyes engaging mine. “Cut back on the coffee, Sophia.”

  I giggle and she smiles again. We both sip our tea and she continues to allocate techniques to deal with my feelings of abandonment, and any future panic attacks.

  I check my watch and it’s now five minutes to five. Dr. Rosen notices my impatience and wraps up our session.

  “Now. I want you to work on that assignment from last week. Talk to someone who you find interesting. Start a conversation without the two of you ending up in the bedroom, or the balcony of a nightclub. Okay?”

  “I’ll try. I have to model again on Wednesday evening so that may be a good time to approach someone.”

  “Sophia,” she says with a stern look.

  “Oh, well I’ll put some clothes on before I approach anyone.”

  “Thank you. Now enjoy your dinner with your father.”

  “How do you know my dad?”

  “We were friends in college.”

  “Just friends?”

  “Yes, just friends,” she says, walking me over to the door.

  “Did you know my mother back then as well?”

  “No, I never met her. Your father and I just had some classes together, and that’s it.”

  “How did you end up in St. Louis?”

  “I grew up here, but went to school in Philadelphia, along with my two brothers. They were the ones who were friends with your father, more so than me. They’re still very close. You should ask him about them. Now we’re crossing some patient and shrink lines here. It’s time for you to go.”

  “You use that term too? Shrink?” I ask, walking out the door.

  “Have a nice evening, Sophia,” she says, closing the door behind me.

  ***

  The elevator doors open and I see Mera waiting in the lobby. She’s wearing a long black sweater dress, with grey tights and a pair of classic two-inch heels. Her hair is down and the ends curve around her breasts. She waves just as I see my father’s car pull up outside the building.

  “Hi Sophia,” she shouts, “Did you have a good talk with your shrink?”

  “Hush, Mera. I told you not to say that so loud in the lobby.”

  Mera points to a sign on the wall that lists the offices in the building. “Look, every floor and every office has a shrink. It’s a building full of therapists. It’s not like everyone comes here for swim lessons.”

  “Alright. You win. My father just pulled up, let’s go.”

  Mera takes a dark plum lipstick out of her purse and puckers her lips, putting on a fresh coat before we leave the building. I hesitate, and decide not to make the comment that she’s sprucing up for my dad.

  She slides into the back of the silver four-seat Fisker, and I take my usual front seat next to my father. He’s dressed in a black suit with a satin-notched lapel and two front flap pockets, also adorned with satin trim. I can see from the passenger seat that his pants are slim legged, but not too slim for his age, and he’s wearing a crisp white shirt with a navy blue pin-striped tie. The Fisker smells of Amouage Dia, his favorite cologne, and he’s listening to Alabama Shakes. I hate to admit it, but Mera’s right, my father probably does get laid a lot.

  “You girls look lovely tonight. Thanks for accompanying me to dinner.”

  “We’re women, Dad, and thank you for taking us.”

  “Mr. Jameson, what kind of suit are you wearing?”

  “It’s a Lanvin. It was a gift,” my father replies to the backseat.

  I hear Mera shuffle through her purse; probably pulling out her phone to search Lanvin suits online. A moment later I hear a gasp and I know I’m right. Mera, the girl with a former shopping addiction, still loves to hunt for clothing, wherever and whenever she can.

  “Where to, Dad?”

  “We’re going to Giorgio’s. I’m in need of a good steak, and a bottle of red wine.”

  “You’re going to share that bottle, right?”

  “To share, of course. You like red wine, don’t you?”

  “We love it,” Mera says from the back seat.

  “Well, okay then. We may have to get two bottles to satisfy my two girls.”

  “Women,” I interject again.

  Pulling up to the valet, I admire the young man’s perfect posture in his black suit and bow tie. He calls my father, “Sir,” as he opens the doors of the Fisker, lending his hand to Mera and me as we step out of the car.

  Giorgio’s is just a few blocks from where Mera and I live, but it’s not a restaurant at which we dine unless my father is in town. The food and wine are the best this city has to offer, with prices to reflect it. I enjoy fine dining, but the conversation during the meal is what’s important, so even fast food would be fine with me. Knowing that my father would disagree, I always let him pick the restaurant when he’s here.

