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The Couch - Part Nine |
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By Dirk Vincento
21 The boxes were the first clue. Brian found them stacked just inside the door when he walked in. He looked at them and wondered what they might be for, without considering the obvious for even a moment. In the living room, most of the pictures had been taken off the wall. They now stood in a row, leaning against the couch. That was the second clue.
Brian glanced at the couple of pictures left on the wall. They were the ones he had been dragging around from one apartment to another for years. He walked over and flipped through the pictures on the floor. They had all originally belonged to Gretchen. That was the third clue and more than enough to tell him what was happening. “Gretchen!” No answer. In the bedroom, Gretchen’s clothes were piled in a heap on the bed. Brian looked at them and then walked absently over to the dresser and slid one of the drawers open. It wasn’t that he didn’t already know it would be empty, he just felt like he had to see it for himself. He did the same with the closet, sliding the mirrored door open and exposing the empty space behind it. A few stray hangers dangled from the rod. Everything else was gone. He looked back at the bed and saw her housecoat lying on top of the pile; the same housecoat he watched her she slip out of every night just before getting into bed; the same housecoat he was now realizing he might never see her slip out of again. None of this seemed to make any sense. His mind traced back over the last few weeks looking for clues he might have missed, but he couldn’t think of a thing. There simply hadn’t been any signs at all. No late nights at the office. No strange phone calls. And now that he thought about it, they had actually been getting along better lately, or at least it had appeared that way. But obviously things weren’t . . . But there was something. Brian strained to pull the memory out of the cobwebs. And then it came back in one violent rush. Just last week, Gretchen had said she was going to spend the evening with Gail. But shortly after Gretchen left, Gail phoned asking for her. Brian had told her that Gretchen was on her way over, assuming that Gail was expecting her. It had all seemed quite natural at the time, but now he could hear the hesitation in her voice. He could count those few fleeting seconds when Gail must have been assessing the situation and preparing to cover her tracks. He remembered the awkwardness in her tone when she finally said, “Oh, . . . then I’ll just talk to her when she gets here.” Now everything was starting to make sense. The big picture was beginning to unfold in Brian’s mind. Gretchen was a lot of things, but she was no fool. She knew what was going on in Dr. Hasslett’s office. She didn’t have to be there. She could see the changes in Brian taking place before her very eyes. She knew it was only a matter of time before Brian came home one day and told her that she was reason he wasn’t sleeping, that she was the reason he wasn’t happy. She knew it was coming. She could smell it. So Gretchen had found someone else because she was determined to jump ship before the boat sank to the bottom with her in it. For the first time, Brian admitted to himself that Gretchen had never had any intention of working toward improving their sex life. She had just planned on stringing him along in a state of perpetual hope for as long as she could, using his attraction to her breasts to keep him going in circles like a dog chasing its own tail. Brian managed to find a chuckle as he considered the irony of Gretchen having suggested that he go to Dr. Hasslett in the first place, because without the doctor’s help, there’s no telling how long she might have kept him going. “You’re home.” Brian looked up and saw Gretchen standing in the doorway, holding a suitcase. He could tell it was empty by the easy way she handled it.