Thinking of the way she’d moved against Mitch’s hard body in an effort to get closer, gain more ground, she said, “Believe me, I’m not a nun. But it is gratifying whenever I help patients through a rough patch or enable them to see themselves from a different and emotionally healthier perspective.” Softly, she added, “Such as yourself, Roland.”
“Yeah, you helped me look at some things different.” He guffawed. “Talk about hard work.”
She laughed.
Then he said, “Maybe you should cut back.”
“Cut back?”
“On your number of patients. Get rid of a few and don’t take on any new ones.”
At first she thought he was still speaking in jest. Then realized he wasn’t. “I have no intention of cutting back or turning away anyone who comes to me seeking help.”
“It would go against your nature? You’re a bleeding heart? A sucker for a sob story?”
She frowned. “No. Because I empathize with people who are struggling to recover from a problem or traumatizing experience that seems insurmountable.”
He must have sensed that she’d been put off by what he’d said. “Look, I meant no offense. But, you know, I’m used to chewing ass.” He waved his hand to indicate the busy restaurant. “I’m tough on anyone who screws up so they’ll be sure not to again.”
She could envision that, and was glad she was his therapist and not his employee. “This has been lovely. Thank you again. But I need to get on my way.” She picked up her purse and pushed back her chair. He came around to hold it for her.
“I have a car and chauffeur waiting to drive you home.”
“So do I, Roland,” she said with a light laugh. “I wanted to indulge in a martiniandwine, so I changed my mind about driving myself.” As they made their way to the door, she said, “You haven’t made another appointment for a session.”
“I’ll give you a call.”
She looked at him askance. “It’s been six weeks.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I sensed an urgency when you called yesterday. Is there something specific you need to talk about? I would make time for you.”
“You would?”
“Of course.”
They had reached the door, but rather than opening it, he turned to face her. “Do all your patients get special treatment like that?”
“When I feel it’s called for.”
“Huh. Are any of them as interesting as me?”
Am I your most challenging patient to date? You’re in the running.
She gave another soft laugh, but it was over that tidbit with Mitch, not over Roland’s question. In answer to him, she replied, “None come close.”
“Come on,” he drawled in his Bronx accent. “I bet you’ve got some really messed-up characters coming to you.” He leaned in and spoke in a confidential tone. “You don’t have to name names. Just give me a hint of what ails them.”
“Even that would violate privilege, Roland. You know I won’t do that.”
His eyes held steady on hers. He didn’t even blink. “Good to know. Real good.” He held the stare for seconds longer, then pushed the door open, held it for her, and followed her out.
“That’s my car.” She waved to a black sedan parked at the curb some distance away. To signal that he’d seen her, the driver blinked the headlights.
Then her attention was drawn to the median of the wide boulevard where two men appeared to be in a scuffle, pushing and shoving, swapping insults.
When her hired car pulled up to the curb and blocked her view of what was happening, she went up on tiptoe in order to see over the roof of the car. By now the scuffle had escalated into a full-fledged fight. The two were going at each other with intent.
