Dena was appalled. A psychiatrist! What in the world was Dr. Halling thinking about? She wanted to turn around and leave. But she was stuck. Halling would find out if she didn’t show, so she might as well go on in and humor them both.
She got out on seventeen, knocked on his door, and heard a voice say, “Come in.” Dena walked in the office and a young man, not much older than she, stood up and shook her hand.
“Hello, Miss Nordstrom, I’m Dr. O’Malley.”
He was a neat, preppie-looking man in horned-rimmed glasses. He had blue eyes and fair, almost baby skin. He looked as if his mother had dressed him and combed his hair before he left this morning.
“You’re the doctor?”
“Yes. Won’t you have a seat?”
“I don’t know why,” she said, sitting down, “but I was expecting an older man with a beard.”
He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you but I haven’t had much luck with beards.”
He sat down, took out a pad and pen, and waited for her to speak. This was something she would soon find out he did a great deal.
Finally she said, “Umm, I’m not here to see a psychiatrist. I mean, I’m not here because I think I need a psychiatrist, believe me.”
He nodded. Something else he would do a lot.
“I have an ulcer, and this was Dr. Halling’s idea. I just have a little stress, job related.”
He nodded pleasantly and made a few notes. She sat back and waited for him to speak.
He didn’t.
“Anyhow, that’s why I’m here, because of job-related stress.”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded, “and what is it you do?”
“About what?”
“What is your job?”
Dena was taken aback. “Television!”
“What do you … do?”
“I’m on it.”
He nodded and waited for her to continue. There was a longer, more awkward pause. “You might have seen me. I do interviews on an evening news show.”
“No, sorry. I’m afraid I don’t get the chance to watch much TV.”
Dena was thrown. “Oh, well. Anyhow, it’s an important job and …”
Suddenly Dena felt irritated at having to explain who she was and what she did. “I’m sure you spoke to Dr. Halling about my ulcer. He thinks that I should talk to somebody about stress.” Dena glanced over at the couch. “Should I lie down … or something?”
Dr. O’Malley said, “Not unless you want to.”
“Oh. Well … can I smoke?”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Dena hated this already. “Are you allergic or something?”
“No. But it’s not a very good idea for someone with an ulcer to smoke.”
Dena, more and more irritated, began to bounce her right foot up and down, legs crossed. This guy was a real jerk.
“Look, the only reason I came was because I promised Dr. Halling I would.”
He nodded.
“So, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Don’t you want to ask me some questions or something?”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” he said, in that maddening noncommittal way.
“I told you. I am under a lot of stress and I am having a hard time sleeping and I thought you might prescribe something to help, that’s all.”
“Suppose we talk a little first.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Is there anything in particular bothering you, anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No, not really.”
He looked at her and waited. She looked around the room. “Listen, I’m sure you are a nice person and I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I don’t really believe in all this stuff. All this whining and bellyaching about what your mother and daddy did when you were three. It may be all right for some people but, really, I’m the least screwed-up person I know.”
Dr. O’Malley continued to listen.
“I know exactly what I want, I knew from the time I was twelve what I wanted to be. I’m not weird or have some strange sexual attraction to my mailbox or something. Nothing is bothering me, I just have a small stomach problem.”
He nodded again. She continued.
“I’m not depressed, my job is going great. I have no desire to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, I don’t think I’m Napoleon. My parents didn’t beat me—”
Dr. O’Malley, making more notes, said, “Tell me a little about your parents.”
“What?”
“Your parents.”
“They’re fine, they’re dead, but they didn’t tie me to a bedpost or anything. I’m very well adjusted. One of the things people have always said about me is that I am confident and mature. People come to me with their problems. In fact, everybody says I’m the most normal person they have ever met—and believe me, in my business that’s hard.”
“Any siblings?”
“What?”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“No. Just me.”
“I see,” he said and wrote only child. “How old were you when your parents died?”
“My father was killed in the war before I was born.”
He waited. She looked around the room. “How long does it take to become a psychiatrist?”
Dr. O’Malley said, “A long time. And your mother?”
“What?”
“How old were you when your mother died?”
“I forget. Does it take less time to be a psychiatrist than it does to be a real doctor?”
“No, it doesn’t. What was the cause of death?”
Dena looked at him. “What?”
“Your mother.”
“Oh, hit by a car.” Dena began to rummage around in her purse.
“I see. How did you feel about that?”
“Just like anyone would feel if their mother was run over. But you get over it. Do you have any gum or anything?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
He waited for her to continue but she did not. After a minute she became more agitated. “Look, I’m not here to be analyzed. I don’t need it. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Doctor, but I basically am a very happy person. I have everything I want. I’m in a very nice relationship. Things couldn’t be better; all I have is a bad stomach.”
He nodded and made notes. What was he doing, playing tic-tac-toe? When the session ended, Dena couldn’t wait to leave. She wondered what the hell was she going to talk to this cold fish about for the next two months. How could she possibly talk to this guy? He was an idiot, a Neanderthal.
He didn’t even watch television, for God’s sake!
Meanwhile, Back at the Springs
Elmwood Springs, Missouri
1974
Norma, Macky, and Aunt Elner were having dinner in the dining room. Norma passed the rolls. “Poor Tot, here she spent all morning baking that cake and then to have it ruined. I tell you, she has the worst luck.”
Aunt Elner’s face was sad. “Poor Tot.”
Norma said, “Imagine, of all days for Blue Boy to do such a thing. Here she had made this beautiful spice cake for the church supper.”
“She makes a good spice cake,” Aunt Elner said. “You have to give her that.”
“Oh, yes, nobody can make a spice cake like Poor Tot.”
Macky asked, “Who’s Blue Boy?”
Norma said, “He’s the one who ruined her cake. She said she went to put it on the cake plate and lo and behold she looked down and noticed there were bird tracks all over it. He had walked all over it.”
Macky asked again, “Who’s Blue Boy?”
“That stupid parakeet of hers.”
Aunt Elner said, “It’s not blue, it’s more of a green if you ask me. On top of everything else, poor Tot is probably color blind as well.”