Chapter 27 Perceptions #2
I had no true evidence that he was a fraud, so I mentally talked myself down.
For now I had to treat him as I would anyone else.
Besides, he seemed open to some of my suggestions about reconnecting with his wife, so I recommended a book for him that I thought might be helpful.
“I don’t have a copy to loan you, but perhaps you could check it out online or at your local bookstore,” I said, and he grabbed a pen and small notebook from inside his jacket.
He spread the notebook open on the ottoman in front of him, then dipped his hand into his pocket once more and pushed on a pair of glasses.
“Can’t see a damn thing up close without these on,” he said, then wrote down the name I gave him, folded up the paper and removed his glasses once more.
I caught the briefest glimpse of him with the glasses on—thick and black—and it was as if I’d been shot back to the night I went to Gia’s with Jack.
The man I’d bumped into outside my building had worn glasses like that—thick and black.
He’d had dark hair too, but it was longer, wasn’t it?
The memory was far too fuzzy, and that’s all I could latch onto.
It had been such a lightning-fast encounter that more than two weeks later I couldn’t recall any more details.
And really, what were the chances that this man was the same guy?
Even if I had bumped into Clark, maybe he’d just been doing his research and scoping out the building before the appointment, to get the lay of the land.
A lot of patients did that. That was normal.
Plus, he’d said he was a market researcher, so it would make sense that he’d checked things out in advance.
But after he left, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Perhaps it was simply this day. Maybe it was a side effect of Shayla’s nosiness. Lately, I’d been feeling like others knew things about me before I learned them. And I didn’t like being in that position.
I didn’t have another session for an hour, so I locked my door.
I never locked my door. But then, I was about to do something I rarely did.
I was going to google a patient. I’d made it a point not to search out my patients online—what mattered was what they shared in my time with them.
Still, Clark Davidson had left me feeling unsettled, no matter how hard I tried to apply logic to the situation.
I flipped open my laptop, and plugged his name into Google.
I found a Clark Davidson who was a realtor. A Clark Davidson who was a sales manager at an advertising technology company. And a Clark Davidson who was a lawyer. But none were market researchers. And none of the images that returned matched the man who’d been in my office.
I dropped Shayla’s name into Google next, but very little turned up about her that I didn’t already know.
Where she went to college. Her brief time working at an art gallery.
Some of her charitable donations. I moved onto social media next, even though I didn’t have any profiles myself, and had never felt any need to.
Dropping Shayla’s name into the search bar on the social media site made me feel dirty.
I felt even seedier when I spotted her profile. But it was set to private.
I closed the browser, disgusted with myself, and grateful that I’d been stopped from going too far. The tabloids were already invading my personal life; I didn’t need to start doing that to a client. It would simply be wrong.
Perhaps Clark was just a troubled man who needed help. Not someone who’d studied up on me more than I would have liked. I hopped over to my work email, and smiled broadly when I read a note from my Paris contact, Julien, about how much they were looking forward to my talk.
I was excited for the trip too. The only problem was that I’d miss Jack terribly during those five days I’d be away. Especially after I took my phone from the desk drawer and clicked open a new note from him.
From: Jack
subject: You
Hi. You might have seen the picture of us dancing at Lincoln Center.
We’re online again on Page Six. I know this is probably more than you bargained for the night we met.
I guess I’m just used to it now. The press has been fascinated with my dating, or non-dating, as the case was until I met you.
I suspect it will all blow over soon, and they’ll move on to someone else in this city.
I hope you don’t mind, though, when I say that I can’t stop looking at this picture of you in my arms. It captured that moment so perfectly and everything I see when I look at you—you are so beautiful and in this photo you look simply incandescent.
I am going to miss you when I go to California later this week.
I closed my eyes and let that gorgeous word wash over me.
Incandescent. Who said things like that?
Who used that kind of an adjective? Only a man like Jack.
A man who loved the symphony, and who loved my ass.
A man who was refined on the outside, and filthy on the inside.
My lips curved up in a naughty grin as I lingered on thoughts of my dirty, sexy, sophisticated man.
When I opened my eyes, I searched out the photo of the two of us, quickly reading the caption.
Sob, sob. Looks like things are getting serious with the sex toy mogul and the therapist. They were spotted dancing outside Lincoln Center Saturday night. They look so happy together we want to cry. Don’t tell us you’re off the market, Jack!
I beamed in spite of being in the public eye once more. I beamed because Jack was right. I did look incandescent. Because I was looking at him. I didn’t see what everyone else saw. I didn’t see a sex toy mogul and a therapist. I saw a man and a woman, dancing, gazing, holding.
That’s what I saw.
Surely, that’s all anyone could see.
But my good mood from Jack’s letter didn’t last. Because there was a knock on my door later that afternoon, and Kira popped in.
“Hey. How’s it going?” I asked.
“Great. May I sit down?”
I gestured to the couch. “Lie down and tell me about your mother,” I joked, and Kira laughed, but the laughter quickly faded.
“So, you’re seeing that guy you sent to me?”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands. “Does everyone read Page Six?”
Kira crinkled her brow. “Um. Yeah. I love that site. I’m addicted, like half of Manhattan,” she said, brushing her black hair away from her face. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure he was never your patient. You said he was a friend the day you referred him to me.”
