Copyright 2001 by Morris Rosenthal
"Morning, Carol." Eric brusquely handed her the heavy pink and white bag and brushed by her into the house, not waiting for her reply. He looked quickly up and down the hallway, the headed for her office. Carol shook her head at the abandonment of their traditional ritual, a wry smile on her face. Will wonders never cease? She went to the kitchen to prepare the tea.
Eric entered the office, and his face fell. No Connie. He sank into his usual overstuffed chair, facing the leather upholstered mission chair favored by Carol. A small table sheathed with riveted, irregular sized sheets of copper stood in the middle, awaiting the setting of tea service. He leaned back, and suddenly his eyes were covered by two warm hands.
"Guess who?" she whispered, then cut off his reply with "Shhh, she's coming." The hands pulled back, and he fought to keep the idiot grin off his face as Carol entered the room.
"Did you forget to bring your dinner to work last night?" she asked, setting the tray on the table. A dozen donuts made a small pyramid that loomed over the teapot. "Who could possibly eat one of these chocolate covered chocolate ones?" she continued, before he could reply.
"Chocolate." came a drawn out groan from behind his chair. Carol jumped half out of her chair. "Connie?" she shrieked, then recovered her composure and said, "Come out of there. This is totally inappropriate. I'm sorry, Eric," she said, watching her sister stand up from her hiding place, "My little sister is," she started, then stopped when she saw his face. He was laughing!
"You sounded exactly like an actor in a spaghetti western crawling through the desert towards the camera and gasping 'Water'" he said looking around at an emerging Connie. She looked so sexy in a long T-shirt and short shorts, that he had to rip his eyes away.
"You ruined it," she answered petulantly, reaching for the chocolate mound, "You made me blow my cover. Now I won't get to hear her shrinking you."
"The two of you seem to be acquainted," Carol said, trying to regain control of the situation, "Much as I would like to hear the story, this is a paid session, and I think you," she directed her words at Connie, "Should take your donuts and go."
"Aw, let her stay," Eric said, "I thought you'd be happy that I've worked out my transference problem," he added.
"You did what? Oh, I get it," she let out a chuckle in spite of her self, "Redirecting your energy into more productive channels, I see." She looked her sister up and down, flinching at the growing chocolate stain around her lips. "So this is your idea of dressing to impress?"
"I think she looks fantastic," Eric defended her.
"You would," Carol said scornfully, adjusting to her role as the thrown over idol, "My god, Connie. That's your third one."
"It is not," Connie replied, "And when did you learn to do arithmetic anyway, miss liberal arts?"
"If you'd get another cup," Eric said, rising to his feet between them, "I could pour the tea."
The two sisters tried to glared at each other around him, then Connie sauntered out of the office, licking her fingers.
Eric settled back into his chair, looking happy, but a little dazed.
"I feel like I should be warning someone about someone here, but I'm not sure which of you is crazier," Carol said. "She's very possessive, you know, or maybe you noticed yet. How long have the two of you been seeing each other?"
"This would be the second time."
"Wow, I'd say you got your hooks in each other pretty good already, and I'd know better then anyone."
"Well, you did introduce me to her, in a manner of speaking. Of course we won't go into that."
"I," she indicated herself by placing her hand on her chest, "What did I do?"
"You mean outside of breaking the sacred bonds of doctor-patient confidentiality?" Eric asked sweetly.
"I did no such thing," Carol defended herself energetically, "What did you tell him?" she shot at the returning Connie, who had wiped the chocolate off her face in the kitchen while fetching a mug.
"What are you talking about?"
"Forget it," Eric interrupted, "I was kidding. Could we have the tea and get on with my session. This is an important day. The two of you are going to help me pick a poem to submit to 'The Green Valley'. I asked around, and they're almost ready to put out another issue."
'The Green Valley' was the environmental magazine of the Pioneer Valley with the biggest circulation. It presented a mix of anti-globalization, anti-corporate and animal exploitation problems to compliment the core tree-hugger editorial line. The cover story of the last issue had been about an all macrobiotic commune in Hadley, and their fight to have Trotsky's birthday made an official town holiday. The magazine came out every month, although the exact date of publication varied with how efficient the current head of the publishing committee was. Their grudging compromise with capitalism was the permanent hiring of a commissioned advertising salesman, Brian Frost. It was through his efforts that the whole enterprise was possible, but several of the committee still regarded him as the enemy.
Brian was Eric's contact on the paper. The had been best friends when they were in the English program together, but hadn't seen a lot of each other since Eric returned to the Northampton area. It was Eric's fault. He hated going out when he knew he had to be in work at 11:00, and he could never get along with Brian's girlfriends who changed every time Eric met him. It seemed Brian didn't get along with them either.
