He said, “It was nice at the disco. Let’s remember that.”
Sarah looked at him and said, “I’m sorry for those things I said. Won’t you stay for that coffee?”
“No. If I see you like this a moment longer... The first time for us has to be different.”
She said, “Come on,” and rolled over on to her stomach so that she was naked again.
But the door slammed, and she was alone.
She cursed and reached for the light switch.
She had her meeting with Ed on Sunday. It was sunny, so they walked in the park again. The heat of August had blanched the grass, and the smells of the zoo wafted across the mall. At the Bethesda Fountain, they stopped at a peddler’s stand and he bought her a small enameled spider on a chain.
“It’s a memento,” he told her. “Whatever the media say, remember that Spider Girl was just a wild idea of Sloane’s.”
The media were saying plenty in the Sunday papers. The stories varied from accounts of the incident in Never Fear to news of her starring role in Havelock’s show. They were supported by large pictures in the tabloids and quotes from her various interviews, ‘I HATED THEM’: SPIDER GIRL. The caption writers had really enjoyed themselves, SPIDER GIRL SARAH DROPS IN was typical, with such variations as SCARY SAREY and SHE’S OFF THE WALL. It was fun, but it didn’t shake her conviction that Spider Girl could be a way of life.
“Ed, I wish you could see that it makes me a more positive person. It hasn’t changed me and it won’t. As you suggested, I simply identified areas of my personality that were spider-like.”
“It isn’t so simple. What we worked out was a way of thinking yourself into the character Sloane asked you to play. It was not a recipe for positive thinking. If you want to sort out your life, there are better ways of doing it.”
“Like analysis?”
“It’s not a dirty word, Sarah.”
“To me it is.”
“Well, if you want to keep analysts out of your life, don’t indulge in dangerous fantasies.”
“What’s dangerous about it? I don’t go along with this.”
“It’s a trap, Sarah. It limits your freedom. It cramps your thinking.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It gives a new dimension to my life.”
“Television and publicity did that. Say whatever you like to them, only don’t swallow it yourself. You are not like a spider.”
“Tell me something new.”
He took her arm and they walked in silence for a time. She was happy like this. They reached the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, and he glanced up at it. She said, “Don’t you dare say a word about female fantasies.”
He smiled. “Alice was a male fantasy. Freud could have had a field day with it.”
“Are you a Freudian?”
“All psychoanalysts are, to a degree. He laid the foundations. Others are more illuminating to me.”
“Who, for instance?”
“Jung, for one. He understood the role of the unconscious in fantasies and he recognized the dangers. There’s a vivid passage in Memories, Dreams, Reflections where he describes the struggle to understand his fantasies. He faces them and analyzes them, but throughout he’s afraid of losing command of himself and becoming — this was his own phrase — “a prey to the fantasies.” He meant neurosis. Ultimately psychosis.”
“I’m not scared of my fantasy, if that’s what you think it is.”
“But I am, Sarah.”
“Docs it really matter to you?” She spoke the question offhandedly, but it was momentous. She wanted him to say, in that forthright way of his, that he loved her.
“Would I keep on talking about it otherwise?”
“Tell me why it matters, Ed.”
“Because I hold myself responsible. It was my suggestion that you look for spider tendencies in yourself. That was telling you to play with fire. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You really care about me?”
“I care about anyone in danger of psychological disturbance.”
She turned to look at the sailboat lake. She would not let him see that her eyes had filled with tears.
He appeared not to notice. In a moment he said, “Did anyone you know see you on TV last night? I guess you got a lot of calls after it finished.”
She turned. “Did you try me?”
“No, I was with friends.”
It was another reminder that she was out in the cold. She didn’t know a thing about his friends. They could be Bible readers or poker players.
She said, “Don Rigden called and took me out dancing.”
“Nice. His idea?”
“Sure.”
“He seems to be a nice guy.”
“He can dance.”
“You still resent him?”
“Why should I?”
“But you do.”
“Okay, I admit it. I’m pretty mean to Don and I don’t always want to be. He’s nice to me. He’s good-looking. Most girls would give their eye teeth to date him. But there’s this hostility between us and it’s all on my side. I guess it’s a question of chemistry.”
“No, it isn’t that. There’s a more obvious explanation.” Was he ready to admit that there was just one man she wanted in the world, and that was himself? “I’d like to hear it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d accuse me of treating you like a patient again.”
“Please.”
“As you wish. On the most obvious level you resent Don because he’s a rival and a threat. You were beautifully secure in your research project before he came along.”
“I told you that myself.”
“Exactly. You also told me something in your life that I suspect is just as strong a cause of the resentment — your feelings about your dead brother.”
“Marty?” She shook her head.
“Face facts, Sarah. You had reason enough to hate him. He was favored by your parents. His bad behavior was excused because he was super-intelligent. They stopped your ballet dancing to pay for his private schooling. Each time you had a success, he topped it. You couldn’t win. Then his accident happened, and you had nowhere to put all that resentment. He was still a winner. You couldn’t bear a grudge against him now that he was dead. You turned it in on yourself and now you feel guilty. Right?”
She gave a shrug.
“But you succeeded in breaking out of that suffocating family where Marty had become a saint. You started building your own life at the university. It was a struggle, only this time you were winning. Then, out of nowhere came Don Rigden. Like Marty, he was younger than you and was said to be brilliant. Jerry Berlin treated him like he was the great white hope of the university. Your seniority and all your work were shoved aside, forgotten. What happened when Greg Laz arrived with his plans for TV? Don was brought in. It wasn’t even mentioned to you. Hadn’t it all happened before?”
“My feelings about Marty were transferred to Don?” “Only this time the dice weren’t loaded so much. You didn’t need to sublimate your hostility. You could unload it on Don. And while you had been powerless against your parents, you were capable of fighting Jerry Berlin. You took them both on and you look like you’re winning.”
“If I keep my head?”
He smiled.
Sarah was stone-faced. It was not what she had hoped to hear, but she could not deny its basis in truth. She was taking revenge on Don for something he had had no part in. It was painful enough to be told things about her motives she had not deduced for herself, things that did her no credit, but to have them expounded by Ed was mortifying. He understood her too well.
“Does it figure?”
“Too well. I can’t take too much of that. It makes me hate myself.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do you hate me?”