"Let's get to know each other first," I said. "Now, how did you come to visit Dr. Pedro Cordeon?"
"I saw his ad on TV. Right after American Gladiators."
I nodded appreciatively, as if this were an act of great diligence worthy of praise.
"So then I called the toll-free number, 1-8OO-BIG-COCK, for more information." Morris Gold pulled out a clipping and handed it to me.
"Circumferential Autologous Penile Engorgement," I read aloud. "What the hell is that?"
"CAPE. They liposuction fat from your stomach, then inject it into your dick. Makes it thicker." He winked and added with a little tune, "It takes two hands to handle the Whopper."
"Clever," I said. "What seems to be the problem?"
"You wanna see?"
"Later we'll take photos, put you on Hard Copy, whatever you want. For now, just tell me what's wrong. Have you become impotent? Is it misshapen? Why do you want to sue for malpractice?"
"It looks shorter."
"Looks? Is it or isn't it?"
"No, it's an optical illusion. By getting bigger around, my dick looks shorter. The doc should have warned me."
Should have warned.
Sure, we need to be warned not to stand on the top rung of a ladder, or not to crawl under the wheel when changing a tire, or that objects are closer than they appear in a rearview mirror. We are a fundamentally stupid people in the eyes of the law, and if we are surprised by perfectly logical risks in our lives, well… sue the bastards.
I buzzed Cindy, interrupting her weekly routine of painting her toenails fuchsia. At my request, she ushered Morris Gold out of the office, but not before taking him up on the offer of a sneak peak. She also advised him to eat more legumes and cut out all lactose, but I haven't the slightest idea why.
Having cleared my desk by simply placing everything on the floor, I opened Dr. Lawrence Schein's file and began reading. The notes corroborated what he had told me about Christina Bernhardt. Complaints of headaches, nightmares, feelings of dread. Bouts of insomnia alternating with patterns of lethargy and excessive sleep. Bulimia while a teenager, booze and cocaine by the time she hit twenty-one. A general, indefinable malaise for as long as she could remember. Blocks of missing memories from childhood.
I slipped a cassette into a portable player on my desk, pushed the Play button, stood, and walked to the window. From the thirty-second floor, I could see the beach at Virginia Key. A steady line of whitecaps, corduroy to the horizon. Twenty knots from the southeast. A few boardsailors were on the water, their outhauls pulled taut. I imagined the multicolored sails crackling in the wind, the whistle of a steady breeze through the boom. But the next sound I heard wasn't the wind at all.
"Do you feel you have to control your emotions?" Dr. Lawrence Schein asked.
A pause. Then Chrissy's voice. "Doesn't everyone?"
"No, not really. Do you overreact or misdirect your anger when you're frustrated?"
"I suppose so. Sometimes."
The scratch of pen on paper. Then, "Do you space out or daydream inappropriately?"
Another pause, and I found myself daydreaming about windsurfing. Maybe inappropriately, who the hell knows?
"Yes, I think so. I drift off sometimes."
The questions kept coming. "Do you feel different from other people?… Do you feel you have to be perfect?… Do you use work or achievements to compensate for inadequate feelings in other parts of your life?"
Chrissy answered tentatively but affirmatively, and so did I. And so would a large portion of the American public, I was reasonably sure. Still, I had an open mind. I am tolerant of what I don't understand, and even if it sounded like a Cosmo self-help quiz, maybe there was a defense to murder hidden in these tapes.
It took several sessions to get down to it. From daydreams, the discussion turned to nightmares. Chrissy was having trouble remembering her dreams, and Dr. Schein was helping her out. "Can you recall any locked doors or hidden passageways?"
"I don't think so," she said, her voice small and distant.
"Waterfalls or rivers with dangerous rapids?"
"No." In my mind's eye, I could see her shaking her head, a strand of blond hair falling across a cheekbone.
"What about snakes?"
A pause. "I've always been afraid of snakes-"
"Aha!" Sounding like it's a major medical breakthrough. "Go on."
"Yes. I've dreamed of snakes."
"Were they nightmares? Did the snakes frighten you?"
"Yes."
"Now we're getting somewhere," Schein said. "Snakes are a phallic symbol, of course."
Aw, come on. I've never had any training, but I would have asked if she had ever been frightened by a real snake. My neighborhood between Kumquat and Poinciana in the South Grove is home to a variety of reptiles, some of which are not even members of the Florida Bar. There's a four-foot-long jet-black Everglades racer that makes me jump every time I go out to pick mangoes. And yes, afterward, I've dreamed of snakes, too. The Lassiter Theory has it that dreams can reflect literally real incidents, not just metaphorical ones. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
"Christina, I must ask you to dig deep into the recesses of your memory."
"All right."
"What we're looking for won't be on the surface and may not be easy to find…"
Now I pictured her nodding.
"Were you sexually abused as a child?"
The answer came quickly. Twice, in fact. "No. No."
"Not so fast. You gave yourself no time to think, to dredge the waters."
"But I'd remember. I wouldn't have to think about it."
"Not necessarily," the doctor said. "In fact, there are only two correct answers to the question 'Were you sexually abused?' There's 'Yes' and 'I don't know.' You simply can't rule it out, particularly not with your symptoms."
Oh, brother. I hear a lot of leading questions in court, but this breaks new ground. Encouraging a different answer by "dredging the waters" of memory. I saw where this was going. The doctor was going to dig up memories Chrissy couldn't produce on her own. I could imagine how it would play to a jury. A part of me, the not-so-ethical part, was telling the rest of me, the semi-ethical part, that burning the tapes wasn't such a bad idea. Schein had known just what he was doing when he hinted he could deep-six them. Having Chrissy testify to the abuse would be a helluva lot better than showing how she had recovered the memories.
"I don't understand," Chrissy was saying. "If I'd been molested, I can't imagine forgetting it."
"You didn't forget. It's still there, but survivors of incest are frequently in denial. You have to work hard to break through the walls your mind has created. There are locked doors. We've got to find the keys to turn the latch, and it won't be easy. It can take weeks or years, and when the memories come, they will be painful. They may float up like bubbles or be disgorged like lava from a volcano."
Bubbles? Lava? As my granny would say, malarkey!
"Who abused me?" Chrissy asked, her voice weak.
"We don't know that, do we?"
"Was it a stranger or someone I knew?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. I just can't understand why I wouldn't remember."
"Your inner child is protecting you from the memory. But that denial only creates other problems. To cure those problems, we have to get that child to tell us the truth."
"I'm afraid," Chrissy said.
"I'll hold your hand on this journey. The road to recovery is treacherous and filled with pain, but at the other end is renewal and life."
I heard Chrissy sigh. "All right. What now?"
"Have you ever been hypnotized?" Dr. Schein replied.
"Focus on your breathing and relax," Dr. Schein said, his voice soothing and melodious. In the background, New Age music played softly, a piano tinkling with single notes like a light rain on a tin roof. "Breathe from way down. That's it. Sink deeper into the chair. Allow your face and neck to relax. Let yourself go. Now visualize a brilliant white light. The light will move from your head throughout your body, relaxing everything it touches. Every cell, every muscle, every organ will be touched by the beautiful, brilliant light. You are calm and serene as it moves through your blood vessels, through every part of your body. See the light. Feel its peacefulness as it fills your lungs and your heart, deepening your state of relaxation, reaching everywhere."