I pulled up to Auggie’s farm, the gravel drive lined by dogwood trees spaced fifteen feet apart. Their leaves were beginning to color, a sign that winter would be early this year. I pulled into the wide turnaround between the house and the paddock and shut off the car. I debated on waiting to give her the flowers until she got into the car but realized they needed water. Armed and yet even a bit nervous, I approached the door, but she met me there.
“Jesus, you’re gorgeous!” escaped from my mouth before I even thought about it. Her hair was wound into a series of braids that seemed to crisscross her head in an intricate pattern. She had little glittery studs I assumed were diamond-headed pins tucked between them. She was wearing a low-cut pale pink silk dress with six-inch heels that wound up around her ankles. Her make-up was minimal, which suited her perfectly. I wanted to pick her up and fuck her right there, but settled for a light kiss on her cheek because I had no idea who might be spying on us.
“Come in! I want you to meet Dad and Mother.” She tugged at my sleeve.
Why do I feel sixteen, awkward and as if my acne just exploded? “These are for you,” I told her and handed her the bouquet, for which I got a second kiss.
She handed them off to someone behind her and then led me through a maze of the kitchen, hallway and into a large room that was banked by floor to ceiling windows. A grand piano was guarding one corner and I saw the backs of a man and woman seated on a floral upholstered sofa.
“Mother, Dad, this is Worthington LaViere, III. Worth, I’d like you to meet my mother and dad.”
Auggie’s dad stood and came toward me. I shook his hand. He looked a bit pale and overwhelmed, the sort of fellow who wears that look indefinitely.
I wasn’t prepared for what came next, however. Auggie’s mother began to stand and then fell back against the cushions, her face robbed of a smile and any shade of human color. I felt a jolt and fought to keep control.
The woman whose extended hand just dropped into her lap was none other than Jervis’ Jezebel.
Auggie
I couldn’t believe Mother’s reaction. You would think Worth had just slapped her. Of course, I noted that he had an odd look as well. Had they met before? I’d better not have any trouble out of her over this. She would not win. Her days of running my life have come to an end.
I sensed trouble was coming so I quickly said, “Night!” and tugged at Worth’s sleeve to come with me. We got into his Porsche and the poor man behaved as though the devil was at his heels.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Not a thing,” he said shortly and without conviction.
“You’re lying. Have you met my mother before?”
“She just reminded me of someone I knew once. Took me a minute to realize it wasn’t the same person,” he said. I chose to believe him... for now, that is.
We were at the restaurant in no time. I liked my car, but I liked his better. Everything about him had his personal sense of style. He was sleek, fast, smart, witty and self-possessed. His car fit him well. I wondered if he felt as good as he looked and then blushed for my own benefit.
We had a quiet table in the corner with a linen tablecloth, real silver, and china… at least we did. I noticed other tables had simpler settings and when I picked up my fork and looked at it, he said, “Only the best.” I was blown away by his attention to detail.
“So, why did you become a psychologist?” I asked him.
“To play with peoples’ heads,” he said without hesitation.
My head jerked back a little at that response. “What… like you’re entertained by what people think?”
“No, because people are essentially malleable. They become what you suggest they are. They are what they think they are.”
“And how does that help them?” I was confused.
“Doesn’t, not every time,” he said coolly while cutting the lasagna he ordered. “They come to me because they think they’re broken. They’re generally not broken at all. If I let them go home thinking they’re still broken, they will be. It’s that simple.”
I swallowed, needing to know the answer to the next question, but dreading his answer at the same time. “So do you? Do you let them go home feeling broken?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether they’re a good person. I let bad people go home broken.”
“Wait,” I said, setting down my fork. “Are you saying you mess with people’s lives and don’t legitimately help them like your oath compels you to do?”
“You’re living in a bubble, dear Auggie. People don’t come to me to be fixed. They come to me to hear it’s alright to be a total screw up, or to use others, or to cheat on their spouse. I’m sort of the medical version of a confessional priest.”
“That’s wrong,” I said, and felt the flatness of the words.
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to make them better.”
“So,” he said, laying down his knife and looking at me. “You think a priest listens and helps or does he simply give his parishioner the illusion that he’s forgiven and the guy goes right back to what he was doing?”
I frowned. “Never really thought of it that way.”
“Of course you didn’t, Auggie. You’re a sweet-hearted idealist and I like that. You don’t want to become sour and cynical like me.” He seemed resigned to some sort of inherent evil within himself.
“How did you get that way?” I asked carefully, not sure if he knew what I meant. He did.
“I suppose you could say it was bred into me. Father dabbles in finance and business, I dabble in the psyche that supports his finance and business. Men are only as important as they believe themselves to be. I prefer to look at what I do as evening the odds. Making all men equal.”
“What a fascinating, although perverted, way to look at the world,” I said before I thought about it.
He looked at me, the strangest expression on his face. “You’re smart, you’ll see it eventually and that makes me sad.” His voice held real regret.
“Why sad?” I was drawn to this man’s opinion and words like a moth to a flame. I sensed there was a danger of rejection more powerful than anything I could imagine, but it was like stepping into the cage with the lion in the meantime. I liked the danger… the thrill of his mocking bluntness.
He looked over the table at me and stared at my eyes. “My dear Auggie, I happen to want to be like you again, and if I can’t do that, I want you with me. I want to be in the glow of your innocence and goodness, to smell the world as you must sniff it, to give people the benefit of the doubt that they are innately good before you look for the cracks that always eventually appear.” His words ended in a wistful whisper.
I felt sort of pleased and sort of offended at the same time. “I’m not a child, you know. I’ve seen some things.” I stuck up for myself.
“I don’t doubt you have. I would prefer you forget them. It would please me very much if you would begin life anew, right now, right here, with me.”
“What are you saying?” I felt a heat deep within me.
“Don’t be coy, Auggie. You know very well what I’m saying.”
“I’ve known you less than a month,” I protested.