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  Liz sat back in her chair, her eyebrows raised. “Okay...don’t go having a heart attack, or another coma over it.”

  The waiter dropped off Susan’s frozen margarita. Just looking at it made Susan yearn for Kevin all the more.

  Liz proposed a toast to Susan’s independence, the clink of their glasses making Susan wince. She had to go find him. She had to tell him…

  But tell him what?

  Susan sat there, trying to listen to Liz talk about some trip she’d just taken to Aspen, but all she could think was, What am I going to do?

  ###

  A half hour later, Susan led Liz into the hotel suite, and was unpleasantly surprised not to find Kevin sitting on the couch. She rushed back to Kevin’s room, feeling her stomach tightening, nervous to see him, not knowing what she’d say, but whatever it was, she needed to make him stay with her.

  She found his room empty. The clothes he’d had setting out on the dresser, his duffle bag--gone. The closet door was open, and the hangers hung empty on the rod. And then she saw the note sitting on the bed.

  Suze,

  Liz is here now, and I’ve got to go back home. I’ll call soon.

  Kevin

  Susan stood there, reading the letter over again. It didn’t say anything...

  She turned it over to check out the other side of the paper--nothing.

  What was it with guys and leaving completely inadequate notes? She would have laughed if tears weren’t already streaming hot and heavy down her cheeks. She would have screamed, but she couldn’t breathe. And she would’ve run from the hotel and all the way to the airport to catch him, but her legs gave out and she sat down hard on her butt, in the middle of Kevin’s room, clutching the note to her stomach.

  She felt like she was going to throw up, thought she was going to pass out or rip apart, tearing right down the middle like a sheet of paper. Like the paper she held in her hand.

  “There you are!” Liz said, standing in the doorway. “You’ve got to quit this disappearing thing, it’s getting…” She stopped talking and dropped to the floor next to Susan, wrapping her arms around her, making soft cooing noises as she kissed the top of her head.

  Susan dissolved into tears, her breaths so ragged, so hard, that all the thoughts in her head couldn’t form a single word. She just sobbed, maybe harder than she had in her entire life.

  “It’s okay, let it out. He’s not good enough for you...he never was.”

  “Yes, he is!” Susan screamed, the words coming out garbled and choked.

  “Mark--” Liz said the name like it was actually leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “--is not good enough for you. And he’s certainly not worth one of your tears.”

  Liz thought she was crying over Mark, but she didn’t give a damn about Mark! She needed Kevin!

  Susan tried to take a breath, tried to tell Liz to go find Kevin, to bring him back to her, but she couldn’t stop sobbing, couldn’t catch her breath long enough to form one coherent word.

  She needed Kevin. Someone bring him back.

  ###

  The plane ride home was bumpy, a storm front standing between the island and the mainland. Kevin sat staring out at the dark black thunderheads, wishing he was still with Susan, wanting her so much, the pain was excruciating. His lungs burned when he took a breath, his head heavy, each thought that moved through it a clanging weight.

  “Would you like another drink?” the perky flight attendant asked. Her blond hair wasn’t a bit like Susan’s. Susan’s was real. The shade of blond on this woman Kevin had only seen on the cover of a Playboy.

  He smiled without conviction and handed her his empty plastic tumbler. “Make it a double.”

  The attendant must have sensed there was something wrong, because her cheerful expression wavered as she leaned in and took his cup from him.

  Kevin looked back to the window, out on the blackness that had enveloped them. Flashes of lightning flickered in the distance.

  Maybe they’d crash... Kevin tried to push thoughts of Susan, warm and soft and naked, out of his mind. At least he wouldn’t have to remember anymore.

  Chapter 10

  SIX MONTHS LATER…

  “You’re breaking up with me?” Susan’s voice cracked on the word “breaking” and squeaked a whole octave higher by “me.” She sat there dumbfounded. This couldn’t be happening to her again. What had she done? How could Dr. Garvin do this to her? The good doctor was all that had gotten Susan through all of this!

