The Question
Eternal
OUT OF CONTROL
Sixth Street and Mill Avenue, 5:27 PM
"Checkmate." He stared, numb, at the tiny plastic chess pieces before him. Leaning forward, he rested his face in his hands, his ice-blue eyes narrowing with feigned concentration until a sigh of defeat escaped and he lowered his weathered face into the cool darkness of his palms. Pretending to anything more or less than exquisite boredom was proving to be more of a chore than Tom Gennery wanted to tackle anymore. He liked a challenge… but trying to force himself to relax wasn't his idea of a challenge. It was his idea of an exercise in timewasting - and Tom Gennery hated nothing more than to waste time, to be unproductive. Just being wasn't enough; he had to do.
Bigby Woodward Sykes Advertising, 4:26 PM - Earlier That Day
"Tom."
Bigby again. Sure. He was just here five minutes ago, and here he comes again.
Al Bigby crossed his arms, cocked his head and harrumphed in his most editorial manner. "What the hell are you still doing here? I thought we agreed that you needed to get the hell out from behind that keyboard and go clear your head?"
Tom stared at the blank page on his display, which stared back in dumb defiance. Finally, he said, "All due respect, Al? I was busy, and you agreed all by yourself."
"Hmm, well…" Bigby stared at the ceiling, then nodded. "I still agree. Get the hell out, go get some coffee. Or a beer. Hell," he reached over and tapped the power button on Tom's display, killing the blank page. "go empty a goddamn keg right in the middle of the corner Starbuck's - just don't let me see you in that chair, in this room or even in this building before Monday."
Tom sighed, drummed his fingers restlessly, then rolled his chair back.
Al caught his eyes, caught his shoulder in one sweaty, meaty paw. "I'm telling you, Tom, not as your editor but as your friend: You have got to get away from here and get your act untangled. I used to sit in that chair myself, and I know how this thing works. The more pressure comes down, the harder it gets to unclench, and the longer it goes, the worse it gets. You have to step back, son. Let me take the pressure for a few days at least. Look, I know this woman who… she's a professional."
"A shrink." Tom shook his head slowly.
"She might be just the - "
"No." Tom stood firm. "It's my problem. I can take care of it."
"I hope so." Bigby looked doubtful. "If you can't get the wires uncrossed, well…" he trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.
"'Scuse me. Hello?"
Tom jumped out of his reverie and back to the real world. A thump! and a spattering of warmth against his leg drew his eyes to his fallen coffee cup disgorging its contents onto the concrete patio floor. He withdrew his arm from where his start had sent it. "Crap." he noted, then looked up.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he thought, then dismissed the brief flash of irritation at the cliche. Her eyes were a shade of brown light enough to seem amber beneath fine, perfectly arched black brows on pale skin. Those eyes were wide with dismay above a hand that covered a gasp of surprise.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she breathed. "I didn't mean to startle you! Can I - is there anything I can do to - "
He grinned just a little. "My leg was getting cold. Something I can do for you?"
"Maybe." she returned a smile. "Can I sit down?" she extended her drink toward a clear space on the table.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you like coffee acrobatics." He cleared the chessboard away, enjoying her delighted laughter.
"So." He asked. "What can I do for you?"
She tilted her head slightly, noting his posture. "Slouch."
"Excuse me?"
She took a sip of her coffee. "I just want to see if you even can. You look like a Marine standing at attention."
"Used to be one." he pointed out.
"Well, it's like having a conversation with an electric fence. Relax."
He looked away, blowing air through his teeth. "Al Bigby." He turned back in time to see her look at her hands. "I'm going for a refill. I'm only coming back on one condition."
"Which is?" she looked at him like a little girl whose hand has been caught squarely in the cookie jar.
He retrieved his cup, stood and headed toward the door, "I don't find a couch here when I get back."
The first words from her mouth when he set his cup on the table were, "I'm sorry."
He leaned forward, pinned her eyes with his gaze. "Never," he said slowly, "be sorry."
