You (You #1)(86)

“Amen,” I say. I picture Karen Minty on all fours with your little body hanging out of her mouth.

“Hey, I went on YouTube and watched that Honeydrippers video today right before you got here,” he says and his eyes pop. “I can understand your obsession. That video is trippy, that guy in his Speedo, that jacket. What is that jacket doing on that hanger?”

We laugh but his sadness is like a fever that shows up in his eyes, in his mouth. I feel bad about lying and his phone buzzes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I have to check it.” He says he has to step out—“shit hitting the fan at home,” now that he has broken the doctor-patient dynamic he can overshare again—and he promises to be back in five minutes. He closes the door and immediately I look at his computer. I wanted inside that computer the first time I stepped into this room. You live in there, somewhere, and the temptation to find the Sea of Love is overwhelming. I would swear that you are calling from inside the hard drive, luring me to your own sea, and I can’t help it. I really am like the guy in the video. And this is it, my big chance. I’ve never been alone in here and fuck it. I run over to Danny’s desk and I tap the space bar and dive in.

Looking at the screen-saver family snapshot of Nicky with his wife and his daughters makes me feel guilty. I’m violating our trust and Nicky’s family is so innocent, lined up in front of Nicky’s Pizza in Chestertown, NY. There’s something pathetic about a grown man forcing his wife and daughters to pose on a rainy day in front of a pizza place just because it’s called Nicky’s. I feel for the guy but I want you and I minimize the Honeydrippers video—he’s a good man, he really was looking at it—and I search the hard drive. Wow. Dr. Nicky doesn’t write about my sessions or your sessions or anyone’s sessions. He just dictates his thoughts into his iPhone and downloads the MP3 files onto his computer. There is a folder called GBeck with a bunch of audio files. I get that Van Morrison feeling that Nicky was talking about. I send myself the folder. I delete the e-mail in his sent folder. I empty the trash. I made it.

But I didn’t. It’s over. I fucked up.

Nicky’s back with a disappointed smile and he sighs. “Danny, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I tell you the video’s here and I leave. I’m losing it, Danny.”

I breathe. I made it after all. “No you’re not, Doc,” I say and I mean it.

He looks weak, and his voice is unsteady. “How about that referral?”

I take the referral and shake his hand and leave. I am sad for Nicky but nothing can touch my excitement over the files, GBeck. In the elevator I do something I never do. I pray for Nicky to find someone who can give him that Van Morrison feeling so that his bleached teeth won’t seem so laughably out of place on his drawn, sad face.

The elevator dumps me in the lobby and Danny Fox is dead. When I step outside I stumble, a fucking crack in the sidewalk. There is a black hole in my mind: Am I nuts? I could just keep eating Karen’s eggs and Karen’s pussy. I could start over with Nicky’s referral and try to live life without you.

I could.

But the truth is, cats bore me. I’d rather listen to tapes of Nicky talking about you than have intercourse with Karen Minty. And if Van Morrison’s not crazy, then neither am I.

Dear Joe, You are not a cat person. You want a mouse. Love, Joe





38


I have to buy headphones at a fucking deli because I have to know now what Nicky has said about you and the guy takes forever and why do so many morons go into customer service and I grab the headphones and mutter, thanks, asshole, and I’m out of there and I tear into the package and it’s sealed too tight and I scream and a few people on the street back away from me like I’m the Hulk busting out of his dress shirt and I duck into the alley and take the time to crack the plastic and get the headphones out and throw away the instructions and I can’t get them into my phone fast enough as I run down the stairs and swipe my MetroCard and hit play on the first MP3 as I step onto the train and sit down across from a blind black guy who smiles for no reason.

Okay, day one, Beck. Female. Early to mid twenties. Hypersexualized. Boundary issues. Father issues. Claims to be here to resolve her issues with men but doesn’t seem to realize that I have a ring on my finger. Only mode of communication is seduction. Repeatedly crosses her legs and wears a flimsy shirt without a bra. Attention seeking. Directly asks about transference, severe narcissistic disorder. Insists on calling me Dr. Nicky in spite of my repeated statements that I am not an MD. Repeatedly asks if I’m married and if I have a good sex life with my wife to avoid discussing her own life. Tells me she slept with her therapist in college. Repeatedly. I ask why she doesn’t see a female clinician and she says she has one mother, doesn’t need another. Possible borderline, predatory, masochistic tendencies.

The blind black guy is staring at me but he’s blind and he can’t see me and I can’t get mad at him and I skip ahead to another segment. Maybe the next one will be better. It has to be.

Marcia was a fucking nightmare this morning. Mack overslept again and Amy has the flu and Marcia is just incompetent as a mother. I almost canceled but found myself soothed by knowing that I would see Beck. I’ve grown to look forward to my time with this young woman. I find myself counting down, thinking about what I’ll wear that day. She makes my life bearable, damn it. Now who’s asking about transference? Today, she presents in sweatpants and a formless top, with messy hair and shiny skin. I can’t help but feel that she dressed down for me, which is more intimate than dressing up for me. We establish goals: She wants sexual confidence. Which I find amusing because she is sex.