Chapter Seven
The following morning found Penny seated in the offices of Dr. Pamela Johnson, psychologist. Her mum had surprised her with the news that she had called for an appointment yesterday and, luckily, they had a space in the morning where someone else had dropped out. Penny’s protests that she didn’t want to see the psychologist were drowned out by her parents, insisting it would do her good. Rather than argue, Penny just gave in. Like she always did.
She was ushered into Dr. Johnson’s office five minutes after her allotted appointment time. The doctor was a short, stocky woman with short, wavy, dark blonde hair and trendy glasses. She exuded an aura of competence, rather than sympathy. Penny was surprised. She had expected someone more vivacious, maybe like Barbara Streisand, but instead, she was looking into the steely gaze of Helen Mirren. It made her even more nervous about the visit.
Dr. Johnson sat down on one side of a tan leather couch, and waved Penny to the other. Another surprise. There was nowhere for her to lay down. The doctor seemed to notice her hesitation and smiled.
“You seem a little bit nervous.”
Penny laughed hollowly, hearing the strain in her own voice. “It’s different to what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Well, there should be a couch. And you should have a clipboard or something and be saying, ‘Tell me about your mother.’”
It was the doctor’s turn to laugh. “Not quite the way we do things anymore. I’ll still take notes, but I use a notepad. And these days we have a conversation, rather than you just talking at me and then me telling you what’s wrong with you.”
Penny let out a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding. “So, where do we start?”
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”
Straight into it then thought Penny, trying to order her thoughts.
“Well… I had a couple of panic attacks. At least that’s what the doctors think they were.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t know what they were. I thought I was having problems with my heart, but all the tests came back clear.” Penny furrowed her brow, thinking back. “I guess I just don’t like the thought of them being panic attacks.” She smiled a little sheepishly at Dr. Johnson.
“Why?”
“Because that would mean I have something to panic over.”
“And do you?”
Penny paused. The doctor’s question opened the conversation to dangerous territory. Things she didn’t want to talk about, or even think about. But wasn’t that the whole purpose of being here? Penny really didn’t want to have any more panic attacks. Their randomness and their sharp, sudden pain and lack of control were terrifying. But she also didn’t want to open the locked box of memories shoved deep in her brain.
“I don’t think so. My mum seems to think I need to talk about an abortion I had, but that was years ago.” There. She’d put it out there, and effectively blocked conversation about it. She felt a little smug.
“Why would your Mum think that?”
Penny shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it still affects her.” She shrugged. “We just don’t talk about it at all.”
“Okay.” The doctor scratched in her notepad and Penny itched to know what she was writing. Probably something like ‘mommy issues’ or ‘post-traumatic stress’. She finished scrawling and looked back up at Penny. “Mothers can sometimes see things that we can’t, or that we don’t want to. Could you mum be right? Or even, partially right?”
Penny looked down at her hands and was surprised to find them clenched into fists in her lap. Maybe her smugness at avoiding the conversation was a little premature. It seemed like Dr. Johnson was going to try to make her talk about it anyway. Her brain started to sound an alarm - warning! Danger ahead! But Penny tried not to allow her tension to show. She straightened her hands out, stretching all her fingers wide, then gave a shrug. “I guess it’s possible. Anything’s possible.”
“Let’s explore that a little more then, can we?”
“Sure. If you think it’s the right way to go.”
“Don’t you? Think it’s the right way to go?”
“You’re the doctor,” Penny replied, hearing the belligerence in her own voice and flushing a little.
“That I am,” agreed Dr. Johnson, “but it’s your session. We can talk about anything you want to talk about.”
“All I really want is for these panic attacks to stop,” said Penny. “So, any advice you can give about that would be helpful.”
The doctor sat back in her chair. “Panic attacks are the symptom. We need to work out the underlying cause - why you’ve started having panic attacks.”
“I don’t know.”
“And that’s why you’re here.” Dr. Johnson beamed at Penny and took off her glasses. “They don’t tend to happen for no reason. So, to help you to get over them, we need to look for the reason. It might be a little bit painful for you. It might mean going places you don’t want to go, feeling things you don’t want to feel. But you should know that this space, this room,” she indicated the room with a sweep of her arm, “is safe. Nothing you say in here goes anywhere further than these walls. It doesn’t matter how much you cry or rant or scream - it all stays here.”
