P.J. Morse - Clancy Parker 01 - Heavy Mental (15 page)

I kept muttering to myself until the receptionist finally decided he’d had enough of me. He walked across the room, opened a door and whispered to someone. A few minutes passed, and Dr. Redburn came to the door with a clipboard in hand.

CHAPTER 20

THE SOUNDPROOFED ROOM

D
R.
R
EDBURN’S SMILE WAS FAR
warmer than that of his receptionist’s. He shook my hand, and I was surprised by how strong his grip was. I imagined him going to work on a bass guitar. “Clancy, come on in, and we’ll get started.” He didn’t even look at the receptionist.

I followed him through a small hallway. It turned out that was where the doctor kept the file cabinets, only they were made of dark wood instead of the traditional metal. Given the nondescript nature of his office, it was as if Dr. Redburn had tried to hide the business of doctoring from his elite patients. Maybe they felt more comfortable in a room that looked more like a library than a shrink’s office.

Dr. Redburn turned into a small, sunny room with a corner desk, two tan recliners and a small table. “Will you sit down?” he asked.

I did, setting my satchel on the table and imagining where Sabrina Norton Buckner might have left hers. Then I looked out the window. The view was glorious, as usual, but it couldn’t have distracted Sabrina from her necklace for too long. After all, she had the same view out the back of her home.

When Dr. Redburn glanced at some paperwork on his desk, I slipped my hands quickly into the recliner cushions, just in case a stray necklace happened to be tucked in there. No luck.

Dr. Redburn took a clipboard off the desk and sat down. “Don’t look so nervous. I take notes, not judgments, on everyone.”

I smiled shyly. That was something I would say to a client.

“Now, we need to talk about a few ground rules before we get to work. Have you been to a psychiatrist before?”

I shook my head no, trying to send the message that I was putty in his hands.

“Well, all psychiatrists have a set of ground rules. Our goal is to make you feel better about yourself, to help you overcome your obstacles to a fulfilling life.”

I nodded eagerly. “Overcoming your obstacles to a fulfilling life” was a phrase used often in his books. I was glad I did my homework.

Dr. Redburn continued, “Like many psychiatrists, I ask that you make the commitment to coming in at least once a week.”

“I can do that.” If Peggy could come in once a day, I could at least do once a week.

Dr. Redburn said, “I ask that you also drop any preconceived notions about psychiatry.”

“Like what?” I asked.

The doctor’s tone changed. “Don’t expect to be talking about your past. For example, I don’t want to hear about your issues with your parents.”

I was a little disappointed about that. Like most grown children whose parents split up, I would have enjoyed venting about the drama of the divorce. And the fact that Mom was more like a little sister. And the fact that my father still found it necessary to call me at random times of the day just so he could tell me how inappropriate my life choices were.

Dr. Redburn stood up slowly. I imagined looking at him while he played bass onstage. “In fact, I’m not big on the talking cure.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, but Dr. Redburn swooped in to my level, wrapped one hand around the back of my neck, and cupped his other hand over my forehead. If he had been clumsy, he might have hurt me, but he kept a surprisingly gentle touch. Still, I didn’t like being touched by anyone I didn’t know, and I didn’t like anyone with sudden moves.

He leaned in and whispered, “It’s okay. I’m big on feeling your anger, not talking about it. You hate that, don’t you? You’re always keeping yourself under control, bottling it in. But sit tight. Feel my hand on your head and neck.”

“What’s with the melodrama?”
I wondered. But I liked feeling his hand on my neck, and his voice was melodic. He knew how to pace his words. The other side also liked how he seemed to know me, even though I’d said very little.

My forehead began to sweat a little under his hand, and the pressure of his hand tugged the tender hair at the back of my neck. “It’s warm.” I shook my head a little to pull away.

“Now hold on,” he instructed. “Do you ever let your feelings happen? Or do you have to talk about them first?”

That was a good question. “I always talk about my feelings first.”

The doctor dropped his hands and sat back down in his chair. The more adventurous side of me wished he would come back. “That’s the root of your anxiety, Clancy. Everything is mixed up in the physical aspects of your being. Most of our psychological discomfort comes from not feeling what’s happening in our lives. Society tells us to manage those emotions, but we should really let them run free.”