The printing runs often reached ten thousand issues, depending on the expenses for the month. Green Valley Incorporated operated as a non-profit company, and the generally well-heeled directors almost seemed to prefer the months that it lost a few dollars, which they temporarily made up out of their trust funds. The magazine was distributed free throughout the Connecticut River Valley, though some copies went to "Green" stores all over the Northeast where they sold for $2.50 a copy. The most read part of the magazine was the extensive classified ads, where you could buy everything from pre-cut llama leather for sandal making, guaranteed to come from animals which had died of natural causes, to guaranteed ready to germinate wheat grains from the tombs of the Pharaoh's.
The classified ad section had built itself up over time, and the part time staff and interns from the local colleges took care arranging the three and four line listings. Brian Frost's job was going after the big money for the space ads, from a quarter page to a two page spread. He had a few regular full pagers, two organic supermarkets, a spiritual retreat run by Buddhists, and a mystic crystal shop that did incredible business. Most of the regular advertisers took quarter page ads to maintain the visibility of their holistic healing practices and far east book shops. Massage and the healing powers of dance were the runners up, along with traditional therapists. Carol had an ad in the 'Girlfriends' section, four full pages of services tailored for the lesbian community.
Brian had been enthusiastic when Eric had called him and asked if there was any chance of his getting a poem published in the magazine.
"Sure, old buddy." he'd said, "Get it to me before Sunday, and it'll be in the next issue, that is if you're giving it away. If you want to get paid, they have to go through the artistic committee, and they can take months arguing over the political content of a haiku."
"I just want to start publishing," Eric had replied, "I'll worry about the riches later."
"That's great. Hey," he continued, "I've got an idea. My new girlfriend keeps accusing me of hiding my past from her. How about we do something Saturday night."
"Uh, I might have a date. Can I leave a message on your machine Thursday night. You can call me at work when you get in. I'm still on the graveyard shift."
"A date? We could double. I'd love to see what kind of women you can meet working nights," he challenged.
They'd left it at that, and Eric was planning to ask Connie what she wanted to do after the session. He realized that he was taking it for granted that she'd want to go out with him, and the feeling made him very comfortable.
He took a piece of folded paper out of his pocket, and stood to begin reciting.
"Since when do you need a cheat sheet?" Carol asked.
"I've got a couple different ones here. I've never done more then one before," he reminded her.
Connie hadn't bothered pulling up a chair. She half knelt on the imitation oriental with her bare legs drawn up beside her. You cat, Carol thought at her, wondering when her brainy sister had gotten so worldly. Connie gave her a sweet smile.
Eric cleared his throat, and blushed. "I tried poems on two different themes. An anti-hunting thing for the animal rights folks and a hydro dam one for the anti-corporate crowd. Here goes."
Mercy Killing
"Yes," Connie exclaimed him, "That's hilarious. Send it in."
"You know," Carol said, still annoyed, "I think this is pretty damn inconsiderate, you know? I've had to listen to nine months of maimed bodies and planes falling out of the sky, and now you're writing about cruelty to animals all of a sudden just because some little chocoholic bats her eyes at you." Eric and Connie both looked at her in surprise. "Oh, never mind," she sighed resignedly, "I liked it too."
"Thanks," Eric said, "I thought I'd lead off on my best foot. I'm not to sure about this next one." He cleared his throat self consciously.
Silvery Gods
Connie reacted with a Bronx cheer and two thumbs down. "Boo, boo," she added, in case he had missed the point.
"I think it was nice," Carol said.
"Really?" Eric asked her point blank. "Is that your professional opinion?"
"Come on, Carol," her sister urged, "Turn him inside out. I want to see his subconscious."
"I only do that to my regular patients, brat," Carol fended her off. "With Eric I have to be careful that I don't cure him by mistake. He's been paying the grocery bill for the last nine months."
"Do you think that's ethical?" Connie inquired politely.
"They wanted to throw me out of school for expressing myself," Eric replied for her, "If it wasn't for Carol, I might have had a year of real therapy. Imagine how screwed up I'd be then."
"Could you put that in a testimonial letter for me?" Carol laughed, "I could frame it and put it next to my degree there."
"Well I'm disappointed," Connie sulked, "Couldn't you at least analyze a dream or something. I fired up the fusion bottle for you when you came to my place of work."
"How about one of your dreams, Connie?" Eric suggested, "I'd like to find out what I'm getting into."
"Oh, really," Carol cut them off, "I don't do dreams, inkblots or hypnosis. If the two of you want to be entertained that way, you'll have to go to a Freudian."
"Maybe we will," Connie retorted, "Come on Eric, I want you to show me all the morning hot spots." She left the room without looking back, and Eric followed with a helpless shrug.
Carol leaned back and waited until she heard the front door close behind them, then she guiltily reached for a double chocolate.