Penny found some odd comfort in Dr. Johnson’s speech. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if she was going to spill all her best kept secrets to her. But perhaps, just perhaps, she could talk through a few things that were bothering her, without delving into the whole story.
“I appreciate that,” she said sincerely. “And I suppose there are a few things I’d like to talk about.”
“Good,” said the doctor. “Where do you want to start?”
Penny considered for a moment, then said, “I never told my best friends about my abortion. My mum thinks I should have. What do you think?”
There was silence for a moment as the doctor considered her response. Penny could see her thinking, her eyes downcast for a moment before they swept back up to Penny’s face. “I’m surprised you were able to keep it a secret. How did you do it?”
Penny shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard. I said I was away at my grandmothers, and after we kind of talked about that, they never asked again. I guess someone else’s holidays must be boring.”
“So, you lied to them?”
“I had to. We were inseparable, and then there were a couple of months that first of all I was hanging around with this guy, and then had the… you know. There needed to be an explanation.”
Dr. Johnson nodded. “Do you regret not telling them?”
“Sometimes. I guess. Kind of a passing feeling, when they are telling me something big in their lives, like I should tell them.”
“That still happens, even now?”
“Yeah, sometimes. It’s like, I take their confidences, but I didn’t give them mine.”
“Well, trust in friendship is an important thing.”
“It is,” agreed Penny, “but at the time I didn’t want them to coddle me or sympathize. I just wanted to move along, forget about it. And now, it seems like the time has passed for being able to tell them.” She shrugged one shoulder.
“What do you think would happen if you told them now?”
Penny smiled. “After Desiree killed me for keeping a secret from her? I’m not sure. It depends how big of a deal they made of it.”
“How big of a deal are they likely to make?”
“I don’t know.” But she did have some idea. Lydia would smother her in kindness, letting her know that it didn’t change anything. But Desiree was vocally pro-life.
“One of them would probably be fine. The other? I just don’t know.”
“Would it destroy your friendship?”
Again, Penny paused, before answering slowly, “You know, I don’t think it would. We’ve had our share of disagreements, and all of us have our own opinions on things, but in the end, we’re still friends.”
“That’s definitely something to think about then,” said Dr. Johnson. “If it’s bothering you.”
The session continued, Penny noticing that, despite her assurance that they would be having a conversation, Dr. Johnson spent most of her time asking questions, and drawing Penny’s thoughts and opinions out. The hour sped by quickly, and before she knew it, Penny was scheduling a second appointment, for the same time next week.
Standing outside the psychologist’s office, she stopped. She felt a little lighter somehow. What had happened in the psych’s office? Thinking back, Penny could only identify a series of questions and answers, and nothing that should make her feel better. Yet there it was.
She almost looked forward to her next visit.
Arriving at the theater later that evening, Penny still felt like she was smiling at the world. But that all changed as soon as she walked into the greenroom. It was chaos.
“What’s going on?” she shouted over the ruckus. She noticed Marc by the props table looking stressed, with several of the actors grouped around him. She strolled over to join the group, her happy mood dissolving as she noticed the upset and angry faces.
Marc was grim. “We found these on the props table when we came in.” He stepped away and Penny saw a pile of things dumped in the middle of the table - things that were definitely not props. There was a lipstick and a book, someone’s wallet and a few other bits and pieces.
“Where did they come from?” Penny asked.
“I don’t know how it got there, but that’s my lipstick,” said one girl pointing at the offending item. Another girl, Amber joined in. “And that’s the bobble off my keychain. Someone would have actually had to get my keys out of my bag to get it.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just want my stuff back, but Marc wants us to leave it and call the police.”
Penny grimaced at Marc. “The police? Do you think we need to do that? It’s obviously some smart arse who thinks pinching stuff and then putting it somewhere random is fun. Remember Becca’s phone the other day?”
“That’s just it though Pen. Someone is stealing things.”
