CHAPTER
TEN
Wednesday, November 28
You enter the white-brick building on East Sixty-second Street and take the elevator to the third floor, as instructed. You press a buzzer to be admitted into the office, and you are welcomed inside.
You introduce yourself and offer your hand. Your grip is firm, and your palm feels cool.
Most people are intrigued by someone they’ve communicated with but have never met. They take a little time to reconcile the vision they may have created with the one standing before them.
Yet you make only perfunctory eye contact before you scan the room. Have you undertaken some research of your own?
Well done, Subject 52.
You are taller than presumed, perhaps five foot six, but otherwise there are no surprises. You unwrap the fringed blue scarf looped around your neck and smooth your hair, which is heavy with loose brown curls. Then you remove your coat, revealing a gray V-neck sweater and green cargo pants.
You’ve added subtle touches to your outfit: Your pants are rolled up to mid-calf length, just above your leather ankle boots. Your sweater is tucked in at the front to display a red woven belt. The ensemble should be a disaster, with the commingling of clashing colors and assorted fabrics. Yet it looks like something that could be featured on a fashion blog.
You are invited to sit down.
Where you choose to position yourself will be informative.
The seating area contains two leather wingback chairs and a love seat.
Most people select the love seat.
Those who don’t are typically men because, subconsciously, it allows them to feel authoritative in a vulnerable environment. The general rule is that clients who select a wingback are uncomfortable about being here.
You bypass the love seat and settle yourself in a chair, even though you exhibit no discomfort.
This is pleasing, and not completely unexpected.
The chair places you opposite the psychiatrist, directly at eye level. You look around again, taking an unhurried moment to orient yourself. The practitioner’s office must make clients feel welcome, protected, and safe. If the environment is not harmonious, a client may find it more difficult to achieve a sense of ease, and therapeutic goals will prove more challenging.
Your eyes skim across the painting of steel-blue ocean waves, then past the fresh-cut camellias with crisp green stems wrapped inside an oval vase. Your gaze lingers on the books lining the shelves behind the desk. You are sharp; you take in details.
Perhaps you have even noticed the first rule of therapy: The clinician must remain somewhat of a blank slate. The items in the office that have drawn your eye cannot be identifiably personal. There are no family photographs; nothing controversial, such as an item that identifies political leanings or social causes; and nothing ostentatious, such as an Hermès logo on a couch pillow.
A second rule of therapy: Do not judge your clients. The clinician’s role is to listen, to guide, to excavate the hidden truths of a patient’s life.
The third rule is to allow the client to direct the initial course of the conversation, so the session is generally opened with a variation of, “What brings you here today?” But this is not a therapy session, so this particular rule is broken. Instead, you are thanked for your participation.
“Dr. Shields,” you say, “before we begin, can I ask a few questions?”
Some people stumble, not knowing what form of address to use. You seem to understand the protocol instinctively: Despite the intimate revelations you have shared, boundaries need to be maintained . . . for now. Eventually the other two professional rules, as well as many more, will be broken for you.
You continue: “You said you’d explain about expanding my participation in your study. What does that mean?”
The project you have become engaged in is about to evolve from an academic exercise into a real-life exploration on morality and ethics, you are told.
Your eyes widen. With apprehension?
The scenarios will be perfectly safe, you are assured. You will be in complete control, and can back out at any time.
This appears to placate you.
You are reminded that the compensation is significantly higher.
This accomplishes the goal of further enticing you.
“How much higher?” you ask.
You are trying to move ahead too quickly. But this trial cannot be rushed. Trust must first be secured.
It is explained to you that a baseline must be established as the next step. You will be asked foundational questions.
If you agree to proceed, they will begin immediately.
“Sure,” you say. “Fire away.”
Your tone is nonchalant, but your hands slowly begin twisting together.
In response to the prompts, you describe your childhood in suburban Philadelphia, your younger sister with the traumatic brain injury and resulting cognitive and physical challenges, and your hardworking parents. You segue into your move to New York. Your eyes soften as you mention the little shelter dog you adopted, then you talk about selling cosmetics at Bloomingdale’s.
You break eye contact and hesitate.
“I like your nail polish.”
Deflection. This is a tactic you’ve not exhibited before.
“I could never wear burgundy, but it looks great on you.”
Flattery. Common in therapy, when a client is trying to be evasive.
Clinicians are trained to avoid making judgments about their patients. They simply listen for clues that will reveal what the client already knows, even if only subconsciously.
However, you are not in this office to explore your feelings, or to delve into unresolved issues with your mother.
You will not pay for this session, even though others who sit in your chair are charged $425 per hour. Instead, you will be compensated very generously.
Everyone has a price. Yours has yet to be determined.
You are staring at the therapist. The carefully constructed facade is working. It is all you see. It’s all you will ever see.
However, you will be stripped bare. You will need to summon skills and strength you may not have known you possessed in the coming weeks.
But you appear up to the challenge.
You are here against all odds. You snuck into the study without being issued an invitation. You didn’t share the same profile as the other women who were being evaluated.
The original study has been indefinitely suspended.
You, Subject 52, are now my sole focus.