While staring fixedly at the phone on my desk, I crunched down on my fourth Pirouette of the morning. It wasn’t exactly a nutritious breakfast, but the cookies were the perfect complement to my Café con Leche. And if I got fat from eating too many of them, I figured I could just blame the extra pounds on my mother since she was the one who’d introduced me to the damn things in the first place. Those cookies really were like chocolate-drizzled crack. The more I ate, the more I wanted. I knew I was binging because of stress. I always turned to food when I was feeling anxious, or scared, or depressed or . . . clearly, I had an oral fixation, which could also be blamed on my mother because she hadn’t breast-fed me.
Why didn’t the phone ring?
God, it had been so hard for me to make that call. I’d agonized about it for a full twenty-four hours before picking up the phone and when I finally had, my palms had been slick with sweat, and my heart had thudded so sickeningly in my chest that I’d thought I might throw up. Having to leave a message had just prolonged my suffering. Now, I had no choice but to sit, and wait, and fret . . . it was like being subjected to some exceedingly slow, painful form of torture. He might have been behind closed doors when I’d called, but I could have asked his secretary to interrupt. Why hadn’t I asked his secretary to interrupt? If I had, this dreaded conversation would have been done and over with and I wouldn’t be at risk of developing an ulcer or going into sugar shock before he returned my call. My phone intercom buzzed and I not only jumped out of my chair, but shrieked with fright and knocked my coffee cup over.
“Yes, Margo,” I answered while trying to mop up the mess on my desk. Please be him. Please be him. Please be him.
“Sara’s on the line.”
I sighed disconsolately. “Thanks.”
“Hello,” I greeted my friend after picking up the phone receiver and bringing it to my ear.
“Guess where I am?” she shouted into her cell.
I could hear a lot of background noise, but it was too muffled to make out any sound in particular.
“No clue.”
“The airport! I’m wheeling my luggage through the terminal on the way to Gate D-12 as we speak.”
“Where are you going, and why do you sound so perky about it?” Sara was a notoriously whiny traveler. She usually started complaining the minute she got her suitcase out of the closet and didn’t stop until she’d been back home for a week and had fully recovered from the jet lag, which always afflicted her whether she changed time zones or not.
“I’m going to New York, Manhattan to be precise, and I’m perky because I’ve got an appointment later today to meet with the HEAD BUYER at Bloomingdale’s corporate offices.”
“Wow!” I stopped cleaning and sat down. “How did that happen?”
“One of the Head Buyer’s minions was at the Fashion Extravaganza on Saturday, and she loved my line so much that she called New York and set up this meeting with all the bigwigs. They’re talking about putting Serafina Swimwear in Bloomies nationwide, Pilar, NATIONWIDE!” She could barely contain her excitement.
“What an amazing opportunity! All of your hard work and sacrifice has finally paid off. I am so happy for you!”
“Well, it’s not a fait accompli yet. I still have to do my presentation, and everyone at Corporate has to agree that I’m fabulous and that my suits will appeal to their clientele.”
“Those muckety-mucks in New York aren’t going to know what hit them. You’ve got the whole package: talent, beauty, and personality. You’re a fashion star about to go supernova.”
Sara chuckled. “I’m electing you president of my soon-to-be-formed fan club.”
“I only speak the truth.”
“Hold on. I’m making a pit stop at Cinnabon. A cinnamon roll and a Mochalatta Chill please,” she placed her breakfast order.
A cinnamon roll? Yum, that sounded good. I eyed the Pirouette canister. What would a fifth cookie hurt? I looked at the nutritional label on the back of the tin. Holy #&$@! How could there be that many calories in one skinny, little cookie? I did some quick mental calculations and came to the sad conclusion that even if I spent my entire lunch hour speed-walking all the way to the beach and back, I wouldn’t be able to burn off the four Pirouettes I’d already inhaled.
“Pilar, are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I tossed the cookie canister in the trash.
