work…it’s a whole thing they’re doing.” I tried to keep it short and sweet. I’m not good at lies. And the thing is---When you start telling them, you have to make sure you remember them.
“ That sounds like a mess,” he said with such genuine compassion and sympathy that I began to worry if I told one more lie, my nose would start to grow.
“ Oh----I got the script,” I said, trying to change the subject.
“ Well…it’s just an adaptation,” he said self-consciously. “Spoiler Alert: Bell rings…”
“… angel gets his wings.”
“ Yeah. I really am a writer, though. I swear!” he laughed. “I have actual plays to prove it.”
“ I’d love to read them sometime.”
“ Ah!---now that’s a dangerous thing to say to a writer. Next thing you know you’ll have a stack of manuscripts on your doorstep.”
“ Or maybe just bring them to rehearsal,” I suggested, not sure having the Building Manager hovering around my doorstep would be such a good thing.
And then I had a horrible thought. Steve. He knows Steve.
A few minutes later, I looked out my window and saw Nate drive away.
“ Steve…” I whispered into the phone, “you know about my whole illegal sublease thing, right? Well, it just got a little more complicated…”
The next day, I sat on a futon wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and Timmy’s holiday pin.
“ I think we’re getting somewhere,” Dr. Price said as she surveyed my festive ensemble. “Didn’t I tell you? The Christmas Spirit makes all the difference.”
“ Oh, absolutely!” I beamed as brightly as my cubic zirconia pin. “I think so, too. So I was wondering, maybe you could take a look at my resume,” I said as I reached into my bag.
After all, isn’t that why I started coming here to begin with?
“ Oh yeah, yeah,” she said as she jumped out of her seat. “But let me just show you this. Oh, you’re going to love it!”
She ran across the room to retrieve some sort of mechanism with a reindeer and the flailing arms of a nylon-faced, puppet grandma that moved around wildly as the song, “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” came gushing out of a mini-speaker.
“ What do you think?”
“ Oh…it’s…cute. It’s really cute,” I did my best to squeeze out.
“ You like it?”
“ Oh yeah. It’s got the song…and the reindeer…and the grandma. Just…ties the whole thing together with a big red bow!”
“ It’s my gift to you.”
“ Oh---I…I couldn’t.”
“ No. You keep it.”
“ Really. I...”
“ You hate it.”
“ No! No. It’s…cute.”
“ Dorrie----it’s irritating. Even I know that.”
“ Then why are you trying to give it to me?”
“ I’ve noticed that week number three is generally when patients lie about their progress.”
“ A patient is in the nuthouse. I’m on a futon. Completely different.”
‘ When you sit your ass down on my futon, you’re my patient. Why is this so hard for you?”
“ I just don’t see it making a difference in my life. I’m sorry. I tried the Christmas Blend. But it just tasted like regular coffee. They just put it in a holiday cup. And everywhere I go they’re playing Christmas music. It’s not even December yet!”
“ Okay. Just take a breath,” she said like yoga instructor in a mental ward. “Let’s start with one thing. Christmas music. Why does it bug the shit out of you?”
“ It’s just the same music. Every year. The same Top 40 I’ve heard for thirty-four years.”
“ I thought you were thirty-five.”
“ Not yet. And why is everyone harping on my age?”
“ Dorrie,” she said clicking her fingers and waving them in front of my face. “Snap out of it. What are you doing for Thanksgiving on Thursday?”
“ Nothing. My family’s back home….”
“ If you’re going to have The
“ That sounds like a mess,” he said with such genuine compassion and sympathy that I began to worry if I told one more lie, my nose would start to grow.
“ Oh----I got the script,” I said, trying to change the subject.
“ Well…it’s just an adaptation,” he said self-consciously. “Spoiler Alert: Bell rings…”
“… angel gets his wings.”
“ Yeah. I really am a writer, though. I swear!” he laughed. “I have actual plays to prove it.”
“ I’d love to read them sometime.”
“ Ah!---now that’s a dangerous thing to say to a writer. Next thing you know you’ll have a stack of manuscripts on your doorstep.”
“ Or maybe just bring them to rehearsal,” I suggested, not sure having the Building Manager hovering around my doorstep would be such a good thing.
And then I had a horrible thought. Steve. He knows Steve.
A few minutes later, I looked out my window and saw Nate drive away.
“ Steve…” I whispered into the phone, “you know about my whole illegal sublease thing, right? Well, it just got a little more complicated…”
The next day, I sat on a futon wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and Timmy’s holiday pin.
“ I think we’re getting somewhere,” Dr. Price said as she surveyed my festive ensemble. “Didn’t I tell you? The Christmas Spirit makes all the difference.”
“ Oh, absolutely!” I beamed as brightly as my cubic zirconia pin. “I think so, too. So I was wondering, maybe you could take a look at my resume,” I said as I reached into my bag.
After all, isn’t that why I started coming here to begin with?
“ Oh yeah, yeah,” she said as she jumped out of her seat. “But let me just show you this. Oh, you’re going to love it!”
She ran across the room to retrieve some sort of mechanism with a reindeer and the flailing arms of a nylon-faced, puppet grandma that moved around wildly as the song, “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” came gushing out of a mini-speaker.
“ What do you think?”
“ Oh…it’s…cute. It’s really cute,” I did my best to squeeze out.
“ You like it?”
“ Oh yeah. It’s got the song…and the reindeer…and the grandma. Just…ties the whole thing together with a big red bow!”
“ It’s my gift to you.”
“ Oh---I…I couldn’t.”
“ No. You keep it.”
“ Really. I...”
“ You hate it.”
“ No! No. It’s…cute.”
“ Dorrie----it’s irritating. Even I know that.”
“ Then why are you trying to give it to me?”
“ I’ve noticed that week number three is generally when patients lie about their progress.”
“ A patient is in the nuthouse. I’m on a futon. Completely different.”
‘ When you sit your ass down on my futon, you’re my patient. Why is this so hard for you?”
“ I just don’t see it making a difference in my life. I’m sorry. I tried the Christmas Blend. But it just tasted like regular coffee. They just put it in a holiday cup. And everywhere I go they’re playing Christmas music. It’s not even December yet!”
“ Okay. Just take a breath,” she said like yoga instructor in a mental ward. “Let’s start with one thing. Christmas music. Why does it bug the shit out of you?”
“ It’s just the same music. Every year. The same Top 40 I’ve heard for thirty-four years.”
“ I thought you were thirty-five.”
“ Not yet. And why is everyone harping on my age?”
“ Dorrie,” she said clicking her fingers and waving them in front of my face. “Snap out of it. What are you doing for Thanksgiving on Thursday?”
“ Nothing. My family’s back home….”
“ If you’re going to have The
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