Charlotte did her reset: The long breath. Closed eyes, just for a second. A slight shudder to chase away the demons.
So on Mondays when the cleaning lady comes, I drive forty minutes to see Bob for one hour. We don’t really talk anymore. We say hello. He asks about Jenny. I give him an update. I ask how he is. I ask about the boys. Then we have sex.
“You say that with less of something. Enthusiasm? Interest?”
I feel less of something. In fact, last week I actually felt irritated. He was taking longer than usual. I pretended to have an orgasm so we could be done. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t like the feel of his hands on me that day. It’s been like that more and more since that night when I met him in the parking lot. That horrible night. It feels like it’s dying a slow death.
“Do you think it’s because of you or him?”
She shook her head from side to side. I really don’t know. I mean, he says the same things to me. And he does the same things to me. He still sends me text messages.
“The suggestive ones?”
They’re more than suggestive. Some of them I delete immediately. They’re pornographic. Pictures of his erection. Descriptions of things he wants to do.
Charlotte seemed disgusted as she spoke about it. In the past, she had been embarrassed. And aroused.
He always says he loves me. But it’s not the same.
“That must be very difficult. Bob has been an important piece of your framework.”
He made me feel whole. Like we talked about. He knows about my past and he still loves me. He still wants me.
“So what’s changed? Why isn’t that working its magic anymore?”
Charlotte shrugged. She didn’t know. I looked at her and sighed myself. She asked if I was upset with her, and I assured her I was not. I said I was just very tired. I never share my personal feelings with my clients, but I was growing impatient—remember, I had not yet taken the lorazepam. I had been hobbling myself together for the better part of our session.
I left Charlotte to consider why things with Bob had changed. Of course, I knew the answer. Bob had not muttered those four little words that night by the Dumpsters at the Home Depot. He did not say, “It’s not your fault.” The supply of acceptance and forgiveness had been interrupted, and she now had an inkling of the truth—that all this time, as Bob held her and told her that he loved her, even though she had slept with her mother’s husband, even though she had been sent away to live with her aunt, he was lying. Bob was a liar who wanted to fuck her. He was masterful. Cunning. I have to admit that a small part of me was impressed by him. He knew somehow what would appeal to her, that bad Charlotte would feed on his acceptance like the starving child she was and that she would open her legs and not care about her own satisfaction as long as he brought the food. But now his words were empty. The food he was serving her was rancid, and she was having trouble swallowing it down.
I wondered what he was feeding Lila at the Jag showroom. What did she need so desperately that she would bend over a silver XK and let him shove her face into its hood while he rode her like an animal? Money, perhaps, as Tom said. Or maybe she needed her daddy’s love. It could have been a million things. And Bob, that sly dog, had figured it out. Yes. I was impressed.
By the time Tom left my office later that day, my thoughts were in a frenzy. I kept thinking over and over—This is too good to be true. It was. It was too perfect.
You probably cannot picture this, but I actually got up and paced the room, back and forth like some primal beast. I had seen Charlotte. Then I had seen two other patients. Then I’d seen Tom and learned about Bob and that little slut at the Jag showroom. I hope you’re following along. This day, this Friday, was absolutely pivotal. I had become monomaniacal in my mission to save my son from accusation. My wife was right. The accusation alone would change his life forever. Social media would leave its nasty indelible footprint. I also have to admit—to you and not my wife, because it would continue to upset her—that the consequence of not being able to treat Jenny also weighed heavily upon me. No parents in their right mind would allow that to continue under such a cloud of suspicion. And I needed to finish my work with her. I am a selfish bastard, aren’t I? God, how I was coming undone that day!
But I was not too undone to continue with my fledgling plan.
Jenny arrived just after four in the afternoon. Three Kramers in one day. I was immersed in their stories, and it was helping me immensely to piece together the details. I heard them arrive in the waiting room. Charlotte always brought Jenny. Lucas was with them as well. It didn’t matter. They would leave as soon as I opened the door, and I would be alone with Jenny for an hour. More, if I needed it.
I finished the work I had been doing on my computer. Then I opened the door.