It was raining out and raining hard, the rain beating against her office windows and falling illuminated in the lights of the empty parking lot below. Rain wasn't unusual this time of year, but this was a downpour, and Dr. Lacey Evans worried that it might affect her plans for the evening if it didn't stop soon, and that would be too bad. She'd planned on wearing her new shoes, and rainy streets were no place for four-inch heels.
Across the desk from her, Mr. Shattuck was starting to rant, and Lacey reluctantly pulled her attention back to what he was saying. Jack Shattuck was a difficult client, older and more experienced than Lacey preferred, and he was in a terrible mood, still furious that after five weeks of Lacey's therapy, his wife had walked out on him and moved back in with her parents where she was reassessing their relationship and discovering her true needs, and supposedly finding herself.
As the couple's marriage counselor, Lacey had of course been present at the break-up and had worked hard to facilitate and provide support and mediation for both parties. It was unfortunate that the crisis had to occur five weeks into therapy, but as a trained professional she hardly felt responsible for it. The crisis was already there before she started treating them and the dissolution perhaps inevitable. In any case, it was her job to help people grow and discover their true potential, and such work often involved these kinds of radical changes. Since the break-up four weeks ago, she'd been seeing the Shattucks separately
Unfortunately, Mr. Shattuck didn't see the break-up as a necessary phase in his and Jeannie's growth as fully empowered individuals as Lacey suggested. He blamed Dr. Evans and her methods and advice for turning his wife against him, and now Lacey was doing her best to help him deal with these changes see things rationally, but it wasn't going well. That was too bad, because behind that anger lay a certain mature, animal charm that had always appealed to her, and in a very unprofessional way.
But tonight he seemed especially angry and argumentative and wasn't co-operating at all. Though Lacey had come highly recommended and was one of the top professionals in her field, he no longer seemed to be impressed by the diplomas and awards and certificates on the wall behind her, and she found his sudden contempt for her expertise quite irritating. She gave no sign, of course, but she was anxious for this session to be over. She was eager to get on with her preparations for the evening.
"I hear what you say, doctor, but I think you're wrong. I think you're dead wrong on this. You can't reason and talk your way into a better sex life. A woman—any woman--wants more than discussions and lists and contracts when it comes to sex. She wants passion. She wants desire."
The Doctor tapped her pencil against her teeth thoughtfully, as if she were listening. They'd been over this time and again. Lacey wanted Jack to talk to his wife about their sexual needs, his and hers, in an open and honest way. It was the textbook treatment in cases like this, but she had to admit that with the Shattucks there had been problems. Mr. Shattuck's desires went a bit beyond the usual, and their sexual problems seemed to be symptomatic of deeper flaws in their marriage. The break-up had been inevitable.
"Well of course, Jack. The passion and spontaneity come with time, once trust and respect are established. It's really a very straightforward process..."
He looked at her sharply. "So that's your advice? That's always your advice. That I discuss things with her like we're making some sort of financial decision or where to spend our vacation. I don't work like that Dr. Evans."
"Well, you make it sound silly, but yes, that's what I'm suggesting. Sex has to be approached rationally and logically. That's how we get what we want, through sharing and negotiation and discussion like mature, rational people, Jack."
A flash of lightning and an immediate peal of thunder made her jump. It was February, and while rain wasn't unusual this time of year, thunder and lightning were. They flustered her
Shattuck sat back in his chair with an ironic smile. "The gods are angry, Doctor. They hate bullshit."
With that he suddenly stood up and reached for his coat.
"We still have ten minutes, Jack."
"No. We don't. With all due respect, Dr. Evans, I don't think you know what you're talking about, or that you ever did. You're young, and all your learning comes from books, and it was your advice that gave Jeannie the idea to move out, and your advice that--what's the expression?--
estranged
her affections in the first place. Your advice has been nothing but trouble for me, so I'm done sitting and talking and trying to be reasonable. I'm done with your approach and your therapy. I'm done with all of this. Find some other lives to ruin, These visits are over!"
Before she could react, he opened the door and was gone.
She sat calmly and listened as the outer door opened and closed, trying to keep herself from getting upset. These dramatic exits were common in therapy, as were the threats to leave. It was all part of the process and she wasn't going to worry about it.
She spun herself around in her big executive chair so she could see her shelves, crowded with books and journals on psychology, development, marriage and relationship counseling. On the fourth shelf up, just a bit above eye level, stood her very first psychology text, and next to it the thick tome she and Dr. Annemarie Ross-Vandenberg had authored:
Principles and Practices of Modern Relationship Counseling
. It always comforted her to look at that book, so thick, solid, and substantial. She had a reputation in her field, and it was largely due to that book.
