In A Country Of Mothers Page 14

  Claire rewound her messages, jotting down quick notes and first impressions that she’d go over later. “Hi, it’s Eric Silverman. A new patient came to see me today — very interesting, but I think she’d be better off with a woman. Call me.” Referrals were nice, a vote of confidence from her peers. All the same, Claire didn’t want any new patients now. Getting started in the summer was too difficult, and she’d be leaving in a few weeks anyway. Maybe in the fall. Maybe after Jody went to L.A.

  That morning, while she was putting on her makeup, Claire imagined that she’d secretly named her little girl. Before handing her over, she’d whispered “Hilary” into the baby’s ear. Now, years later, she’d only have to whisper the name again and, if the child were hers, the girl’s cheeks would flush, her eyes would brighten, and, without a second’s hesitation, she’d say “Mom.”

  “I’ve never done this before in my life,” Claire said, smiling at Jody, “but I’m starving to death. Do you mind if I order something?”

  Jody shrugged.

  “Do you want anything?”

  “No thanks,” Jody said.

  Claire picked up the phone, ordered a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and a cup of coffee from the restaurant around the corner, then settled back into her chair. “Let’s talk about what you’re doing until you leave for California.”

  She considered whether ordering grilled cheese seemed too strange, too goyish. It was what her mother used to eat, with bread-and-butter pickles stuffed in after the cheese was melted. Perhaps she should have gone for something simpler, a bagel or a milk shake. Her stomach growled.

  “You’re leaving when in August?” she asked.

  “I have to be there by the seventeenth, so we’ll probably take off from my parents’ house around the eighth.”

  The buzzer went off, and Claire got up to pay the delivery man. Hilary. Why Hilary? Hilarity. Hilarious. Happiness. Red hair. Claire didn’t know anyone with red hair. She never had.

  She sat with the sandwich on her knees, hoping the whole thing wasn’t too terribly distracting. “What’s your middle name?” she asked between bites.

  “Beth,” Jody said. “Why?”

  Jody Beth. Well, that was no Hilary.

  “I’d like to see you a lot before you leave,” Claire said. “Do you think we could arrange that?” When she looked up from her sandwich, Jody blushed. Claire chewed and swallowed. “I’ll be going away at the very end of the month and won’t be back until September, so we don’t have much time. Two weeks.”

  She couldn’t believe she’d waited until now to discuss leaving; but then again, from the very beginning the whole relationship had been about leaving. That’s why Jody came to see her in the first place. All the same, it felt wrong. Claire ate her grilled cheese and watched Jody staring down at her sneakers. Clearly this was a complicated issue for both of them.

  “Are you going to miss coming here?” Claire asked.

  Jody shrugged again. She reminded Claire of Jake. Whenever he was uncomfortable or didn’t want to admit something, he shrugged.

  “If you like, I could help you find a therapist in Los Angeles, either through UCLA or privately,” Claire said, sipping her coffee, curious whether she’d dripped any on her silk blouse. If she were a man, it would be charming, professorial, to have a little coffee absentmindedly splashed on her shirt. But the same splash brought a woman ten steps closer to the edge of incompetence, unable to properly care for herself much less others.

  “No thanks,” Jody said.

  “It might make you feel safer if you know there’s someone there.”

  Jody shrugged.

  “Think about it,” Claire said, crumpling up the sandwich paper. “I’d be happy to make some calls. And when you come back on vacation you can come see me — or write letters, if you want.”

  “P.S.,” Jody said, “and not to change the subject, but before I forget: I talked to my mother and she said I wasn’t born at Doctors.”

  “Did she tell you where?” Claire said, playing down her curiosity.

  “She said the stork brought me.”

  Claire could have strangled her. Was Jody possessed by some demon especially programmed to drive Claire over the edge?

  “What did she really tell you?”

