Chapter 23
Avery
“You do know why it was wrong?” my new therapist asks. Jan Scott is about ten years older than Nic, I’m guessing, and there’s something a lot more distant about her.
“I know why some would consider it wrong,” I reply, because nothing anyone says will make me drop Nic in it. I will defend her until I’m all out of words. “But that doesn’t make it wrong. It certainly wasn’t wrong for me.”
“It’s understandable that you’re drawn to her. Therapy often brings up strong emotions,” Jan says. “But it was Nic’s responsibility to recognize that and remain professional. You were not in a position to hold that boundary.”
“Don’t make me out like I’m some victim.” I shake my head. “I’m really not.”
“It’s a therapist’s job to create a safe space where you can explore your feelings without any fear of exploitation.
Even if it felt consensual in the moment, which I’m guessing it did to you, a sexual relationship crosses a line in a way that can be very harmful, even if it doesn’t feel like that now. ”
I’m Avery Hall, I want to say, but wisely don’t. But I didn’t come here for a lecture on what Nic did wrong—or how I’m supposed to feel about it. I know how I feel about it. Harmed is the very last thing I feel.
“I may sound preachy, Avery, but I want to take some time to tell you this.”
I’d better not let it slip that Nic and I spent another night together. I very much get the feeling Jan might kick me out—so much for creating a safe space. And she could not possibly sound more preachy.
“No matter how strong or independent you are, there’s a built-in power dynamic in therapy.
The therapist has access to your vulnerabilities.
Entering into a sexual relationship takes advantage of that imbalance, whether intentionally or not,” Jan continues.
“Ethical codes exist not to shame desire but to protect clients. A therapist engaging sexually with a client is considered one of the biggest violations in our field because it undermines the integrity of the entire therapeutic process.”
“Fuck that,” I say—how I miss Nic as my therapist.
“No, I won’t ‘fuck that,’” Jan says. “I need you to hear me. It’s important.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” I have to give her something. “It’s just not how I experienced it.”
“Okay.” Jan softens a touch, but I’ve hardly warmed to her instantly. “How did you experience it?”
Oh. She’s really asking me that? “As an amazing night.” I start by toning things down considerably.
“Why was it amazing?” Jan peers at me over the thick rim of her glasses.
“We just clicked in a way that… I haven’t clicked with anyone in a long time. Maybe never.”
“What do you mean by ‘clicked’?”
I can hardly say that it was just staggeringly hot to fuck Nic. “Like, um, we were on the same wavelength or something.”
“Looking back now on that night, though,” Jan’s voice is soft. “Can you honestly say that Nic being your therapist had nothing to do with how she made you feel?”
“No, of course not,” I blurt out. “Because she was my therapist, and it’s how we met.”
“You’re aware that Nic has transferred her notes to me. That I know why you sought help.”
Duh. I nod. “Yeah.” Fucking therapy. I’m so done with it. But I have a point to prove as well.
“Admittedly, this is an unusual situation and I understand why you have your guard up, Avery. You care about Nic. You may even think you have feelings for her.”
“The thought of never seeing her again is almost unbearable,” I say.
“Is it, really?” Jan asks.
I scoff. “Fuck, yeah. I really like her. She’s so special.”
“She may be special, but surely she’s not the only special woman in all of Los Angeles.”
“It’s hard to put into words.” Argh. “I’m not very good at relationships or flirting, even, but with Nic… it was so easy. All I want is to see her again.”
“Perhaps also because you can’t? Because the forbidden aspect of it fuels your desire?”
“No. I see why it may look that way, but that has nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t want to presume, but someone like you must have her fair share of admirers?”
I think of the photographer’s assistant flirting with me last week and how all I could think of was that she wasn’t Nic. “Yeah,” I say on a sigh, as though it’s a burden. “But women like that… they only approach me because they’ve seen me in a movie. Because I’m famous now. I’m not into that.”
“Fair enough.” Jan actually manages a smile. “What are you into?”
My head is still filled to the brim with Nic. “Someone who… just sees me for who I am.” I can’t sit here with a straight face and claim that Nic was not interested in the famous actor part of me. She told me how many times she watched Queer Girl Summer. Still, it was different with her.
“And who is that?” Jan asks.
I huff out some air. Fuck if I know, I think, but I suppress another expletive because I get the impression Jan is far less fond of my language than Nic.
“I shoved some nitwit in a bar and apparently it says a lot about my personality and what I struggle with, so here I am.” I’m aware of how flippant I sound—as though what I really want to say is: you figure it out.
Jan lets a silence fall that I don’t feel very inclined to fill.
She studies her notes for a moment—oh, how I’d love to have a look at those—then says, “When do you feel most proud of yourself?”
“Proud of myself?” That question comes out of left field, although, instantly, I think of making Nic come with my fingers last Sunday. “I’m not someone who goes around feeling very proud of myself.”
“Why is that? You’ve accomplished quite a lot, haven’t you?”
It’s impossible to say if Jan’s question is genuine or if she’s trying to make me say something—if she’s manipulating me. But maybe that’s just me.
“Have I? I played in a soap for ten years and then I played a lesbian in a very lesbian movie.”
“That’s hardly nothing,” Jan says.
“I love acting. I’m passionate about it but the whole fame thing is so out of proportion. To be made to feel better than others simply because my face is shown on a screen is something I can’t stand. I think it’s ridiculous and dishonest and it’s what I hate the most about this town. And my job.”
“You could have chosen a more low-key project than Queer Girl Summer.”
I shake my head. “No one could have predicted that it would become such a massive hit. Three lesbians going into the woods to find themselves?” I chuckle. “It’s not exactly blockbuster material.”
“On my way in, I saw your face on a billboard for your new movie.”
“Yeah, the premiere was last week.” Unlike Queer Girl Summer, Deadline for Love is meticulously conceived to be a blockbuster. “That’s how it goes in Hollywood. I have an A-list agent now. According to her, it’s only just begun and the sky is the limit.”
“Yet you sound ambivalent.”
“It’s just… such a contrast with where I come from.”
“Which is?” I’m sure it’s in her notes, but Jan probably wants me to say it—wants to examine my body language when I do.
“I grew up in a trailer park in Indiana. We didn’t have any money. There wasn’t much room for feelings and stuff like that.”
“Stuff like that?”
“I’m nothing like these girly, dainty characters I play,” I ignore Jan’s question.
“And all this glitz and glamor. Don’t get me wrong.
Money is the best thing in the world, and I’m glad my mom lives in a nice house now, but inane flattery often has the opposite effect on me.
I’m not receptive to it because… it doesn’t mean anything. ”
“Why do you think it doesn’t mean anything?” So this is what it’s like to be counseled by a therapist I don’t think of as hot. Borderline boring and excruciatingly annoying.
Ostentatiously, I look at my watch. In the room with Nic, time always flew. Here one minute seems to last an hour. And I can’t flirt my way out of a conversation thread I’d rather avoid.
“Five more minutes,” Jan says. “And for the record, I think it’s good that you’re here.” She throws in a smile. “Do you think you can answer my question?”
“Because I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t or you can’t?”
“Both. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is,” Jan says. “That perhaps you find it hard to believe something flattering about yourself because, deep down, you don’t believe you’re worth someone saying something nice about you.”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
“Maybe,” Jan repeats. “You’ve done really well, Avery. Will you come back next week?”
“Yes.” I’m not lying. I know that Nic wants me to continue therapy. And even though I can’t talk about her all that much, I may need some help getting over her. Who better to assist me than the new therapist she got me?