Chapter Eight

 

Had Elton been drunk, he might have followed Em outside the bar and shouted insults at her as she drove away. He wasn't drunk enough to do it, or had too strong a sense of dignity, because he stayed inside. No doubt nursing his ego, she thought, bitterly, as she pulled away from the curb.

Harriet was crying over the phone the next evening. "He told everyone," she sniffled. "The whole office. They all watched the videos on the web, and they're laughing at me. It's so humiliating."

"I'm so, so sorry, Harriet," Em soothed. "We had no idea he would use you like that. I know you trusted him and this hurts."

"Everybody thinks I'm a loser," said Harriet. "I'm so alone now..." Her voice disappeared, the sound of sobs over the phone taking its place.

"This whole project is a disaster, Frank." Em was crying a little herself during this conversation. "Shallow and stupid and utterly pointless, beginning to end. All we've done is expose Harriet to ridicule. Those web videos — they've had to cut the comment section off. I was glad someone with the project had the decency to do that much, at least."

"Come on, Em," said Frank, gently. "It's not your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame your mannequin of a therapy partner. He was the one who agreed first. You were just ... carried along by the project."

"But it's partly my fault," said Em. She blew her nose and attempted to suppress the sound of angry tears in her voice. "I talked her into this. His instincts about her friend Elton were dead on. But I believed her when she said he was nice ..."

"And there you go. You put your trust in people, who are sometimes mistaken, and he put his trust in his instincts, which probably recognized this guy as a twin. One jerk to another."

"He does seem like a jerk," admitted Em. "But not quite the same as this sleazy charmer who's now laughing at Harriet. Oh, I have to fix this, Frank. I have to help her. I know there's a way, regardless of Col — Doctor Ferris's doubts. I will make this right somehow." Her tone was firmer with this statement.

"That's the spirit, Em. Show him that he's not the end-all-be-all on relationship psychology," said Frank. "Use this debate to teach him a lesson in humility."

"Yes," said Em. "Although, I can't be dishonest. He wasn't entirely wrong ... just a big spoilsport about every aspect of it —"

"This, from the very person who's to blame for you both getting involved in the first place," reasoned Frank.

"If he had just kept his mouth politely closed during my show, none of this would have happened," said Em. "So, in a way, I can't say anything too rude, can I?"

"That's the spirit."

It wasn't. Em was convinced of this when she hung up, then convinced again that Frank was right when she glanced at the cover of Doctor Ferris's book. He really was pompous, wasn't he? Wasn't he?

In the green room at WMZ's studio, she chewed her nail as she gazed at the reflection of herself, the only color her dark hair and bright lipstick — Izzy had insisted on the shade from the billboard — and the two-piece dress and half-sleeve jacket in a shade which her producer had referred to as 'port wine on ice.' Everything else was pale and colorless, thanks to the nerves chewing the insides of her stomach.

Someone knocked on the door. "Ten minutes, Doctor Emma." The stage manager poked his head inside briefly.

She nodded. Be yourself. Be natural. Be the voice for Harriet and all the others who aren't ready and aren't sure how to approach traditional therapy.

Maybe Colin was as nervous as she was. But when she phoned him about Harriet's misery, her call had gone to voicemail. Twice. She wondered if he felt as guilty as herself for what happened — or if he thought it was all her fault for letting Harriet take this step too soon. Maybe he had forgotten whose fault it was that any of this happened in the first place —

"Welcome to Thursday's edition of In the Moment. I'm your host, Janet Fairfax, and tonight marks the first in a series of debates that we hope will be sometimes controversial, and always informative."

Janet Fairfax was surprisingly young and attractive — surprising only because Em remembered her from a blurry black-and-white photo in the local PBS guide. Her chestnut hair was pinned sedately back from her face, her business suit modest, neutral, and impeccably tailored. She was seated in the moderator's chair, flanked on either side by her guests, the show's daily debate opponents. In this case, Em and Colin.

Colin was in a suit and tie, as usual. For once, Em wished he would wear something else. Would a sweater kill him? A simple shirt and khakis? Denim and cotton would hardly be to his taste, she imagined. Although, when she pictured him in casual clothes, she was surprised the image was attractive.

"Our two opponents, as many of you know, are two of the leading names in modern relationship therapy." Janet's introduction continued. "Doctor Colin Ferris, author of Relationship Realities: Dating Truths for Modern Men with Traditional Manners; and Seattle's own Doctor Emma, host of radio's relationship-themed Heart Therapy."

