“Do you mean who your family is? Yes,” she says. “For most of my career I ran a center that specialized in the dynamics of financially privileged families. You're the DeVille heiress.”
“Inheriting coal and switches,” I say drolly.
“Tap water,” she offers.
“Yeah. The kind with pollution.”
“You've been through a lot, then, with your mother. And your father.”
“I guess so.”
“I think the answer is a resounding 'yes.'”
I nod. “Yes.”
“You know it's not uncommon for the children of addicts to harbor some resentment toward the therapists who treat their parents.”
“Why is that?”
The good doctor shrugs. “You’ve watched therapists fail your entire life.”
That's true.
“Hope can turn ugly when it's dashed over and over.”
Her words strike so true that I have I bite my lip to keep from crying. Feeling desperate, I change the subject. “Are you from the New Orleans area, by any chance?”
She smiles. “How did you know?”
“Accent. How did you end up here?”
“I'm a child of privilege myself. I married a privileged man, a lawyer and later a politician. His last name isn't Bernard,” she tells me, winking. “By the time I divorced, I knew Marchant and his adopted New Orleans social circle well. He's been a client of mine since his college years. In fact, it's thanks to him that I relocated. When he decided to bring a psychologist on board at Love Inc., he wanted it to be his own.”
“Really.” That surprises me. Marchant doesn't seem like the type of guy to admit weakness.
But Dr. Bernard nods. “He came to me after he lost his parents. In fact, we still talk. Maintenance therapy. I'm not sharing anything with you that he would mind. He's very open about it.”
I nod, because I'm not sure what to say.
“I've got a question for you, Scarlett.”
My stomach flips. “Okay.”
“Why are you still a virgin?” She smiles a little. “Let me rephrase. There's no reason not to be a virgin, if that's what you so choose, but you're a pretty girl, and judging by your plans, I assume there are no religious or ethical qualms about experiencing intercourse.”
I swallow hard, wanting to die. Does she actually expect me to answer this?
“I was curious, that's all. If you don't want to discuss it, we don't have to.”
Well, dangit. Now I feel like I should discuss it. I play with my fingernail, then realize I'm doing it and force myself to look into her eyes.
“The question makes you uncomfortable?” she asks.
“Well, yeah.”
“Does sex make you uncomfortable?”
I sigh. “That's not why. I guess it's just a little further than I like to go.”
“With therapists.”
“With anyone,” I say. But, hey, I'm here. Why not? I chew my lip and then just jump in head-first. “I used to be fat,” I tell her. “And I have trust issues.”
“What kind?”
“The because of my mom kind. The kind you get when you grow up in an unstable home. You know the story.”
“I don't know your story. How does that go?”
I shrug. “My parents never had sex very much. A few times I over-heard them talking about it. Their relationship was just the surface. Probably because, with an addict, it's impossible to get any deeper than that. So we were all...I don't know...like, roommates. I made friends with Suri and Cross, my two best friends, when I was young, so I grew to trust them without meaning to. But everybody else...” I bite my lip as the truth finally dawns on me with crystal clarity. I spit it out in a froggy voice. “I guess I just never considered that it was possible to have a good relationship with a man.”
Her face is sympathetic. The kind of sympathy that almost hurts. I raise my hand to my chest. It kind of does hurt. “Geez, that's new to me. I didn't even know that until just now.”
She nods. “That's one of the reasons people—non-addict people—come to therapy. To learn more about themselves. How much time have you spent learning about Scarlett? Not Mom, not Dad, but Scarlett. Her issues. Her fears.”
I press my lips together. The answer is none, of course. “I never had time.”
“That's very common for a young woman with your history. And it's not your fault,” she says with a reassuring smile. “The great thing about getting older is, you change yourself. And what's healthy and appropriate, you nourish.”
I nod, relieved. I'm not a freak who doesn't want a relationship. I just never really thought that one was possible. It makes sense!
She looks up at the clock behind me, and I'm surprised to find an hour has passed since I walked through her door.
“Do you find yourself in Vegas very often?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I hedge. I sigh. “Not really.” I feel my cheeks flush, and I tentatively say, “I wish I did. It was kind of nice talking to you.”
She smiles. “Well I asked because I have an office in Los Angeles. I know it's not a speedy drive, but it is in driving range.”
I nod, and she asks, “Would you like to talk again sometime?”
“It depends on how much money I get,” I say, smirking, though honestly, it's embarrassing having as little money as I do.
“I work on sliding scales at times. Perhaps that would work for you.”
“Maybe.” She hands me her card, and I put it in my purse. “I'll call some time.”
“I'd like that. And Scarlett?” I turn with my hand on the door-knob. “Don't hesitate to come back if you'd like to talk again before you go.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
~HUNTER~
Even as I'm playing, I know Lady Luck is with some other guy tonight. I imagine the headlines, stupid puns arranged in that kind of cadence that journalists and bloggers like.
West doesn't know which way is up in tourney
Bourbon heir floats in first-day tourney
What-the-fuck-ever.
I screwed up last hand, and I'm screwing up again this time. A Zen master couldn’t play with all the shit I’ve got bouncing around in my head. I want to tell that to the annoying blonde holding the camera. She looks a little too much like Priscilla for my liking, and I'm having trouble not snapping as she pushes her mic into my face.
Today has sucked. Scratch that. Everything has sucked since the other night at the Joseph. Priscilla didn't really go to Ontario. Today she rode down to San Luis and Julie tailed her, but she didn't seem to do anything except have dinner with a client at a swanky hotel.