“Joe. Annette. Good to see you both,” I welcomed the couple sitting in my waiting room, and they rose from their chairs.
“Annette, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Joe alone for the first part of our session today.”
“Oh.” Looking at first surprised, then a bit flustered, she sat back down. “Okay, whatever you think is best, Dr. Alvarez.”
“Would you like something to drink while you wait?” I offered.
Annette lowered her soft brown eyes to the floor. “No, no, I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s no bother.” I made a mental note to work with Annette on asserting herself.
“Margo, would you please get Mrs. Scolari a cup of coffee? Or maybe you’d prefer water?” I gave her a choice.
“Um, coffee would be nice. Decaf, if you have it.”
“And here’s the new issue of Travel & Leisure.” I grabbed the magazine, which was lying on the side table, and handed it to her. “Maybe it’ll give you some good ideas for your next vacation? Joe,” I summoned him in the same stern tone I would have used on a disobedient dog, and he scurried into my office. I followed him and shut the door behind us.
He was standing in the middle of the room, his posture slouched and an uncertain expression on his pudgy, mustached face. I walked towards him and stopped when there was only a foot of space between us. Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I stared directly at Joe and I waited, not saying a word. He did the same. I felt like I was in one of those old spaghetti Westerns that my father loved to watch. Of course, I was flinty, vengeful Clint Eastwood and Joe was the black-hat-wearing villain and no matter who pulled their gun first, he was going to be the one with a smokin’ bullet hole between the eyes.
“I’ve been thinking, Dr. Alvarez,” he finally spoke. “You can’t say anything to Annette about seeing me with Candy Friday night.”
“Oh, really? And why is that?”
“You can’t violate doctor-patient confidentiality.”
So, he thought he had me beat on a technicality?
“You’re right; I can’t. But I’m not bound by doctor-patient confidentiality in this case.”
Confusion made him frown. “Why not? I’m your patient, and you’re my doctor.”
“Yes. However, you didn’t confess your adulterous behavior to me during a session. I witnessed it when I was off-the-clock. So, you’re not protected by doctor-patient confidentiality, and I’m free to do whatever my conscience dictates.”
“Oh, crap.” Moving over to the couch, he slumped down on to it, looking defeated.
I sat in the chair opposite him and folded my hands in my lap. “Do you love your wife, Mr. Scolari?”
“Of course, I do,” he answered without hesitation. “We’ve been together for 17 years. She’s the mother of my children.”
“Then, why is there a Candy in your life?”
“A man gets bored. Marriage isn’t very exciting.”
“Maybe a woman gets bored, too. How would you feel if Annette decided to amuse herself with another man?”
“Annette would never do that,” he scoffed as if the idea was completely absurd. Why should his wife stray when she had a prize like him coming home to her every night?
“Probably not, because she loves you and is committed to your marriage. But that doesn’t mean that she isn’t just as bored and dissatisfied with your relationship as you are. Why do you think she wanted to come to therapy in the first place?”
“Because it’s what all her friends do?”
“No.” The man was seriously obtuse. “She’s trying to figure out what went wrong in your marriage and how to fix it. And if you’re not willing to meet her halfway and work on your issues, then you’re just wasting my time and I’ll have to put a stop to these sessions.”
“What? Wait! No!” He held his hands out beseechingly to me. “If you do that, then Annette will want to know why.”
“I’m sure she will, and it’ll behoove me to be honest with her.”
Joe started to perspire . . . heavily. “You can’t do that! She’d flip out. She’d take the kids and leave me.”
“And I could supply her with the name and number of Steven Myles, the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Miami.” Leaning forward, I whispered, “He plays tennis with my father.”
“No, no, we can’t get a divorce,” his voice was becoming higher-pitched as his panic level increased, and the sound of it gratified me. “We don’t have a pre-nup. She’d take me for half of everything.”
I inspected my manicure, seemingly indifferent to his plight. “Hmmmm, yes, that would probably be unpleasant for you.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll break things off with Candy.” He waved the proverbial white flag.
“That’s a step in the right direction, but you’re going to have to do more.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, making an effort to salvage your marriage. Successful marriages take work, Mr. Scolari. You can’t expect to keep the romance alive by working 12-hour days and ignoring your wife.”
“I guess I could spend more time at home.”
“And?”
“And pay more attention to Annette.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about the prospect.
“You need to put the fun and spontaneity back into your relationship with your wife,” I advised. “Surprise her, make romantic gestures, be affectionate, spend time together away from the kids.”
“And if I do all that, you’ll keep the Candy thing to yourself?” He wanted to confirm the terms of our bargain.
“As long as you’re making a genuine effort, I won’t enlighten Annette. Of course, if I have any reason to suspect that your eye is wandering again . . .”
“You won’t,” he promised. “I know how much I have to lose.”
I hoped that he was talking about the love of his wife and not 50% of his assets.
“I’m glad we understand each other. Let’s call Annette in, shall we?”
* * *
“I blackmailed a patient today.” Ford and I were strolling down the beach, eating a couple of Cuban Big Macs that we’d picked up at David’s Café, when I made this pronouncement.
“Well, that’s an interesting therapeutic technique,” he said before taking a huge bite out of his sandwich, which was a taste bud-pleasing combo of pork, ham, Swiss cheese, pickles, and mustard.