Janet glanced from the camera to her guests in turn, gracing them each with a tranquil, neutral smile. "Doctor Ferris's recent appearance on Heart Therapy sparked a bit of controversy — not to mention a series of online videos featuring their dual advice applied to a young girl's dating woes."

She swiveled towards Colin first. "Let's begin with you, Doctor Ferris," she said. "You implied during your radio interview with Doctor Emma that you believed her advice to be insufficient to address Harriet's problem. Yet, you've agreed to work with Doctor Emma to help out this young woman?"

"I didn't state that directly," he corrected. "Doctor Emma seems imminently qualified to help this young woman."

How conciliatory of you. No sarcasm in those lines, I'm sure. Those words popped into Emma's head.

"And you, Doctor Emma — you've implied that Doctor Ferris's mostly-academic background in therapy renders him unfit to help people on a personal level. Are you comfortable working with him now?"

Em hesitated. "No," she said. Be honest, be tough, she reminded herself. "I'm not. I'm not comfortable with this process yet. In truth, it seems to me that pairing people with such vastly different ideas and approaches simply makes the solution even more difficult to find."

"Describe what you mean by 'different ideas and approaches,' Emma. Let's lead with this question, and let Doctor Ferris have the rebuttal."

"For instance, for those of you who saw the video —" Em cringed at the thought of it, "—you saw the impersonal way Doctor Ferris communicated with Harriet. That wasn't the video editor's work, that was reality. Whereas, I prefer to talk to someone face to face, as often as I can, if I'm going to help them solve a problem. That's why we have a follow-up week devoted to former callers. We can't talk to everyone on a weekly basis —" here, she thought of the persistent caller Claire Bates, "— but we try to give them every opportunity to reach out for encouragement. I only wish he would do the same for Harriet."

"Doctor Ferris, what's your response?"

"I think I care sufficiently about Harriet, Miss Benton. At no point during our exercise in conversation openings did I fail to detect and respond to any crisis she might have encountered. I did my best during the evaluation of Harriet's potential lunch partners to find one who would take this situation in stride, and not exploit it for their advantage. I'm sorry it failed, but that's not entirely my fault."

"It isn't that my opinion differs with you on this topic, doctor," replied Emma, too sweetly. "I, too, share some blame for this setback in Harriet's progress. But I would like to remind you that most of your participation involves negating the possible choices of therapy — not suggesting alternative ones."

"Given your rather strong opinions about my own opinions, I seriously doubt you would entertain them," he answered.

"Then let's talk about your therapy sessions with Harriet," persisted Em. "Your one-on-one time with her — over the phone, as I've been told. Is it that difficult for you to face her when giving advice?"

"I've been told that a soothing and sympathetic voice over the phone has just as much value."

"A sympathetic voice, yes. Maybe that would explain why Harriet hasn't made any progress using your counsel," Em retorted.

"So you're challenging Doctor Ferris's guidance of Harriet in therapy," intervened Janet Fairfax. "Interesting. To pose a question, which one of you made the decision for Harriet to approach a male acquaintance for a one-on-one meeting?"

The color flushed in Em's cheeks, then vanished. "I did," she admitted. "It was my idea."

"And Doctor Ferris? You approved?"

For a fraction of a second, he hesitated. "No," he answered. "I didn't. But I consented to help Harriet transition to this step."

"Doctor Emma?" Janet was looking at her now.

Em was grateful Colin didn't rub her face in this error on television. It had the unintended effect of softening her tone. "Setbacks are a common part of therapy," she said. "That's why therapists are sometimes forced to shift techniques and try something new. I made a mistake, and now I will rectify that mistake in any way that's in my power as Harriet's counselor."

"Let's shift the debate again," said Janet, "and directly address the rumors that Doctor Ferris made statements calling you and other licensed radio therapists out for lacking degrees in psychiatry. Moreover, that he suggested such advice is akin to junk mail promises. Is it true, Doctor Ferris?"

His face had flamed bright red in a steadily rising tide of blush. "No," he answered, shortly. "It's absolutely untrue. I never said anything so harsh about call-in therapy shows, nor the people who host them."

But you think it, Em mentally replied.

"I have made statements regarding the weakness of self-indulgence when it comes to seeking out sympathy," he continued, "and I would advise the most desperate not to indulge in seeking another's sympathy, be it for the sake of a comforting voice or self-affirming audience of strangers."

