Chapter 5 Scarlett
SCARLETT
I need to think very carefully about how I respond here…
What do I want to say to him?
I want to say that he’s grown up really good these past three years.
I don’t want him to know that I’ve seen every episode of That’s So Wizard!
more than once. But I sort of want him to know that I found his performance as Ashton, Shane Miller’s younger brother, very endearing.
I could tell he wasn’t a people-pleasing performer like a lot of actors on Disney shows can seem to be.
I want him to know I think it’s so sweet that he didn’t want to hurt Iris’s feelings.
And I want to tell him that he should never, ever shave because that dark scruff makes his stunning blue eyes pop and I want to feel it against my inner thighs.
I want to tell him that I am starving right now, in more ways than one, and I haven’t had this kind of physical response to anyone since that first time we met.
I want to Eat, Pray, Love all over this guy.
But most of all—I want to continue practicing therapy in the state of California. Which means not losing my license. Which means no dinner date for me.
“Dylan, I do remember meeting you at Erewhon a few years ago. I want you to know that I wasn’t sure if you were the same Dylan Brodie when you emailed me.
And while it’s perfectly fine for me to treat you as a patient even though we met in public that one time—it’s not possible for us to have any kind of relationship outside of therapy. But thank you for asking.”
“Got it. Understood.” He takes a deep breath, staring right at me, before continuing. “So if we end this session right now, you’ll go out with me, that’s what you’re saying?”
I try so hard to stifle a giggle, but what’s the point?
It would be like stifling a fart in outer space.
Better to let a little nervous laughter out now, or it will release and ignite into something a lot more dangerous later.
“I’m not dating right now.” Nope. Not specific enough. “And I’m still too old for you.”
“But I am over the age of twenty-five now.”
“Well, I’m thirty-three now, so I’ve adjusted my dating rules accordingly.”
“Surely those rules don’t apply to getting coffee and talking with someone. And then staying at that venue to order food because you get along so well with that person and neither of you wants to leave. And then maybe catching a movie right after because what the hell. And then who knows?”
God dammit, I want that. All of it. I want the who knows and everything leading up to it.
But I have to pick up hamster pellets on the way to getting Noah, help my parents pack to move, and then help my son write a report on the mold that grew on three different kinds of bread, pack a weekend bag for him because he’ll be staying with Adam tomorrow, and then—who knows?
! Glass of wine and the first twenty minutes of Uncle Buck, if I’m lucky.
Time to get serious. “Dylan, I really can’t do any of those things with you. Ever. So if you’d like to talk about anything other than the possibility of a date, please go ahead and tell me how I can help you in therapy.”
I watch him process my response. He’s not going to continue bantering with me, and that’s good. It doesn’t look like he feels rejected, and that’s also good. He looks a little disappointed but also like he’s really heard what I’ve said, and that’s excellent.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath, combs his fingers through his dark wavy hair, and rubs the tops of his thighs.
His hair is so sexy. Clean. Casually styled.
His jeans probably cost two hundred dollars, and he looks really good in them.
His leather shoes are gorgeous and big. I am only noting these details because it means he probably isn’t depressed if he’s put some effort into getting ready to leave the house today.
“I recently ended another relationship,” he says.
“With the woman who played my love interest in a Broadway play that we starred in for two months. Well, the show ran for two months and we started dating when rehearsals started a month earlier. So we were together for three months. I say I ended it, but she was the one who wanted to end it.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“If I’m being honest, I feel differently about it now than I did up until about ten minutes ago.” He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t smile. Just looks me in the eye, as if I’m supposed to understand what he means.
“Why don’t you tell me how you felt up until then.”
“I was sad that it was over. I was mad that she decided to just end it like that. I was annoyed that she hadn’t texted me back. I was confused as to how she could change her mind about not wanting to move out here so quickly, and I was pretty sure she’d change it back again any day now.”
“Had you discussed her moving out here to be with you before?”