“Yes, but they’re not keeping them. It’s annoying, sure. I’ll get Jane to make an announcement, so everyone knows it’s not funny and to stop doing it. But I can’t really see the point in calling the police. Do you really think they’ll investigate a robbery when we have the stuff back in our hands?”
“Surely, they have better things to do,” piped up Cerise, and the other muttered their agreement.
Marc threw a murderous glance at Cerise, then growled, “Fine. Whatever.” He stepped away from the table, and half a dozen people converged on it like a flock of seagulls fighting over a chip. When they were done and gone, Penny sighed. “I guess we need to reset the props table.”
“I guess so.” Marc’s tone was still a little belligerent, and she turned to him with a smile.
“Really, do you think the cops would bother?”
“I think if someone is stealing stuff, they should be reported.”
“But are they really stealing?”
“Pen, someone had to pull Amber’s keys out of her bag to get that bobble off. What if they’d walked away with them? Wouldn’t be too hard to work out which car they belonged to.”
Penny nodded her reluctant agreement. “I guess you’re right.” She sighed in frustration before adding, “Okay, so let’s make sure the stage door locked when nobody is here, and I’ll get Jane to make an announcement about it tonight, and hopefully whoever thinks this is funny will get the message. Then, if it happens again…”
The lights went out in the theater and they found themselves in total darkness. A scream came from one of the change rooms, followed by a gurgle of laughter.
“Okay fellas, that’s not funny. Turn them back on.” Penny was in no mood for practical jokes. But the lights didn’t come back on.
“Penny!” Jane shouted from in front of the stage, her tone brooking no nonsense. “What happened to the lights?” So, it wasn’t just backstage lights that had gone.
“Looks like the whole place is out, Jane,” she shouted back. “I’ll go check the switches. Can you check the ones in the front?”
Before Jane could answer, Penny’s blood froze as a terrified scream sounded across the stage. “The ghost!”
Then, just as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights came back on and pandemonium reigned for a couple of moments as the people closest to Amber questioned her about what she saw. She was the one who had screamed, and her face was dead white. Someone had sat her down, and a crowd gathered around her. She was pointing to a corner of the stage. “It was there. I saw a shadow. In the dark, a shadow moving.”
“Was it the ghost?”
“I don’t know. But it was just… wrong. There are no shadows in the dark.”
Amber’s words, and the terrified expression on her face made Penny shiver.
Jane came striding out to the back. “What happened?”
“We had a ghost sighting. While the lights were out.”
Jane raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Right. Okay, let’s get everything sorted and get this run underway. Everyone!” she raised her voice and the crowd turned to her, ably trained to listen when the director was speaking. “We need to get this run going. If the lights go off again, just stand still and Penny will go check the switches.”
A voice from the crowd said, “But what about the ghost?”
“The ghost had better settle down, or I’ll come after him myself,” said Jane, and a burble of relieved laughter swept through the group. They disbursed, getting ready to start the act.
Penny turned back to the props table, grabbed her master list, and quickly put it to rights. Except for the handkerchief. It wasn’t there. Again.
She checked where it had been found the last time - no luck. Then she got on her hands and knees and checked under the props table. And there it was. Shaking her head, she picked up the offending item and dropped it in place on the table, just in time to hear Jane’s call, “Go.” She would have to ask Jane to make the announcement about touching other people’s things after the rehearsal.
The rest of the run was going smoothly enough, except for forgotten lines and the occasional prop malfunction - all part of the process of getting the show up to speed for opening night. Scripts had been put down weeks ago, and frustrated actors who absolutely knew their lines when they practiced them at home suddenly could hardly remember a word. It was times like these Penny was so glad she was on the other side of the curtain. She could have lists, and prompts set up all over the place reminding her what needed to be done. The actors? Not so much.
The only problem now was Marc. Penny remembered what happened in the carpark. She felt a bolt surge through her every time she brushed his arm or against his body as they passed each other. And he kept looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a sexy smile. It had to stop.
She made her way over to him, walking gently to avoid creaking the floor. He watched her approach, his eyes hungry in the dim backstage light. And while she promised herself that her purpose was to tell him to stop staring at her, each step closer she took sent chills down her spine and fire to her fingertips under his gaze.