"Why?" asked Janet.

"Because they will save themselves the self-inflicted misery of public exposure by simply facing the hard truth on their own," he answered. "Many of them will wish they'd limited their indignity when it comes to confessing grievances, which, in a recovered state of mind, they regret sharing publicly."

"Do you believe everyone is ashamed of their weaknesses?" Em demanded.

"I think most people are, yes. How many people prefer having their mistakes exposed to the world when they hope they've recovered from them? Very few enjoy it, Miss Benton."

"I think my callers would beg to disagree," Em said. "I think most of them willingly and freely own their problems — and their mistakes. They even call in to offer advice and sympathy to newer callers who are still struggling. And not for fifteen more seconds of fame."

"Do you think Harriet will feel the same, given her circumstances now?" Colin's face changed the second after he said these words. She almost believed he regretted saying it. As for her, she felt cut deeply by those words.

"Are you suggesting Harriet won't be strong enough to own this decision when this is over?"

He looked as if he might have a reply, but Janet Fairfax's smooth voice filled the silence first. "I think we'll let Doctor Emma have the last word this time. Remember, this is the first in a four-part series featuring Doctor Ferris and Doctor Emma. Doctors, thank you again for joining us."

Em's reply was a murmur of assent. Doctor Ferris's was not much louder.

"When we come back from the break, our next two debaters will be talking about the recent crisis in stadium construction..."

Em felt flustered as she left the stage. Someone was speaking to her — Bill Lucas, she realized — although she only half-heard what he was saying. The tech removed her wireless mic, said something to her about the debate recap before the show's close — she was hardly listening. Her mind was already replaying the tape of her experience and finding fault with it. She had been rude to Colin, hadn't she? She had been too aggressive — no, not after his words about Harriet's future of shame. She had said precisely what he deserved to hear as Harriet's therapist.

Colin was a few yards away, engaged in conversation with another person. That person was now walking towards Em and Lucas. An older woman in a silk business suit, a severe face framed by sleek, tamed grey hair pinned back severely from her boney features.

"You two haven't met yet — Emma, this is Doctor Ferris's literary agent," Lucas was saying.

The woman extended a business card pinched between French-manicured fingers. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure," she said. "Ms. Catherine D. Burg. Literary Services Incorporated," she said, holding it out as if it were a handshake in itself.

"The pleasure is mine," Em answered, taken aback by this bold and cold approach. She accepted the card, glancing at the embossed lettering printed on it.

"Colin has mentioned you during our meetings," Catherine continued. "If you ever feel the desire to move up in your career, feel free to contact me. I'm sure he would recommend you for consideration as a client."

Em was indignant. How crass of this woman to suggest she was without an agent by unhappy accident. After all, she could have been introduced to Frank's agent, if she had wanted it, although she had declined his offer several times.

"Thanks," Em answered, "but I'm quite happy working independently for now."

Colin said nothing — back to his usual brooding self, Em noted. But she detected a slight muscle twitch in his cheek as he listened to his agent's speech. Maybe he wasn't so keen on the notion of recommending her — not that she had the slightest desire for him to do it.

"Well." Ms. Burg's voice was cold in response. "I suppose some people in smaller positions prefer an alternative path."

"That's our Doctor Emma," said Bill Lucas, beaming as he squeezed Em's shoulders in a half-embrace — he had interpreted this as a compliment, apparently. "But I'm sure you have your hands full with Doctor Ferris's career. What a terrific shot, number one right out of the box! There's a keeper, no mistake, Catherine."

Lucas and Colin's agent must be old acquaintances, Em surmised, for Catherine's iron face didn't wrinkle with distaste in response to this, the features barely cracking for a smile. "Well put, Bill." She glanced at her client now. "We really must speak to the show about putting you in better lighting next time. You looked positively pale on that platform."

"I really don't think it matters," he answered. His voice suggested a lack of enthusiasm — or maybe boredom — for his agent's statement as she hovered protectively beside him. A tiger defending a cub, Em thought. No one would dare challenge Doctor Ferris's genius so long as she was around, for fear of getting their head bit off. Emma was glad that she hadn't met this woman until after the debate.

Catherine Burg was saying something about the unfairness of the show's format now, her client's murmured replies escaping Em's notice as she withdrew a little from their conversation. She felt a kiss on her cheek, a hand on her arm, startling her with this sudden touch.