  “Just what I said. And she thought it was funny. Very funny. So funny I forgot to laugh.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “Not much. They just sort of got me. The lawyer called to say I’d been born and then called back two days later and made plans for someone to pick me up. My mother sat in the car at the corner of Twenty-first and L streets in downtown Washington for half an hour, waiting. And then out of nowhere the next-door neighbor they sent to do their dirty work showed up with this bundle. Me. And then it started to snow. End of story.”

  A winter baby. Claire’s was a winter baby as well. She knew it. She’d known it all along. Twenty-first and L was right around the corner from Columbia Hospital for Women. The day Claire got out of the hospital it snowed. All that afternoon and evening in Baltimore it snowed — eight inches — and at nineteen, she took the snow to be the tears she couldn’t cry. The whiteness pouring from the sky, clean and soft, was what saved her.

  “When did you say your birthday was?” Claire asked.

  “Why do you keep asking me? I’m not telling you.”

  “What’s the secret?”

  “Yeah,” Jody said, “what’s the deal? Can we change the subject?”

  “There are a few things you seem to find difficult to talk about — your birthday, our relationship. What’s going on?”

  Claire was starting not to like herself. She was doing things that might not be prudent, yet she had to do them. Knowing was becoming more important than anything else. She’d have to call Barbara and ask if she could add anything more. Or Claire could ask Jody her sign. She’d make up something about how useful astrology and charts were as therapeutic tools.

  “I don’t find it difficult,” Jody said. “What I find difficult is moving to Los Angeles. I have the horrible feeling that at the last minute something will happen and I won’t be able to do it.”

  “What will happen?”

  “Nothing, in reality. I mean, I wouldn’t be lucky enough for the world to end while I’m packing my stuff into my mother’s car. It’ll be more subtle, like we’ll get in the car and at the end of the driveway suddenly I’ll forget how to drive. The morning we’re supposed to leave I’ll be frozen, stuck to my bed, something like that.”

  “What could you do to prevent that from happening?”

  “Use plenty of antifreeze?”

  “Is there something we could do now, in the next two weeks, that would make the transition easier?”

  Claire had clipped herself back into a highly professional mode, forcing herself to respond only to the issues at hand, hoping nothing she said or did gave away what she was thinking.

  “I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to pick up and move myself and everything I own across the country. It makes no sense on one level. Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because that’s what you have to do in order to get what you want,” Claire said.

  “Maybe not. Maybe that’s not what I want. Maybe I should stay in New York or go home to Washington. Maybe I should just live in Washington for my whole life.”

  “You’ve got too much personality for Washington,” Claire said.

  Jody looked at Claire as if to ask, How do you know? Claire smiled. There was something about Jody that made it impossible for Claire to play it completely straight. She couldn’t; she didn’t want to. She glanced at Jody and tried to figure out what Jody was really like, outside the office, with her friends, with men.

  The relationship between patient and therapist was supposed to be a micro-moment, a mirror of the patient’s interaction with the world at large. The therapist was supposed to be the authority figure, the good mother, the perfect listener, the best kind
of friend — the one who never talked about herself. The dynamics were so heavily invested with potential meaning that it was impossible for the relationship to mirror anything except itself.

  “So,” Claire said, “in these next weeks, now that you’re not working as much, we can really get down to it.”

  Jody looked at her blankly.

  “You don’t have as many restrictions on your time. It’ll make things easier.”

  “I guess,” Jody said.

  There was a certain doubt on Jody’s part, a lack of trust. What was she afraid of — the process, the attachment, her own potential? Or Claire? Claire looked at Jody and Jody looked away. The richness of grilled American cheese rose in Claire’s throat. No, Jody shouldn’t be afraid of Claire. Claire loved her. Claire caught herself and repeated the thought more slowly: I love Jody. I do, she told herself, as though there were some part of herself she had to convince.

  “I’ve never told you this,” Claire said, “but I’m very glad I met you.”

  Jody looked at her like she was crazy.