I wasn’t sure where Dr. Redburn was going with all this stuff about feelings. I gave Dr. Redburn a wary look.

Dr. Redburn could tell I was uncomfortable. “No, no. You have me all wrong. Most people think of sensual pleasures when they talk about their feelings. We’re all scared of sensual pleasures, but that’s not our biggest problem—not by a long shot. We talk too much, and we feel too little.”

“That makes sense,” I said, relaxing slightly.

His face changed and became gentle. “The first moment was scary, wasn’t it? Sometimes, it takes a little shock like that to remind you that your feelings are just as important as your thoughts.”

“I never thought of it that way,” I replied.

“Let’s try an exercise,” Dr. Redburn said. “When do you feel the best? Try not to overthink it.”

I gave myself a second, and then I replied, “Well, it might seem weird, but it’s after I perform, not when I’m on stage. My fingers and my wrists hurt in a good way.”

Dr. Redburn gave me a look like he wanted to hear more. “I think I know that feeling rather well.”

I continued, “I mean, that’s satisfying. I know that I’ve worked hard, and my body agrees with me. I’m taking on all these feelings from an audience, and it’s like my hands and wrists have been working for them.”

“Now that is what we’re talking about!” Dr. Redburn exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Your natural tendency is to shy away from your feelings, to avoid them. Many psychiatrists have dismissed the natural instinct to express and feel. They’d rather sit on couches and talk all day. It’s just another way to avoid your feelings.”

While what he was saying was making sense and I liked talking to him, I realized that he just repeated the first chapter of his book, and I hoped that people weren’t paying all this money for expensive private readings of his work. Then again, being touched by him seemed to have quite an effect on women, and that included Sabrina, Peggy, and me. He seemed sincere about wanting to help me, and I felt almost embarrassed that I immediately assumed he was the one who stole Sabrina’s necklace.

“So, what’s next?” I asked.

Dr. Redburn stood, assuming a position of command. “Follow me.”

I did so as he walked toward a doorway by the desk. He switched on a light, took me by the shoulder, and closed the door behind us. I spun around and realized we were in a windowless closet. I looked at the walls and recognized the soundproofing. Dr. Redburn did a nice job of it, too. He had the basis for a high-quality recording studio, right in his shrink’s office. He still retained a few skills from the rock ‘n’ roll days.

He stood in the corner as fluorescent light bathed his face, and he began moving slowly toward me. His jaw created a strong shadow on his neck. He stared right into my eyes. “People don’t know how to express themselves effectively, especially when it comes to anger. They take it out on others, or they make it grow and act out later. You have to be able to express anger as soon as you feel it.” By this point he was standing within inches of me.

The air between us felt electrically charged. He didn’t get any closer, but I could smell a little bit of mint in the air.

Then he looked at me as if he knew me. “Think about when you were last angry. Really, really mad. Then let it out.” He gestured at the soundproofing.

I thought of the ice-cream truck, how close Harold and I came to dying and how broken Anmol was at the loss of his truck.

Then I opened my mouth and let out a wail worthy of Ozzy Osbourne, Roger Daltrey, Axl Rose, and Howard Dean all in one. The scream echoed in my ears and blasted my throat. I almost fell backwards from the force.

Dr. Redburn clapped and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Amazing! I should have recorded that! Doesn’t that feel better?”

I nodded. Despite the strain on my throat, I felt like a boiling tea kettle that someone just uncorked. I looked from Dr. Redburn’s face to his hand, which was still on my shoulder, and I smiled. I rasped, “I really did love your band, you know.”

“You were in diapers!” he laughed.

I joked, “No. I think I was using training wheels at that point.”

He continued to smile. “You know, very few people recognize me for the band anymore. We weren’t that famous.”

I shrugged. “C’mon, you could always reunite. That’s what all the bands seem to be doing these days.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I don’t talk to the guys in the band, anymore. We weren’t exactly close.”

A buzzer went off in the room. “Ah, another appointment. I need to go.”