“So, we’ve established that my future’s so bright I’m going to have to start wearing SPF 100 or run the risk of getting third-degree burns, but what about you? Come to any decisions about Ford?”
“No, I’ve backburnered that drama while I stress out over how to pay my rent tomorrow.”
“Mmmmm.” It sounded like she was swallowing something, probably a delicious, gooey bite of that cinnamon roll. “That’s right, tomorrow’s the first. How much are you short?”
“$1000.”
“The whole amount of the increase? Yikes!”
“It’s been a bad month. I lost a couple of patients, and there were all those legal expenses for Izzy. That thousand will just cover my rent. I, also, have to worry about paying Margo and the phone bill next week.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I’ve got a call in to my father. I’m going to have to bite the bullet and ask him for a loan, a loan that I’ll probably never be able to pay back.”
“You know he won’t mind,” Sara assured me. I heard slurping noises as she sucked her Mochalatta Chill through a straw.
“But I do. I feel like such a failure! I’ve worked so hard to build this practice and make it a success . . .”
“You need more time.”
“I’ve had six months,” I reminded her.
“I just read a report in the South Florida Business Journal that said it takes two years on average to get a new business off the ground.”
“Are you making that up?”
“The article might have been in Cosmo,” she admitted, “but same difference. There’s no way that anyone could make a business profitable in just six months.”
“Maybe I just don’t have what it takes to be a good businesswoman? I’d probably be better off working in a clinic, or joining an established practice.”
“Where somebody else would be the boss and you wouldn’t have control over anything? Nu-uh, bad idea.”
“At least, I wouldn’t have to worry about keeping books, paying bills, and advertising for new clients. I could just focus on my patients and leave all of those administrative headaches to someone else.”
“Okay, you’re really starting to depress me with this defeatist attitude of yours. It’s not like you to give up without a fight.”
“I’ve been fighting for six months. I can never seem to get ahead. It’s like the Fates are conspiring against me.”
“That’s a bunch of crap, and you know it.” Sara refused to let me blame my professional misfortunes on a trio of mythological hags. “You’re in charge of your own destiny, just like I was in charge of mine. Look at what I’ve managed to accomplish with nothing more than a dream and a sketch pad.”
“You’re a bona fide success story.”
“And as such, I’m going to give you a little advice. No, scratch that. What I’m about to offer you isn’t just advice; it’s a carefully constructed, three-step plan that’s guaranteed to make your life a lot easier and happier.
Step one, take your father’s money for a few months and don’t feel guilty about it.
Step two, out Izzy as the law-breaking screw-up she is and let your parents deal with the legal mess she’s gotten herself into, as well as the financial fallout.”
“But, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Sara’s tone was firm and unyielding. “You’re enabling her and you’re hurting yourself in the process, which is counterproductive, self-destructive, masochistic, and to be frank, kind of boneheaded.”
I didn’t even bother to register a protest because I knew she was right. I had been covering up for Izzy to my own detriment for way too long.
“Step three, find the very tasty Dr. Fordham, tell him that he’s an idiot, but so are most men and it wouldn’t be fair for you to hold one of the innate deficiencies of his gender against him, so you’ll forgive him. Then, throw him down on the floor or up against a wall, lady’s choice, and have hot, mind-blowing sex with him.”
“You and my mother,” I grumbled.
“She wants you to have sex with Ford, too?”
“She wants me to marry him in a big white wedding, move to an expensive beachfront property, and start giving her granddaughters.”
“Smart woman.”
I groaned with feeling. “This is all wrong. You’re not supposed to be pro-Ford. You’re supposed to be outraged on my behalf. You’re supposed to rant and rave about what untrustworthy bastards men are, then tell me to kick Ford in the ‘nads and never speak to him again.”
“Well, if it were anyone else I would, but I can’t encourage damaging Ford’s reproductive organs.”
“Why not?” I asked. “What makes him so special?”
