The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 9

The rest of the day was pleasantly routine. I had several clients scheduled, and the task of concentrating on their concerns kept my mind off the ghoulish madness and bizarre chaos that had penetrated the edges of my life. The key to successful denial is to keep busy.

Overall it turned out to be quite a satisfying afternoon.

Spock had a moment of illumination in the midst of waxing euphoric about the latest Star Trek convention he’d attended. It seemed he’d had a close encounter with a protester – I couldn’t imagine what anyone would protest about at a Star Trek convention – out in front of the building, and it had upset him. The woman was handing out flyers and bumped into Spock, accusing him of being a ‘loser with no life’.

He paused in the middle of his passionate diatribe about the injustice of her accusations and said, a horrified expression on his face, ‘Is that true? Am I a loser with no life?’

I asked him what he thought, and we had our first authentic, meaningful dialogue about his role-playing.

All in all, a significant session.

Then Wendy, a member of my Fear of Commitment group, came for her first individual appointment to tell me that she’d read a book I’d suggested and had courageously allowed herself to go on a fourth date with a particularly intriguing man she’d been seeing. Since she usually ended every relationship after the third date – thanks to the number of times her father visited her as a child after abandoning the family – this was indeed exciting news.

Witnessing client breakthroughs reminded me why I chose this work to begin with.

Feeling good, I finished up with my last client, went home, poured a glass of wine and crawled into an aromatic hot bubble bath.

I sat in the tub, enjoyed the blissful sensations, played with the bubbles and recalled my talk with Cerridwyn on the mall. How silly of me to take the tarot-reader seriously. It was totally rational that the strange events of the morning had caused me to be anxious. It really wasn’t so unusual that she’d picked up my fears about Emerald because I knew my own intuitive abilities often opened me to information from others, whether I wanted it or not.

To my mind, psychic awareness fell solidly into the category of ‘normal brain activities’, so I wasn’t in the least surprised by the wide range of abilities out there. Reading energy was a common human occurrence. Of course, I had to admit that encountering two such talented individuals – first Devereux, then Cerridwyn – in such a short time span was unusual. But Devereux’s gifts might be the upside of his mental illness, and while I didn’t doubt that Cerridwyn had skills, she was only a mirror – impressive, but not supernatural.

I was just thinking about how great it would be to take a nap when I heard a voice downstairs in my living room.

‘Kismet? It’s me, Tom. Your door was unlocked. I knocked but nobody answered.’

My heart tripped against my ribs.

My door’s unlocked? What’s the matter with me? Damn. I forgot to call Tom and cancel. Then the little psychologist in my head suggested, Maybe you didn’t want to cancel.

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I yelled.

I heard footsteps tramping up the stairs and then Tom poked his head into the bathroom, beaming a toothpaste-commercial smile.

Same old obnoxious Tom.

Surprised and highly annoyed, I sat up in the water, pulled a couple of big clumps of bubbles towards me and raised my knees up to my chest. ‘Hey! I’m taking a bath here. I wasn’t expecting you so early. Why don’t you wait for me downstairs?’

Why am I being polite to this jerk?

He ambled over, lowered the toilet lid, sat down and made himself comfortable. ‘No. I enjoy having you as a captive audience. Besides, I’ve seen you naked hundreds of times.’

He was right about that. From the first moment I laid eyes on him during our internship at the psychiatric hospital I was putty in his hands. All he had to do was give me one of those dazzling smiles or glance at me with his bedroom eyes and I’d follow him anywhere. Thanks to my parents, I couldn’t tell healthy attention from the opposite.

Okay, so I’d led a sheltered life. I was primed for the picking.

Tom had been the first man I’d had an actual relationship with. Oh sure, I’d fumbled around in the backseats of cars with various high-school and college dates, and I even managed to find a willing participant to relieve me of my virginity when I determined the time was right. But until Tom, I’d been an emotional virgin.

He was eight years older than I and he taught me things about the sexual arts I never knew existed. We spent four years together and amassed quite a collection of sexual aids, books, toys and videos. Unfortunately, while it was all about pleasure and orgasms for Tom, it was all about love for me. He’d been so disappointed that I’d muddied the waters. I didn’t have the wisdom then to realise how emotionally unavailable he was.