  “I enjoy you,” Claire went on. “You’re lovable.”

  Jody shrugged.

  They were quiet.

  “How about tomorrow at ten-thirty?” Claire asked. “That way you can sleep late.”

  “I guess,” Jody said, getting up and heading for the door.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have done it; maybe she should have kept her mouth closed. What kind of trouble was she asking for? “See you tomorrow,” Claire whispered softly, sweetly.

  “Yeah, right,” Jody said, pulling the door closed behind her.

  17

  “The ring. Where’s the ring?” Jody said, looking at Ellen’s well-manicured but unadorned fingers. They were in line outside an undersized, overpopular, and not really very good restaurant in Soho, waiting for the privilege to have what would probably be their last brunch together for a long time.

  “Which would you be more inclined to accept? One: I gave it back to Rob with a note saying he was too good for me and that I was a fool. Or two: I sold it to buy myself a really great suit at The Baby Grows Up.”

  “What’s behind door number three?” Jody asked.

  “Traded it for drinks and drugs at a bar I can’t remember the name of. Tried to use it as a miniature cock ring and it shattered into a thousand pieces.”

  A guy in black leather shorts standing in front of them turned around, stared for a second, then pretended to be looking down the street.

  “Hard choices,” Jody said. “I pick number two.”

  “You don’t think much of me, do you? I’m hurt, genuinely hurt.”

  “Are there any parties of one?” the maitre d’ asked, stepping out onto the sidewalk. “Parties of one?”

  “One’s not exactly a party, is it?” Ellen said.

  “What happened?” Jody asked.

  “We had a fight. It was supposed to be one of those romantic strolls down by the water. He said I should stop acting like a whore and settle down. I pulled the ring off and threw it in the water.” Ellen smiled. “Or so he thinks.” She tapped her purse. “He called me a worthless bitch and tried to hit me. I ducked. And that was that.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Jody said.

  Ellen shrugged, and wiped away a little runny makeup. “So, what’s with you? How’s the shrink?”

  “She told me she was glad we’d met. ‘You’re very lovable,’” Jody said, imitating Claire’s voice.

  “You know, the odds of having a really good shrink are about the same as having a perfect childhood. Something’s wrong,” Ellen said. “Either it’s her or you.”

  “Or both.” Jody didn’t want to say things that Ellen could use as proof of the strangeness of the relationship, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to tell someone. The stuff with Claire was just too good, too interesting and confusing, to keep to herself.

  Without warning, Jody grabbed Ellen and pulled her under the restaurant’s awning. “Up the street,” she said, nodding north, “looking in the window. I think it’s her.” Jody hid behind Ellen and peeked out. “I swear, I think it is.”

  “Which one?” Ellen asked, excited, as though at any second she’d race over and ask for an autograph.

  “Tall, blond, hair up, sunglasses. Is it? I can’t look.”

  “This way, please, ladies,” the maitre d’ said, holding open the door. As they went in, Jody turned around and took a second look. She couldn’t be sure.

  “You should’ve gone over and said hi,” Ellen said, as they were seated at a tiny table next to the kitchen.

  “We would’ve lost our place in line,” Jody said. “Besides, she’s not exactly the kind of person you meet and say, wow, she’s really nice. She’s a little stiff, maybe more than a little.”

  “I’m not convinced that blond business is real,” Ellen said.

  “Usually she wears it in a bun.”

  “In a bun!” Ellen said. “Just like Betty Crocker! What, wrapped in a cinnamon swirl? ‘We’re out of time for today — I have to take my hair out of the oven. See you next week, we’ll make braided breadsticks.’” Ellen started laughing hysterically, and people at other tables looked over. Jody was afraid the waiter would come by and tell them to keep it down, or leave.

  “Sometimes she keeps me late,” Jody whispered. “She makes me stay overtime.”

  “Detention?” Ellen said. “No way. They’re supposed to throw you out. Bing! Hour’s up, you’re outta here.”

