The Schopenhauer Cure(74)

Silence. The members seemed bewildered about how to respond. Then Tony whistled and said, “Welcome back, Pam.”

“No sense of being here if I’m not going to be honest,” said Pam.

“What are you feeling, Gill?” asked Julius.

“Oh, just my typical feeling when I get a drop-kick to my belly—spitting out a few pieces of pancreas. Is that personal enough, Pam? Wait, wait, sorry, don’t answer. I didn’t mean that. I know you’re giving me good straight stuff. And deep down, I know you’re right.”

“Say more about that Gill, about her being right,” said Julius.

“She’s right. I could reveal more. I know that. I have things I could say to people here.”

“To who, for example?” asked Bonnie.

“Well, you. I really like you, Bonnie.”

“Nice to hear, Gill, but it’s still not too personal.”

“Well, I got off on you calling me a hunk a couple of weeks ago. And I don’t buy into your labeling yourself homely and so out of Rebecca’s beauty league—I’ve always had a thing—maybe ever since Aunt Val—about older women. And I’ll be honest, I had some juicy fantasies when you invited me to stay at your place when I didn’t want to go home to Rose.”

“That why you didn’t take Bonnie up on her offer?” asked Tony.

“Other stuff came up.”

When it became clear Gill was not going to elaborate, Tony asked, “You want to say more about the other stuff?”

Gill sat for a moment, his bald pate glistening with sweat, and then mustered resolve and said, “Tell you what, let me go around the rest of the group and talk about my feelings.” He began with Stuart, who sat next to Bonnie. “For you, Stuart, I got nothing but admiration. If I had kids, I’d feel lucky to have you as their doctor. And what you described last week doesn’t change any of my feelings.

“And you, Rebecca, tell you the truth, you intimidate me—you seem too perfect, too pretty, too clean. What you told us about the incident in Las Vegas doesn’t change that—to me you’re still pristine and spotless with tons of confidence. Maybe it’s because I’m flustered now, but I can’t even remember why you’re in therapy. Stuart’s image of you being a porcelain doll—that rings true—maybe you’re a little too brittle, maybe you got some sharp edges—I don’t know.

“And, Pam, you’re a straight shooter, blunt, smartest person I’d ever met until Philip entered—he can give you a run for it. I know I don’t want to get on the wrong side of either of you. But, Pam, you’ve got stuff to work on with men. They’ve given you hard times, but then, again, you hate us. All of us. Hard to know what’s chicken, what’s egg.

“Philip, you’re way up there, like, in another whole layer or…or realm of being. But I wonder about you. I wonder if you’ve ever had a friend—I can’t see you actually hanging out, having a beer, talking about the Giants. I can’t see you having a good time or actually ever liking anyone. And I’ll tell you the real question for me: why aren’t you lonely?”

Gill continued on, “Tony, you’re fascinating to me, you work with your hands, you really do things, not push numbers around like me. I wish you weren’t so ashamed of your work.

“Well that’s everybody.”

“No, it’s not,” said Rebecca, glancing toward Julius.

“Oh, Julius? He’s of the group, not in the group.”

“What’s ‘of the group’ mean?” asked Rebecca.

“Oh, I don’t know, just a cute phrase I heard and been wanting to use. Julius—he’s just there for me, for everyone, he’s far above us. The way he…”

“He?” asked Julius, pantomiming searching about the group. “Where is this ‘he’ guy?”

“Okay, I mean you, Julius, the way you’re handling your illness—I mean it’s impressive—I’ll never forget it.”

Gill stopped. Everyone’s attention remained riveted upon him, but he exhaled with a loud “whoosh.” He looked as though he had had it and settled back in his chair, obviously fatigued, and took out a handkerchief and wiped his face and head.

Sentiments such as “good job, you took some risks” were voiced by Rebecca, Stuart, Tony, and Bonnie. Pam and Philip remained silent.

“How was that, Gill? You satisfied?” asked Julius.

Gill nodded. “I broke some new ground. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“How about you, Pam? You satisfied?”

“I’ve already put in my time today as the group bitch.”

“Gill, let me ask you to do something,” said Julius. “Imagine a continuum of self-revealing. At one pole, which we’ll call ‘one,’ is the safest revealing, cocktail party stuff; and at the other pole, call it ‘ten,’ would be the deepest and riskiest revealing you can possibly imagine. Got that?”

Gill nodded.

“Now look back on your go-round just now. Tell me, Gill, what kind of score would you give yourself?”

Continuing to nod, Gill answered swiftly, “I’d give myself a ‘four,’ maybe a ‘five’.”

Julius, wanting to circumvent intellectualization or other defenses from Gill’s arsenal of resistance, responded instantly, “And now tell me, Gill, what would happen it you were to ratchet up a notch or two?”