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “I think that’s pretty obvious,” she answered. Brian caught the hostility in her tone. “I still think I deserve an explanation, don’t you?” “I suppose.” Gretchen’s tone was now offhandedly casual. “There really isn’t much to explain. I’m leaving.” Brian could feel anger and exasperation mixing inside him into a volatile brew. He fought to hold it in. “I can see that! I thought you might like to tell me why you’re leaving.” Gretchen sighed. “Brian, I don’t want to get into it. It’s just not working. I’m not happy. I don’t love you anymore. There, is that clear enough?” The thick cloud that was surrounding Brian and protecting him from the intensity of the shock, made his thoughts hazy and detached. Too many emotions were going off in too many different directions and the combined effect of them all was confusion. Brian looked at Gretchen, at the expression of cold indifference on her face, and hated her. For a brief instant, everything seemed very clear and simple. All he had to do was let her go. She was a pain in the ass and deep inside he knew that he’d be better off without her. But then he looked down at her chest. Even through the loose fitting shirt she was wearing, the rounded swell of her bosom was visible. Suddenly it didn’t seem quite so simple and he wasn’t so sure that he could let go. He thought about never seeing Gretchen’s breasts again and the idea sent a shiver through his body. Hidden beneath her shirt as they were now, he felt a sudden desire to see them, a powerful urge that surprised him with its intensity. For a few brief moments, the two opposing forces fought within him, but the battle was over quickly. “Gretchen, can’t we talk about this?” Brian implored. “We haven’t even tried to talk about it. In fact, if you’re this unhappy, I don’t understand why you didn’t talk about how you were feeling sooner.” “I didn’t talk about it because there’s nothing you could do,” Gretchen snapped. “It’s over. The sooner you get that through your head, the easier this will be for both of us.” She punctuated her statement with a steely glare that clearly said her position was completely non-negotiable. “Now, you can help me pack or you can get the fuck out of my way. It really doesn’t matter much to me either way. Just don’t stand there looking stupid.” Brian felt as if Gretchen had reached inside him, found all of his buttons and pushed them in rapid succession. “Gretchen, why do you have to be such a bitch?” Gretchen rolled her eyes impatiently. “Alright, if you’re not going to leave then I am. I’ll be back to finish this later. I suggest you make it easier on both of us and try not to be here.” Without waiting for a response, Gretchen stormed out of the room in truly dramatic fashion. Brian waited until he heard the front door slam and then he was alone again. He stood motionless for a long time, waiting for the jumble of emotions inside him to congeal into something that would tell him what to do next. He probably would have stood there for a long time but the phone rang. He stared at it as it rang again and then he answered it. “Hello.” Hello. May I speak to Brian, please? “Speaking.” He could hear his voice shaking. Hello, Brian, It’s Dr. Hasslett. I’m glad I caught you in. Brian was vaguely aware of the fact that Dr. Hasslett had never called him at home before and he knew that there should be some significance to his calling now. But his mind was in too much of a chaotic mess to sort it out. “What can I do for you?” he asked. Well, actually I have some bad news. I just found out today that my mother has had a stroke. Apparently it’s left her completely paralyzed on one side and her condition is quite serious. She lives on the west coast and there’s nobody there to look after her so I’m afraid I’m going to have to go out there and take care of her myself. “I’m sorry,” Brian said numbly. Thank you. This has come as quite a shock. Anyway, I obviously won’t be available to continue our sessions and I really can’t say when I’ll be back. With your permission, I’d like to pass your file on to another therapist who specializes in the area we’ve been dealing with. “That’d be fine,” Brian agreed, while his mind was still wrestling with the idea of Dr. Hasslett going away. Alright. I’ll have Susan do that tomorrow and they’ll be in touch with you about setting up an appointment. I’m really sorry about having to interrupt the work we’ve been doing but unfortunately, I really don’t have any other option. “It’s alright. I understand.” I apologize again and I wish you all the best. Goodbye. “Goodbye.” Brian hung up the phone, sat down on the edge of the bed and began to cry.