The bolt of lightning seemed to have been the rain's grand finale, and she was gratified to see that the deluge had become no more than a mist, acceptable weather for her new shoes.
She waited till she knew Shattuck had truly gone, then went to the window and closed the blinds. She went to the green filing cabinet and unlocked it with a key from her bag, and slid the top drawer open wide. She stood there, examining the collection of wigs, each on its own Styrofoam stand: blonde, brunette, russet, red: short and long, wavy and straight. Black for tonight, she thought. The short black shag. It was the total opposite of her own honeyed locks, and she was ready for some radical change tonight.
She took it out and closed the drawer, then opened the second drawer down and took out a storage bin marked "Nikki". The black wig was Nikki, and when Dr. Evans wore it, that's who she was. Each of her wigs had a different name and personality to go with it, an entirely different character, and Lacey loved making up their backstories and buying them clothes and make-up. Keeping her alter egos in a drawer helped her feel separate and apart from the game.
Because it was a game. The things her girls did weren't real, weren't her. She reminded herself of this as she gathered up Nikki's things and went into her private bathroom and pinned up her hair and put the wig on. A Game. Nothing serious, nothing real. Just a very compelling and fascinating game. Some people liked to jump out of planes, or ski down a slope at 70 miles an hour. Dr. Lacey Evans liked dressing up and posing as a prostitute, picking up men and going to bed with them and being the best damned fuck they'd ever had. She enjoyed dressing afterwards and leaving them speechless, taking their money and then going home, undressing and masturbating as she thought of the way they wanted her and how easily she'd used them. She called it a game but it was more than that. It was her sex life.
If there was a disconnect between what she told her patients and what she did in her private time, it never bothered her. She'd always been comfortable with compartmentalizing her different personae. She couldn't quite remember when, undergoing her own psychoanalysis in grad school, she'd come to the realization that psychology simply couldn't explain her behavior in useful terms and couldn't cure her. Nor was she at all sure she wanted to be cured. She'd looked into the abyss of her own personality and shrugged. So be it. The things she told her patients were classical, textbook answers to their classical, textbook questions. The questions that Nikki answered were not so clear-cut.
She turned to her make-up—the purplish blue eye shadow the bright red lipstick that contrasted so dramatically with Nikki's raven hair—and considered where she should go tonight. She hadn't been to the Madison in a while, at least not as Nikki. The Madison was far from the best hotel in town, but it attracted a lot of lonely salesman and had a good cheap bar where no one bothered you. It also was close by, which was a deciding factor on a night like this.
She looked at herself in the big mirror on the bathroom door. Brilliant. Her Nikki was just the right mix of professional woman and slut on the make--skirt a bit too short and jacket a bit too tight,; starched white blouse still sheer enough to show the suggestive shadows of her nipples. The stockings were maybe a bit too much, but she didn't expect any complaints, and she needed them to dilute the blatantly erotic straps on her shoes. She was a study in black and white, save for those glossy red lips.
Satisfied, even excited by the way she looked, she closed up the office and snuck cautiously into the hall. At 9:30 PM she didn't expect to meet anyone, but you never knew. Once she was in the elevator she relaxed. No one would recognize her now. She left the building and walked to her car. The rain was only a memory.
The bar at the Madison was pleasantly crowded: not too many people, but enough, and a definite dearth of females. A lot of single men drinking alone, scattered along the bar stools like birds on a wire. She removed her coat and took a seat at a table and ordered a bloody Mary, then sat back to check out the prospects.
Hardly five minutes had passed before the waitress brought her another drink. "Gentleman at the bar sent this over," she said. "Guy in the blue with the glasses."
"Oh. Thank you."
He was already walking toward her. He wasn't much, but he seemed eager, and that's all she needed.
"Thank you for the drink," she smiled. "Would you like to sit?"
"Thank you, yes. I believe I will." He held out his hand. "Andy Gertz. Gertz for shirts. I'm in the menswear business." he smiled. His glasses seemed fogged, and his proffered hand was disconcertingly soft. .Lacey liked them controllable and even a bit intimidated, but she liked them with passion too. Already she was having doubts.
"Are you from around here?" He leaned his elbows on the table as he talked. "A lot of the guys here are just passing through, in town for just the night."
"Yes. I live here. It's really a nice town, when it isn't raining."
