The Bargain 5

This is a story in which there are no winners, only casualties. It's too long and probably should have been split into three parts, but I'm too lazy to figure out how to divide it up logically.

OVERTURE

It was fall in the District of Columbia, the late fall afternoon one of those bright, perfect times with the brassy light, and autumnal sharp smell in the air. The Kalorama area of Adams Morgan was picturesque as usual, comparatively quiet, and traffic was at a surprising minimum.

Molly Laughlin pulled into her driveway and studied at her face in the rearview mirror of her Audi sedan as the garage door went up. She had seen that Phil's BMW was already in one bay of the three-car garage, and she always loved looking her best for him. She smiled when she thought of how proud he always was of her, both her looks and her professional prominence, and she always wanted to be worthy of that love and pride.

She fetched her briefcase from the back floorboard of the car and went into the large Georgian house, entering through the mudroom where she removed her shoes and hung her Burberry coat on the rack. She walked on through and, not finding Phil in the family room, looked out upon the back sun porch, where she saw him in his favorite chair with a glass of something comforting in his hand, obviously lost in thought.

Molly breathed deeply taking in the comforting smells and atmosphere of her home, as she made her way up the stairs to the second story, to their master bedroom, where she shed her somewhat severe outfit, exchanging it for a more comfortable sweater and slacks. With comfy thick socks on her feet, she went back down to the kitchen where she constructed a double scotch-on-the-rocks and took a long gratifying test swallow of the cocktail. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feeling of being safe and secure in her own home with her loving husband awaiting her company. She passed back down the hallway and paused in front of the full-length mirror, checking again to make sure that her appearance was what she wanted Phil to see for their first meeting of the day. She took in the straight shoulder-length coal-black hair that shone with a glossy luster and conceded that the total package wasn't so displeasing for a forty-five-year-old. She was tall for a Japanese woman at a svelte five feet nine inches and, with a porcelain-finish face called stunning by many, she had to admit that she wasn't unsatisfied. She smiled to herself and, opening the door, went out on the sun porch to join her husband.

"Hi honey," she said, setting her glass on the cocktail table between their two chairs, bending over to kiss him on the crown of his head. She grabbed his head in her arms and gave him a nuzzle, mussing his salt and pepper longish mop of hair. She had to admit that the $200 haircuts certainly made him look sexy and boyish for a middle-aged man. She thought again about how lucky she was to have such a loving, perceptive man in her life.

She sat, took a sip of her drink, and watched him running his fingers through his hair, getting it back into his artfully arranged casual flop that it was so precisely engineered to resemble. "How was your day? Don't I remember that you were going to have to do something odious with some German energy-market people?"

She looked at him attentively and was somewhat surprised when he didn't immediately reply. Instead, after a minute or so of silence, he gave a long sigh, raised his drink, and took a long swallow. He then turned his whole body to face her, looked her in the eyes, and paused before he spoke. "Molly, I've been in therapy for nearly a year, and I need for you to come to a session with me so you can help me with what I've been working on."

Molly's mouth gaped open, and she was stunned at what she had heard. Philip Laughlin was the most stable, calm, and fearless man she had ever known, and the idea that he would need therapy was absolutely incomprehensible to her. She reached for his hand, and gripped it tightly, "Phil, whatever in the world have you been having problems with that you needed therapy, honey? You know that you can talk to me any time and that I'd do anything on the face of the earth for you."

He grimaced slightly, "Moll, it was something that I've had to work out for myself, but now I need your help; and the only way I can do it, is for you to come in with me and hear about everything that's been going on, along with my therapist's take on the matter."

"Baby, obviously, I'll do anything I can to help, but isn't there anything you can tell me that will help me prepare myself?"

"Really, Molly, it'll all work out best if we leave it for the doctor's office. Everything will be apparent then, and we can go from there."

"I'm very anxious about this honey. When is this session supposed to take place, you know I'll need to work it into my calendar?"