I gathered more bubbles around me. ‘That’s ancient history.’ I gave a limp version of a sneer. Unfortunately, I realised too late that it’s almost impossible to pull off an effective sneer while sitting naked in a foamy tub.

He perched there watching me, making no effort to hide the fact that his eyes were lingering on certain parts of my anatomy and he was enjoying the view. I remembered that wicked expression on his face and I felt a tightening between my legs – as if my libido had sent out an invitation that went into the mail before my brain could retrieve it.

‘Is the water getting cold?’ He leered at my breasts and smirked.

I followed his gaze down and noticed my nipples were large and hard.

Shit. Apparently my body didn’t get the memo about this not-lusting-after-Tom thing. Old patterns . . .

‘I always appreciated how quickly your body got aroused,’ he said. ‘It turned me on to watch you respond to me in such an obvious way.’

He stood, moved a step closer to the bathtub and laid his hand on his zipper. ‘Look,’ he said, rubbing his hand up and down the front of his trousers, showing me his erection. ‘See what you do to me?’

Geez. It had been two years since I’d had sex and my body was screaming Yes! Despite his heartless rejection and empty promises, I still wanted him. Even though he was the poster boy for superficiality, I still lusted after him. I was torn between being disgusted with myself and being overwhelmingly aroused. I started to suggest that we move into my bedroom when he uttered the immortal words, ‘Tell me how bad you want it.’

Yuck.

I’d been expecting a sensual seduction scene and instead he gave me a worn-out line from one of the porn movies he collected. His words hit me like a cold shower, dousing the flames of my romantic fantasy. All my desire for him immediately evaporated in the crystal-clear realisation that he’d never been who I’d imagined him to be and I’d been fooling myself all those years. Fooling myself? Let’s call a spade a spade: I’d been an idiot.

I raised my voice and gave it a cutting edge.

‘Very tacky, Dr Radcliffe. Tell me – does that approach usually work for you these days? Are more women responding to “Mr Macho” than responded to “Mr Sensitivity”? Hand me a towel and get out.’

With a shocked expression on his face, he reached over, picked up a towel and handed it to me.

I stood and slowly wrapped the towel around myself, noticing he was still enjoying the show. ‘There’s some wine downstairs. Go and help yourself. Leave. Now.’

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times but no words emerged. The colour drained from his face and his expression veered back and forth between confusion and disbelief. He finally turned and silently retreated.

After he left, I stepped out of the tub and stood in front of the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes shone. At least it was good to have more evidence that my body was still capable of sexual arousal. Over the last couple of years, I’d started to wonder. But it was clear that anything personal between the two of us was finished. I was actually glad Tom had shown up because who knew how long I might have carried the torch if he hadn’t reminded me of who he really was?

Love truly was blind.

‘If I promise to go back to being Mr Sensitivity, can I come up and talk to you while you put your makeup on?’ Tom crooned from the foot of the stairs. ‘I’m getting lonesome down here.’

I rolled my eyes. He was trying to con me again, but it wasn’t going to work. I had come to my senses. ‘Sure. You can come up, but I’m almost done. Bring the wine bottle with you.’

I might need a weapon.

He came upstairs and leaned against the door to the bathroom, lowered the bottle onto the counter by the sink and stood there quietly, sipping his wine.

‘I feel as if I should apologise, but you can’t really blame a guy for trying.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve got such a long history together. You’ve become even prettier since we split up.’

‘I can blame a guy for trying, so feel free to come up with one of your brilliant, meaningless apologies. I’m all ears.’

I’d pulled my hair up into one of those large hair clips so it wouldn’t get wet in the bath and now I released it, letting the curls cascade down my back.

He reached out and picked up one of the wavy clumps. ‘Was your hair always this long? It’s very sexy.’

‘Yes,’ I said, frowning. I edged away. All his idiotic behaviours were coming back to me. Now that I wasn’t at the mercy of my hormones, he was simply an annoyance – not even worth getting worked up about. ‘It was always this long. In fact, you insisted I never cut it. Sounds like you’re having some memory problems. I’d watch the recreational drug use, if I were you.’