I shook my head. “He was never my client.”
“Good. Because you’re one of the best, and I just want to make sure you weren’t leaving yourself open to an ethics investigation.”
“No. God, no. I swear,” I said, and dropped my head in my hands in frustration.
Then I lifted my head and met Kira’s gaze straight on.
My colleague was simply concerned, that was all.
And I owed her the facts, given that Kira was involved, in a way, now.
“I met him the night before. I didn’t know he was scheduled to see me.
We hit it off and as soon as we both realized he had an appointment, I marched him down to see you.
I haven’t crossed any professional lines. ”
“Good. I’m just looking out for you. Besides, I wouldn’t want to have to report you,” Kira said in a deadpan voice. But when I stared at her without cracking a smile, Kira quickly added, “I’m kidding. I’m totally kidding,” then laughed to emphasize her point.
But I didn’t reciprocate. Even though I knew she was one hundred percent above board on that count, the notion that someone else might question my ethics sickened me.
I arrived early to the consulting group that afternoon, and snagged some one-on-one time with Carla, updating her on Shayla’s session, then Clark Davidson, then the photo from Lincoln Center.
Carla listened, and was quick to answer. “I don’t think we need to freak out, but this is a good reminder to be careful.”
I hadn’t expected that. I’d assumed Carla would reassure me. “What do you mean?”
“You’re dating a man who’s in the public eye.
Who the press adores, and fawns over. That man also runs a sex toy company that is well known for supplying to sex clubs.
That’s why you need to be more cautious than if you were dating a doctor, or a teacher, or even the CEO of a dishwasher detergent company. Do you know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said with a crisp nod. Carla had always given smart advice.
“He doesn’t have to worry about boundaries and public or private lives in the same way you do.
You’re an intimate relationship therapist, and you have to be cautious, in the same way that a teacher would be.
Society has certain expectations about different professions, and we’re in one of those professions where we have to be circumspect.
The reality is there are bound to be speculations about your sex life now,” she said, giving new meaning to the word blunt.
“So that’s it? This is not an It’s Raining Men situation?”
Carla laughed. “No. But I’m not saying you shouldn’t date him.
If you enjoy his company and he’s good to you, then by all means, have some fun.
What I’m saying is be aware of these eagle eyes that can’t seem to stop looking at him, and now at you.
For better or for worse, the man is a magnet for the cameras. ”
I nodded, agreeing with my mentor. “I don’t think I realized just how much.
We started dating a few weeks ago, and no one noticed.
No one cared. And now, in the last few days, Page Six has taken an avid interest. And it was so uncomfortable when my patient asked about him.
She just kind of word-vomited up this whole thing about whether we used his sex toys.
Talk about boundaries,” I said, shaking my head in frustration.
Carla gave me a sympathetic smile. “Look, you won’t be the first therapist to deal with dating someone in the public eye.
It’s not as if you’re forbidden from it.
The key is to manage it properly. That’s why I said to be careful.
You don’t want your patients or colleagues to start seeing you in a particular light, and seeing you only as this man’s lover.
That won’t help. And if that keeps happening, I would have to stop referring patients to you. ”
My stomach dropped at that prospect. I valued Carla’s referrals dearly, as well as the chance she was giving me to lead the upcoming workshop. “I don’t want that to happen. I want to keep growing in my career.”
“I know,” Carla said matter-of-factly. “So let’s take steps now to protect your career.
And as frustrating as it may be, you need to operate under the assumption that you’re dating a celebrity.
And until it becomes serious, and you’re engaged or married—not that I’m saying that will happen,” she added, holding up a hand when my eyes threatened to pop out of my head because clearly Jack and I were never getting married, let alone going to date beyond thirty days.
“You simply need to be chaste in public, but behind closed doors,” Carla lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though it was only the two of us in her office, “feel free to have some fabulous sex.”
“Carla!” I pretended to be taken aback.
Carla wiggled her eyebrows. “Is it fantastic? Is that why you’ve been glowing lately?”
I brought my hand to my cheek, as if I could discover this so-called glow everyone kept noticing. “Am I glowing?”
Carla laughed. “No. But you seem happy. Truly happy, and I hope you are. And I also hope you’re having great sex. Because everyone should. Besides, isn’t great sex something to strive for in an intimate relationship?”
“I suppose it is,” I said, and Jack and I certainly had great sex. We also had an intimate relationship. Which was a weirder thought because where I came from, intimate relationships were more than just great sex. And that’s what we had to be about. The sex; only the sex. Nothing more.
Besides, these problems would all end soon.
The clock was ticking, unspooling minutes and seconds until our thirty days expired in a little more than a week.
I fast-forwarded over the next ten days.
I’d be spending half of them abroad. Without him.
Which would suck royally because our plan was working, at least for me.
My heart was healing. Clay was in the rearview mirror.
I felt like myself again. Like I could breathe and live and feel without the weight of all that unrequited-ness yanking me down.
But I didn’t want to miss a single second of my time with Jack. And I wanted to let him know how much I would miss him while I was away. When I walked back into my office fifteen minutes before my last appointment of the day, I returned a few quick calls to colleagues, then called Jack.