"I'm sorry for the short notice, but I was hoping that you can make Friday at 4:00, and I'll text you the address. It's not far from the Georgetown campus, so you'll only have about a fifteen-minute drive."

"Honey don't worry about the short notice. You're the most important thing to me and I'm sure that I can make it work if it's important for your well-being."

Phil smiled at her wistfully, and said, "Moll, I know you'll understand, and will do the right thing."

***************

Meeting the Therapist

Phil had gently rebuffed her questions and concerns over the ensuing three days, and by the time Friday arrived, Molly was worried sick and consumed with curiosity about what was causing Phil so much pain that he had needed lengthy therapy.

She was uncharacteristically early for the appointment, arriving at fifteen minutes before the appointed hour. She arrived at the address she had been given, stopped at a gated drive with an intercom, and pushed the button on the speaker. A male voice asked, "Who's there please," and after she gave her name, the gate swung open, closing behind her after she had driven through.

She rolled down a shaded drive alongside a large brick Federalist-style home to the rear of the building where there was a spacious backyard enclosed by wrought-iron fencing and a large paver-surfaced parking area in which was parked Phil's BWM and one other sedan. She sat quietly for a few minutes, gathering herself, and taking calming breaths. She couldn't rid herself of the thought that maybe Phil was sick, seriously so, and that he was trying to gather himself to tell her. She shook herself like a dog coming out of the water and tried to shed her fears. Finally, she left the car, entered the house through the marked back entrance, and walked into a small foyer cum waiting room where Phil sat in a very expensive-looking comfortable leather chair. He arose, smiled slightly, and said, "Any trouble with the directions?"

"No, sweetie, everything was fine, and you will be too," she said decisively.

"I expect I will, Molly," Phil said with conviction in his eyes.

At that moment, the other door to the room opened, and a very large man appeared. He looked to be about their age, but rough-looking, about six-and-half-feet tall, and bulky like a professional football player. He was dressed rather unusually, Molly thought, for a psychotherapist, in a mono-tone rugby shirt, tan carpenter's jeans, and what looked like Doc Martens boots.

He walked over to Philip, shook hands, and said, "How ya doin' Phil?"

Philip smiled and responded, "I dunno, you tell me."

They laughed heartily apparently having shared this little joke often.

He turned to her, took one of Molly's hands in both of his, and looked at her with the gentlest, calming eyes that she had ever seen. "And you must be the accomplished and beautiful Molly Laughlin."

She uncharacteristically blushed like a schoolgirl, and mumbled, "Well, I don't know about that."

"But I do," he said heartily, "Come on in, and let's make some coffee and talk."

As he led the way in, he said over his shoulder, "I'm Frank Condon, but my friends call me Frankie."

The three walked into an office that was as large as most living rooms, surprisingly populated with modern-style furniture. At one end of the room was a large glass and black metal desk with two chairs facing it, and at the other end, in front of a gray marble fireplace, a grouping of three comfortable-looking, plain black leather chairs clustered around a small central table, with a small cocktail-type table beside each.

Frank gestured them toward the three-chair area while he went over to a coffee bar that would have been at home in any commercial establishment and started the quasi-religious ritual of making the perfect pot of coffee. While it was brewing, he came back over and sat in the third, unoccupied chair, and looked at the two of them. "So, Phil, what have you told Molly in preparation for this visit"?

"I haven't told her anything Frank, I wanted you to explain things first at the basic level before we got into anything substantive."

"OK, that's what you had said that you wanted to do, but I wanted to make sure that we were still reading from the same map here."

Phil simply nodded.

Frank turned to look at Molly, whose face had taken on a decidedly anxious expression and started to say something, at which point the coffee maker gave its characteristic hiss and gurgle indicating that coffee was waiting. Phil raised one finger to pause the conversation, went over to the bar, poured the coffee into a thermal carafe, assembled a cream and sugar service, and carried all of it back over on a silver tray. He gestured to the service, and said, "Help yourself, you know what you want better than I do." He winked, "Just a little therapist humor there."