"Hi, honey, sorry I'm late." Frank was beside her. "I just caught the last of it. Great job. You really hit it out of the park." He glanced towards the imposing figure of Ms. Burg, and Colin beside her, his glance becoming slightly less friendly when focused on Doctor Ferris.

"Um, Ms. Burg, this is Frank Weston. Frank, this is Catherine Burg..."

"Nice to meet you," Frank shook hands with her.

"... and Doctor Colin Ferris," finished Em.

Frank shook hands limply with this second person. "I've heard a lot about you," he said.

"Likewise, Doctor Weston," answered Colin. A touch of grimness in his voice which Em hadn't heard before. Surely Frank's degree was impressive enough for the likes of Doctor Ferris.

"Well, we should be going," said Em. She was hoping for a plate of pasta and a nice, hot bath to wash away the feeling of battle grime clinging to her after the debate, the vague mortification for what viewers at home must have witnessed in her petty or wavering arguments.

"Go?" repeated Bill Lucas. "You can't go now. I've made dinner reservations at the Bellatonic to celebrate the big TV debut for you two!"

"Me and Colin?" echoed Em. She imagined the two of them seated alone at a four-star restaurant's table, candles lit in the center. Wine glasses, the two of them making painful conversation — it would be painful, wouldn't it?

"No, no! Everybody's invited — Catherine, Janet, Frank, of course. We've got two tables, so you and your lucky beau will share with Vic and Janet," Lucas continued. "Just as soon as the show wraps, we're off to dinner."

"Oh," said Em. "Yes. That sounds great." With a sense of relief in her voice, she thought, although the station manager was oblivious to it.

 

 

*****

 

 

There were candles in the middle of the table at Bellatonic, but the atmosphere at her table was almost as unromantic as the notion of herself and Colin sharing dinner after their first televised skirmish. She was seated across from the show host Janet Fairfax, Frank seated next to her, facing the producer Vic, who was too interested in his food to make much conversation.

Em's fork fiddled with the pasta dish in front of her. Two tables away, she had a view of Bill Lucas laughing in the middle of some mutual discussion with his fellow diners, along with the second producer of the 'Harriet project,' Kelly. Colin and his agent were facing away from her, the author busy spreading a roll with butter.

Frank was telling a story to his and Em's tablemates, one Em had heard before, about a book conference in Malta. "...and I said, there are geese everywhere! What's the big deal about this particular goose? Of course, he replies 'That's the family secret.'"

Until now, Janet Fairfax had been a fairly sedate dining companion; now, however, she was laughing uncontrollably at Frank's punch line. "What a story," she said to Frank. Two flawlessly-manicured fingertips wiped the tears from her eyes. "People have described you before, but no one ever said you had such a great sense of humor."

"Really?" said Frank, whose laughter was accompanied by a disbelieving tone of voice. "Did you hear that, Em? She's never heard about my sense of humor."

"Hadn't she?" Em roused herself, jogged back to reality by this remark of Frank's. "Everyone knows that."

Where had her mind been until now? Not with the debate, certainly; maybe with the issues she felt were plaguing her so-called 'work' with Colin Ferris. How cold and unfeeling he was about Harriet, for instance. How could this project be anything but doomed to fail with that kind of attitude?

"I'm known for my funny stories," Frank said to Janet. "I can't believe you never heard that before. I have some great ones from the book tour for my book —"

"Confession time," said Janet. "I love your book. I've read it through five times, at least."

"Five times?" said Frank, in amazement. "Can you believe that?" He looked at Em.

"No. I mean, yes." Em had read it twice, a truth which came to her, guiltily, with this reply. "Of course I can, Frank."

"Do you know," said Frank, looking intently at Janet, "that I spent a year just brainstorming? Brainstorming. Before I even put anything on paper. I went through a complete mental fast, reading nothing, and writing nothing. I exposed myself to no outside influences..."

Catherine Burg's voice was rising above the room's noise, the sound of flint and iron. "Naturally, I expect my daughter's literary talents to emerge in time, given she's undoubtedly inherited her father's genius — and, if I do flatter myself somewhat, her mother's linear focus — albeit one tempered with an unseen perfectionism, which always leads to a certain delay in outer progress ..."

"If you would sign it for me sometime, I would be flattered," said Janet.

"Of course. I would love to." Frank glanced at Em. "Is there an extra copy of the book in my car, Em?" he asked. "In the backseat. Did you notice?"

