Page 61 of The Perfect Appearance

“Let’s go,” he said.

They were walking out to the car when Jessie looked at her watch. It was 6:01. Lemmon would be in her session now. Amy would be organizing the schedule for the next day. Everything was probably fine.

But she couldn't quite shake the itch that was needling the back of her mind. Knowing it was overkill, she called Lemmon's office again. This time, the line rang six times before going to voicemail. She got in the car and tried again. The same thing happened. She looked over at Grover.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I can’t get anyone to pick up now,” she said.

“Maybe the receptionist just went to the restroom,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” she conceded. “All the same, would you mind getting there with a little urgency, just for my peace of mind?”

He nodded, started the car, and peeled out of the station lot.

Jessie, for reasons she couldn’t articulate, decided to call Ryan.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Eli Cullen sat on the comfortable couch across from the psychiatrist.

In his right hand, he clutched the fancy award he’d found in the waiting room. It was entirely made of glass and shaped like a diamond atop a heavy rectangular base. He guessed that it weighed about fifteen pounds.

That gave it some extra punch when he'd used it to smash in the head of the receptionist, who was currently lying lifeless just outside the door. Maybe if she hadn't looked at him with such judgment in her eyes when he first came in, he would have just choked her out, rendering her temporarily unconscious, to keep her from intruding on the session. But she made her choice, so Eli did too.

The psychiatrist sat across from him on her fancy chair, where he’d instructed her to go. She had to hobble there using a cane because of some infirmity he didn’t care to ask about. After all, this session was about him, not her.

“So what do you recommend?” he asked.

“About what again?” the woman asked, her voice strained.

He was starting to doubt if she was really as good as her reputation suggested. Between her limp and her advanced age. He wondered if she’d lost a step mentally too.

“About the girl,” he reminded her, “the one I want to date again. You’re supposed to tell me how to make her.”

“I have to tell you, Malcolm,” she said carefully, “it’s a little hard to focus on your romantic challenges when you are holding that thing in your hand. The blood on the top is very unsettling.”

He looked down at the pointy end of the award, which was smeared in red liquid.

"I'm sorry about that," he told her, "but you'll be fine. You're a professional, and I feel like I need it to keep you from making any bad choices."

The woman nodded reluctantly and swallowed hard.

“Okay,” she said. “So we have two options here. I can say what you want to hear in the hopes that you won’t hurt me, or we can be honest with each other and really try to find a solution for you. Which do you prefer?”

“The second,” he said emphatically. “If you’re being sincere about that, then you’ll be the first one I’ve met with who is.”

“I am sincere,” she assured him. “But for this to work, you need to be sincere too. And that starts with giving me your real name and taking off that silly wig.”

“What?” he said, stunned at her words.

“We’ll never get you what you want if you’re hiding who you really are,” the doctor said. “Women like men who aren’t afraid to just be themselves. If you’re going to get this girl to give you a second chance, you’re going to have to make yourself vulnerable. We can start that process now. We’re safe together in this room. The door is closed. So take off the wig and tell me your name.”

Eli didn't like being bossed but decided that she had a point. He hadn't had any luck doing things his way. So maybe he'd try hers, at least until he didn't want to. He pulled off the red-haired wig to reveal his own short, dark hair.

“My real name’s Eli,” he told her.

"Excellent," she said. "That's a huge step. Thank you for taking it. Eli, you already know this, but I'm Janice Lemmon. You can call me Janice."

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