  Susan’s body stiffened, from her toes all the way up her spine and neck. Even her arms had gone rigid, and her fingers were threatening to tear right through the soft leather of her portfolio case. Her eyeballs felt like they were about to pop right out of her skull.

  And on the day of the initial presentation... Susan didn’t believe in signs, but since she’d run through three pairs of pantyhose, had accidentally flushed her watch down the toilet, and had broken a heel getting into a cab, she was starting to feel paranoid.

  Now sitting there in her new Prada sling-backs, using her cellphone as a watch, and wearing her PMS--two sizes too large--pantyhose, Susan saw an uncomfortable look flash over Dr. Garvin’s pretty face. She adjusted her glasses and shifted her weight in her comfy looking chair.

  “No, Susan, this is not a...well, we’re not in a relationship, we’re...” Dr. Garvin flipped through the thin manila file folder with Susan’s name neatly typed on its index tab. “What I meant to say is, your therapy isn’t going anywhere. I don’t see any real clinical reason to continue working on issues that don’t seem to actually exist.” Dr. Garvin stopped, looking up from the file folder.

  “What do you mean?” Susan’s voice was small and tremulous. “Are you saying we don’t have a future?”

  Dr. Garvin gulped and eyed the intercom button nervously. She looked like she wanted to call for reinforcements…like security or the National Guard.

  Dr. Garvin sat up straighter in her seat and looked at Susan with stern reproach. “What I mean is you came to me with a very specific problem--that you couldn’t get over your fiancé standing you up at the altar.”

  Susan winced when Dr. Garvin said the word altar. It hadn’t been the altar! He’d broken up with her via a cocktail napkin in the vestibule. Did the woman even listen to her?

  “We set a very specific goal, Susan. For you to start dating within two months.” She was reading off page one of the file. She flipped the page over and read from the back. “As of our last session you haven’t mentioned going on even one date.” Her finger traced down the page. “And you haven’t mentioned your ex-fiancé since our second session.”

  Susan shook her head and tried to speak. She squeaked, coughed and cleared her throat, then tried again. “But we haven’t been at this all that long, and what does Mark or going out on a date have--”

  “It’s been six months, Susan.”

  Six months? It couldn’t be six months. That meant...she hadn’t heard from Kevin in six months.

  “Oh God.”

  ###

  It was Dr. Garvin’s turn to wince. She knew “Oh God” usually signaled an imminent bout of tears or hyperventilation. She went on anyway, determined she would set them both free, and today. She couldn’t hear another boring installment of “spinster architect in Chicago.” At any moment Susan would be telling her about her new cat.

  “Think of this as a big, very positive step. A good sign,” Dr. Garvin started. Susan looked up at her with a surprised expression on her face. “This means you’re practically cured.”

  “It does?”

  Dr. Garvin smiled, pausing to rummage through her mind for a plausible yet convenient explanation. All she was coming up with were old moth eaten socks and bad spinster-cat jokes. She nodded and flipped the single page of Susan Rhodes’s file over, and then over again.

  The answer wasn’t there. She was desperate to cut Susan loose. After all, she’d nicknamed her Susan Snoring.

  Think .

&nb
sp; She’s smart and driven, and she thinks almost exclusively of work.

  Well, there you have it.

  “Consider this a graduation of sorts.”

  Susan frowned at Dr. Garvin.

  “A promotion!”

  This made Susan smile.

  “You’ve been coming here...” Don’t mention the six months again. That just about had her in tears earlier. “And you’ve worked very hard. In fact, I’ve never seen a patient work so hard to overcome her problems.”

  Susan’s smile turned embarrassed and she blushed, but Dr. Garvin could tell she was heading down the right path with this.

  Cut her loose already!

  “You’ve excelled, and now I feel you no longer need therapy--of any kind...at all.”

  Susan looked at her, clearly flattered by Dr. Garvin’s words, but still clutching onto that fear of abandonment. She needed something else, something that would appeal to Susan’s practical side, and her wild side--if Susan Rhodes had a wild side.

  “And just think, with all the money you’ll be saving not coming here twice a week, you could go on a cruise.”

