“Oh, my, yes, not to say that any of us worship like disciples at any one man’s feet, but Freud pointed out the basic truths for us to build upon, which we have done superbly. And women, they are the most easily understood, the more easily explained, for the way they think leads them to act in very bizarre ways, and all of it is tied to overpowering and dictated subconscious intuition, and then cognition. Children know and adults suppress, particularly women. It’s true, ah yes.”
It sounded like hash to Taylor, but he nodded, saying, “I have this one patient, a rather young woman, who’s terrified of men. She will not confide in me though I’ve tried and tried to gain her trust. I have tried to take her back to those formative years, but she resists, she refuses to allow hypnotism, which would unblock her. I ask, Dr. Gruska, what do you think I should do?”
Dr. Gruska paused, pondered, ran his long fingers up and down his pipe stem. He looked uncertain. He looked pleased to be asked.
Taylor quickly rose, fanning his hands in front of him in apology. “Oh, goodness. It’s dark outside and I’ve kept you far too long. Forgive me, Dr. Gruska, but listening to you, hearing the depth of your feelings and knowledge, well—”
“Sit down, Dr. Winston, sit down! You can’t go yet.”
Taylor sat, relieved.
“This young woman, is she beautiful?”
“Very.”
“Does she seem outwardly well-adjusted?”
“Yes, until a man gets close to her.”
“Is she one of those bitch professional women or a gentle, traditional, unencumbered woman?”
“Professional, unmarried, but not a bitch.”
“Ah, yes, classic, for the most part, certainly close enough to the paradigm. I would probe gently, Doctor, ask her about her teenage years—not her childhood, avoid that for the time being. Ask her about the sexual urges she suppressed, the guilt she felt when she experienced these urges. Get her to admit to masturbation, have her relive the feelings she experienced when she masturbated. Find out how she masturbated, that’s very important—manual stimulation or using devices, such as dildos. It is possible that she seduced a relative—even a father—when she was eighteen or so, and now has closed it away deep in her mind. She has rewritten the event, so to speak, to ease her guilt, to justify what she did then and to justify why she is as she is now.”
“My God,” Taylor said, and meant it. “Your advice is much more than I had ever expected, Dr. Gruska. Have you had, perhaps, a similar patient?”
“Oh, I’ve seen many girls like the one you describe. All that suppressed guilt and sexual tension, waiting to be released, demanding to be released, but they can’t allow it, because to allow it would mean to admit these feelings. There is one girl in particular who desperately needs this release, who needs my help to gain this release, but there is still the lack of trust, her fear of herself and these feelings, her blindness to her own needs—Ah, well, it is late, isn’t it? My dear fellow, I am delighted you dropped by. By all means give my regards to Joe. I hope his arthritis gets better.” Gruska rose and extended his hand. Taylor obligingly took it and gave it a healthy shake.
He returned to Eden’s apartment two hours later.
13
Even as he rang Eden’s doorbell, Taylor knew he wasn’t going to say anything to her about meeting Dr. Gruska at Columbia. Not yet. He was fairly certain that the young woman Dr. Gruska spoke briefly about was Eden. She was terrified of men, that was true, and she sure as hell didn’t trust Gruska. As for that sod, the man was certifiable. Taylor didn’t think Dr. Gruska could even be taken with a half-grain of salt. How, then, to unmuddy the waters?
Lindsay stared through her peephole, then unlatched, unfastened, and unbolted her front door. “Goodness, Taylor! You’re early and I’m a mess.”
He hadn’t realized he was early until that moment. “I’m sorry, but I was in the neighborhood and—”
“Oh, come in, no problem. I just need to jump into the shower.”
Taylor saw that she was wearing an ancient white terry-cloth bathrobe and nothing else. She’d tied her hair up in a rubber band. He smiled. “Again, forgive me. Why don’t I grab a beer and watch the news?”
She waved him away and retreated into her bedroom. He shook his head at himself as he moved several novels out of the way on the sofa. He didn’t turn on the TV; instead, he thought more about Gruska and what he’d said and what he obviously believed. And he recalled Eden’s words, seemingly a jumble: . . .
His mind latched on to what had really scared her. What Gruska had found out about her. And that something he needed to discover himself if he was going to be of any help to her. Taylor stopped cold with that thought. He’d just made the quite conscious decision that he wanted Eden in his life, that he wanted her whole and healthy, that he wanted her in bed as well as out of bed, that he wanted, quite simply, all of her.
He felt slightly stunned with the realization. Jesus, he was the bugger who’d sworn off a second marriage. Now he wanted a woman he’d known for only four days, and he wanted her forever. He thought of tall lanky-legged girls in white karate outfits with her gorgeous eyes who would be their offspring. He shook his head. He was losing it.
Taylor rose and walked to the telephone. First things first. He dialed Valerie’s number. It was Tuesday and he had promised to call her on Monday.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, Valerie, it’s Taylor. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t continue with her usual spiel. She paused, then said, “Look, Taylor, I’m sorry about the other night, really. I was just stressed out and flailed at you. Will you forgive me?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Are you busy tonight?”
“Yes, I am.”
There was another very long pause. “Are you still working on that same job?”
“No, it’s been resolved.”
“Successfully, I hope.” He heard the strain in her voice, recognized her attempt at civilized behavior, and wondered why it was so difficult for her.
“Yes,” he said, “very successfully.”
He could picture her sitting on the plush silk chair beside the Louis XV table. The phone was pseudo-antique in an old-fashioned cradle. He wondered what she was thinking. He was on the point of softening his answer to her when she said, her voice sharp, “It’s another woman, isn’t it, Taylor?”
“We aren’t married, Valerie,” he said mildly.
“But I wanted you to come over tonight.”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
“No, damn you, I’m not.”
“Well, then, as I said, we’re not married. How about Thursday night?”
“You just want to see me so you can screw me!”
“I take it the thought doesn’t entice you in the least?”
“Eight o’clock. I’ll have Carrousel send over dinner. Don’t be late.”
She hung up on him. Tit for tat, he thought, slowly setting down the phone, since he’d hung up on her the last time they spoke.
When he saw her on Thursday, he’d break it off. He had to because the only person he could see in his present, in his future, was Eden.
Eden, who was terrified of men. When she came out of the bedroom, freshly scrubbed, dressed in a pale yellow silk dress, her long legs in panty hose and impossibly high heels, he laughed.
“You’re going to look me straight in the eye now? You’re going to put me in my place?”
“Intimidation,” she said, smiling at him. “I thought you could use a good dose. I should even be a bit taller