"I didn't," Em admitted. Usually Frank kept a few extra books and headshots in his car, in case he met with zealous fans somewhere in public — albeit a small crowd compared to when his book first made the morning show and cable television circuit. "There's probably one or two. Do you want me to go look?"

"You? No. No. You're still eating dinner. I wouldn't want you to let your plate get cold," Frank answered, dismissively. "It's no big deal, I'm sure. We'll remember later."

"No, I'll go," said Em. Once Frank was embroiled in conversations about his work, he seldom thought of anything else for hours. She laid her napkin on the table and rose from her seat.

"... deciding on a literary career was natural for me. My family's history is a steady parade of intimacy with both publishers and authors. My great-great-great grandfather's connection to Poe, my own father's extensive library of nineteenth-century American first editions alone..." Ms. Burg was still talking, it seemed, as Em passed their table. Lucas's head was bobbing enthusiastically, like a dashboard dog, in response, although Kelly's eyes were glazed with boredom. Colin appeared to be toying with his half-empty wine glass.

No books in the car. Nothing but Frank's motivational compact discs, and a sweatshirt from Yale University. Em returned to the restaurant foyer empty-handed.

Someone brushed past her in the dining room's entrance. It was Colin Ferris, who looked startled at the sight of her. Uncomfortable at this chance meeting, Em thought, before they both had time to cool.

"Emma," he said. "If I could speak with you —"

"That isn't necessary, Doctor Ferris," she answered. "I think we both said enough about what was on our minds."

"Yes, but I want you to understand that I didn't intend anything I said to insult you —"

"I really don't want to talk about it, thank you," answered Em, quietly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have pasta primavera to finish."

"Of course." He glanced away as she entered the restaurant again. She wasn't interested in knowing more about his feelings towards radio therapists, counseling lovelorn office workers, or any other topic from tonight. She was fairly certain that she would not be interested in any other opinions he expressed for the rest of this project.

Frank was still talking when she returned. "Which, of course, completely shaped my perspective on Freudian love stories from beginning to end."

Janet was chuckling. "Wow. I never thought of it that way," she said.

"Could someone pass me the salt?" asked Vic, looking up from his plate, finally. "This gnocchi is kind of bland." When Frank complied, he grunted, "Thanks," then turned his focus to his food once more.

"Any spare books?" Frank asked, looking at Em.

"Not one," she answered. Frank's face fell slightly with disappointment, an emotion replaced by an accepting smile and shrug.

"Oh, well. Thanks for checking." Leaning across, he kissed Em's cheek.

Later that night, when snuggled beneath her quilt, Em felt the shape of a book wedged against her spare pillow. Doctor Colin Ferris's book, she remembered. Pulling it out, she flipped it open, past the copyright page and dry introduction, to the first chapter heading.

She kept flipping. Rapid reading the lines on the pages, eyes searching for the meaning this time, not a preconceived notion. Excerpts of the text jumped out here and there, as if highlighted by her brain.

 

Men crave affirmation from women: not merely a specific touch or compliment, but a combination of both, particularly from a romantic partner. Like women, they desire trust, a degree of reliance on him, regardless of a woman's full capability of caring for herself. Offering her his coat, for instance, does not communicate that he sees her as helpless or incapable of warming herself, but signals on a deeper level that his help and comfort is readily available should she need it at any point. Acceptance of his coat does not imply she can't afford her own, or will freeze to death without it, but affirms that she would seek his help over anyone else's in a moment of crisis or need...

 

She jumped ahead in the text, paging past the list of bulleted "traditional male symbols of affirmation" to the chapter's second half.

 

Likewise, a woman's offer to help select a gift on his behalf for someone close to him doesn't communicate the message that he has no taste, but invites him to consider her confidence available to him in matters which are more important or intimate in his life. His acceptance signals he possesses trust and confidence in her.

 

So there were traditional female symbols after all. Em didn't know if she should be impressed by his magnanimous inclusion of this, or disgusted by the possibility of hypocrisy. Curious, she read on.

 

Each symbolic communication is a gesture beyond its mundane self — the act of offering a coat, of buying an object becomes greater than the act itself, because these instinctive gestures can express identical, deeper commitments to each other.

 

A romantic sentiment from any other relationship therapist, but knowing it came from Colin made it seem more like sentimental slop to Em.

 

To love a woman completely, a man will prove it to her as many times as he can during their relationship, daily, if possible.

 

She was supposed to believe this was really his opinion? What rot. Em slammed the book shut.