  Susan looked down and shook her head. “I could’ve bought a house for what I’ve paid you.”

  “See? Just think of all the things you can do once you’re not paying for my services anymore.”

  Susan sighed, still shaking her head. “A really nice house.”

  That stung, and Dr. Garvin felt like she should be defending herself, that her fees were reasonable, and her services were well worth the price. But she remembered her goal for the session--getting rid of Susan Rhodes. So she smiled, nodding her head in affirmation.

  “With a pool, a two car garage...and a panic room.”

  Okay! That was enough . “Believe me. You’re ready for this next step.”

  Dr. Garvin stood and helped Susan out of her seat. Susan was still holding tight to her leather portfolio case, and she still looked rather pale, but she had stopped rambling on about the house she could have bought.

  “Just take one step at a time. First into the calm, peaceful world you’ve created for yourself.” And right out the door. “Second, enjoy your new freedom. Not coming here is going to free up a lot of your time. Just think of what you can do with that!” And never come back! Live out your boring days far, far away. Dr. Garvin wanted to hear real problems. She’d never again take for granted her manic depressives or her suicidal, bulimic cheerleaders...not even her middle-aged, depressed housewives. At least they got drunk, loaded, or boffed the gardener once in a while.

  Dr. Garvin smiled and nodded as she ushered Susan through her door to the reception area. “Jean,” she called to her secretary. “Ms. Rhodes won’t need a follow up appointment.” She turned to Susan. “This really is for the best. It’s a good, positive step.”

  She wanted to slam the door shut. Lock it. Swallow the goddamn key!

  “Goodbye, Dr. Garvin.” Susan looked lost, standing there in the reception area, clutching her portfolio case.

  “If you have a problem, don’t hesitate to call,” Dr. Garvin said out of habit, biting her tongue as she swung the door shut and gave herself a head slap.

  What happens when Susan Snoring calls up tomorrow begging for another appointment?

  Was Dr. Garvin going to have to move to outer Mongolia? Australia? New Jersey?

  No, she just wouldn’t return her calls.

  Cold. But effective.

  Dr. Garvin slumped against the cool wood of her office door and stifled a small yet satisfying laugh. “I never have to see that boring woman again!”

  ###

  Susan stumbled out onto the street, her leather portfolio still clutched tightly to her chest, her body so tense she was sure she’d shatter if someone bumped her. The busy foot traffic and the low roar and zip of the passing cars felt like they were smothering her.

  What the hell just happened?

  “Susan!” Jill--her bright, capable, and underpaid assistant--called from the open back door of a yellow cab. “Susan! Over here.”

  Susan adored Jill. She was always at the office before her, she was cheerful, and could get anything done for Susan that she asked. She’d even finagled the Gucci portfolio Susan had in her hands--the one with her nail marks in it--for cost. Jill had never let Susan down.

  And she made the best freaking coffee in the world.

  Susan walked haltingly toward Jill and the cab. It felt like everything that was making noise on the street had somehow been sucked into her head, banging around, echoing, ricocheting off the walls of her skull like an assassin’s bullet.

  Susan stopped short of the cab door and looked back to the building she’d just exited, and up five floors to Dr. Garvin’s offices. Did she really just dump her? What was she supposed to do now? Had it actually been six months since she’d talked to Kevin?

  Jill grabbed Susan by the wrist and hauled her into the cab, reaching over her to slam the door shut. “Lexington and twenty-third,” she told the driver. She turned back to look at Susan. “What’s wrong?”

  Susan shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is you usually look great after a session with Dr. Garvin, but right now...” She paused, looking like she’d run out of words, and she sighed and shook her head, her shiny black hair tossing around in silky ribbons, looking like a shampoo commercial. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.” Susan found herself slumping back against the tattered vinyl seat of the cab, too exhausted to hold her head up, leaning it back against the seat. “Anyone ever tell you, you should be a motivational speaker?”

  “No,” Jill said as she plucked the Gucci portfolio out of Susan’s hands and replaced it with a Styrofoam cup. “But my guidance counselor in high school said I’d make a good drill sergeant. That, or a criminal.”

