“I wish I’d known. I might have conned you into being my partner.”
“I don’t know the first thing about flamenco.”
“If I can learn hang-gliding ... ”
“Don, you’re making me feel guilty. We must get together again soon.” She watched the pupils of his eyes dilate, and she knew she had him on that thread. She smiled but noted mentally that she ought not to think in spider terms. It could narrow her scope of action.
“Are you free this evening? How about taking in a movie?”
She smiled across the cases. “Thanks, but I need the evening to catch up on myself. This sounds corny, but I really do have to wash my hair.”
“Tomorrow? How about a disco? You like dancing.”
“Don, please understand when I say that I’m really beat after a day at the studio. Raincheck?”
“Sure. Just so long as I’m not cut out by one of those whiz kids from TV.”
She laughed. “Relax. They only chase guys.”
10
“How about that, Doc? Pretty impressive, huh?” said Havelock Sloane.
“Extraordinary,” said Ed Cunningham.
He had just watched the taping of the fly-killing sequence. He had seen it first from the studio floor where Sarah had asked him to stand. Then, at Havelock’s invitation, he had gone into the control room to see how it looked from the camera positioned above the web.
They had tucked Sarah’s hair into a black beret and given her black gloves. From above, under the powerful TV lights, the web was shimmering white and she was a black thing that moved with a speed and ferocity that was startling, frightening, and feral. The biting and binding of the victim was accomplished with horrific conviction.
“Shall we run it through again?”
“Thanks, but no. It made its impact the first time.”
On the monitors now was the reassuring image of Sarah with the beret removed and her hair loose on her shoulders, talking to Rick Saville on the set. They were watching a production assistant untie the drama student who had played the fly. As soon as his arms were free, he touched the back of his neck and then examined his hand. Someone gave him a cigarette. He climbed off the web without assistance. He did not join Sarah and Saville.
“Okay, you guys,” said Havelock through the intercom, “we can use that. We’ll break till eleven-fifteen.” He switched off and swiveled in his chair. “First take. This kid is a professional. I like her commitment. She told me you get the credit for that.”
Ed gave a shrug. “Not really. She’s self-motivated.”
“She was pretty anxious to have you here.”
“So I gathered.”
“You want to join her for coffee? Don’t let me stop you. Judy, my gofer, brings mine back here.”
“Thanks, I’ll stay. I think Sarah has someone to buy her coffee.”
“I’ll get yours sent up, too.” He arranged it with Judy. They were left alone in the control room. Havelock said, “It’s good that she has you as a backup. The pressures are going to be pretty terrifying.”
“I’m not her shrink.”
“She’s not your patient, you mean, but I figure you have an interest in the way that brain ticks over.”
“Sure, I’m interested, but I don’t have the influence you seem to imply. Any advice I give is strictly nonprofessional. She says categorically that she doesn’t want an analyst.”
“Hm. Maybe there was something in her past,” Havelock speculated. “It’s pretty obvious she needs support, even if she won’t accept it on a formal basis. Must be hard for you.”
“It is. This way I get the full emotional dependence you sometimes have to accept from female patients, but I don’t have the structured doctor-patient relationship to help control it.”
“She has a crush on you?”
“You could put it that way.”
“What will you do, Doc?”
“The obvious thing is to back off fast, but I can’t do that while she’s under so much pressure.”
“No. For Christ’s sake, don’t do that!”
“Besides, she interests me. You saw the TV interview she gave me? I’ve no reason to doubt her account of her childhood terror of spiders; in fact I discussed it more fully with her later. Whether we class it as a phobia or a taboo doesn’t matter. She overcame it without outside help, licked it to the extent that she actually chooses to work with spiders and is capable of identifying with them.”
“That really is weird.”
“Yes, but it’s a reaction not unusual in phobia sufferers. We call it ‘counterphobic behavior.’ The patient becomes so attracted to the phobic object that she seeks it out repeatedly. This is often the case when they master the phobia without help.”
“The girl has guts, that’s for sure.”
“She’s quite ferociously determined,” Ed went on. “I can understand the way it happened. The thing that intrigues me is whether there were any side effects on the personality. From my observation of phobia sufferers, I’ve noticed that conquering the fear isn’t always the end of the story. There can be a secondary reaction. You see, the phobia sometimes serves a purpose of its own in keeping the personality in a state of equilibrium. Remove it and you set up a problem elsewhere.”
“You’re losing me, Doc.”
“Phobias, fears, taboos, often represent deep conflicts in the unconscious. The guy who won’t go on the street because he’s terrified of dogs may unconsciously be punishing his wife, forcing her to be the breadwinner and the fetcher and carrier. If you cure the guy, his hostility to his wife may become more overt. The personality gains in one area, deteriorates in another.”
“That figures,” agreed Havelock.
“It’s an effect that bothers me a lot in my practice. I don’t want to solve one problem by setting up another.”
“You think Sarah may have a personality problem?”
“I’d like to be sure that she hasn’t, Mr. Sloane.”
Havelock released a long breath. “Doc, I want you to know that you’re welcome here anytime. Frankly, there’s a lot of money staked on Spider Girl, not to mention my reputation. She’s going to be terrific. You saw. Only—”
“You don’t want her freaking out on you.”
“You just said it. If the girl wants a shrink, I’ll pay, no trouble. Okay, it isn’t like that. You’re not operating professionally. But it’s still lost time for you, so if I can underwrite your expenses—”
“No way,” said Ed Cunningham. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s out of the question.”
Sarah didn’t mind that Rick Saville called her Spider Girl when he offered to buy her coffee. The last time he had said it, the day she had first appeared in the studio, she had resented it. Now she took it as a compliment.
She was happier at this very moment than at any time she could remember. She heard Rick’s small talk as they made their way to the cafeteria, and she made intelligible responses, but it was as if she were on a drug trip. She was high on success, the strongest dope. She knew for the first time in her life that she had done something superlatively well. And she could keep it going for take after take.
They found an empty table and Rick sat opposite her and leaned forward, his silver ingot suspended over the coffee, fixing her eyes with a steady, smoldering gaze no doubt tested and proved on the clipboard-carrying female section of the production team. His talk matched his look; it was an incantation of praise of her performance for the camera. But she didn’t need to listen. She knew it had been superb.
“The look on your face as you attacked the guy — petrifying,” said Rick. “The camera couldn’t catch it from overhead, but we did on the studio floor. And, Jesus, so did that poor slob playing the fly!”