Still playing with my hair, he ignored my dig and inspected the Band-Aid on my neck. ‘What’s this?’ He touched it with one finger.

I smacked his hand away.

‘A nasty hickey, if you must know. Nothing I’d want my clients to see.’

‘A hickey, eh? Someone marking his territory?’

‘You, Dr Radcliffe, are a sexist pig.’

He trailed a finger across the top of my breast and gave me his ‘Aren’t I a naughty boy?’ face I remembered so well.

I grabbed the offending finger and bent it backwards, causing him to yelp with pain and pull his hand away.

What a jerk. I guess you really can’t teach an old horndog new tricks. Why am I even being nice to this fool? Is my old self-destructive pattern really that powerful?

‘As usual, you’ve misinterpreted my actions and you’re being irrational.’ He rubbed his wounded digit. ‘Of course, all women are emotional basket cases. Freud was really on to something with his notions of female psychology. Hysterics, every last one of you. I was merely attempting to show you that I still find you attractive. You needn’t have resorted to violence.’

Wow. I guess I’m angrier at him than I realised. But he’s such an asshole.

I didn’t address anything he said because I knew what he was up to and I was already tired of his games. He just couldn’t believe that a woman would turn him down – that his routine hadn’t worked. I remember being jealous for most of the time we’d been together because Tom just couldn’t resist flirting with every waitress, clerk or secretary he encountered. Why hadn’t I noticed his pitiful insecurity before? And why had I blamed myself?

He stood silent for a few seconds, watching me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said so quietly I could barely make out the words.

‘What?’ I shifted my gaze to his. He couldn’t have said what I thought I heard. He never apologised.

He cleared his throat. ‘I said I’m sorry.’ His usual arrogant manner had vanished, like dropping a mask. His brown eyes appeared sincere.

I stared at him, my mouth open, frowning. I lowered the mascara wand. ‘Sorry? For what?’ What’s going on? Is this a trap? Is he setting me up? I’m not sensing anything. Where are my abilities when I really need them?

He blinked a couple of times and sighed. ‘For the way I broke things off with you. I was an idiot. I regretted it immediately, but I always thought you deserved more than me, someone who could really be there for you – especially after what you went through with your parents – so I forced myself to stay away, to let you think what you now think of me. But I am sorry. I don’t want you to hate me any more.’

The mascara wand fell onto the counter with a clunk, leaving a gummy black blob. ‘You’re sorry?’ My brain couldn’t process the words. I scanned his face and remembered times when we first got together that Tom had been warm and kind. Before he began to buy into the psychology department’s promotion of him as the ‘next big thing’. Before his ego took over. Times when he really did live up to the potential I saw in him. That’s why ending the relationship had been so hard for me. He was the only person I’d ever trusted. But I hadn’t seen any evidence of that version of Tom for years. Who was this stranger in my bathroom?

‘Yes. I’m sorry. I hope someday we can be friends again. I miss you. You were more important to me than I wanted to acknowledge. I made the decision to focus on my career and I treated you poorly, pushed you away. I do sincerely apologise.’ He rubbed his eyes, then cleared his throat. ‘But that’s about as much self-disclosure as I can stand for one day, so I’m going to stop talking now.’

I watched the mask slip back into place.

We stared at each other for endless seconds, then I reached down for my mascara wand, the surreal spell broken.

I didn’t know what to feel in that moment. Sad, confused, shocked? Who knew he could still be human under his shallow, relentless quest for outer success?

‘I don’t know how to treat you now.’ I turned my attention back to the mirror. ‘You’ve blasted my assumptions out of the water. Who are you?’

He gave a talk-show-host smile. ‘I’m still the same Tom you’ve come to expect. Let’s just leave it there. I intend to be the most famous psychologist in the world.’

‘Okay.’ Back to normal. Abnormal? I’d definitely need to take this bizarre development to Nancy. He’d just rewritten my reality. ‘A friend is coming by pretty soon,’ I mumbled, my face close to the mirror so I could finish putting on my mascara without smudging it. My hands were still a little shaky. I hadn’t expected to have such a deeply held truth overturned in a matter of minutes. ‘We’re going out to a club downtown. I meant to call you and cancel for tonight, but I forgot.’

Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. Sound carried easily in my small townhouse.

Tom turned and raced down the stairs, yelling, ‘I’ll get it.’

I’d put money on the fact that he assumed my friend would be female.

‘Is Kismet here?’ Alan asked, giving each syllable a slightly higher pitch, as if he momentarily thought he’d come to the wrong door.

I didn’t hear anything for a few seconds and then Tom obviously recovered from his dashed expectations and reclaimed his innate pomposity. ‘Yes, of course, please come in. I’m an old friend of hers. Tom. Tom Radcliffe.’

‘I’ll be right there, Alan,’ I called down the stairs. ‘Just give me a few minutes. Get him something to drink, Tom.’

I went into my bedroom thinking about the weird conversation with Tom and dressed in the outfit I’d laid out for the evening. Then I returned to the bathroom for some finishing touches to my makeup and hair. I even squirted on a hint of the perfume a friend had sent me from Paris on her last trip.

Not having been to a dance club in years, I hadn’t known what to wear, but I figured jeans would probably work. I had an expensive pair that I’d bought a few months back and hadn’t worn yet, and the length was great for the high heels on my favourite black boots. I’d be even taller than usual tonight, but I felt like taking up space.

I was glad to have an excuse to wear one of my new shirts. It was the colour of a summer sky, form-fitting and low-cut. I’d had to buy a special bra for this top because none of my regular undergarments were skimpy enough.

Going out also gave me a chance to wear the beautiful Victorian azure-drop necklace and earring set I’d bought for myself as a birthday present last year. They matched my eyes perfectly and made me feel feminine – an unfamiliar experience.

Feeling rather excited about the evening, I came down the stairs and joined them in the living room. Alan’s lips spread in a wicked grin. He’d dressed in fresh jeans and replaced the wrinkled white T-shirt with a deep-blue version that matched his eyes.

‘Wow, you look great,’ he said. ‘Positively edible. And you smell wonderful.’

‘Yes, you really do,’ echoed Tom.

I said a silent ‘thank you’ to the helpful sales clerk who’d talked me into buying some bright colours and current fashions. Maybe it was time for me to go visit her again.

I felt pretty good and I had to admit I was enjoying the appreciative expressions on their faces. It had been a long time since I’d dressed up on purpose. It was nice to see that my efforts had paid off. Hell, it had been a long time since I’d had two handsome men paying attention to me. A long time? Try never.

Alan continued staring at me and I frowned. ‘What?’

‘I’m just amazed by the transformation.’ He laughed. ‘I came to pick up Kismet Knight, Ph.D., conservative scientist and instead I find Xena, Warrior Princess. Not that I’m complaining.’

I laughed too, feeling surprisingly lighthearted. Evidently, kicking Tom’s metaphorical butt and his unexpected apology had perked me right up. ‘You don’t know me yet. Who can say what other personalities might be hiding in here?’

‘I’m looking forward to finding out.’ His eyes wandered down my body.

I could swear I physically felt the movement of his eyes. Oh my. Either the wine is going to my head, or my pilot light just got turned up.

‘Ahem,’ Tom said, drawing my attention back to him. ‘I’m surprised, Kismet. It used to be worse than pulling teeth to get you to attend a dance club with me. You never enjoyed them. What’s special about this one?’

Well, well. Is the most famous psychologist in the world jealous?

‘We’re doing some research. Alan is also a psychologist and he’s introducing me to a subculture I’m interested in writing about.’

‘Hey, that’s terrific. Can I come?’ Tom asked.

What the hell’s he up to now?

I turned my gaze to Alan and he shrugged. ‘It’s okay with me.’

‘Are you sure, Tom,’ I asked him, ‘because it will probably be field study – just observation. I remember how you felt about that in grad school. You thought it was boring.’

But I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he imagined the sweet young scantily dressed subjects he’d be observing. No. Not boring at all.

‘I’m sure it will be fun,’ Tom asserted, flashing another of his game-show-host smiles. He ran his fingers through his abundant hair.

Hmm. This could be interesting. A chance for me to hold my own, not only with old-baggage-laden Tom, but also with Alan, a handsome non-client. Am I up for the challenge? Hell, yes!

‘Okay. Who wants to drive?’