I drove to the Cherry Creek office and parked in front of her Victorian building.
‘Nancy?’ I knocked on the wood-panelled door frame.
‘Come on in, Kismet.’ She walked towards me, a warm smile on her face. ‘Nice to see you – it’s been a while.’
I strolled into her cosy psychotherapy office and squeezed the hands she’d held out to me in greeting. ‘Hi. I’m sorry I had to cancel our last appointment. Client emergency.’
‘Not a problem. We both know how it is.’ She nodded towards a couple of oversize chairs. ‘Let’s get comfortable.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ I sank into the soft cushions and sighed. ‘I’m glad to be here today. I really need a session, lots going on.’
‘Would you like some herbal tea? I just made one for myself.’
‘No thanks. I’m good.’ I propped my briefcase against the chair.
She sat across from me, Earth Mother incarnate. Full-figured, she wore a vibrant, multicoloured flowing dress, her long, curly white hair caught on top of her head with a jewelled butterfly clip. Bright-green eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘That’s a lovely suit. What an exquisite colour of blue – it really brings out your eyes. Is it silk?’
I looked down at my trouser-suit and brushed one of my long hairs from the sleeve. ‘Yes, it is. I’m glad you like it. We can thank the good taste of the sales clerk for this outfit.’ We often began our sessions with light conversation because Nancy wanted to give me a moment to settle before we began – a standard therapy technique. As calm and in-control as I remained when sitting in the other seat at my own office, like any client I always felt a little nervous about what the session might uncover.
‘Well, let’s get right to it, then. Where would you like to start?’
Nancy had been a psychologist for forty years, and I’d been seeing her for individual therapy for quite a while. She was my supervisor during part of my licensing process. After I completed the requirements, though I no longer needed supervision, I chose to continue working with her just because she was such a skilful and insightful counsellor. The fact that we also had a healthy mother-daughter dynamic in play didn’t hurt my personal growth, either. It was never too late for quality parenting.
‘I’ve had an exciting new development.’ I bounced my foot absentmindedly.
‘What?’ She chuckled. ‘You finally decided to stick your toe back into the dating pond again?’ She lifted her cup and sipped. Nancy constantly teased me about my relationship anxiety.
‘No.’ I grinned. ‘But we can talk about that later. I want to tell you about a new client and an idea for a book.’
‘Excellent! Your writing muse has returned? Tell me everything.’
‘A nineteen-year-old woman – girl? – I’m not sure what to call her, she’s really both. Trying hard to be a grown-up, but immature. Very sweet. Confused. Anyway, she was referred to me by her parents because, according to the mother, she’s obsessed with wanting to become a vampire.’
‘A vampire?’ Nancy replaced her cup on the nearby table. ‘I guess that makes sense, with all the books and movies currently flooding the culture.’
‘Exactly. Which is why I was so surprised to discover that nobody has written a book on the vampire-wannabe phenomenon.’
‘There aren’t any clinical texts on the subject?’
‘Nothing I could find online.’
‘So you’re going to write one?’ she asked, frowning.
‘That’s the plan.’ I sat back and examined her expression. ‘Hey, why are you frowning? You don’t think it’s a good idea? I would be the first psychologist to tackle the issue – talk show hosts would swarm out of the woodwork to book me as a guest.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded, her face serious. ‘That’s what troubles me.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I thrust my hands out in front of me, palms up. ‘I’ve been looking for a topic for my next book and nothing grabbed my interest. You encouraged me to find a cutting-edge clinical issue to study. Well, one dropped into my lap. Why don’t you like it?’
She steepled her fingers under her chin. ‘Are you sure that’s the kind of attention you want to draw to yourself? Think about the therapists who specialise in alien-abduction hypnosis. Their professional credibility has suffered. They’re associated with fringe, occult quackery rather than professional scholarship. They’ve diminished themselves rather than enhancing their standing in the psychotherapeutic community. I’d hate to see that happen to you.’
‘Okay.’ I nodded and tapped a finger on my leg. ‘I can see why you’d worry about that – vampire wannabes and the whole goth-lifestyle situation tend to reek of reality TV. But if I handle the topic professionally, not allowing myself to focus on the sensationalist aspects, I believe this could be a worthwhile project. I mean, wouldn’t there be general interest in the negative consequences of our social fixation with vampires? We really can’t allow our teenagers and young adults to embrace the notion of the undead without professionals talking about the downsides, right?’
‘When you put it that way, I suppose I have to agree a book on the repercussions would be useful. You’d have to make sure your presentation is always impeccable, though.’
I laughed and brought my hands together, as if in supplication. ‘Impeccable is my middle name.’
That finally elicited a smile from her. ‘I thought you said “Nerd” was your middle name?’
‘Very funny,’ I said, appreciating her, ‘but sadly true. So, you really think the idea has merit?’
‘Perhaps.’ She raised a shoulder.
Nancy the Inscrutable.
‘Of course, I don’t even know what I’m dealing with yet. Meeting one wannabe and hearing about others doesn’t legitimise a syndrome or disorder. I’ll need to do careful research before I even know if the topic is viable. Would you be willing to read the proposal, just to keep me on the professional straight and narrow?’
‘Certainly.’ She nodded. ‘I’d be pleased to give you feedback about this book, just as I did on your others. I’m glad to hear you understand the kind of slippery slope these media-driven topics can be.’
‘I do.’ I rubbed my palms together. ‘And I’m really excited about this idea. Vampire wannabes – who knew? My young client says there are tons of vampires in Denver. She’s obviously influenced by a wannabe love interest, probably some gorgeous young Robert Pattinson look-alike. Maybe I can get him to come in for therapy, too.’ I laughed, feeling more and more confident about the idea. ‘Then there are all the Twilight Moms, grown women fixated on the books and the young actors. I might have to open up psychotherapy franchises to handle all the vampire wannabes and the bloodsucker obsessed!’
‘Well,’ Nancy said, shaking her head, ‘be careful what you ask for. And don’t discount the likelihood that some of these people could be dangerous.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ I made the cross-my-heart gesture. ‘I’ll keep my wooden stakes handy.’
‘So.’ She smiled. ‘Have you been thinking about taking an emotional risk? Going out on a date? Even having a male friend?’
‘Crap.’ She never misses. ‘And I was having such a good time talking about vampires. I should know better than to try to distract you from busting my defence mechanisms. You’re like a heat-seeking missile for avoidance attempts. Yes, Dr St John, I have been thinking about it. It isn’t as easy as you make it sound, you know.’
‘Kismet, here’s a good opportunity for you to confront some of your childhood demons. You’ve said your fear of social situations started very early. You never got the opportunity to learn about healthy relationships – your parents are with-drawn academics who tuck their pens into little plastic things in their shirt pockets. Even today they’re stereotypical scientists. Their idea of getting together with friends consisted of inviting others to your home for lectures, very cerebral lectures that you were required to attend and give a report on.’