“I couldn’t think of any other way to handle it. If I’d told the wife that her husband was cheating on her, she’d have been devastated and their marriage would have been damaged beyond repair. And if I did nothing, he would have gone right on boffing that bleached blonde bimbo of his and neglecting his poor wife.”
“How’d you know the husband was cheating?” Ford asked.
“I ran into him and his girlfriend at a restaurant up in Lauderdale over the weekend. I was there on a date.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “With Victor?”
“God, no! It was a blind date arranged by my mother, and big surprise,” the sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable, “it was a total disaster. I don’t know why I let Mamá talk me into these things. The guy looked like he was on steroids, and he spent the whole night yammering on about exercise and how unhealthy every food I wanted to eat was. He actually implied that I had too much body fat if you can believe it.”
Ford smirked. “That’s the way to a woman’s heart.”
“I ended the date abruptly because Tony was working my last nerve and I was in a snit after seeing Jo- . . .” ACK! Don’t use real names, I reminded myself. “. . . Patient X in a compromising position. I tried to explain this to my mother when she called and woke me up at 6:00 the next morning to tell me how ungrateful I am and how it would serve me right if I ended up an old maid, but she didn’t want to hear it.”
“Relationships with mothers can be tough,” he sympathized.
“Especially when your mother is prone to histrionics and won’t butt out of your personal life. She and I are no longer on speaking terms, by the way.”
“Yikes.” He winced. “Sorry.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “She’ll get over it. She just needs to pout for a few days to make her point. Meanwhile, I get a break from her matchmaking and giving me unsolicited advice on everything from how I should lie about my age and pretend to be an airhead in order to get a man to what brand of toothpaste will make my teeth look whiter.”
“Your mother sounds like a character.”
“I love her, but she’s a lunatic. How’s your sandwich?”
“Spicy, salty, a little greasy, just the way I like my food.” He smiled playfully, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. Cute.
“I’m glad you suggested we come down here to eat. It’s such a pretty day.”
The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless blue sky, and there was a hint of a breeze wafting off the ocean. With my shoes in hand, I walked to the edge of the water and reveled in the feel of the warm, wet sand squishing between my toes.
Ford followed me to the shoreline, and we stood side-by-side, silently watching the waves crash at our feet. He didn’t seem to care that the hems of his trouser legs were getting soaked.
“I would have never been able to do this on my lunch hour when I was in New York,” he remarked.
“Miami definitely has its advantages.”
He turned to me. “So, what happened with Patient X?”
“I threatened to spill the sordid beans to his wife if he didn’t shape up and start participating in his marriage. You’re about to drop some mustard on your shirt.” I pointed to a big glob of the yellow condiment that was stealthily oozing its way out of the bottom of his Big Mac.
“Damn, these things are messy.” He flipped the sandwich over and licked the mustard off the bread.
“I’m afraid that I took this situation with Patient X too much to heart,” I lamented. “I got so irate when I saw him with that woman.”
“Because you identified too closely with the wife, or because his actions sabotaged all of the work you’d done with the couple in therapy?”
I mulled the question over for a moment before deciding, “The latter. I took his cheating as a personal affront. I’d thought that I was helping Patient X and his wife. Then, I found out that he’d disregarded every word I’d said in our sessions over the last few months and I was pissed.”
“I’ve been there and so has everyone in our field. When we start out, we all think, ‘I’m going to save the world one maladjusted person at a time.’ But patients don’t always listen to us, and it can be incredibly frustrating.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumbled.
“You’ll learn to disassociate yourself and not take it personally.”
I sighed. “Easier said than done. In case you haven’t noticed, the female of the species is a very emotional creature.”
“Which is what makes them so fascinating.” Grinning, he shoved the last of his lunch between his lips.
“Oh! I’ve got something for you.” I unzipped my purse and began to root around inside.
“Dessert?” he queried hopefully.
“If a stick of sugar-free gum counts as dessert, then yes. Otherwise, it’s a name and a phone number.” I handed him a post-it note with the info written on it.
Ford examined the small pink piece of paper. “Raymond Castaneira. Who’s he?”
“My brother-in-law. He’s married to my older sister, Ana. I’ve probably mentioned her before. After our talk about Nate and his obsession with baseball the other day, I remembered that my nephew, Charlie, who’s about Nate’s age, plays on a Tee-Ball team that his dad coaches.”
“Tee-Ball? Nate would love that.”
“I thought so, too. Plus, it would be a good way for him to meet kids his own age. I know you were concerned about him not being able to do that if he skips a grade next year. I called Raymond to get the scoop on the Pee Wee League, and he said that practices just started two weeks ago.”
“So, it’s not too late for Nate to join?”
“No, you just need to contact Raymond, and he can tell you which team is based in the area of town where your family lives and put you in touch with the right coach.”
“Wow, this was really thoughtful of you. Nate’s going to be thrilled.” He reached out for my hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. “Thank you.”
I felt ridiculously pleased, knowing that I’d done something to help Ford and make his son happy. Blushing, I murmured, “De nada.”
Ford’s watch beeped and he dropped my hand to take a look at it. “We’d better hoof it back to the office, or we’re going to have a couple of angry two o’clocks.”
“I’m ready.” I tossed what was left of my sandwich into a nearby trash receptacle and headed for the sidewalk, wondering why my hand was suddenly feeling all warm and tingly. Too much sun probably. I was absolutely 100% positive that it had nothing to do with Ford touching me. He was attractive, yes, but married, and I wasn’t the type of woman who got all hot and bothered over a hopeless cause.