  Susan looked up, shocked. “He didn’t really say that.”

  “She most certainly did. Now, drink your high-sugar, high-caffeine, speed-laced beverage.”

  Susan took a sip from the cup, feeling the sugar and caffeine working on her as it slid like sunshine down her throat. “Misspent youth?”

  Jill was rifling through the portfolio, sliding extra pages in here and there, taking out two and setting them aside. The look on her face darkened as she began to speak. “My physics teacher, Mr. Fantome, lost my term paper on Wave Particle Duality. And instead of letting me replace it, he gave me an F.”

  Susan pursed her lips. She had never thought her assistant had taken physics in high school. She wondered what else she didn’t know about her. “So you...”

  Jill smiled as she closed the portfolio and twisted the latch. “I dumped a truck full of manure into his shiny red convertible.”

  “Oh!” Susan made a mental note never to piss her off.

  “My parents were appalled. Would’ve made me get a job to pay to get the car refurbished, but I was fighting for my academic life thanks to Mr. Fantome’s little paper management problem.” Jill sighed, a far-off look on her pretty face. “My guidance counselor thought it was a scream. Wanted me to go into the FBI, or maybe the Marines. But I was valedictorian of my class, so I was going to college.”

  Susan didn’t remember seeing a college degree listed on Jill’s résumé. Just a secretarial diploma and a load of Microsoft training certificates. If it was on a computer, Jill could make it sing and dance and tell dirty jokes.

  “What happened?” And just as those words passed Susan’s lips she cringed. Sure, just slap your perfect assistant in the face while you’re at it.

  The cab got rear ended by another taxi, making them all jerk forward, and Susan almost slide right off the vinyl seat.

  Jill elbowed the Plexiglass partition hard and gave the cabby a scalding glare. “If you even think about stopping I’ll rip your nuts out through your throat!” Jill reminded Susan of someone. Liz.

  Liz would love her.

  Of course, with the frequency of Liz’s phone calls, she probably had already interro
gated Jill and knew all this. Everything she should’ve already known about someone who not only balanced her checkbook and had a key to her apartment, but also scheduled her days and micromanaged her career.

  The driver’s eyes bugged out and he dumbly shook his head, but he kept the cab moving along.

  Jill handed Susan her portfolio back and smiled wearily. “The usual happened. I slept with the salutatorian one night--a pity fuck, because I’d beaten him by three hundredths of a point--and a month later I found out I was pregnant. He went to law school, graduates next year--and I got a quickie secretarial diploma and computer certification.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know you have a kid.” Susan slumped even further into her seat.

  Jill stuck her lip out thoughtfully. “You’ve been busy--at least since I met you--and with the whole Mark thing--” God, the Mark thing! “I can see why you wouldn’t have noticed the pictures on my desk.”

  “I’m such a shitty boss.” Susan leaned forward and put her head between her knees. The cab was getting cramped and hot, and she felt like passing out. Note to self: Be a better boss. I suck.

  “Hey, it’s no big deal. Buy me one of those stupid ‘Best Secretary in the World’ mugs. Or better yet, get me a pair of those new Prada sling-backs.” Jill noticed everything. “And we’ll call it even.”

  Jill hit the power window button to roll it down. The breeze was welcome, but not remotely fresh--redolent with smoke and car exhaust, garbage and five million people’s perfumes, colognes and body odor.

  Susan laughed, feeling her head clear, relieved that she wasn’t alone. Who needs Dr. Garvin? Susan looked down at her portfolio and remembered the presentation she was heading for. The opera house...

  “Get me through this meeting and I’ll buy them for you, and lunch at Bloomy’s.”

  Jill smiled, looking surprised for about the first time Susan could remember. “No problemo, boss lady. Just lean back and breathe. I’ll get us there and you in that conference room.” Jill pulled out her BlackBerry, checked Susan’s messages, and texted about a thousand character message with amazing speed. “Not that you need any help once you’re in there. I’ve never seen anyone take over a room like you.”