"You're the one with the problem."
"Are you sure? Really sure? You wanted it for a few moments there, and then your frigidity took control. If you'll only give me a chance," he continued, reaching toward me.
I stepped back again. "Don't touch me!" I cried and grappled for the doorknob.
He pulled his hand back and smiled. "Okay, okay. You don't have to leave. I won't try to help you, if you don't want my help. A patient has to want the doctor's help."
"I'm not a patient and you're . . . you're no doctor!" I screamed and pulled open the door.
"If you change your mind, I'll be here," he cried after me.
I slammed the door behind me and flew down the steps, tears streaming down my cheeks as I charged across the lobby and burst out of the building, nearly knocking an elderly woman over in the process. I apologized and hurried away, nearly running now to catch the next streetcar. Right behind me, Jack Weller's smile and laughter lingered. It wasn't until I was almost home that I felt my heartbeat slow to a normal pace. I wiped away the streaks on my cheeks, took a deep breath, and stepped off the streetcar.
When I entered the house, I paused and leaned back against the front door, hoping to regain all of my composure; but something inside me, something that felt as dainty as china, was shattered and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't mend it. A doctor, as young as he was, had tried to deceive me. A member of the profession I idolized had filled me with disappointment and disgust. How could anyone study and work to be a doctor and then do what Jack Weller had done? How could he care about other people, their feelings, their pain, their suffering?
Mommy stepped out of the sitting room and stopped, surprised to see me standing there so quietly. "Pearl? I didn't hear the door open and close.
Where's Aubrey?" she asked gazing around.
"I let myself in quickly, Mommy." I flashed a smile.
"I thought you would be coming home much later," she said stepping toward me.
"No, it didn't work out."
"So you didn't have any supper?" she asked. Her eyes, those Cajun searchlights, as Daddy sometimes called them, examined my face, gathering clues. I had to look away.
"I'm not that hungry yet. I’ll eat something later," I said and flashed another quick smile before heading for the stairway.
"Pearl?"
"Yes, Mommy?"
She looked back toward the doorway of the sitting room. I realized Daddy was there, but hadn't heard our conversation; otherwise he would have surely come out to see me.
"Something's wrong. What is it, honey?"
My lips trembled. Tears burned behind my eyelids, then trickled down my cheeks. I shook my head and ran up the stairway. I hurried to my bedroom and fell face down on my bed, gulping back my sobs.
Moments later Mommy was there. She closed the door softly behind her, and I turned around. "What happened?" she asked firmly.
"Oh, Mommy. It wasn't something special."
"He didn't invite you up to his apartment to study as he had said," she remarked, nodding.
"No. We started to study, but he had chosen the topic as part of his elaborate plan to . . ."
"To what? What did he do?"
"I didn't let him do it, Mommy."
"Mon Dieu," she said, pressing her hand to her heart. "If your father finds out, he'll tear that man limb from limb."
"We better not tell him, Mommy. It was nothing. I can take care of it. In fact I did. He won't bother me anymore."
"What did he do?" Mommy asked, coming to sit on my bed.
I sat up and traced the threads in my skirt for a moment. "He said he had a young woman patient who had a problem making love. He called it the honeymoon injury and said he found out her problem was psychological. Then he started asking me person-al questions, pretending he was just trying to learn about the problem."
"Go on," Mommy coaxed.
"He said I was frigid because I was too smart and I couldn't enjoy sex. He said he wanted to help me be sure I didn't have the honeymoon injury."
"Mon Dieu. This man should be brought up before the board of inquiry."
I shook my head. "I don't want to have to tell this story to anyone else, Mommy. Please."
"All right, honey. Don't worry. Of course," she said nodding, "you should have nothing more to do with him. If he so much as speaks to you—"
"He won't bother me," I said.
"I'm sorry you had such a terrible experience, Pearl."
"It won't be my last time, Mommy," I declared confidently.
Mommy stared at me a moment. "No, it probably won't. You're very wise to know that, Pearl."
"Did such a thing happen to you?"
"Yes. Worse," she added. "My grandfather tried to sell me to a man. He even chained me to a bed so I would be there when the man came."
"How horrible. How could your grandfather do such a thing?"
"He was an alcoholic. He would have sold his soul for money to buy whiskey. Grandmère Catherine believed he did."
"What happened to you?"
"I managed to escape, and that was when I came to New Orleans and met your father. So you see, every dark cloud does have a silver lining," she added, smiling. I smiled and nodded and then tightened my lips and looked down again. "What else happened, Pearl?"
"It's not that anything else happened. It's . . ."
"What honey?"
"It's what he said. I wonder if there is any truth to it. My school friends think so, and so do all my ex-boyfriends, Oh, Mommy, what if it's true? What if I can never relax with any boy? No one will ever fall in love with me," I moaned.
"I don't think it's true, and I know you don't have to sleep with the first man who propositions you, just to prove you're not frigid. I don't suppose there's an approach that hasn't been tried on some unsuspecting young woman, but for him to use his authority as a doctor . . . deplorable. There's nothing wrong with you, honey," she said, putting her arm around me. "I didn't sleep with every boy who wanted me to sleep with him."
"How many did you sleep with, Mommy?" I asked and then bit my tongue. Even though we were like sisters, I hated prying into such a personal part of her life.
She stared for a moment and then smiled. "I slept only with your father. No one else mattered," she replied. "Maybe that sounds stupid to today's young people, sounds boring, but—"
"It doesn't sound stupid or boring to me, Mommy."
"When you find the right person, something precious and good will happen, and that will make you feel safe with him. When you feel safe, you won't hesitate to be a complete lover. I'm not one of these love experts who write columns in the newspapers, but I know what was true for me, and I feel sure it will be true for you as well. You think too much of yourself and you value your emotions too much to give anything away cheaply. That's good, and it doesn't make you a prude or frigid. It makes you wise." She smiled and laughed to herself.
"What?"
"I remember when I was a little girl, I was watching two larks flitting about madly, and I asked Grandmère Catherine what was wrong with them. She said they were doing a mating dance. The female was pretending not to be interested, which, Grandmère Catherine explained, made the male even more interested and guaranteed the female she wouldn't be disappointed. 'She just wants him to know she ain't no easy date,' Grandmère said."
We both laughed.
"You were so lucky to grow up in the bayou. I wish I had," I said.
"Oh, it was no picnic. We worked hard to have what we needed just for day-to-day living, but the mornings and the nights . . ."
"You still miss it, don't you, Mommy?"
"I do. Some."
"Why don't we go back? Why don't we all visit Cypress Woods?" I said excitedly.
"No, I don't think so, honey. Not just yet," she said getting up, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"Hungry?"
"A little."
"Then let's go downstairs. We'll pretend you just came in and we'll go get you something to eat. Daddy will want to hear every detail about your day at the hospital."