“He’s the one, Pilar. You may not see it now because you’re confused and hurt, but take it from me, I’ve been your friend a long time, I know what you need, I know what’ll make you happy, and Ford is it. He’s perfect for you in every way imaginable. You’re like two peas in a pod, brilliant and kind-hearted, caring and family-oriented, funny and giving. Ford’s wife was the only thing standing between the two of you all this time, and it turns out she’s not even an issue.”
“On the contrary, her specter continues to loom large over our relationship. If Ford had been honest with me about Samantha from the beginning, I wouldn’t be feeling all of these doubts and reservations now.”
“He messed up. Cut the guy some slack.”
“Counsels the woman whose credo regarding men has always been, ‘One strike, and you’re in my rearview,’” was my acerbic rejoinder.
“I’ve never met a guy who was worthy of a second chance before. Ford is.”
“Since you’re so keen on him, why don’t I set the two of you up? I hear he’s single,” I snarked.
“Ha, ha, very funny. I said Ford was perfect for you, not me. Like I’d want a guy who’d sit around analyzing my artistic quirks all day,” she scoffed. “He’d probably commit me. Hold on, they’re making an announcement about my flight.”
I could hear an amplified voice saying something about first-class ticket holders.
“Okay, they’re boarding my section. I’ve got to run.”
“You’re flying first-class?”
“That’s right. I’m traveling in style, all expenses paid by Bloomies, baby. I wonder if they still serve champagne in first-class?”
“If so, drink an extra glass for me and good luck!”
“Same to you, with your father anyway. You won’t need any luck with Ford. It was meant to be!”
I heard a click, then the line went dead. Hanging up, I rested my chin in my hands and thought about what Sara had said. Why was everyone so sure about Ford except me? My mother, my best friend, even my kid sister were all supporters of the perfect-on-paper shrink. I envied their clarity. Of course, it was easy to have clarity when it wasn’t your heart at risk. I was so terrified of taking another wrong turn in my love life; I’d already been down so many dead end roads, and the last thing I wanted was to get permanently lost in disappointment. What I needed was a sign that my faith in Ford hadn’t been misplaced, some kind of confirmation that he was a good man who could be trusted with my love.
My intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Margo,” I spoke into it.
“Ms. Bryant is here.”
Swell. The teary-eyed, desperation-oozing poster child for relationships-gone-awry. Seeing her was just the downer I didn’t need.
“Send her in,” I instructed, then rose to my feet and headed for the door.
The minute I opened it, Lori threw herself into my arms and gave me the most enthusiastic hug I’d ever received.
“Oh, Dr. Alvarez,” she pulled back and addressed me breathlessly, her face glowing, her eyes bright with happiness, “thank you SO much for seeing me early today.”
“No problem.” Her animated behavior and appearance were rather disconcerting. Could this be the same Lori Bryant who usually showed up for our sessions hysterical and ready to slit her wrists because some guy had done her wrong yet again? “You know I don’t mind working around your schedule.”
“And I really appreciate that. It’s so good to see you!” She embraced me again, this time a little less zealously, then smiled beatifically before moving over to the couch.
I followed, feeling like I was in some alternate reality where up was down, white was black, and my emotionally overwrought patient was not only calm, but radiating positive energy.
“So,” I said as I sat down in my chair and reached for my pad and pen, “how have you been?” Lori had cancelled her appointment the previous Tuesday because she’d gone out of town on a spur-of-the-moment trip, so we hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks.
“Fantastic!” she enthused. “I’ve never been more blissed out.”
“And why is that?”
Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she confessed in a near-whisper, “I met someone, the most wonderful, amazing, special someone.”
“Tell me more.”
She shook her head, making her tight red curls bounce like springs. “I can’t.”
I crinkled my brow with confusion. “Why not?”
“I’m afraid I’ll jinx it.”
“Fair enough.” If Lori didn’t want to share the intimate details of her relationship with Mr. Wonderful, Amazing, and Special, I wasn’t going to push it.
