Mad Psychologist
Although her formal name was Sandra Louise Mills, rarely did anyone call her that. At an early age, Sandra was abbreviated to Sandy, and it would stick. Her mother used all three names when Sandy's behavior disappointed her, or she expected more virtuous comportment from her daughter. She died shortly after Sandy was admitted to Cal State Long Beach, from a rare cancer no one knew she had. Her father was the CEO of a small company that made a unique product and sold exclusively to the government and was rarely home.
Her undergraduate degree was in business administration with a minor in psychology. Dreams of managing a small company and growing it into a large conglomerate dominated her thoughts back then. She never expected that she'd excel in the sciences, she was a natural and was encouraged to continue and pursued psychology in her master program. Five years later, after a short setback, she'd achieved her aspirations; she was Doctor Sandra Louise Mills, PhD. at the tender age of twenty-six. She'd accomplished what most people spent half their lives attempting to grasp and then moved across the country for a job offer she couldn't refuse. With her six-figure salary she was able to buy a small three-bedroom house on an acre of land in a quiet suburb of Boston. She replaced her aging Toyota Camry with a brand-new Honda Civic, which she planned on paying off in a few months.
Sandy had learned to focused on her studies, sidetracked only once with horrible results. Sandy learned from her mistakes and didn't repeat them. She'd dated occasionally. But had only been in one serious relationship, and that almost ruined her. Unfortunately, she found most of the men her age to be immature and only interested in sex and Xbox. She wanted so much more in a romantic relationship than just sex. She wasn't beautiful but could be cute when she tried. Sometime after her twentieth birthday, the skinny non-athletic nerd made time to begin exercising. Starting with running, she added aerobics, which began to add the much-needed muscle to her thin frame. Eventually her A cup size breasts doubled, and the late bloomer began to developed a few womanly curves in the right places, and Sandy began to be noticed.
Early in the Spring as the bare trees began to sprout leaves, the director of the psychology department, Dr. North of St Elizabeth's Medical Center asked Sandy to accept an unusual assignment. She hesitated. Fearful that she may be taken advantage of due to her youth and inexperience. However, her interest peaked when he explained that he was a fan of the NBA in a town where professional basketball was a religion, and he felt obligated to help. The task was to counsel the team's number one draft pick, a youngster from University of Nebraska (UNL), where he led the nation in scoring his junior year. However, since joining the team seemed to have lost his focus. Dr. North assured her she was chosen for several reason, the first because she was well-qualified despite her youth and secondly, being an attractive young woman close in age would have its advantages. The board thought it would be less intimidating for the young phenom. With the new season scheduled to begin in less than seven months, time was a luxury they didn't have. The hope was that she would be able to gain his trust quickly.
It dawned on him there was something they neglected to consider. "Do you follow the NBA, Dr. Mills" Dr. North asked sitting behind the large oak desk in his spacious office rubbing his chin.
"No," she said then quickly corrected, "Well not for a several years, anyway. As you know I'm from SoCal and was raised on the Los Angeles Lakers. So, not since Kobe and Shaq have seriously I followed the sport."
"A Lakers fan, well I won't hold that against you." He said in jest. Then crafted an analogy, hoping it would help her understand what was at stake, "Imagine the talents of both Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal rolled into a single player? That's the potential of this kid, your newest and only client for the time being and NCAA's all-time leading scorer Darius Chickasaw."
The name meant nothing to her. She hid that fact, figuring she'd "Google" him later. "Really? He's that good?"
"Yes. He's that good, maybe even better. If nurtured correctly he could become one of the greatest players ever. If we can find out what's bottled up all that talent. Since being acquired by the Celtics and moving to Boston, something is off. Unfairly many of the sports talk shows are already comparing him to the great Bill Russell."
"Well, see there's your problem right there. Make a trade with the Lakers, problem solved." She joked and they laughed for a brief moment, then she became serious again. "Kobe and Shaq, how big is he?"
"I assume you mean dimensions as a basketball player." He paused for a moment to see if she grasped his inuendo before continuing. "He's seven feet three inches and fast as lightning. Imagine LeBron James younger, bigger and quicker."
She blushed, hoping in vain that he didn't see her reaction to his inference, realizing too late that she may have walked into that one. She'd be more careful and considered her next question more carefully before asking. "His name suggests mixed racial ancestor, African American and Indian or should I say, Native American?"
"Mostly," Dr. North said. "His family tree is a mess. Seems like he's mixed with just about every possible race on the continent, Mexican, Asian, and Caucasian. Nevertheless, it appears he's made the best of all of them. Your mission is to get his head screwed back on tightly." He handed her his file. "You've got less than four months before the Summer League begins. You begin on Monday. He'll be in your office at ten. Don't concern yourself with the hours or cost involved. The team and league are picking up the tab. We need results and fast. You may want to schedule daily sessions, at least in the beginning. I'll check in with you at the end of each day. Don't let us down, Sandy." He stood indicating that the meeting was over. With file in hand Sandy stood too, straightening her light blue business suit, "I understand, Tom. I've a lot of work to do, but I'm up to the task."
Returning to her office she paced while giving the assignment considerable thought. She believed it would be better if she worked from her home office. It would be discreet and attract less attention. The idea was quickly approved, and she was told to order whatever she needed. There was a lot to do and little time to accomplish it. Sandy was amazed what could be done in a short amount of time when cost wasn't an issue. Over the weekend carpenters worked on her home. They created and installed a large entrance to her office. The door alone would be over eight feet tall, tall enough so that Darius wouldn't need to duck to enter.
This way Darius would be entering her office, not her home. A new walkway along with signage were installed providing directions to the office entrance. A large couch was purchased and installed to accommodate her patient's size and the rest of the weekend was spent on painting and the redecorating her office to take on a more professional quality with warmer colors and neutral paintings and wall hangings. The final touch was a nice assortment of house plants.
What remained of Sunday evening was spent sifting through the hours of data on the up-and-coming NBA star. She sorted through photos, watched YouTube videos, and listened to every interview she could find. Darius was a handsome young man. His face was fresh, light brown skin, big eyes, narrow nose, thick eyebrows, and a thick mustache. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and curled over his head in long locks ending down his neck. He was shy with reporters, his deep baritone voice was pleasant to hear, and his vocabulary seemed limitless. On the court he was a fearsome giant and a scoring machine. Sandy couldn't find any trace of a girlfriend, and he didn't mention having one. That was good she thought, he didn't need the distraction. She did, however, noticed the same attractive cheerleader in the background of many college photos and videos. She was pretty, with a killer body. Perhaps she simply caught the eye of the photographer.
As far as family went, the poor guy lost both of his parents in a car crash a few years earlier. He'd been living with his aunt, his mother's sister ever since. She was a "no nonsense tell you what I think" sort of woman. She believed in strict discipline and had been an active part of his life since his birth.
