“Hypnotherapy? I don’t want to be hypnotized, for God’s sake.”
Dr. O’Malley said, “Before you balk, I think you should consider giving it a try. We are finding that hypnotherapy can be very helpful with deep-seated … ah … relaxation problems can be treated quite successfully with hypnotherapy.”
Dena made a face. “I’m not crazy about the idea of going to a woman, either. Don’t you have a man you can recommend?”
“No, Dr. Diggers is the one person I can recommend with complete confidence.” At last O’Malley seemed to loosen up a bit. He confided: “As a matter of fact, she was my therapist.”
“What’s the matter with you? Why would you need a psychiatrist?”
He smiled at her sudden concern. “It’s required. All doctors have to go through analysis before we get our degree. Most of us need it, anyhow.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve already spoken to her and she will see you on Friday at our time. Her name is Elizabeth Diggers and I think you’re going to be quite pleased with her.” He handed her Dr. Diggers’s card.
“Oh, well … all right. Whatever.”
He stood up and shook her hand. “Well, good-bye, Miss Nordstrom—and good luck.”
Walking home in the snow, Dena felt as if she had been let out of school, yet at the same time strangely sad and a bit rejected. It couldn’t be the thought of not seeing Dr. O’Malley again; she was happy about that. Maybe it was just that Christmas was coming up. She hated Christmas. It was always the same, so many people pulling at her. Being single at Christmastime was a pain. She had to make up so many excuses, so many lies. J.C. was already badgering her to go home to Minnesota with him, but she had no intention of spending Christmas in the bosom of somebody else’s family. She usually slept through Christmas, and then had to lie about what a great time she had over the holidays. It was getting harder and harder.
By the time she had reached Forty-fifth Street the snowfall had turned into a blizzard and she could barely see three feet in front of her. Two blocks later she looked up just in time to see a large brown mass looming before her that nearly scared her to death. Startled, she stopped and suddenly realized that she had almost walked into a camel. A huge, live camel was being led from a truck into a side door at Radio City Music Hall.
As she stood there and waited for it to pass, she caught a quick glimpse of the darkened backstage. It reminded her of something she did not want to remember so she crossed the street quickly.
Later, at Fifty-sixth, she started to laugh to herself. Ira’s early lead would have been “TV personality trampled to death by camel. Details at ten.”
And Ira would have loved it.
Passing the Torch
New York City
December 15, 1974
After Dena had left his office for good, Gerry O’Malley sat back down, feeling ill. Sending her to someone else was the last thing in the world he wanted. But ethically and professionally he had to do it. He had fallen hopelessly head over heels in love with Dena Nordstrom, and could not be objective if he tried. That first day when she had come into his office, her beauty had almost taken his breath away. But he had treated beautiful women before and it was not beauty alone that made him constantly want to get up and hold her. It was the Dena he saw under that gorgeous Nordstrom exterior, that vulnerable, terrified girl, the girl inside the woman he wanted to put his arms around.
Letting her walk out that door was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. He looked at his watch, and dialed.
“Liz, it’s Gerry.”
“Oh, hi, doll, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to let you know she’ll be there on Friday. So I’ll send my notes on over, all right?”
“Good. How are you doing?”
“Other than feeling like a complete idiot, wanting to leave the profession and throw myself at her feet, I’m doing just great.”
“Poor guy.”
“Yeah, I finally found someone as sexy and beautiful as you and she turns out to be a patient. I fell in love with my therapist; why didn’t she?”
Elizabeth Diggers’s laugh was low and hearty.
“Seriously, I appreciate you seeing her on such short notice. Liz, you are the only person I would trust with her.”
“Happy to do it. And Gerry—want some highly technical professional advice?”
“Yes.”
“Go out and have a few drinks.”
“You tell an Irishman that?”
“On second thought, don’t. I’ll have the drink. And Gerry?”
“Yes?”
“You’re one of the good guys.”
“Thanks, Elizabeth.”
Dena had made an appointment with Dr. Diggers. She sounded nice, as if she might have a little more personality than O’Malley. Her office was on Eighty-ninth and Madison Avenue. The doorman who sent her up recognized Dena. Oh, great, she thought, now everyone in New York is going to know I’m seeing a shrink. And a hypno-shrink, at that. If her next test with Dr. Halling was better, she would stop going.
Dena rang the bell of the apartment and after a few minutes the door opened. A small Hispanic woman said, “Come right this way,” and led her down the center hall to Dr. Diggers’s office. The woman knocked lightly. “Dr. Diggers, your five o’clock is here.”
“Come in.”
Dena was surprised. Dr. Elizabeth Diggers was a large black woman in a wheelchair.
“Hello, Miss Nordstrom. I’m Dr. Diggers.” She smiled. “Didn’t Gerry tell you I was a big black woman in a wheelchair?”
“No.”
“I see. He tends to be short on small talk.” She pushed a plate of candy toward her.
“Yes, I know,” Dena said. “No, thank you.”
“Is that going to be a problem for you?”
“Excuse me?”
“How do you feel about my being black?”
Dena, who could lie like a dog, was caught off guard. “I’m surprised, that’s all. You didn’t sound black on the phone.” Dena realized that was the wrong thing to say but it was too late. “How do I feel about it? I couldn’t care less. I’m the one who should be worried. I’m the patient … does it bother you that I’m white? If so, tell me and I’ll be happy to leave.”
Dr. Diggers was opening the ever-present notepad and did not answer.
“Look,” Dena said, “if this is some sort of test, I don’t care what color you are but you might as well know I don’t want to be here. But I promised my doctor I would—so here I am.”
“I see.”
“I just want to start off being honest.”
“It’s a good start,” Diggers said. “And by the way, it was not a test but you passed.”
“If it did bother people that you were black, would they tell you?”
“No, not really, but I can get a pretty good idea if it is a problem by the way they answer.”
“So it is a test!”
Dr. Diggers laughed. “Yes, I guess you’re right; it is a test of sorts. Have a seat.”
“Is the candy a test, too?”
“Ah, now you’ve caught me again.”
Dena finally sat down.
“I have a few notes from Gerry but if you don’t mind, I’d like to find out some basic information. And by the way, I have seen you on television and I think you do a wonderful job.”
Dena liked that. “Oh, thank you.”
“Now, Gerry mentioned you seem to be having some biological effects from stress.”
“What?”
“Stomach problems.”