“We had discussed the possibility of me moving to New York to live with her or her moving here to live with me. We just wanted to be together.”
“Have you ever lived with a girlfriend before? Or been married?”
“No. Neither.” He smirks, just a little. “Are you still unmarried?”
“Let’s stay with you. Are you still in love with this woman?”
“I still feel pretty attached to her, just because we spent every day together. I’m not over her yet. I still think about her. But I’m not in love with her. She might not have the depth I thought she had.”
“And how does it feel to think about not being attached to her?”
“Not great, but I don’t feel lost or anything.
I’m not despondent. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me as a person just because she doesn’t want to be with me anymore.
I just liked being with her. I like feeling attached to a woman.
I like to be in love with a woman, and I like being in a committed relationship with a woman.
But I’m not depressed. I don’t get depressed.
I don’t have extreme mood swings. I don’t lose my identity.
I don’t idealize my girlfriends. I just don’t get much emotional support from the women I date.
Are you trying to assess my attachment style?
Because I’ve talked about this with other therapists.
I’ve read the books and done the tests. I’m not anxious or avoidant. I’m pretty secure.”
I’ll be the judge of that.
“Would you mind telling me how long your relationships with women usually last, Dylan?”
“For as long as we’re working together.”
“Working together as actors?”
“Yes. Not much longer after the production has ended, usually. I’ve never dated the models I’ve worked with.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve never felt a connection with any of them. We don’t usually share many interests. And I don’t work with them for very long.”
I take a deep breath so as not to shudder distastefully before saying, “But you always feel a connection with the actresses you’ve worked with?”
“Just the ones who play my love interests.”
“So there’s a definite pattern.”
“Definitely. But it’s not a destructive one. Nobody gets hurt or anything.”
I’ll be the judge of that too…
“I’m glad to hear it. So you exclusively date actresses who play your love interests?”
Another little smirk. “Well, it’s not a rule or anything. I just can’t seem to get any mental health practitioners to go out with me…”
“Could you tell me how long ago your most recent relationship ended and how?”
“Couple of weeks ago. Nothing too dramatic. She just decided we weren’t really compatible.”
“Do you disagree with her?”
“I think we were compatible enough to spend every single day together when it was fun and romantic and convenient, and I think that all relationships take work. She wasn’t willing to do the work once it stopped being necessary for us to see each other every day.
End of story. That’s how it always goes. ”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Which part?” he asks.
“‘That’s how it always goes.’”
“I’m getting a little tired of it. Not the falling in love part. But the falling in love with actresses part. You aren’t an actress, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Good. I mean, I’m sure you’d be really good and successful if you were.” He offers this as a genuine compliment—because in Los Angeles that’s meant to be high praise.
“Let’s stay with you. It sounds to me like you’re pretty okay with the end of this relationship.”
“Like I said, I feel okay with it now.”
“Now that you’re focusing on someone else you’d like to spend time with?”
“Now that I’m focusing on you, specifically, yes.”
“I think the only way for therapy to work in this situation is if we both focus on you here.”
“Well, I usually prefer to give and take in these situations, but if you want to focus on me for now, I’m fine with that.”
“Dylan. If you’re going to flirt with me, this won’t work. I need you to decide what you want.”
“I told you what I want.”
“And I told you I can’t go out with you. Do you want to talk about your relationship issues with me—as your therapist—or not?”
“I wouldn’t say that I have any relationship issues, but I want to keep talking to you.
Yes. Do you think I’m a love addict? Because I’m not.
It’s not a compulsion. I don’t usually ask women out if I’ve just met them.
I don’t usually go from bemoaning the end of a relationship one minute to lusting after the first beautiful woman I see the next.
I’m not saying I’m lusting after you. I’m just saying that none of my prior therapists have diagnosed me as pathological in any way, and I’m not delusional, even though my entire family seems to think I am…
” He takes in a sharp breath and looks away.
Well this is something.
“Why don’t you tell me about that.”