Dr. Judy Berkowitz was weighing one of the most important questions a psychotherapist can face. It had preyed on her mind all day, distracting her from helping her poor patients, and that wasn’t good. Healing was Dr. Judy’s passion. But still, important therapeutic decisions cannot be made in haste. She paced her small Studio City office and asked herself, Is it better to appear on Politically Incorrect or Sally Jessy Raphael?
Dr. Judy knew that some therapists—those craven publicity hounds constantly hawking their books—would simply appear on both. How sad that is for our profession, thought Dr. Judy. Dr. Judy took her role as a psychotherapist a bit more seriously. Let the others churn out poorly written, barely researched
books year after year, using any ghostwriter they could find. Let them whore themselves on talk radio or hokey local TV. No wonder the public had so little faith in psychotherapy. Dr. Judy dared to be different. She spent months interviewing ghostwriters, until she found just the right one—someone with gravitas, like that wonderful woman who had helped Cybill Shepherd with her inspirational tome. It was Dr. Judy who had insisted, even when her agent scoffed, that the book be based on real scientific research, not just clippings from Redbook. Sure, it took at little longer and it might not sell as well, but Dr. Judy was confident that her newest book, Why Women Care and Men Don’t, would help people. And isn’t that what it’s all about? she thought.
Dr. Judy glanced at her watch. The time she had allotted for self-examination was over. Now it was time to help a patient, one of her favorites, who had returned after a few years’ hiatus. Dr. Judy understood. So many of them came back.
Ann Newman was a strong woman, and Dr. Judy felt, modestly, that part of the credit for Ann’s incredible strength came from their weekly sessions when her children were still young. Dr. Judy was pleased. The idea of meeting with one of her biggest success stories was a well-timed validation.
For her part, Ann had many questions. Is it possible to get addicted to SAM-e? She was taking four a day, and while she was sure it helped, she didn’t want to end up at Betty Ford over some herb. And then there was that gnawing feeling that something wasn’t quite right in the Newman family, an uneasiness that kept Ann from concentrating on real issues, like her career.
The office had gone through a remarkable transformation since Ann’s last visit. It was brighter and cheerier. The African masks on the wall had been replaced by Navajo wall hangings. The shag carpet was now a glistening darkened wood. The
aquarium had been replaced by a tranquil indoor fountain, with water slowly cascading down a sheet of corrugated metal. Ann found the new office much more to her liking.
“Before we even start,” said Dr. Judy as they sat opposite each other in two overstuffed chairs from Shabby Chic, “let me just say that you look wonderful. I can tell just by sitting here that you’ve retained your youthful vigor without eliminating the wisdom one gets from age.”
That’s so true, thought Ann. Dr. Judy is nothing if not perceptive.
“Let me ask,” said Dr. Judy, leaning forward. “How are the girls? Are they doing well in school?”
“Well, they’re boys, of course,” said Ann. “They’re grown and living on the other side of the hill.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Judy, smiling confidently. “And Paul? Does he still work for NBC.”
“It’s Syd, actually. He has the Honda dealership in the Valley.”
“Good for him,” said Dr. Judy. “I think that’s a very positive step.”
“He’s had the dealership for over twenty years,” insisted Ann.
“Even better, don’t you think?” Dr. Judy beamed. Ann was doing well indeed.
“There are so many things I want to ask you about,” said Ann. “I’ve been taking SAM-e, and I was worried that perhaps I was overdoing it, taking too much.”
“I understand.” Dr. Judy nodded. “Brain chemistry is so complex that we’re just now beginning to understand it. SAM-e, Saint-John’s-wort, Celexa, Paxil, Prozac—we live in a wonderful time. We’re able to help so many more people than ever before.”
“How much SAM-e is too much?” asked Ann.
“Well, that depends, doesn’t it?” said Dr. Judy. “Every person is different. What might be too much for you would be just right for Paul.”
“That’s Syd.”
“Of course.”
“How would I know?”
“Do you feel as if you’re taking too much?” asked Dr. Judy, her brow furrowed and her expression concerned.
“I might,” said Ann. “But sometimes I fear I’m not taking enough.”
“You know what that tells you, don’t you?” said Dr. Judy, relaxing. “That tells you you’re taking just the right amount.”
“I am so relieved,” said Ann.
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Dr. Judy. “Now let me ask you a question. SAM-e will often provoke vivid and revealing dreams. Do you have any that come to mind?”
Ann paused. She wasn’t in the habit of remembering her dreams, and her dreams certainly had seemed no more intense with SAM-e than without it. But there was that dream from this morning … .
“I did have a dream. I was in my backyard, and it was terribly overgrown with large thorny plants. In the dream, I’m desperate to get the plants cleared up, because I’m having a party that night. The gardener wasn’t my usual gardener, but a hideous dwarf, and his assistant was a very stern and unforgiving blind woman.”
“How did you know she was blind?” asked Dr. Judy, interested.
“She wore these large dark glasses. Not sunglasses, but glasses that were solidly dark.”
The human mind never ceases to amaze, thought Dr. Judy. This was why her job was never boring.
“This man, he was very ugly, you said?”
“Yes, almost deformed.”
“And the woman wore large dark glasses?”
“Yes,” said Ann, eager to hear the interpretation.
“Let me try some of my impressions on you,” said Dr. Judy. “Maybe they’ll be apt. Maybe they won’t. Only you will know.”
Ann was excited.
“Could this ugly man be a modified, disguised version of someone in your life? Perhaps not someone you know, but someone you’ve seen, even in a movie or on TV?”
“It’s possible,” agreed Ann.
“By any chance, did you watch Politically Incorrect last night before you went to bed?”
“Why yes! Yes, I did. How did you know?”
“Let me ask you this: Could the hideous dwarf be simply another version of Bill Maher?”
Ann didn’t know what to say. There were similarities, and yet she wasn’t sure it all made sense.
“And the woman with glasses—is it possible that she’s Sally Jessy Raphael?”
“I don’t know,” said a confused Ann. “Maybe.”
“Bear with me here,” said Dr. Judy. “Let’s just say that I’m right. Let’s just say that your dream contains disguised versions of Bill Maher and Sally Jessy Raphael. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t have a clue. I wouldn’t know where to begin,” protested Ann.
“But you watch both shows, correct?”
“No,” said Ann emphatically. “I mean, I’ll watch Politically Incorrect with Syd sometimes, but I can’t imagine watching Sally Jessy Raphael.”
“That’s very interesting,” said Dr. Judy. “Do you like Politically Incorrect?”
“It’s a good show, I guess. They have some interesting guests,” answered Ann. “It’s funny enough.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Judy. “Your unconscious is telling you
something, and that’s important.” So important that Dr. Judy immediately wrote it in her notebook: “Yes to PI: no to SJR.” She’d call her agent as soon as the session was over to let him know she’d made up her mind.
“Now let’s change the subject,” she suggested as Ann looked befuddled. “Are you more likely to buy self-help books in a bookstore or on-line?”