“Call me,” she simply said as she walked away with her ass swinging in the air.
Steve stood there with a stupid smile on his face.
“That works?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied with his own incredulity. “I don’t get it, either.”
Though I could easily write Steve off as a self-involved hound dog----maybe he did have a point. To be honest, it was a thought that hit even me from time-to-time.
Maybe I do need to see a psychiatrist.
It was always a horrible moment, because I knew I wasn’t crazy. In fact, I considered myself the sanest person I knew. I didn’t need medication or psychiatric care. I just needed a job. And damnit, I was qualified. I’d applied for hundreds of jobs since I’d been in New York. Why wasn’t I getting them? I’d asked myself this question a thousand times. Maybe it was time to ask someone who might have an answer.
A few sessions with a therapist----or career counselor, if you will, might help me discover what I’m doing wrong and how to change my behavior. How different would that be from walking into a bookstore and buying a few self-help books? In fact, it would be cheaper as, being a book-lover; I could easily spend a hundred dollars on maybe four books, none of which might work; whereas, with my insurance and its fifteen dollar co-pay, I could possibly have an answer from a trained professional after four sessions for the cost of sixty dollars. That’s a forty dollar savings.
Between this revelation and my vending machine fudgesickle, I felt like the happiest girl in the world. And at that very moment, a gorgeous dark-haired man in a brown bomber jacket came right up to me and smiled. Okay, he smiled at Steve, but I was in the vicinity.
“Hey! Steve-O! What are you doing here?”
“Trying to put together the show for Recycled Paper. You’re still in, right?”
“I’m totally in.”
“Great!” Steve said as he shook cute boy’s hand. “Dorrie, this is Nate. He’s writing the script for the show. I’m trying to convince Dorrie to direct. She’s a great director.”
“Hi,” I said and did the hand shake thing. Then I just stood there quietly while they talked shop. I may be sassy, but I’m also shy. I know----doesn’t make sense to me, either.
“That looks good,” I suddenly heard the Nate guy say as he pointed to my fudgesickle.
Without missing a beat, I put my hand in my pocket and handed him my spare.
“Want one?”
“Sure! Wow. You’re….like magic.”
“Ta-dah!” was all that came out of my mouth.
“We just got out of a read-thru for my new play. We’re going out for a drink down the street. You guys wanna come?”
“I’ve got an audition in the morning,” Steve replied. “But thanks for the invite.”
“No worries,” Nate replied and I definitely saw a glance my way. Sometimes I can make up things in my head, but that was definitely a glance.
“Hey!---thanks for the ice cream,” he added after the glance that was most certainly there. “Hope we get to work together.”
“Okay. Nice meeting you,” I replied numbly. After he left, Steve sounded like one of my gay friends as he snipped, “So---I’m guessing you’ll do the show?”
“All right.”
“That was really sad, Dorrie.”
“Shut up.”
“Why didn’t you go for a drink?”
“I can’t go if you don’t go. That would be weird.”
“I really do have an audition tomorrow. Young, handsome, Korean gangster.”
Despite his character flaws, Steve was a good-looking guy. I couldn’t fault him that.
“You pretty people have it so easy. You…and Celia…”
“You’re….attractive,” Steve squeezed the words out of his mouth. “I mean, if you were an actor…you could get character work.”
“Character work?”
“That’s a good thing,” he said as he gave me an actor-y hug. “I’m envious. You would get called for comedy roles. I never get called for comedy. And I’m a funny guy! You think I’m funny, right?”
So I just walked away.
“Aw…come on. I’m funny!”
That night, as the rain poured down outside and my ceiling dripped inside, I went online and looked for a shrink. I pulled out my insurance card, typed in my particulars, and within seconds had a list of psychiatrists in my area. A small list. My insurance wasn’t that great.
My best bet seemed to be Dr. Emily Prince off Fifth Avenue. First of all, she was a woman; and second, she was right off Fifth Avenue. Good address. Very posh. As long as I was going to see a shrink, I might as well feel like an upscale character in a Woody Allen film.
Dr. Emily Prince. It had a yin-yang sort of feel. Emily: sensitive, observant, understanding. Prince: powerful, noble, enigmatic. This was the woman for me.
I made an appointment online.
In one fifty minute session, I just knew I would change my entire life.
4
Despite my initial misgivings, the moment I made an appointment with a psychiatrist, I immediately felt relief. No longer would I be all alone with my thoughts. The warm and kindly Dr. Emily Prince would be there to guide me thru the mess of my life. Within a few weeks, I would have the tools I needed to move onto a wonderful new existence.
The world just seemed brighter. I wasn’t even particularly disturbed when I looked up from my desk one morning and saw an elf.
“Hi, Dorrie,” Timmy squealed as if his green tights were in a bunch. Between his costume and his big head, he looked almost exactly like that misfit elf who wants to be a dentist.
“Halloween was five days ago,” I clued him in.
“I know. It’s Christmas now! News flash!---I just got my dream job
