second visit. She came saying she needed to develop skills for coping with what she described as her “headstrong and spirited” child.
“He called me a mother-fucking bitch last night.” Jackie sobbed into her lace handkerchief. “Why would he do that, Dr. Corriger? I give him everything.”
“What did you do when he called you that?” Lydia asked.
Jackie’s shoulders racked with her sobs. “I went to my bedrooom. Then, when I thought his mood was better I made some popcorn and we watched a scary movie together. It was nice.”
“How old was he the first time he called you a name?”
“This one?” Jackie dabbed her eyes.
“Any name. How old was he the first time he disrespected you?” Lydia asked.
Jackie thought back. “I can remember him calling me ‘Poopy Head’ when he was about two.”
“What did you do then?”
Jackie shrugged. “He was two.” She smiled. “I thought it was cute.”
“There’s your answer, Jackie.” Lydia hoped her patient would hear her. “He called you a mother-fucking bitch because you allow it.”
On they came. A succession of sorrow hoping for comfort or direction. As the day wore on, Lydia wondered if she’d have energy left to deal with her last patient of the day.
Savannah Samuels was five minutes late. She pulled a bottle of wine out of an oversized leather tote, tossed her raincoat across a chair, and settled onto the sofa.
“For your Thanksgiving, Dr. Corriger.” Savannah placed the syrah on the coffee table. “I don’t know what you’re serving but a hundred-dollar bottle of wine goes with anything.”
Lydia took a seat across from the tired-looking beauty. “Why do you do that?”
Savannah frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You lead with money. You carry large amounts of cash. You tried to tip me on your first visit and bribe me on your second. Now you bring a bottle of wine.”
“It’s Thanksgiving.” Savannah pushed a blue-black curl behind her ear. “A holiday gesture.”
Lydia sensed her patient’s unease. “But you made sure I knew the price. Why?”
“Look, no offense intended.” Savannah pushed farther back into the cushions. “Give the wine to the cleaning lady for all I care.”
Savannah stared at a chipped fingernail.
“Do you want me to know you’re rich, Savannah? Is that it?”
Savannah crossed her legs and stared into nothingness.
“Do you think I’ll like you more if I know you’re wealthy? Perhaps bring my ‘A’ game to our sessions?” Lydia pressed despite her patient’s obvious discomfort.
Savannah rubbed the back of her neck and closed her eyes. Two minutes passed before she opened them. “Maybe money’s not a big deal for you anymore, Dr. Corriger. But remember, it wasn’t that way on my side of the tracks.”
“I know nothing about your side of the tracks, Savannah. Tell me what it was like for you growing up.”
Regret danced across Savannah’s face and settled into disappointment. She raised a sculptured brow. “You want to know about my mother? Maybe my trials and tribulations with potty training?”
Lydia challenged Savannah’s defensive posturing. “You hired me, remember?” She forced her voice to a calmness she didn’t feel. “You came here crying. Told me you’re broken. You drop by without an appointment. You ask for my help and I agree to work with you. It’s been like this for months.” She leaned forward. “And now you insult me. Do you think we’re getting closer to fixing you or farther away?”
Savannah’s blue eyes softened, revealing the terror that lurked beneath her sophisticated mask. She bowed her head and a teardrop fell onto her suede skirt. “I’m sorry. I was rude.”
Lydia dropped to a near-whisper. “You can be rude, Savannah. I can handle that. But let’s not waste time.” Lydia watched her patient reach for a tissue, blot her eyes, and twist the tissue into a tight coil. “Tell me what it was like growing up. Let’s start with Dad.”
“That’s easy.” Savannah looked up and smirked. “Never met him. My mother told me he was a soldier. Killed in Viet Nam.” She bit her lower lip and looked away. “She didn’t have a clue who he was.”
“That must be difficult for you.” Lydia kept her eyes on her patient’s face.
“Not at all.” Savannah pushed away another errant wisp of hair. “You can’t miss what you never knew.”
Lydia let her hold that fallacy for the moment. “And Mom? What about her?”
“I don’t have enough money to pay for the hours it would take to tell you about her, Dr. Corriger. And I have a lot of money.” Savannah grimaced. “Sorry.”
Lydia smiled. “We’ll call it an insight moment, how’s that?” She leaned back. “Give me some broad strokes. Help me see your mother. Is she as beautiful as you?”
Savannah’s face contorted again. “It’s hard to think of myself as beautiful. That’s not false modesty. I’m well aware of the effect I have on men. Women, too.” She turned her attention again to empty space. “I use it to my advantage whenever I can. But I know who I am underneath. And as they say, ugliness goes to the bone.”
“I asked about your mother, Savannah. Not you.”
Savannah nodded. “So you did. No. My mother wasn’t beautiful. Not outside. Not inside. She loved the men, though. Did whatever she could to make sure there were always a few in her life. ‘My bullpen’ she called them.”
“What did she do for a living?”
“I don’t know.” Savannah smile lacked any trace of humor. “My mother placed me in foster care when I was about two. I’m told she visited me once when I was six.” Savannah focused a stare on Lydia. “You see, something terrible happened to me at one of the foster homes.”
Lydia’s throat tightened. “You want to talk about it?”
Savannah kept her eyes riveted on Lydia. “Another foster kid stopped it. A teenaged girl, skinny as a rail but stronger than anyone I ever met before or since. I think that foster father was doing the same thing to her.”
Lydia felt her tongue go dry and reached for a sip of water. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Savannah.”
“My protector saved me.” Savannah’s smile was soft and genuine. “I never forgot her.” Her voice turned to a whispered vow. “And I never will.”
Lydia nodded. “And that was when you were reunited with your mother?”
Savannah stiffened her backbone. “Briefly. She came for a meeting with the social services people. Demanded they find me a better place. I think she patted my head as she left. I didn’t see her again until I was fourteen. She took us to Texas and we were together for two whole weeks before she drove me to a hotel in downtown Galveston. Told me to wait in the lobby. Said she had to go to work and a nice man was going to pick me up. I was to do whatever he said.”
“What did you make of that?” Lydia hoped she’d hear an ending other than the one she imagined.
“I thought it was kind of strange given that she’d never gone to work before and we didn’t live in Galveston.” Savannah rubbed a hand across her porcelain forehead. “A man came and pick me up, though. And I did whatever he said.” More tears dropped to her lap. “When he was finished he gave me five dollars and told me I should be in school.”
“Was that your first sexual experience, Savannah?” Lydia kept her voice steady and soft.”Beyond the rape when you were six?”
Savannah turned to Lydia. Two blue lasers beamed from a flawless face. “I’d been in the foster system for twelve years, Dr. Corriger. Nine different homes. No, it wasn’t my first sexual experience. Just the first time I got paid.”
“And your mother?” Lydia knew better than to react to Savannah’s shame.
“She kept the business going. I was her merchandise and she was a good little sales clerk.” The emotion so visible on Savannah’s face turned from shame to anger. “About a month into it a customer asked me how old I was. I told him. He showed me a badge, and I was back in foster.”
“And your mother?” Lydia hoped the repetition would help soothe Savannah.
“Never heard from her again.” Savannah bounced her right leg.
“You deserved better.” Lydia handed her a fresh box of tissues.