PART TWO: THE BRANDT SESSIONS
1 Amanda Brandt switched off the lamp on her desk and leaned back in her chair. She looked around her office and felt a wave of deep satisfaction. This was her favourite time of the day. The dim light of twilight creeping through the window illuminated the room, but left just enough shadow to soften the edges. This was the time when she could think about the people who had been there during the day, the problems they had brought with them and the work they had done together to try to make their lives a little better. During the sessions, she had to maintain a stance of professional objectivity. But now, sitting alone in the quiet, she could allow herself to care. She got up, walked over to the window and looked down at the street below. There were still days when she had to remind herself that it was really true, that the sign on the door actually read: Amanda Brandt - psychiatrist. Getting here had been a long and painful journey and there were many times along the way when she questioned whether this day would ever come. It was hard to believe that she had already been working out of this office for six years. She glanced over her shoulder at the patient file sitting on her desk and then turned back to the window again. The city streets seemed to stretch out forever, disappearing into a horizon obscured by office buildings and department stores. It could be a cruel world out there, a fact she knew all too well. Everyone had their trials and tribulations and she couldn’t claim that hers were any worse than anyone else’s. But she certainly could claim that they were hers. Amanda Brandt was a beautiful woman. Stunningly beautiful, to be more precise. And in a world filled with stereotypes and misconceptions, a beautiful woman who wants to make her living with her mind has a tougher path to follow than most. Amanda’s flowing blonde hair, deep blue eyes and striking features would have been great assets had she decided to become an actress or a model. But in the academic world, convincing people that she could be beautiful and smart was sometimes more work than getting the education they all thought she lacked what it took to attain. And as if being an absolute knockout hadn’t hindered her enough, her looks still weren’t the biggest obstacle in her path. Amanda Brandt was not only a beautiful woman; she was incredibly well endowed as well. Amanda’s breasts had sprung forth during puberty as if spurred on by an irrepressible force of nature. While other girls her age were still contemplating a training bra, Amanda had already reached a full C-cup and at the rate her chest was growing, there seemed to be no end in sight. Before blossoming, she’d been a true tomboy and loved to participate in school sports. But gymnastics, which was her favorite, soon became impractical and she was asked to leave the girls’ volleyball team when the coach noticed that half the boys in the school were coming out to watch their practices, just waiting for Amanda to jump for the ball at the net. When she went out for the debate team, Mrs. Glick, a skinny, old spinster who taught English and History, suggested sneeringly that she might be better suited for the cheerleading squad. In her senior year, she almost passed the auditions for the school play until a group of mothers, who had no intention of spending an evening with their husbands ogling some young schoolgirl’s oversized titties, approached the drama teacher and informed her that if Amanda appeared in the play, their children most certainly would not. If it hadn’t been for the love and support she received at home, it could have been a hellacious childhood. But instead of letting it get her down, Amanda simply became more determined to never let the small-minded attitudes that surrounded her keep her from reaching her goal. And by the time she had finished high school, her goal was to become a psychiatrist. University proved to be no easier, but somehow she endured. One of her professors threatened to fail her if she wouldn’t sleep with him and most of the others made passes at her, some subtle and some not so subtle. But she stood her ground and made it through. When she got into medical school, there was an endless trail of jokes about the blonde bimbo who wanted to be a doctor. (Q: Why do blondes make the best psychiatrists? A: Because all they can say is, “I don’t know. What do you think?”) People were mean, cruel and thoughtless, but in spite the abuse, Amanda managed to excel. When she graduated first in her class, there were the inevitable rumours that she had slept her way to the top. But instead of becoming discouraged, she somehow managed to turn all the barbs and insults into positive energy that drove her on with a single-minded passion few could equal. She was determined to prove to the world that she could be a good psychiatrist, maybe even a great one, and that having the looks of a movie star and the body of a goddess simply was not part of the equation. There had been continuing resistance from all sides, but over the last six years, she felt she had proven her point. She walked back to her desk and placed her fingertips gently on the cover of the file folder that lay there looking so deceptively innocuous. The name on the tab read, Brian Peterson. Amanda had received the file from Dr. Hasslett’s office that morning and had read through his notes with great interest. She had never met Dr. Hasslett, but knew Dr. Hasslett, but knew of him by reputation, in the same way she assumed he knew of her. She wondered if he would have sent her this particular case if they had ever met in person. She wanted to believe that he would have, but deep down she knew