The buzzer kept going, but I found myself holding the doctor’s gaze for longer than I expected, so I went for it. “You know, I’m going to the Cozy Corner after this. I’d love to hear more about the band.” I also hoped to steer the conversation toward Sabrina and find out if he even planned to auction off that necklace for her.

Now Dr. Redburn was interested. “Really? You said you played guitar, but you didn’t seem like the type.” He took my hand and saw the tell-tale calluses.

“Yeah, I’ve played for years. I started with violin when I was a kid and switched to guitar in high school.”

“Smart choice,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the Cozy Corner in an hour. How does that sound?”

“Great! I mean, I think this treatment is going to be a huge help … really.”

“I’m glad,” he replied, still holding my hand. “The more I learn about you, the more I think you’re the perfect candidate.”

I smiled. “So, when’s my next appointment?”

“How about the day after tomorrow? 10:00 am?” He finally let go of my hand and showed me out of the soundproofed room. I picked up my satchel, which was exactly where I left it.

“You bet. And the Cozy Corner?” I asked.

“I’ll be there.”

Dr. Redburn led me back to the receptionist’s desk and told the receptionist to pencil me in. The receptionist scowled, but Dr. Redburn glared at him, and the little man looked down.

The odd looks made me think about the necklace again. When I pulled the strap of my purse over my shoulder, I realized that my trip into the soundproofed room was the perfect moment for someone to lift a pricey necklace from an unguarded handbag. But, when I picked up the bag, it didn’t feel any lighter than it had before.

After saying goodbye, I turned for the door. As I walked out, I heard a deep breath, and I noticed Peggy sitting on one of the love seats. I was surprised. Based on the appointment book I saw, she came in the early morning. Did she already need a refresher?

I waved at Peggy, but she didn’t wave back. I wasn’t even sure if she saw me. She just stared at the wall. I certainly saw her. I couldn’t miss her outfit, a tremendous green paisley maxidress that went all the way to the floor.

While Dr. Redburn struck up a conversation with Peggy, I turned and caught the little man squinting at me, conjuring up as much menace as he could muster, which wasn’t much. I wondered what his problem was because, if he was the one who stole the necklace, he didn’t seem smart enough to be sneaky.

Once I was out of the office, I opened my bag and checked it. Nothing was missing, not even a penny.

CHAPTER 21

BASSISTS ARE THE BEST

W
HEN
I
RETURNED TO THE
Cozy Corner Cafe, I felt re-energized. My throat still hurt from the Roger Daltrey, etc., Special, but I was confident that I could keep talking to Dr. Redburn and maybe find out what his game was.

I didn’t realize how much I was smiling until I reached the counter.

“So, who’s the guy?” Muriel asked as she started preparing the free latte she promised me.

“A shrink. And it’s not like that. It’s for work,” I added.

“You’re seeing a shrink for work?” she asked. “What the hell kind of job are you on now?”

“Never mind,” I replied. “But get this—he used to be a rock star! He was in the Sun-Seekers. Remember them?”

“The Hüsker Dü knock-off?”

“I wouldn’t say that around him.”

“Okay. But they’re still a Hüsker Dü knock-off. Um, Clancy, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you supposed to know stuff about your shrink? I mean, from the ones I’ve seen, they get real pissed off if you ask them personal questions.”

“You see a shrink?” I wondered how Muriel’s shrink compared to Dr. Redburn.

“I don’t anymore. I did when I was a kid. I’m supposed to be normal now!” She stuck out her tongue, wiggled it and bugged out her eyes. One of the women waiting for a beverage backed off.

I laughed. Muriel had a point. The fewer of my own ideas I projected onto Dr. Redburn, the better, but I was already imagining that Dr. Redburn shared the same rock ‘n’ roll passions I had, even though he gave it up long ago. “Well, I’m meeting the shrink here.”

Muriel leaned in and passed me the hot drink. “Are you sure this is just for work?”

I took the drink and bit my tongue. Technically, I shouldn’t have said anything. But I wasn’t thinking straight after I left Dr. Redburn’s office.

When I didn’t answer, Muriel said, “Yep. Thought so. I’ll shush. Don’t worry—I won’t squeal.”

“It’s just because he was in a band,” I said. “Give me a good smack if I start to act like a fan or anything.”