After they had served themselves coffee and Molly was gripping her cup like a life preserver, Frank looked at her, and said, "So, Molly, Phil tells me that you've never had experience with emotional health therapy, and probably don't know much about it. Is that a fair assessment?"

She looked back and forth between the two of them and nodded her head in tight little jerks.

"OK," Frank said decisively, "Then let me tell you a little about me to begin."

"As I told you, I'm Franklin Condon, and I have both an M.D., and a Ph.D. in clinical psychology, I am a practicing psychiatrist, and more specifically a psychotherapist. Typically, I treat those with a demonstrable mental illness of some sort, specifically PTSD, but Phil was referred to me by a mutual acquaintance who described him as "One of the best people in I know, who's in a hell of a mess." I agreed to talk with him and decided after that initial conversation that he could benefit from having someone to talk to who could possibly give him the tools to deal with his issues."

By this time, Molly was quickly losing patience. With exasperation, she said, "Please, I'm worried sick, just exactly what are the fucking issues?"

Frank calmly raised his hand, "If you'll just give me a few moments, Phil will tell you about the issues, I'm just giving you background, so you'll understand about how we got to where we are."

Frank steepled his fingers, put them under his chin, and paused in thought for a minute. He looked up at Molly intently, and said, "It may not be readily apparent, but the conscious mind only completely understands an issue when it's discussed aloud. It's sort of like when you have two people who are privy to the same information looking for an answer to the same problem. They can work separately, in their heads, and never find a solution to the problem, but put them together to discuss it aloud, and invariably, they'll find some pathway through that they couldn't otherwise realize. That's sort of the way that consultation with a therapist works, except the therapist has no information, nor is a participant in the solution, but merely acts as a guidepost, if you will, keeping the traveler out of the woods and helping him get to the final destination on his own. That's what I've tried to help Frank with, and what I may be able to help you with."

"Help me with," Molly said surprised, "What do I need help with? I thought that I was here to help Phil with his issue or issues?"

"And you are," Frank said calmly, "But, I'll let Frank explain what he believes that I can help you with."

At that, Frank looked over to Phil, who was staring fixedly at his lap, where his hands were clasped tightly.

He was silent for what seemed to be an interminably long time. Finally, he looked up at his wife, visibly relaxed, and unclasped his hands. He said resolutely, "Molly, I hope that you'll start seeing Frank so that you can let me go."

Molly paled, "Phil, what do you mean, let you go?"

Phil raised his chin slightly, and said resolutely, "Molly, I care for you, but I'm filing for divorce tomorrow, and I want us to have a loving and civil parting."

Molly, profoundly shocked, cried, "Philly, I don't understand, what in the world brought this on, how long have you felt this way?"

Phil looked at his watch, "For nineteen years, one hundred and thirteen days, Molly. Since the day that Patti was born, and the most excitement for you that day was for the card and flowers that you received in congratulation from Sam. I knew then that no part of our life was going to be just ours."

She looked confused; "But Phil, why wouldn't you think that I would want to share the birth of my daughter with the other man in my heart? You knew about Sam long before we were married, and I was always honest with you about him, that I loved you, but that I loved him also, that he would always be part of my life. You said that you accepted that and understood how I felt."

"I did, Molly, and I truly believed that you loved me. I still believe you love me in your own way now. But I thought at the time that once we were married, everyday life and the love we shared would diminish your relationship with Sam and that eventually, he would just fall away under the weight of our family dynamic. But it didn't happen. Even on that wonderful day when our daughter was born, we couldn't have it for just the two of us. I knew then that we would raise our little girl in the best lifestyle we could give her and that I would make the most of you as long as I had you, but I also knew that I didn't want to share the love of my life and that someday I would leave you."

By this time Phil had tears in his eyes. "Molly if you love me, you'll let me go. I'm not an old man. Hopefully, I can find someone else that I can love, who'll love only me, and you'll have Sam. Just let me go. That's why I asked you to come here so that Frank can try to help you understand why I have to do this and to help you accept it. That's all I want, for you to compassionately accept what's going to happen. I'm going now, and you can do as you like, but I sincerely hope you'll talk to Frank."

