transference she felt later toward Maggie, and that many clients now seemed to feel toward herself. The same hunger for acceptance-and the same eventual fury at feeling such need, longing, and gratitude. After she and Arthur had been going at it for several weeks in her Victorian sleigh bed, she sat up one morning and announced, “You miserable bastard!”
“What?” He rolled over, his brown hair scrambled, and opened his eyes in alarm.
WOMEN
“You’re going to leave me.”
“What?” He sat up, clutching the covers to his chest.
“Get out of here.”
“Huh?”
“I said go away.” She shoved him out of bed with her feet.
“What are you talking about? I love you.” He stood there on the cold oak floor, naked and vulnerable in the early morning light.
“Oh, do shut up!” She began sobbing.
“I have to return to America. But I’ll come back for you.” He climbed under the covers again.
As he tried to hold her, she swatted him over the head with the folded London
Times,
snarling, “Don’t bather. Just scram and get it over with.” She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, thinking of her handsome father in Trinidad with his bright white teeth, thinking of Colin rotting in his mossy Belgian grave, thinking of her mother turned to dust in the Outback. Loving people wasn’t worth it.
“Arthur did scram that day, but he came backand kept coming back. Gad knows why, since she insisted on punishing him for the others who’d run out on her.
Except that he always acknowledged she was the best piece of ass he’d ever had.
Stubbing out her cigarette and setting her martini on the end table, she called sweetly,
“Arthur.” They’d had no further problems once they established that he made the big decisions, like whom America would go to war with, and she decided everything else. “Get over here.”
“I recognize that tone of voice,” said Arthur, lowering the Wall
Street
Journal. “I believe it’s my wild
aboriginal rose.”
“Damn right,” she said, patting the couch beside her.
Standing outside her office door, hand resting on the doorjamb, Hannah closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure after an hour with a banker who’d been sodomizing his son. Doing therapy had gotten easier since her discovery that she wasn’t running the show. When she first started, fresh out of graduate school, she took notes, analyzed them in accordance with whichever theory had her in its .otherwomen
grip, and plotted a course of action. Then, when clients failed to conform to her plans, she wanted to kill them. But over the years, as she struggled to make sense of Mona’s and Nigel’s deaths, she was forced to choose between cracking up and accepting that events occurred at their own pace and for reasons that were often opaque. You tried to learn from whatever happened, however little enthusiasm you might feel.
Caroline sat on the tweed couch feeling alternately alarmed and pleased that she hadn’t divided her list into categories. Would Hannah kick her out? But Hannah hadn’t seemed to care about the list last week. Doing the list hadn’t pleased her. Telling her jokes hadn’t. For God’s sake, what did she want?
Caroline’s glance shifted to the gray stone Venus on the windowSwollen belly, hands resting on huge breasts. Seemed like a dykey object to have in an office. Was that why Hannah hadn’t been shocked when Caroline came out to her? She was a lesbian too? No, that was ridiculous. She was far too respectable. Besides, she’d mentioned some repulsive husband. Caroline didn’t care for the idea of Hannah with a man. But she was probably too old to sleep with anybody.
What’s it to me whether Hannah sleeps with her husband, Caroline reflected. She’d better stick to the topic at hand-herself. Should she reveal her meditations on Pink Blanky? It seemed a bit much.
Hannah walked in dressed in a wool skirt, navy blazer, and pinstriped shirt open at the
“What?” He rolled over, his brown hair scrambled, and opened his eyes in alarm.
WOMEN
“You’re going to leave me.”
“What?” He sat up, clutching the covers to his chest.
“Get out of here.”
“Huh?”
“I said go away.” She shoved him out of bed with her feet.
“What are you talking about? I love you.” He stood there on the cold oak floor, naked and vulnerable in the early morning light.
“Oh, do shut up!” She began sobbing.
“I have to return to America. But I’ll come back for you.” He climbed under the covers again.
As he tried to hold her, she swatted him over the head with the folded London
Times,
snarling, “Don’t bather. Just scram and get it over with.” She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, thinking of her handsome father in Trinidad with his bright white teeth, thinking of Colin rotting in his mossy Belgian grave, thinking of her mother turned to dust in the Outback. Loving people wasn’t worth it.
“Arthur did scram that day, but he came backand kept coming back. Gad knows why, since she insisted on punishing him for the others who’d run out on her.
Except that he always acknowledged she was the best piece of ass he’d ever had.
Stubbing out her cigarette and setting her martini on the end table, she called sweetly,
“Arthur.” They’d had no further problems once they established that he made the big decisions, like whom America would go to war with, and she decided everything else. “Get over here.”
“I recognize that tone of voice,” said Arthur, lowering the Wall
Street
Journal. “I believe it’s my wild
aboriginal rose.”
“Damn right,” she said, patting the couch beside her.
Standing outside her office door, hand resting on the doorjamb, Hannah closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure after an hour with a banker who’d been sodomizing his son. Doing therapy had gotten easier since her discovery that she wasn’t running the show. When she first started, fresh out of graduate school, she took notes, analyzed them in accordance with whichever theory had her in its .otherwomen
grip, and plotted a course of action. Then, when clients failed to conform to her plans, she wanted to kill them. But over the years, as she struggled to make sense of Mona’s and Nigel’s deaths, she was forced to choose between cracking up and accepting that events occurred at their own pace and for reasons that were often opaque. You tried to learn from whatever happened, however little enthusiasm you might feel.
Caroline sat on the tweed couch feeling alternately alarmed and pleased that she hadn’t divided her list into categories. Would Hannah kick her out? But Hannah hadn’t seemed to care about the list last week. Doing the list hadn’t pleased her. Telling her jokes hadn’t. For God’s sake, what did she want?
Caroline’s glance shifted to the gray stone Venus on the windowSwollen belly, hands resting on huge breasts. Seemed like a dykey object to have in an office. Was that why Hannah hadn’t been shocked when Caroline came out to her? She was a lesbian too? No, that was ridiculous. She was far too respectable. Besides, she’d mentioned some repulsive husband. Caroline didn’t care for the idea of Hannah with a man. But she was probably too old to sleep with anybody.
What’s it to me whether Hannah sleeps with her husband, Caroline reflected. She’d better stick to the topic at hand-herself. Should she reveal her meditations on Pink Blanky? It seemed a bit much.
Hannah walked in dressed in a wool skirt, navy blazer, and pinstriped shirt open at the
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