is it?"
There was a long beat at the other end of the line, and I began to hear in my mind the word tarantula. Shit. I'm going to have to eat a damn spider.
"Do you have your calendar in front of you?" she asked, instead of answering my question.
"I should be sitting down, shouldn't I? This is going to be one of those 'Are you sitting down?' kind of remedies, isn't it?"
"There's no such thing."
"So I'll like my remedy?"
"That's not why I called. I called because I want to schedule an appointment to give you your remedy."
"Won't you tell me what it is?"
"I'd rather not. Sometimes it's better that way."
"Tell me the truth: Are you going to make me eat a spider?"
"That's not the issue. That's not why I'd prefer not going into the details of your cure."
"Will you promise me that it won't be a spider?"
"No."
"Because it might be?"
"Leland, you're the type who's either done some reading in that book I gave you or would do some once I told you the remedy. You'd look it up."
"You've mistaken me for an informed consumer. Trust me, I'm not."
"You're a lawyer!"
"Sticks and stones..."
She laughed briefly, but then went on, "Sometimes it's for the best that the patient doesn't know. Sometimes patients read more into the cure than is there. It affects their self-esteem."
Even if this wasn't going to be an "Are you sitting down?" kind of remedy, I began to fear that the conversation had the potential to offer an "Are you sitting down?" kind of revelation. And so I sat down.
"Go on," I said.
"Some remedies treat a variety of symptoms. Some cure a variety of maladies. I don't want you to read into my choice something that isn't there."
Impotence, I thought. She thinks I'm impotent.
"What if I promise not to look up the cure?" I asked.
"I want to schedule an appointment," she said, ignoring me. "I want you to come to my office for the remedy, and we can talk about it then."
"The name of the remedy."
"Right."
"How's tonight?"
"It's Friday."
"Ah. Of course."
"I mean, if you don't have plans, you could certainly drop by on your way home from Burlington."
"Do you have plans?"
"I may go to a large, loud party I have little interest in attending. I may not."
"And you wouldn't mind giving me the remedy this evening?"
"No, not at all. You're caffeine-free?"
I paused, balancing my health and my horniness. At that moment, I decided, it was clear my horniness was more important. I could always regain my health when I wasn't drooling over every woman I met in the health-food store.
Yet even as I opened my mouth to boast that I was caffeine-free, I couldn't bring myself to lie. Even when the image of Carissa Lake curled in her chair like a very long cat flashed before my eyes.
"I got through yesterday without any coffee," I said. "But I had to have some this morning."
"Work-related?"
"I guess. And sleep-related. I didn't sleep well last night."
"Any cough drops?"
"Well, my throat has been sore," I said, sounding more like a six-year-old than I would have liked. I hadn't even realized I was supposed to avoid cough drops.
"Let's plan on Monday, in that case. Try and go the weekend without coffee. Sunday may be hard, but at least you won't be at work. And Monday should be a breeze."
I sighed. I'd have to go the weekend without seeing her. I'd have to go the weekend without knowing my cure. I'd have to go the weekend without coffee.
"Okay."
"Avoid cough drops, too--any product with menthol, in fact."
"I'll try."
"Would you like to come in before work? Maybe first thing in the morning, right after you drop off Abby at day care?"
"Monday morning looks like chaos. After work might be better," I said.
"Five-thirty?"
I calculated that that would mean leaving the office by five or ten minutes of five. Doable. Not usually, of course. But for Carissa Lake? One time? Easy.
"Five-thirty's good," I said. "Do you think you might be able to tell me the cure in person?"
"Maybe. But more than likely I won't. At least I won't
There was a long beat at the other end of the line, and I began to hear in my mind the word tarantula. Shit. I'm going to have to eat a damn spider.
"Do you have your calendar in front of you?" she asked, instead of answering my question.
"I should be sitting down, shouldn't I? This is going to be one of those 'Are you sitting down?' kind of remedies, isn't it?"
"There's no such thing."
"So I'll like my remedy?"
"That's not why I called. I called because I want to schedule an appointment to give you your remedy."
"Won't you tell me what it is?"
"I'd rather not. Sometimes it's better that way."
"Tell me the truth: Are you going to make me eat a spider?"
"That's not the issue. That's not why I'd prefer not going into the details of your cure."
"Will you promise me that it won't be a spider?"
"No."
"Because it might be?"
"Leland, you're the type who's either done some reading in that book I gave you or would do some once I told you the remedy. You'd look it up."
"You've mistaken me for an informed consumer. Trust me, I'm not."
"You're a lawyer!"
"Sticks and stones..."
She laughed briefly, but then went on, "Sometimes it's for the best that the patient doesn't know. Sometimes patients read more into the cure than is there. It affects their self-esteem."
Even if this wasn't going to be an "Are you sitting down?" kind of remedy, I began to fear that the conversation had the potential to offer an "Are you sitting down?" kind of revelation. And so I sat down.
"Go on," I said.
"Some remedies treat a variety of symptoms. Some cure a variety of maladies. I don't want you to read into my choice something that isn't there."
Impotence, I thought. She thinks I'm impotent.
"What if I promise not to look up the cure?" I asked.
"I want to schedule an appointment," she said, ignoring me. "I want you to come to my office for the remedy, and we can talk about it then."
"The name of the remedy."
"Right."
"How's tonight?"
"It's Friday."
"Ah. Of course."
"I mean, if you don't have plans, you could certainly drop by on your way home from Burlington."
"Do you have plans?"
"I may go to a large, loud party I have little interest in attending. I may not."
"And you wouldn't mind giving me the remedy this evening?"
"No, not at all. You're caffeine-free?"
I paused, balancing my health and my horniness. At that moment, I decided, it was clear my horniness was more important. I could always regain my health when I wasn't drooling over every woman I met in the health-food store.
Yet even as I opened my mouth to boast that I was caffeine-free, I couldn't bring myself to lie. Even when the image of Carissa Lake curled in her chair like a very long cat flashed before my eyes.
"I got through yesterday without any coffee," I said. "But I had to have some this morning."
"Work-related?"
"I guess. And sleep-related. I didn't sleep well last night."
"Any cough drops?"
"Well, my throat has been sore," I said, sounding more like a six-year-old than I would have liked. I hadn't even realized I was supposed to avoid cough drops.
"Let's plan on Monday, in that case. Try and go the weekend without coffee. Sunday may be hard, but at least you won't be at work. And Monday should be a breeze."
I sighed. I'd have to go the weekend without seeing her. I'd have to go the weekend without knowing my cure. I'd have to go the weekend without coffee.
"Okay."
"Avoid cough drops, too--any product with menthol, in fact."
"I'll try."
"Would you like to come in before work? Maybe first thing in the morning, right after you drop off Abby at day care?"
"Monday morning looks like chaos. After work might be better," I said.
"Five-thirty?"
I calculated that that would mean leaving the office by five or ten minutes of five. Doable. Not usually, of course. But for Carissa Lake? One time? Easy.
"Five-thirty's good," I said. "Do you think you might be able to tell me the cure in person?"
"Maybe. But more than likely I won't. At least I won't
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