You’re one of these police psychologists at what’s the name of your hospital? McLean? Oh, that’s right. Where all the rich and famous go. Just the sort of place she’d go to if she had to go somewhere, and I know a good reason why. Would knock you out if you knew. Bingo! She’s a patient, that’s what this is all about!”
“As I’ve said, she’s part of a project I’m conducting.”
“I sure could divulge a thing or two to you. I knew it! She’s worth studying, all right. What normal person would get on TV and do what she does, twisting people’s minds, their lives, like that tennis player who just got murdered. Bet you dollars to donuts Marilyn’s somehow to blame for that, had her on her TV show, getting into all this personal information from her for all the world to see. It was embarrassing, can’t believe that little girl’s family allowed it.”
Benton’s seen a copy of it. Mrs. Self is right. It was too much exposure and made Drew vulnerable and accessible. Those are the ingredients for being stalked, if she was. It isn’t the purpose of his call, but he can’t resist probing. “I’m wondering how your daughter happened to get Drew Martin on her show. Did they know each other?”
“Marilyn can get anybody she wants. When she calls me on special occasions, mostly she brags about this celebrity and that. Only the way she says it, they’re all lucky to meet her, not the other way around.”
“I have a feeling you don’t see her very often.”
“Do you really think she’d go to the trouble to see her own mother?”
“Now, she’s not completely devoid of feelings, is she?”
“As a little girl she could be sweet, I know that’s hard to believe. But something went haywire when she turned sixteen. She ran off with some playboy and had her heart broken, came back home and we had quite a time of it. Did she tell you about that?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“That figures. She’ll go on and on about her father killing himself and how horrible I am and all the rest. But her own failures don’t exist. That includes people. You’d be surprised if you knew the people she’s managed to excommunicate from her life for no good reason except they’re inconvenient. Or maybe someone shows a side of her the world’s not supposed to see. That’s a killable offense.”
“I assume you don’t mean that literally.”
“Depends on your definition.”
“Let’s start with what’s positive about her.”
“She tell you she makes everybody sign a confidentiality agreement?”
“Even you?”
“Do you want to know the real reason I live like this? Because I can’t afford her so-called generosity. I live off Social Security and what retirement I got from working all my life. Marilyn never did a damn thing for me and then had the nerve to tell me I had to sign one of these confidentiality agreements, you see. She said if I didn’t, I was on my own no matter how old and sick I got. I didn’t sign it. And I don’t talk about her anyway. But I could. I sure could.”
“You’re talking to me.”
“Well, now, she told me to, didn’t she? She gave you my phone number because it suits whatever little selfish purpose she has this time. And I’m her weakness. She can’t resist. Just itching to hear what I’ll say. Validates her beliefs about herself.”
“What I need you to try,” Benton says, “is to imagine you’re telling her what you like about her. There must be something. For example, ‘I’ve always admired how bright you are’ or ‘I’m so proud of your success,’ et cetera.”
“Even if I don’t mean it?”
“If you can’t say something positive, I’m afraid we can’t do this.” Which would be fine with him.
“Don’t worry. I can lie as well as she can.”
“Then the negative. Such as, I wish you were more generous or less arrogant, or whatever comes to mind.”
“Easy as pie.”
“Finally, neutral comments. The weather, shopping, what you’ve been doing, things like that.”
“Don’t trust her. She’ll fake it and ruin your study.”
“The brain can’t fake it,” Benton says. “Not even hers.”
An hour later. Dr. Self, in a shimmering red silk pants suit and no shoes, is propped up with pillows on her bed.
“I understand your feeling this is unnecessary,” Benton says, turning pages in the pale blue
“Do you need a script, Benton?”
“To keep things consistent in this study, we SCID with the book. Each time for each subject. I’m not going to ask you things that are obvious and irrelevant, such as your professional status.”
“Let me help you out,” she says. “I’ve never been a patient in a psychiatric hospital. I don’t take any medications. I don’t drink too much. I usually sleep five hours a night. How many hours does Kay sleep?”
“Have you lost or gained much weight recently?”
“I maintain my weight perfectly. What does Kay weigh these days? Does she eat a lot when she’s lonely or depressed? All that fried food down there.”
Benton flips pages. “What about strange sensations in your body or on your skin?”
“Depends on who I’m with.”
“Do you ever smell or taste things other people can’t smell or taste?”
“I do a lot of things other people can’t.”
Benton looks up at her. “I don’t think the study is a good idea, Dr. Self. This isn’t constructive.”
“That’s not for you to judge.”
“Do you think this is constructive?”
“You haven’t gotten to the mood chronology. Aren’t you going to ask me about panic attacks?”
“Have you ever had them?”
“Sweating, trembling, dizzy, racing heart. Fear I might die?” She gazes thoughtfully at him, as if he’s the patient. “What did my mother say on the tape?”
“What about when you first got here?” he says. “You seemed rather much in a panic over an e-mail. The one you mentioned to Dr. Maroni when you first got here and haven’t mentioned since.”
“Imagine your little assistant thinking she was going to SCID me.” She smiles. “I’m a psychiatrist. It would be like a beginner playing Drew Martin in tennis.”
“How are you feeling about what happened to her?” he asks. “It’s been on the news that you had her on your show. Some people have suggested the killer may have fixed on her because of…”
“As if my show was the only time she was on TV. I have so many people on my show.”
“I was going to say because of her visibility. Not her appearance on your show, specifically.”
“I’ll probably win another Emmy because of that series. Unless what happened…”
“Unless what happened?”
“That would be grossly unfair,” Dr. Self says. “If the Academy were prejudiced because of what happened to her. As if that has anything to do with the quality of my work. What did my mother say?”
“It’s important you don’t hear what she says until you’re in the scanner.”
“I’d like to talk about my father. He died when I was very young.”
“All right,” says Benton, who sits as far away from her as he possibly can, his back to the desk and the laptop computer on top of it. On a table between them, the recorder runs. “Let’s talk about your father.”
“I was two when he died. Not quite two.”
“And you remember him well enough to feel rejected by him?”
“As you know from studies I presume you’ve read, infants who aren’t breast-fed are more likely to have increased stress and distress in life. Women in prison who can’t breast-feed suffer significant compromises in their