that it was probably asking for too much. Like so many others, he likely would have judged her ability to deal with Mr. Peterson’s situation based on her appearance as a woman and not her qualifications as a doctor. For as long as Amanda could remember, she had been trying to prove she could be the student, the professional . . . the person she wanted to be, in spite of her gender, her looks or the size of her breasts. And now, just when she thought she had finally made her point, fate was presenting her with the ultimate test. She was going to have to sit down with a man whose preoccupation with large breasted women had taken over his life and help him learn to deal with his obsession. Somehow, she was going to have to help him find a solution, without becoming part of the problem. There had been a fleeting moment when she had considered turning the case down, but it had passed quickly. To run from this would be to admit that everyone who had doubted her had been right all along. This was her opportunity to prove, once and for all, that her ability as a psychiatrist was not attached to the size of her bust-line. Was taking the case ethical, when she knew she was doing it for her own purposes? She wasn’t sure. Was it necessary? Absolutely. She took a memo pad and wrote a note to her receptionist, asking her to call Mr. Peterson and make an appointment. “Good Dr. Hasslett,” she said aloud, as she attached the note to the folder, “do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
2 Brian looked at his watch. 4:09. “Excuse me, do you think he’ll be much longer?” The receptionist glanced up from her work and peered at Brian over her bifocals. “The doctor should be with you shortly,” she replied, in a courteous but businesslike manner. “A situation came up that Dr. Brandt had to deal with, but I’m sure it won’t be much longer.” “Thanks,” Brian said, tossing the magazine he had been leafing through back onto the pile. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. He had already been nervous enough about coming here, but now with all this waiting, the suspense was just about driving him crazy. Seeing Dr. Hasslett had become familiar and comfortable and the idea of starting all over with someone new was truly frightening. Dr. Brandt would be a complete stranger and Brian wasn’t sure if he would be able to talk about personal things with him the way he had with Dr. Hasslett. He hoped that he could develop a similar rapport with this new doctor, but so far everything about coming here had been so different than seeing Dr. Hasslett that he was starting to have his doubts. While Dr. Hasslett’s practice had been part of a huge clinic in a bright, modern building, Dr. Brandt’s office was located on the second floor of an old house in a more residential district. It was a beautiful old building with high ceilings, hardwood floors and dark mahogany wainscoting, but it lacked the official, institutional feeling that Brian was now realizing he had found somewhat reassuring. Even the receptionist, a portly woman in her late fifties by the name of Rebecca McNabb, according to the nameplate on her desk, was a far cry from Susan, who was young, blonde and pretty. And Dr. Hasslett had always been on time. Brian looked at his watch again. 4:13. He decided to give it two more minutes and then leave. At this point, enough frustration had mixed with his nervousness that he didn’t really care whether he kept the appointment or not. And if he did get in to see the doctor and found that he didn’t like him, he reminded himself that he could still leave any time he wanted to. He was prepared to give this a try, but there was no law saying he had to stay any longer than . . . “Mr. Peterson?” Brian looked up. The door to the doctor’s office had opened and Amanda Brandt was standing in the doorway. Her flowing blonde hair shone like a golden halo against the darker tones of the room and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle. She smiled at Brian pleasantly, the corners of her lips turning up ever so slightly. Brian’s mouth had fallen open and he could feel his eyes popping out of his head. He imagined that he must have looked incredibly foolish, but his reaction had been quite involuntary and for the moment there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it. The woman before him was simply the most beautiful vision he had ever seen in his life. There was a vibrant energy about her that he could feel like the heat of the sun on a clear summer’s day. She had the kind of beauty that went beyond her looks and reached deep into her heart and her soul. In her eyes he could see her intelligence and the smile on her lips told of the sense of humor that made he personality whole. But what Brian noticed most were the two huge mounds that filled out her sweater like giant water-filled balloons. “Mr. Peterson . . . ?” she repeated. “Yes,” he said, swallowing hard as he uttered the word. “You can come in now.” Dr. Brandt stepped back and held the door to her office open. Brian rose on shaky legs and crossed the room. As he approached her, everything suddenly became very dream-like. He couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet as he walked and his head was swimming gently, as if in a wine-induced haze. Unable to help himself, he glanced down briefly at her chest and then tried to make eye contact, pretending that he hadn’t noticed her over-abundant bosom. Finally, he decided the only way he could keep from staring was to look away completely. He turned his head, but out of the corner of his eye he could still see the protruding shape of her enormous breasts rising up from her chest. As he stepped into the office, he