37
I’VE read enough books and seen enough movies to know that Nicky fucked up when he told me about his wife. I’m not surprised when he tells me we need to talk. He accepts full responsibility for the breach, for crossing the patient-therapist boundary. I’ve never seen the guy look worse, Beck. And he’s such a good person, like Mr. Mooney back in the day, before he got angry at me, at life. I can’t stand to hear him cut himself down.
I plead, “Hey, come on, Doc. Stop beating yourself up already.”
I can’t tell if he’s laughing or crying and he might be the only guy on earth who can do those two things at once. He’s a juggler and God bless him because I could never apologize to another dude for saying one freaking thing about my own life.
“Danny,” he says. “All I can do for you now is give you a referral. You want a referral?”
There are pit stains on his shirt and his clothes are wrinkled, as if he’s been in them for too long. I know how to cheer him up and I tell him I don’t need a referral because I’m better. He smiles. I go on. I tell him I don’t have a mouse in my house because he’s the best shrink ever.
“How’s it going with Karen?”
“It’s good,” I say. I want him to feel accomplished. “Seriously, the mouse is dead.”
“Wow,” he says and somehow, he sounds jealous. Or maybe he’s just sad.
I tell him that his mouse-cat theory is genius and he likes that I use that word, genius. Of course, I don’t tell him that I want to cover myself in cheese and peanut butter in order to get the mouse to come back. He deserves better.
“I’m happy for you, Danny,” he says. “You worked hard and you did your homework and this is all you, kid. Figuring out what makes you happy is a journey.”
You make me happy. I nod. “You said it.”
“Being obsessed didn’t make you happy,” Nicky continues. “And you knew that. And more important, you acted on that knowledge and decided to rise above your obsession. You’re smart, Danny.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Doc.”
“I wish we were all as smart as you,” he says and he has that sad, glossy-eyed look again as he talks about how hard it is to make a mouse go away. I’m sitting and thinking about you, my beloved mouse. Nicky is right. You might never show up again—you might be gone—I know it’s possible that you’ve moved on—you could even be seeing someone. But the most important thing I know is that I want the possibility of you more than the reality of Karen Minty.
“And what can I say, Danny? I’m also so happy your cat worked out,” he says. “When you came in here, I was worried. You did not look well. You looked like a prisoner.”
“I felt like one,” I say. And I did. I do.
“But then you got yourself a cat,” he says.
“Amen,” I say. I picture Karen Minty on all fours with your little body hanging out of her mouth.
“Hey, I went on YouTube and watched that Honeydrippers video today right before you got here,” he says and his eyes pop. “I can understand your obsession. That video is trippy, that guy in his Speedo, that jacket. What is that jacket doing on that hanger?”
We laugh but his sadness is like a fever that shows up in his eyes, in his mouth. I feel bad about lying and his phone buzzes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I have to check it.” He says he has to step out—“shit hitting the fan at home,” now that he has broken the doctor-patient dynamic he can overshare again—and he promises to be back in five minutes. He closes the door and immediately I look at his computer. I wanted inside that computer the first time I stepped into this room. You live in there, somewhere, and the temptation to find the Sea of Love is overwhelming. I would swear that you are calling from inside the hard drive, luring me to your own sea, and I can’t help it. I really am like the guy in the video. And this is it, my big chance. I’ve never been alone in here and fuck it. I run over to Danny’s desk and I tap the space bar and dive in.
Looking at the screen-saver family snapshot of Nicky with his wife and his daughters makes me feel guilty. I’m violating our trust and Nicky’s family is so innocent, lined up in front of Nicky’s Pizza in Chestertown, NY. There’s something pathetic about a grown man forcing his wife and daughters to pose on a rainy day in front of a pizza place just because it’s called Nicky’s. I feel for the guy but I want you and I minimize the Honeydrippers video—he’s a good man, he really was looking at it—and I search the hard drive. Wow. Dr. Nicky doesn’t write about my sessions or your sessions or anyone’s sessions. He just dictates his thoughts into his iPhone and downloads the MP3 files onto his computer. There is a folder called GBeck with a bunch of audio files. I get that Van Morrison feeling that Nicky was talking about. I send myself the folder. I delete the e-mail in his sent folder. I empty the trash. I made it.
But I didn’t. It’s over. I fucked up.
Nicky’s back with a disappointed smile and he sighs. “Danny, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I tell you the video’s here and I leave. I’m losing it, Danny.”
I breathe. I made it after all. “No you’re not, Doc,” I say and I mean it.
He looks weak, and his voice is unsteady. “How about that referral?”
I take the referral and shake his hand and leave. I am sad for Nicky but nothing can touch my excitement over the files, GBeck. In the elevator I do something I never do. I pray for Nicky to find someone who can give him that Van Morrison feeling so that his bleached teeth won’t seem so laughably out of place on his drawn, sad face.
The elevator dumps me in the lobby and Danny Fox is dead. When I step outside I stumble, a fucking crack in the sidewalk. There is a black hole in my mind: Am I nuts? I could just keep eating Karen’s eggs and Karen’s pussy. I could start over with Nicky’s referral and try to live life without you.
I could.
But the truth is, cats bore me. I’d rather listen to tapes of Nicky talking about you than have intercourse with Karen Minty. And if Van Morrison’s not crazy, then neither am I.
Dear Joe, You are not a cat person. You want a mouse. Love, Joe