Page 35 of Surviving the Merge
“Thank you, Sarah.” I showed myself in to find Julie typing away behind her desk, positioned on the opposite side of the room near the built-in bookshelves. I cleared my throat.
“Oh, Justin, you’re here.” She peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “I’m trying to finish up the last of my case files so I can meet my husband for an early dinner. Please, have a seat. I’ll be less than a minute.”
That was the second time I’d heard her mention her husband. The first was just to tell me she had one. It occurred to me then that while she knew almost every painful detail about me, I knew very little about her. Not unusual for client/patient relationships, except lately, she’d become more like family.
“I won’t keep you long. I know you're anxious to get your night started.” She handed me two hardback copies of the same book, then smoothed down the back of her skirt before sitting and crossing her legs.
“All of Us,” I read the title aloud. Confused, I turned the books over in my hand, waiting for more details.
“This book goes to publication next month. It’s written by one of my former patients with Dissociative Identity Disorder. I got advanced copies for both you and Blake. I’d like you to read it—if you want, and at your leisure, of course. It might offer some insight into your own circumstance. It’s always beneficial to hear testimony from someone dealing with the same issues.”
“Why the title‘All of Us?’”I asked.
“He housed twelve alters when I started working with him. That number has reduced drastically, with time. But they all play their parts in the story. The ones that remain helped with the writing of this. A joint effort.
“It can be a bit manic and incohesive at times because of that. It adds to the authenticity.”
“Twelve alters?” I tried to wrap my head around it.“How did he get any to cooperate on writing a book?”
“Oh, it wasn’t easy, believe me. Writing this nor arriving at the place he is now. It’s taken years. So many I often lose count. But he never gave up. That’s the theme of this memoir.”
Setting the books next to me, I said to her thoughtfully, “You know, I initially came to you because I’d read you were the best in your field, but I stayed because you reminded me of my mother. I lost her to cancer when I was young?as you know. The most warm and gentle person I’ve ever known. I used to tell her she smelled like sunshine.” I smiled at the memory. “When she was near, I felt loved and wrapped in a ray of warm light. So I associated her smell with sunshine.” Feeling emotional, I did my best to temper it. “Thank you for this.” I held the books again. “For everything.”
Her smile was at odds with the rain pelting down outside. “This is my life’s purpose, Justin. Specifically helping those that face this particular challenge.Thisis why I was born. I believe that with all that I am. I have no intention of maintaining a professional distance by keeping things formal and clinical. In my experience, that doesn’t work. I am your confidant, your family, and your friend for as long as you’ll have me.”
“We couldn’t have done this with anyone else. Sometimes... I wonder if I’m strong enough. Why can’t we be at the finish line already?” I choked up.
“Because it doesn’t work that way, darling.” She came to sit next to me and took my hands in her smaller ones. “In order togetthrough, you first need togothrough.”
We discussed the likelihood of me seeing Damon that night. She soothed some of my panic around the prospect of it. After looking at the clock and noting the time, she gave me a shooing gesture. “Now go and have some fun.”
I stood to leave as she strolled over to her desk.
“And, Justin,” she called. “I look forward to meeting Damon on Monday.”
10
“Ican’t believe you made me listen to that album the whole ride. ‘Don’t Stop Believin’is stuck in my head,” Blake complained.
We were in the elevator en-route to the resort theatre to take in the show. “It’s a classic song. And don’t worry. I’ll have it out of your head by the end of the night,” I whispered in his ear.
“Promises, promises,” he breathed.
Blake entered through the theatre doors, handing our tickets to the attendant. I admired his black form fitting slacks and matching button-down. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. I casually made sure no one was looking, then adjusted my indecent hard-on through my own charcoal wool slacks.
Entering the seating area, the production put out floored me. A huge circular stage took over the middle of the room. Gold clawfoot tubs spread across it, all filled with water that appeared to be steaming. Red velvet curtains draped the outskirts of the room from ceiling to floor, and aerialists performed on red and gold silks throughout the expansive space.
“I’ve never seen ceilings this high. How many armies do you think it took to make curtains that long?” I asked.
Before Blake could answer, we were being shown to our table close to center stage. We ordered neat scotches, and within a few minutes, the lights went out, with the exception of the spotlight on the aerialists and the one over the stage. Our drinks were delivered just as the announcer instructed everyone to relax and enjoy the show.
The music came on, and men wearing nipple tassels, black leather thongs, and heels started climbing out of the bathtubs in record numbers. There must have been some sort of staircase mechanism under each tub that we couldn’t see. They stepped out dry, the steaming water an illusion. My eyes scanned for the projector.
There was singing, dancing, strip teases and sex simulation. Blake’s facial expression when he was pulled on stage for a lap dance left me both tense and turned on.
“Your friend sure knows how to put on a show,” I’d said dryly when Blake returned from the stage and collapsed back into his seat, panting.
An amused glint had appeared in his eyes. “Are you...jealous?”