“You’re like a siren,” he growled when she was in earshot. “A succubus come to tempt me.”
“Well I’m not. I’m just plain old Penny. And I wish you’d stop staring at me like that.”
A smile played along his lips. “Like what?”
She flushed. “Like you want to devour me. Like you’re summoning me to your side. You know what? It’s you who’s the siren.”
Were there even male sirens? Penny didn’t know, but the analogy was true. He seemed to draw her in, unwillingly, until she was standing far too close.
“Pen, about what happened…”
“It was a mistake, right?” Penny heard the pleading note in her voice.
“Yes. A mistake not to follow where it took us.”
Penny looked up into Marc’s eyes. He continued, “You can’t deny this thing, Pen. There’s something between us. There always has been.”
“But I’m not… I mean we can’t…”
“Why not? We’re both adults. And single. And I want to know you Pen. The real you. And I really, really want to do this.”
Marc reached for her and without even a moment’s hesitation, Penny stepped into his embrace like she had always been there. It was comfortable, warm, inviting. And then he kissed her.
All her worries from the past days melted away. Friends, family, attacks, the show - all were mixed and twisted together like a painter swirling colors on his palette. The only distinct thing was Marc. His lips on hers, not in a sweet, tender kiss, but demanding and possessive, pushing her mouth open and invading. Clashing his teeth against hers to get as close as possible. The only sound their wild breathing and gentle moans, the only taste, that of Marc’s sweet, sweet mouth. Penny threaded her hands into his hair, and he growled, pulling her closer, then he spun her, so her back was against the wall, never once unlocking their kiss. He pushed against her, his legs and pelvis, and Penny tried not to whimper at the need his body awoke in her.
Then his hands were roaming her body, up her arms first to her shoulders, then down, following the curve of her breast until he held them in his hands. He squeezed, and Penny would have groaned out loud had she not still been kissing him. His expert hands kneaded her breasts, his palms torturing her nipples into tall peaks. She shifted her legs, and Marc obligingly stepped in between. Penny rocked against his groin, working up her sexual appetite on the taste and smell and feel of him. She threw her head back, finally breaking the kiss, gasping out her need, and he latched on to her throat and down further, burrowing under the neck of her t-shirt to get to the soft, needy flesh below.
Penny would have been happy to remain in his embrace forever, only a tiny portion of the conversation onstage came through to her fuzzy consciousness, and she realised they were seconds away from a scene change. “Marc,” she said, somewhere between a whisper and a groan. “Scene six.”
He let go of her on a sigh of frustration. “I knew there was a tiger hiding in there somewhere,” he said. “This is not over.” And with that he stalked away to his designated place for the scene change.
Penny exhaled deeply, and crossed her arms over her chest, moving to position for the scene change, her mind in a whirl. What just happened? How did she go over there to tell him off and end up dry humping him in the wings? Was she just that starved for sex that the first offer she got from anyone was enough to send her hormones into overdrive?
She didn’t think so. There was something about Marc - something beyond just the lust. Oh, yes, he was definitely lust worthy. A knowing smile played over her face as she remembered rubbing up against him, mentally measuring the package he had hidden behind that jeans zipper. It would be fun to open that package.
But more than just lust worthy, right? Right. He also had that manner about him, that caring. He was just an attractive man, all round. Penny knew that. She’d known it for ages. She just hadn’t acted on it - had thought that perhaps she shouldn’t or couldn’t. Thought that he was too good for her, that she wasn’t worthy somehow.
But she was worthy right? Of something that felt so right? And it was good. It felt good to be desired, to be touched. Penny wanted to experience it again and again.
Maybe her relationship block was finally over? Maybe, all this time, she’d just been waiting for the right guy to break through her defenses?
Or maybe you’re just so horny that any guy with a pretty face who shows you some attention would be enough to turn you on.
Oh, shut up rational brain. Stop making life so boring.
In that moment, with a smile and a new spring in her step, Penny decided to let it take its own course. And for the first time in a long time, she was excited for what the near future might bring.