  The maître d’ seats us in a back corner, away from the local businessmen who are regulars at Giorgio’s. Wine glasses are already set on each table, and the maître d’ turns each glass over as we take our seats

  I watch and listen to my father speak in fluent Italian as he orders for the three of us. How did this powerful, methodical, and intelligent man spawn such weak children?

  “So Sophia, tell me how everything is working out with Devery. Is she helping you?”

  “You mean Dr. Rosen? Is that her name? Devery?”

  “Yes. I mean Dr. Rosen.”

  “How do you know her, Dad?”

  “She’s just an old friend. Her brothers were my roommates during college. Dayne and Doron. Twins.”

  Our waiter brings a bottle of Chateau Margaux to our table and pours a small amount for my father to taste. He nods, prompting our wine glasses to be filled.

  “She’s good, Dad. And yes, she’s definitely helping me. I’m beginning to understand more about myself, and the things that I might need to change about my life. Most of what we discuss I probably could have figured out on my own, if I was a little more self-reflective.”

  “Maybe that’s what she’s doing, helping you to become more self-reflective,” my father says, while swirling his wine around in his glass.

  “Devery, Dayne, and Doron? How unique,” Mera adds. “Creative parents, for sure. I love those names.”

  “Lawyers, actually. The names have been in the family for generations. I stayed at their home one summer during my junior year of college. Their father gave me an internship in his office, and I made some important connections that proved to be helpful many years later. He taught me that hard work and loyalty would take me where I needed to go in this world.”

  “So what happened?” I ask, realizing that it may not be the correct question. “I mean, where did we fit into all of this?”

  My father takes a drink of wine then places the glass on the table. He folds his hands across his stomach and leans back in his chair. I wait a few moments for his answer, while Mera fumbles with her cloth napkin, trying to look occupied.

  “Sophia,” my father finally addresses me. “Something happened to your mother after we got married. When we met during my last year of college, she was a hard worker, loving, and happy. We had a nice home and plenty of savings, but she changed, and I don’t know what sparked it. She just transformed into a completely different person. I took her to a psychiatrist who thought she was bipolar, but your mother refused to believe h
im. She also refused to take medication. Our entire savings was gambled away in one month. She stopped talking to me and began isolating herself from the world.”

  “Why didn’t you get her more help? You could have placed her in a clinic or hospital for care.”

  “She said that there was nothing wrong, and she wouldn’t admit that she had any problems. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to get help on his or her own. She wasn’t suicidal, or threatening to harm anyone, so I couldn’t have her institutionalized.”

  I look at my father, my face calm and sympathetic, “I understand.”

  “All I can do is apologize. I deserted you, all of you. I thought that if I stayed, the constant arguing would be harmful to my children, so I decided that the two of you would be better off if I left.”

  “I would’ve rather had you stay. At least you could have protected us from her. You know she became violent when we got older.”

  Mera reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers, “You know, I could place a flaming bag of manure on her front porch if you’d like.”

  We laugh at her playfulness and I realize this conversation would be more appropriate in private.

  “Dad,” I say in a forgiving tone. “Thank you again, for everything. I appreciate your support, not just financially, the therapist as well. She’s great.”

  “I was hoping you’d like her. Now, tell me more about St. Louis.” My father smiles, winks, and fills the wine glasses up for a second round.

  Our food arrives and a sirloin strip steak with green peppercorn cream is placed in front of me. My mouth waters and Mera performs her usual routine of licking her lips before placing the first moist bite into her mouth.

  “Excellent,” my father says. “Nothing beats a Giorgio’s steak.”

  I chew and nod in agreement.

  Mera holds up her wine glass and we raise ours to hers. “To a wonderful meal with my two favorite people.”

  “Love you too, Mera,” I say, clinking her glass.

  We end the dinner with a chocolate Tiramisu while consuming the rest of the wine. I feel the warm rush of red liquid in my veins, which prompts me to giggle incessantly. My father can handle his liquor better than Mera and me, and I wonder if we may be embarrassing him.