  The waiter put a basket of bread down on the table and handed them each a menu.

  “Great,” Ellen said. “Do you take credit cards?”

  The man nodded. “We take all kinds.”

  “Except with Claire,” Jody said. “If you’re in the middle of something, if the next victim’s not in the waiting room, she lets you stay. Five, ten minutes, sometimes a whole extra session.”

  “Oh my God,” Ellen said slowly, staring at Jody. “Don’t you see? She’s brainwashing you. That’s it. She’s indoctrinating you into a cult. Who knows when you’ll stay the whole afternoon. She’ll take you out for tea and poison you. My poor little pretty,” Ellen said, throwing her head back and laughing like the Wicked Witch of the West. Jody was petrified. “There’s nothing that can be done to save you, it’s already too late.”

  “Listen,” Jody said. “I know it’s different, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. In some ways things have changed since I started seeing her. I’m happier. She likes me, and that makes me feel good.”

  “And what happens when you leave? All that goes out the window. You’re on your own, kiddo.”

  “I doubt it. We’ll talk. I’ll visit.”

  “She’s your shrink, not your lover.”

  “You’re jealous,” Jody said, looking at the menu.

  Later, after they’d ducked in and out of stores up and down Wooster Street, Spring Street, Greene Street, picking up and putting down expensive primitive art from Idaho, garage-sale finds marked up three thousand percent, Ellen took both of Jody’s hands in hers and asked loudly, “Do you love me?”

  Jody didn’t answer.

  “Do you love her? You talk about her like you love her.”

  “It’s not the same,” Jody said.

  “You don’t love me. You don’t act like you love me. I’m so nice to you,” Ellen said. “I’m your best friend. For what it’s worth, as soon as I met you, I knew I loved you. I was a little scared of you — did I ever tell you that? Would you want to fuck me?”

  “No,” Jody said, pushing through the store and out onto the sidewalk.

  “Do you find me attractive?”

  “I never thought about it,” Jody said, lying. She had thought about it. When she first met Ellen in the elevator, there was definitely something there. Jody had the sensation of being seduced. But Ellen had a boyfriend — she had ten boyfriends — and Jody wanted one of her own. It had never occurred to her to want anything other than a boyfriend. The gap between men and women,
the same gap people complained about, was a relief. Men didn’t understand her, and didn’t pretend to; they weren’t her. She could fuck them and not feel as if she was giving up some part of her real self. She could fuck them and feel nothing except their weight, hardness, and breath against her.

  “I think I’m sexy,” Ellen said as they went into another store. “Men find me sexy. I’m good at it. I mean, if there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s sex.” The salesgirl stared at Ellen.

  “That’s nice,” Jody said.

  “Are you going to miss me when you’re in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes,” Jody said, picking up a fifty-dollar T-shirt, unfolding it, looking at it, then refolding it again. She wasn’t lying. In L.A. she’d be alone, really alone. The apartment building would be filled with Manson family rejects, earthquake plotters, ugly old actresses, and blind men, all writing screenplays based on their life stories.

  “I’ll miss you a lot,” Ellen said. “Maybe you should take me with you. I could live in your apartment, lay out by the pool all day. You will have a pool, won’t you?” They left the store and stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

  “Everyone has a pool,” Jody said. “You can come visit. Banking wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  “I know. I’m the only one there with decent tits.”

  “Do you want to catch a movie?” Jody asked.

  “Can’t,” Ellen said, checking her watch. “I have a date.”

  At Washington Square Park, Jody and Ellen said goodbye. They’d see each other again, probably in a few hours, but Ellen hugged Jody, and in a rare moment of she didn’t know exactly what, Jody hugged back. Ellen kissed both of Jody’s cheeks and Jody smiled. She didn’t kiss back. She wandered through the park thinking that she was seeing everything for the last time.

  When Jody got home, she called her mother.

  “Why are you calling? You never call. Is something wrong?”