5. In Treatment

One of the things I love about New York is how everything is just shoved together and on top of each other.  Restaurants can be on the lower level of buildings and apartments can be on the top.  I always wanted to live on top of a restaurant.  Do you think those people ever cook?  When my Mom left us when I was eight-years-old, the last thing she ever said to me was, “Even if you eat at the best restaurant every single night, you’re still gonna get sick of the food.”  I always wondered if that was true.  I guess living on top of a good restaurant was the best way to find out. 

Unfortunately, Los Angeles is not like this.  Everything is spread out far apart and you have to drive through endless traffic to get anywhere.  I’ve never been to a psychiatrist before.  I’ve auditioned for that show In Treatment on HBO and it seems kinda cool.  I just hope my shrink isn’t as old as Gabrielle Burn.  Wasn’t he in The Exorcist?

I sat in a little waiting area for about 20 minutes before the door opened.  It was kinda spooky.  I heard the latch unlock and then the door drifted open.  It was awkward to poke my head in with the crutches, but once I did, I saw a guy in his 30s sitting in a nice chair in front of another nice chair.  The office was decorated in IKEA furniture and there were no large leather couches like you see in TV shows.  Just the two chairs.  You had to sit face to face with the shrink and boy, let me tell you, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

This doctor was gorgeous.  He had chestnut hair with great teeth and bright blue eyes.  He had a deep voice, big beautiful hands, and smelled expensive.  He didn’t seem hairy, but was still masculine even though he had an argyle sweater vest over a button up.  I kinda wished I wasn’t hobbling around on crutches, but I guess that made me look vulnerable.

“You must be Novella,” he said, “I’m Simon.”  With those few words, I felt like someone wrapped me in a down comforter after a warm shower.  I never wanted to leave.  I just wanted to talk with him forever.  So I did.

I told him about my Mom leaving and how my Dad killed himself and my sister a few years later.  I told him about how my foster Dad was a total pervert and all that other bull shit therapists want to talk about.  But most of all I told him about me.  How I loved acting and how it’s the only time I’m free from all that other stuff.  I told him about how I would love to make a lot of money someday just so I could give it all away to charity.  I didn’t need to live in a big, fancy mansion and go to clubs.  I just needed to be able to eat.

And that’s when he said it.  It was something that would change my life forever.  Simon looked at me, leaned over in his nice chair and asked, “Would you like to go to dinner tonight?”  I’m sure this was in violation of something, but remember, I was forced to do this therapy garbage, so I was all in.  You’re God damned right I do, you beautiful bastard!  “I would love to,” I said with a smile.

I spent the afternoon finding a nice dress to wear that covered my foot and accented my   eyes.  Sure, I didn’t have any money to spend, but that’s why God invented credit cards.  I met Simon at his place and from there we went out to a beautiful restaurant.  By the time the night was over, we were all over each other: Holding hands, giggling, hugging.  All I needed now was one little kiss.  He told me, “I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” and I said, “I don’t care.”  We kissed and I hobbled back to my car.  Besides my missing foot and my messed up hand, I felt perfect.

I got back to the apartment only to find Candice sitting in my living room like a worried parent.  “Where have you been?” she demanded.  I was so high from my date I didn’t even realize she was angry.  “I just got back from a date.  I cannot WAIT to tell you about this guy.  His name is . . . . ”  Candice lifted her hand and stopped me.  “Novi,” she said, “What are you doing to yourself?”  I was confused, “I just got back from a date.  We made out.”  She put her head in her hands and spoke through her fingers, “No . . . what did you do to your foot?”  Oh yeah.  That.  “I need to go to bed.”

I hobbled to my room.  Candice called after me but I slammed the door.  I wasn’t angry.   I just didn’t want to deal with it.  I was hungry.