was careful not to brush up against them, bumping awkwardly against the doorjamb in the process. “Please, have a seat,” Dr. Brandt said, as she closed the door and gestured toward one of the chairs in the middle of the room. Brian was glad to sit down for fear that his legs might actually give out on him. “I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” Dr. Brandt apologized. She sat in the chair opposite Brian and crossed her legs. “I’m afraid I had an emergency that had to be dealt with immediately. I hate to keep people waiting, but sometimes it can’t be helped.” “That’s fine,” Brian said weakly. “I was . . . it’s fine.” His mind was racing, thoughts flashing in and out of his head at breakneck speed. At first, he had thought this must be some kind of a joke. But whose joke? Certainly Dr. Hasslett wouldn’t be behind this. Or maybe this wasn’t Dr. Brandt at all. Maybe it was his assistant . . . or even his sister. Brian felt as if he had run the gamut of every possible scenario and come full circle, leaving him with the simple conclusion that this was his new therapist and that she had enormous tits. Dr. Brandt had noticed Brian’s reaction and she was watching him closely. His face was flushed, his respiration was up and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. The effect she was having on him was quite obvious and apparently quite extreme. She had considered wearing something more concealing especially for this appointment, but decided against it. She knew that his reaction to her large bust was something she was going to have to deal with eventually and to change her routine even that much would have been like giving in a little. And that was something she wasn’t prepared to do. But she had to admit that the intensity of Brian’s reaction had surprised her a little. And while the sweater she was wearing was in no way inappropriate, it certainly did nothing to hide the dimensions of her bosom, which now left her wondering if she had made the right choice. Considering that a therapist’s first job is to make their patients feel relaxed and comfortable, she could already see that it wasn’t making things any easier. “Are you alright, Brian? May I call you Brian?” “Sure, Brian’s fine. And I’ll be okay. I . . . um . . . to be honest, I didn’t expect you to be woman. I have to admit it took me by surprise.” “I can see how that could catch you off guard if you weren’t expecting it,” Dr. Brandt replied. She was feeling her way carefully, very aware that what happened in the next few minutes could determine the success of their doctor/patient relationship. “I hope that’s not a problem for you?” “Oh no, not at all!” Brian reassured her, the abruptness of his response suggesting that it was unsettling him more than he wanted to let on. “Glad to hear it,” Dr. Brandt responded in a tone that said as far as she was concerned the topic was closed. Having read Brian’s file, she knew full well that there was more at issue here than simply her gender, but she was determined not to let her breasts dominate things at this point. “I’ve read Dr. Hasslett’s notes, but I’d like to go over your case directly with you. I can get more information that way and it will give us a chance to get to know each other better, if that’s alright with you.” “Sure,” Brian answered. He was finding Dr. Brandt’s approach much more stiff and formal than Dr. Hasslett’s, but he told himself to be patient and give it a chance. “Now, from what I understand, you originally went to Dr. Hasslett because you were suffering from insomnia.” “That’s right.” “And after some discussion, it was decided that the insomnia was being caused by depression as a result of an unhappy relationship with your girlfriend, Gretchen.” Brian couldn’t help but notice the familiar ease with which Dr. Brandt had used Gretchen’s name and for the first time, he found himself thinking that maybe she was going to turn out to be very good after all. “That pretty much sums it up,” he agreed. “How is your relationship with Gretchen going now.” “Well, as of last week . . . it’s not.” “Can you tell me what happened?” There was a tone of genuine concern in her voice. Brian didn’t entirely understand her method, but whatever she was doing was working because he could feel himself warming up to her. “Ironically, I was the one who couldn’t sleep because I was unhappy,” he began, “but I came home one day last week and she was packing her clothes. I actually thought things were getting better between us, but obviously I was wrong. When I tried to get her to talk about it, she got angry, said it was too late to work it out and stormed out of the apartment.” Dr. Brandt interlocked her fingers over her knee. “That sounds like a very emotionally charged scene. How did you feel when you realized she was leaving?” Brian immediately thought of Gretchen’s breasts and remembered how he felt about the prospect of never seeing them again. The desperation and anguish had been overwhelming and it surprised him how powerfully those emotions came back now, just thinking about it. He would have done anything to get her to stay and he knew the only reason was her breasts. But he wasn’t ready to bring that up yet. “I was unhappy,” he said finally. “So in spite of the fact that you said you were so miserable with Gretchen that you couldn’t sleep, there must have been some things about your relationship that you enjoyed if you were unhappy that she was leaving. Brian was starting to feel as if he was dancing around a fire too hot to jump into the center of. But Dr. Brandt’s questions were painting him into a corner and soon there would be nowhere else to go.
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