On Monday I followed my routine. I concluded there was no point in taking action or speculating until I had seen the data. Phil’s packet arrived by Federal Express on Tuesday. I read most of his paper during my lunch hour, enough to know the extent of the damage. I decided then that further delay in telling Diane was unconscionable; besides, the objective situation was urgent. At two o’clock, fifteen minutes before I was due to lead a group session, just as I packed Phil’s study and video in my bag to show Diane at home, Sally buzzed me to say that Gene Kenny was on the line.
Don’t answer it, a primitive voice warned. I knew then that I was in bad shape mentally. An unhappy, dangerous Rafe had been given a voice again: “He’s bad news,” it said. “And you’re not fit to treat anybody.”
I picked up. “Gene?”
“Oh hi,” he sounded relieved. “I’m sorry to call.”
“Why?”
“I mean, I know you’re busy. I just — I’m a little upset, that’s all. And I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know where to start.” I explained I had only fifteen minutes, but I could see him tomorrow morning. (Was I reaching for distractions? I wondered and then cursed Phil. What had he done to me? Was I going to doubt my every move? That isn’t fair, I decided. Phil didn’t invent my insecurities.)
“No, I can’t tomorrow. Maybe next week. I just need to talk for a few minutes, that’s all.” And he did, saying he left Cathy some six or seven months before; two weeks ago they completed negotiations and signed a divorce agreement. He ended the marriage because he wanted to be with Halley all the time. It was terrible to do this to Pete, but living with a woman he didn’t love was making him a bad Daddy too, he felt. He was distracted with his son, quick to anger, and eager to avoid being at home. By divorcing Cathy at least he would get to spend quality time with Pete — quality time was Gene’s phrase. In fact, a number of artificial phrases had crept into his speech. I associated them with marketing. He said at one point, “And I needed to get my energy focused on the future, not a dead-end relationship. I need to create opportunities and maximize my potential,” explaining why he also believed that living with Cathy was holding him back at work.
“But the real reason is that you wanted to be with Halley, is that right?”
“Yes,” Gene said solemnly. And a natural tone returned. The harried executive was replaced by a vulnerable man. “I love her. I’ve never felt like this about anybody. I get sick to my stomach thinking about losing her.”
“Why do you worry about losing her?”
“I am losing her,” he said and his voice broke.
He reported they had been virtually living together for a couple of months, not openly because of the ongoing divorce talks, but they were free to do so now, even to plan marriage, which is what he wanted. Halley was resisting, however. She felt they shouldn’t rush into marriage, that Gene couldn’t be sure he wanted to make that commitment right after his divorce, and that probably moving in was premature. After all, she pointed out, they were together almost every night anyway. “Let’s keep things the way they are for a while,” she said.
“That’s sounds reasonable,” I commented.
“She’s letting me down easy,” Gene said, desperate and convinced.
“She’s not breaking up with you. She’s not refusing to see you.”
“She doesn’t have to. She’s going to be away anyway. We’ve bought a French company — I mean, Stick, you know, he’s CEO now, and the majority owner. He was part of a leveraged buyout of Minotaur and then we took over — well, I’m sure you read about it.”
I told him I hadn’t and that it didn’t matter for the moment. I asked him how long Halley was going to be traveling.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Gene mumbled. “I mean she’s supposed to help set up this liaison office in Paris. She’ll be going back and forth and there’s talk about maybe, I mean now that the Soviet Union is open to us, that maybe she’ll take some trips there—”
Sally buzzed me. My group was ready. I urged Gene to make an appointment. He said he wasn’t sure about his schedule. He would call tomorrow. “Just tell me, what do you think? Am I exaggerating?”
“Maybe you’re scaring her. She might be right. Perhaps you’re so eager to get married because you’re anxious about the divorce from Cathy becoming final. But let’s meet,” I urged him. “I’m more interested in why you feel so strongly about Halley—”
“I love her! I can’t live without her,” Gene said with such conviction I was startled. It was rare, surprisingly rare, to hear. Of course my patients were adolescents and children, nevertheless I had treated adults at Susan’s clinic and I worked with parents or other caretakers. I was nonplussed. I wanted to say, “But that’s absurd.” Instead, I mumbled, “I see.” After we hung up, I caught myself wondering: how do you know it’s absurd?
[My vanity doesn’t wish to leave the reader with an impression of intellectual naiveté. Naturally, as a professional, I would hear any patient’s assertion that he or she can’t live without someone not as an expression of true love, but some other disturbance. I confess this random thought, or feeling rather, to show the depth of my confusion at the time.]
Our conversation influenced me. I decided to make a clean breast to Diane. That was a struggle. Diane and I were supposed to go out to dinner with friends. I canceled the date. She found out before I had a chance to inform her. She confronted me in the clinic’s parking lot when we met to drive home together.
“Lilly told me you canceled tonight. Something about an emergency.”
“Did I say emergency?” I managed to summon a smile. “I guess I am panicked.” I lifted my briefcase and said, “I’ve got Phil Samuels’s new study.”
Diane frowned. “Fuck him,” she said. Her pert nose wrinkled. “It’s so bad we can’t eat dinner?” I noticed the few hours we spent out in the sun down in Tampa had already manufactured many new freckles. It wasn’t anatomically possible for her to appear threatening. I knew I was in trouble with her, and that did frighten me, but I couldn’t be scared of her.
“It’s so bad we may have to give up breakfast too. Anyway, this isn’t the place to talk about it.” I got into the car. She stayed outside, still frowning. Her short bobbed black hair trembled faintly as she tilted her head. Her right index finger made a circle around her temple, and then she pointed at me. One of our teenage patients, who was playing basketball on the half court adjoining the lot, saw her do it. He let the ball dribble away while he laughed uproariously, clapping slowly as he doubled over. Diane blew him a kiss and got in.
“So what does this motherfucker’s brilliant new study say?” she asked in a mock English accent, as if she were a duchess.
“I’d rather talk about this at home,” I said.
“No chance, bub. You canceled dinner, so number one, you’re cooking and number two, you’re explaining yourself right away.”
I tried a distraction. “You’re in a good mood.”