Amie Barrodale - You Are Having a Good Time

“Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“This security guard. Well, I mean, I thought about you on the plane, too. Hold on.”

Dr. Sheppard recognized the vacuum pull and clink of little bottles — she was in the minibar. He heard her unscrew and pour — was it three or four, surely three — bottles.

“I’m back. What were we saying? ‘What wuz we sayin.’ Oh. Yeah, you’re in trouble, man. I saw David Kehn and he doesn’t even go to reunions, plus he said you already had your thirty-fifth.”

“Debbie, are you mixing alcohol with your medication?”

“Hey, and speaking of which— No, Mom! I’m talking to Emily!” she yelled. Then she whispered into the phone: “She wants me to come back and watch Steel Magnolias with her. Hold on, I’ll be right back — well, no, you can come with me.”

Dr. Sheppard heard Debbie fumble with a door and curse. Then he heard a stream of water. It was interrupted by a toot. Debbie laughed, and finished peeing. She flushed the toilet.

“Debbie, are you all right?”

“Shh! I can talk in here in the bathroom. I locked the door and she can’t hear.”

“Why?”

“Don’t worry; it’s not weird. It’s like the size of your whole office. It’s got a swimming pool. It’s got a Jacuzzi. The swimming pool here is carved out of the mountain. It’s the best. You’ve got to come here sometime. We could come together if that wouldn’t be weird.”

Kitty was calling Dr. Sheppard on his other line. He said, “Debbie, could you hold on for a second.”

“Sure, I’ll just sit here on the bathroom floor. Maybe I’ll start a bath. For when we get off, I mean. Is that your wife?”

“Just a second.”

“It’s another patient?”

He switched over.

“Oscar? I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m worried about Debbie. She’s very drunk. Is she calling you?”

“Hi.”

“Debbie’s not on the other line, is she?”

“No.”

“Of course. It sounded like you were on the other line, and my daughter’s drunk and hiding in the toilet. Listen. I’ve got a little questionarooni. I don’t know how to put it delicately.”

Debbie must have hung up and called him again: he had a call.

“Kitty, I have another call. Do you think maybe I could call you back?”

“I’ll hold.”

Dr. Sheppard switched over.

“Did you hang up on me? I’m just getting in the bath; I don’t care. It’s not weird. Who was that? You’re always so weird. It’s not very fair. Which is my point. I mean, that’s why I’m calling, about this marriage thing, because I need to know. I don’t want you to give me your professional act. What’s up? Why do you see me?”

“It is my job.”

“Cut the shit.”

“Debbie.”

“You’re a liar.”

Kitty had hung up and redialed. Dr. Sheppard said, “Can you hold on, I have this patient on the other line. It will just be a second.”

He was so anxious that he made a mistake. He thought he had switched over, but he hadn’t. He still had Debbie on the line. He said, “I lied a moment ago. I’m going to level with you: I have Debbie on the other line.”

“Still me,” Debbie said. “What a total fucking giveaway. It is your wife! Listen, I’m running a bath, is that cool? If your wife’s jealous I’m calling, just tell her I’m crazy. You should be home, anyway. It’s late. Are you in the office? ‘Tell me what you’re wearing.’ That’s a joke! Do you do phone sex with your wife? Can you do a session with me if I’m naked?”

Kitty’s call went to voicemail. She never left a message. He wondered if she would call again. A text message rolled in. It was from Kitty. It said, “I’m lying in bed right now and you’re all I can think about.”

She sent a second. “Tell me to take off my panties.”

The other line beeped. It was Kitty. He said, “Can you hold on for one second?” and switched over.

“Dr. Sheppard, have you ever really been fucked?”

“Could you hold on a second?”

He switched back to Debbie and said, “Debbie, I think we should discuss this in my office. I appreciate that you’ve been honest, but I worry this isn’t the time for us to have this sensitive of a, of a, of a … discussion.”

“Look, Dr. Sheppard. Let’s just tell the truth for once. I fucking love you, okay. I love you. I think about you all the time. I mean, tell me I’m wrong. I fucking talk about you. I fucking think about you. I jerk off to you. I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry. I heard it’s transference. It’s transference, that’s why I think about you — I’m messed up. I’m totally showing you my shit here. I’m fucked up. But the truth is, you’re in love with me, too. I know it. And you’re in love with my mother, which is fucking insane.”

“It isn’t transference,” Dr. Sheppard said. “Our connection is real.”

“Oh good. Oh, that’s really good. I know it is.”

“But I think it would be wise of us to discuss this at a different time.”

“I know I know I know,” Debbie said. “I know. Don’t start all that. What I want to know is, did you tell my mother you polished my shoes.”

“No.”

“Because that was this privately totally cool thing between us, and you can’t fucking share it with her. She’s so fucked up. Now she’s like jealous of me, because I’m not a size ten anymore and I can basically wear her fucking belts, and she’s — old. Like I give a shit about her belts or the fucking maître d’. You know? But it’s like a contest — who can nail the maître d’. ‘Fucking take the fucking—’ Jesus, is it my fault he comes on to me? I mean, who gives a fuck about the maître d’, Dr. Sheppard.”

“Debbie, can I have confidence you won’t hurt yourself?”

“You think I’m suicidal?”

“I mean, could you stop drinking and taking pills for the night.”

Debbie hung up the phone. He switched over, and Kitty said, “Hello.”

* * *

Dr. Sheppard came down with the flu, and had to miss three appointments with Debbie. When he saw Debbie again, he was scared. He didn’t know how to proceed. She looked good. She was wearing jeans and a polo shirt, and she had gotten sun. She even had some freckles on her breastbone.

She said, “I want to apologize for calling you, and for the things I said. I’d had a lot to drink, and I wasn’t really myself.”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything serious.” Dr. Sheppard waved a hand. “I mean, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I feel like I do. I mean, I was serious. Everything that I said was true.”

“I don’t think I follow.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Sweetheart, you just don’t have any real friends.”

“I have a ton of friends.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She said, “What difference does it make?”

He argued that her love came out of loneliness, and she argued that all love came out of mutual loneliness. She said, “The deeper the loneliness, the deeper the love.”

She stood up. She picked up one of his Satsuma vases and threw it. Her aim was excellent, and it soared across the room toward the large window. It hit the window, bounced off, and landed on the carpet. Dr. Sheppard had expected it to shatter, but he stood and went around the desk and found it unharmed. He picked it up and held it.

Debbie was looking for something else to throw. She picked up a glass vase of cut lilies — a gift from one of his divorced patients — and chucked it against the wall. It sprayed dirty, rotten flower water across his desk, across the wall and the front of his shirt, but the vase did not break. It landed on the hardwood floor, the flowers still inside.

“Debbie,” Dr. Sheppard said. “Debbie.”