With that, Phil rose, walked to the door, and left, leaving a stunned and tearful Molly slumped in her chair.

Frank simply waited quietly while Molly cried until she finally said, "Why would he do this, how could he do this? Nothing's changed and we've been happy all these years. "She sobbed bitterly, "I just don't understand what's happened to him."

She looked at Frank and he said, "Molly, that's why Phil thought that you and I should talk. Beyond what he said to you here today, I doubt that he can give you a better explanation, but he believes that if you talk it through yourself from the foundation of your relationship that you'll understand his point of view, and that it'll give you the strength and compassion to accept his position and his decision."

"What about couples counseling, don't you think that would be the logical step, to help us work through the situation, to make adjustments that would help our relationship work," she asked desperately?

Frank looked at her intently. "Molly, would you be willing to give up Sam," he inquired skeptically?

"No, I could never do that," she said frantically, "Phil knew from the second week we were dating that I have been in love with Sam since we were ten years old and that I'll love him forever."

"Then, what adjustments can you imagine that would help you maintain your marriage," Frank asked bluntly, "In your mind aren't they really adjustments that Phil would have to make"?

Molly just sat there with her mouth opening and closing, with no answer. Finally, she calmed enough to fully grasp the gravity of her situation, and she looked at Frank. "I suppose that we had better set up a schedule of appointments for me to see you. I'm assuming once a week?"

"Molly, we'd better look at twice a week. I'm afraid that this divorce is something that's going to go pretty fast, that it isn't something that Phil is going to want to drag out."

She simply slumped defeatedly in her chair. "OK, twice a week it is. I don't suppose it makes any difference now anyway, but I still don't understand why, after all these years..."

************

Molly Laughlin's First Therapy Session

The door to the office opened and Frank Condon stood there in a soft-looking grey cardigan and roomy black slacks. Rather incongruously, he appeared to be wearing brocade carpet slippers.

As Molly walked into the room, she heard the ever-present coffee pot brewing up a fresh batch and assumed that it was a sort of ritual for Frank, a welcome to put nervous clients at ease.

Again, Frank directed her to the fireplace seating group, and after fetching the coffee service and serving themselves, he leaned back in his chair. "Dr. Laughlin (no "Molly" this time, she noticed), since this is the first session that we're having together, just the two of us, I feel that it's important for certain issues to be established in our minds. For that reason, until you become accustomed to the setting and our relationship, I prefer that we be somewhat more formal with one another. If you have no objection, I'll address you as Dr. Laughlin, and you may address me as Doctor, Dr. Condon, or Mr. Condon. When you become somewhat more comfortable in our roles and you feel ready to do so, you may let me know, and we'll relax somewhat."

"That addresses one issue, but there is another that is very important, and is crucial for you to understand for a variety of reasons. You must be aware that, though I am seeing you in a counseling capacity, and that you would be considered nominally my patient, that this entire process was brought about by and is to aid in the resolution of Philip Laughlin's difficulties. I tell you this because, the conversations that you and I have will be geared and directed toward helping you understand and accept how Philip feels, and to aiding you in moving in the direction of a safe, loving, and amicable resolution of the situation. I will in no way steer you in any direction, nor will I do or say anything that would be of any harm to you, but you must understand that, in this instance, Philip Laughlin is my major concern as a mental health professional. Do you understand the situation as I've explained it?"

Molly immediately nodded, and said, "I understand and agree wholeheartedly. Phil is my major concern, and all I want to do is to make him happy. My objective is to make him understand how much I love and value him and to figure out how to make this all turn out right."

Dr. Condon smiled understandingly, reached beside him to the cocktail table, and came up with a sheaf of papers. "OK, then if you'll read through this set of release forms, then we can get started."

She took the papers, and always a fast and accurate reader, she scanned every word. She smiled at the doctor, removed her Mont Blanc fountain pen from her purse, and signed her name where indicated. "I think that everything is very straightforward," she said with a tight smile.