“I will tell you that he treats me like a queen. He takes me to the most romantic places, we just got back from the Bahamas . . . have you ever been to the Bahamas?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh, you have to go!” she insisted rather vehemently. “The beaches there are soooo beautiful. We stayed at this resort that had the most incredible spa and restaurants. It was heaven!”
She stared off into space dreamily for a few seconds as she relived her vacation in paradise.
“You know what the best thing about my guy is?”
“He’s got a good travel agent?” I responded with a smirk.
“No. The best thing about my guy is that he wants to spend every minute of every day with me, not like all those other creeps I’ve dated. He doesn’t need ‘time’ or ‘space’; he just wants to be with me.”
So, Lori had finally found a man as needy and starved for attention as she was? Proof that the old adage, “There’s someone for everyone,” was true.
“That’s great, but what about your job?” I wondered.
She shrugged with indifference. “I quit the salon last week. This relationship is my career now, and I need to devote myself to it fully.”
I was appalled.
“But cutting hair was your livelihood! How will you support yourself?”
“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. My boyfriend is rich. He’ll take care of me.”
“You’re moving in together then?”
“It’s still a little early in our relationship for that. After all, we just met 12 days ago.”
“12 days?!?!?!?!” My voice went all high-pitched and squeaky with disbelief. “You gave up your job for a man you haven’t even known two weeks?”
“But it feels like we’ve known each other a lifetime! This man is the one I’ve been waiting for, my perfect match, my true love, I feel it down deep in my soul. Please, don’t try and talk me out of this, Dr. Alvarez,” she begged. “I am so happy and I want you to be happy for me.”
As her therapist, it behooved me to issue some words of caution about this new, mutually co-dependent relationship of hers, but I didn’t have it in me to extinguish the light in her eyes. Who knew? Maybe things would work out for Lori and her mystery man? They obviously had a lot in common, an inability to function on their own, a tendency towards possessiveness and fixations, unrealistic expectations of romantic partners . . .
I took Lori’s hands in mine and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “I am happy for you. Delighted, in fact. I wish you only the best in this relationship and I hope that it’s everything you want and need it to be.”
“Really?” My endorsement of her latest hook-up seemed to surprise her. “You don’t think I’m rushing into this or letting my emotions carry me away without regard for the consequences?”
“Not at all. I admire you for throwing caution to the wind and taking a chance on love.” I only wished that I was brave enough to do the same . . .
* * *
“Take care. See you next week!” I waved good-bye to Lori after she’d settled her bill with Margo and scheduled her appointment for the following Tuesday.
“Here.” My receptionist handed me an overnight envelope once we were alone. “FedEx delivered this a little while ago.”
I looked at the airbill stuck to the envelope and got a pain in my head when I saw that it was from Corman & Mackelvy Management Co. What did they want? I wasn’t late with my rent yet. Did they think I was going to forget about the increase?
“I hate these guys,” I muttered irritably as I ripped the envelope open. I extracted the letter and packet of papers that were inside and quickly perused the former.
“Oh, my gosh! I love these guys!” I exulted.
“Why? What did they say?”
“Dear Dr. Alvarez,” I read aloud, not only for Margo’s benefit, but for my own, because I needed to confirm that I hadn’t somehow misconstrued the contents of the letter.
“After much consideration and a second review of your file, the owner of the building at 2390 11th Street, in which you currently lease office space, has authorized us, as their agents, to waive the $1000 increase in your monthly rent for an additional six months. Enclosed please find a new lease, which locks in the rate of $3500 thru December of this year. We ask that you sign and date this document and return it to us with your payment for July by the close of business this Friday.
Thank you for being a valued tenant.
Sincerely,
Roger P. Corman”
“And people say there isn’t a God,” I murmured reverently.
Margo took the letter out of my hand and gave it the once-over herself. “There is definitely a higher power at work here, and whoever, or whatever, it is saved your toochis just in the nick of time.”
I was definitely going to have to go to church, light a few candles, and offer up a prayer of thanks on bended knee, but I had another stop to make first.