Chapter Nine of The Therapist's Journey is set at the first anniversary of the beach trip when Theresa and Miles became lovers, which was the subject matter of Chapter One of the story. Temporally, Chapter Nine is set within the period covered by Chapter Eight. It is an effort to adopt the suggestions of various readers that I more fully incorporate into the story (a) the sales girl who appeared in Chapter One and (b) Lauren Stone and her son Scott, who appeared in Chapter Four, and (c) relate some of my own experiences that underlie this story. Sally Barry, the eponymous therapist, is the narrator of the first and third part of this chapter. Lauren Stone is the narrator of the second part. As to your other suggestions, I appreciate and have read them all. If I can muster the imagination to incorporate them into the story, I will. As for those more interested in Becoming the Alpha Male, another installment is coming soon.
I
The summer after Theresa and Miles became lovers, the same friends offered the use of the beach home where it all began. Mike, Theresa's husband, had to beg off. All his time was devoted to staving off the bankruptcy of the construction company to which he had dedicated his life. Theresa invited Brad, my son, and I to join them. She and I decided to go down a day early to get the place ready. Brad would pick up Miles at the airport and join us the following day, arriving a day before Miles' friends and providing us twenty-four hours uninterrupted access to our boys' bodies.
Then there was a hiccup. Lauren Stone, the mother of Miles' friend Scott, was scheduled to speak at a conference located about a six hour drive from the town in which we all lived. The beach cottage being the mid-point of the drive, she asked Theresa if she could drop Scott off a day early. The only reason Theresa and I had to say no, that we planned to spend that day screwing our boys, seemed an excuse we should keep to ourselves. Theresa told her she was welcome and, if she wanted, she could spend the night and finish her drive the following day.
Lauren was, like I, a psychologist. She was respected for her meticulous approach to problems, an attitude reflected in her appearance. She was trim, attractive, and always perfectly dressed, every hair in place, make-up exact. During the past year she and I had become, if not quite friends, friendly. She had heard I was having success with some unconventional approaches to sexual issues and consulted with me when her by-the-book approach was not working. I, on the other hand, found it useful to discuss problems with her; she could see the flaws in my more outlandish ideas.
* * * *
Theresa and I were packing for the trip when she exclaimed, " It's her card. The one the sales girl gave me when Miles and I went shopping the day we became lovers."
I remembered the story well. In preparation for their mock date, Theresa and Miles, pretending to be a couple, had gone clothes shopping. The sales girl, for whatever reason, had given Theresa her card and asked that she call. That night Miles made his mother his lover; the rest of the trip was devoted to each other. Theresa must have put the card in her luggage and forgotten it.
She transferred the card to her purse. "On the way down why don't we stop at the shop. We can pick up a few racy items for the boys."
* * * *
When we arrived at the shop the next day we were greeted by a woman whose age was hard to determine. Could be mid-thirties, could be mid-forties. Her thin body was composed, it seemed exclusively, of wiry lean muscles. Her face was narrow and her black hair parted in the middle, stopping before it reached her neck.
"Can I help you ladies?"
"Yes, we're looking for some lingerie. I came here last year and really liked your collection."
"I hope your visit was pleasant. As to the lingerie: practical or fun?"
"Fun, and the visit was wonderful. We were helped by a delightful young woman. In fact, while packing for this trip I found her card." She fished it out of her purse and handed it to our host.
A smile split her face. "That's my daughter, Mehgan. It's nice to hear good things about her. She's just finished her first year at the Culinary Institute of New Orleans and is on her way home. In fact I expect her to call any minute. My name is Nicole Collins, I own this shop."
"My name is Theresa, this is my friend Sally."
Nicole, who was warm and positive, fun and playful, showed us the collection. Then her phone rang and she excused herself. I was holding a teddy in front of Theresa, imagining ripping it off her, when she reappeared with her hand over the phone's microphone.
"I was just telling my daughter the nice things you said about her. She thinks she remembers you. Do you mind saying hello?"
Theresa took the phone and related a few details of her visit. My friend would be a very bad poker player; she wears her emotions on her face. Her face lit up it when it became clear Mehgan remembered her. Then, as if out of nowhere, consternation flashed across her pretty face and her voice cracked. She quickly regained her composure, but something had bothered her. When she finished she handed the phone back to Nicole.
Nicole wandered off to finish the call. When she returned she said, "Mehgan asked if you would like to come to dinner tonight. She's an excellent cook."
I was somewhat surprised when Theresa answered for both of us, "Sure, we'd love to."
Nicole provided a time and place and Theresa and I headed for the car with shopping bags that promised some fun evenings ahead. Once safely outside I asked, "What happened in there?"
"She remembered me. She recalled the clothes I bought and then said 'I hope you and your son had a wonderful evening.' She knew Miles was my son."
"We don't need to go tonight."
"No, I need to know how she knew."