"Well, I - " she stumbled, off-balanced by the intensity of his statement. "It's just that I guess you don't like psychotherapists."
"I'm sure they're good people. Just don't have any use for them."
"Mm." she took a sip of her coffee. "Your boss told me you were against seeing me."
"Professionally? Yeah."
"You have something else in mind." Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line… but a small, quiet smile eventually fought its way through.
He chuckled. A breeze picked up, ruffled his silvered hair, lending the mischievous cast to his blue eyes an unmistakable boyishness. Then he looked down, abruptly self-conscious.
"Gibbs." She extended her hand to him. "Lisa Gibbs."
He took a small, delicate nip at his resurrected coffee, discovered that it was still a bit too hot. "Ms. Gibbs - "
"Lisa." she scolded.
The corner of his mouth turned only briefly, but the smile didn't leave his eyes as quickly. "Lisa," he set his cup down again. "I appreciate you coming out here. But I don't need professional help."
"Well, I'm giving you a second opinion, 'Doctor'." she declared. He smiled and shook his head, but she cut him off. "Tell you what. We'll settle this fair and square." She began rolling up the sleeve of her blouse.
He held up his hands, astonished, "Hold on! Are you challenging me to a fight?"
Laughing, she rolled her eyes. "Of course not! Ladies don't challenge men to fights." Noting his confused look, she finished rolling her right sleeve, and added, "Arm wrestling."
"Arm wrestling!" he laughed. "Are you - ?" No… no, he could see she wasn't kidding, after all. He shrugged, began to roll up his own sleeve. "Okay…"
"If you win," she set her elbow on the table, "I'll tell your boss… well, whatever you'd like me to tell him, and you never have to see me again. But if I win…"
He almost laughed at the idea that a young, pretty woman shrink would beat a decorated Marine veteran-turned-advertising hack at arm-wrestling, or any other physical contest. That was, until he happened to look down at her forearm, and noticed the deep crease between her funny bone and some serious and very firm muscle. He noticed her notice his attention. He gave a little half-nod of acknowledgement.
"If I win," she continued, "you be at my office at 1900 hours. And there will be a couch at my office."
"1900, huh?" He took her hand, set his elbow. Some of the other patrons had taken notice of their little contest by now; some chuckled, others looked faintly embarrassed to be there.
"Air Force," she answered the unasked question in his expression. "Got home a year ago. Ready?" She tensed her fingers in his once, twice - and on the third squeeze, it was on.
Gennery felt her out a little, varying the pressure and watching her eyes intently to see how much he could apply without hurting her. Surprisingly, her eyes were focused on his own, but twinkling merrily back at his concentration with exactly the light-heartedness he suddenly realized he'd been trying to find for himself.
"You're going easy on me, Mr. Gennery." she chided. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." With no further warning, she broke their trembling stalemate in her favor, driving his hand back He pushed a little harder, surprised by her power - and found himself redoubling his efforts.
Their faces matched in concentration, their fingers interlocked, they had drawn all eyes on the patio to them - people were even slowly making their way out through Starbucks' doors to take in the small battle of wills.
"Damn, you're strong!" he managed, adjusting his fingers trying to find a better grip. She didn't reply, fully absorbed in the struggle. His hand sunk another half-inch… then another. He mustered as much effort as he could, managed to push back up to stalemate - almost. But not quite. And then it was downhill again; slowly, at first, then more quickly, his shaking hand descended. Then hit the table with a grunt of released tension from the two contenders.
"Damn!" It was all he could think of to express his surprise. "Damn!"
"1900 hours, Mr. Gennery." she smiled at him, shaking the cramp out of her fingers. "You will be there, won't you?"
He sighed… then smiled, shaking his head in amazement. "That was the deal."
"That's not a yes." she pointed out, re-buttoning her sleeve. She folded her arms.
He brought his eyes back to hers, gave a half-nod. "It's a yes."
"Good!" she smiled brightly. "See you at 1900." She pushed her chair back, picked up her purse and her coffee.
"You leaving now that you got what you wanted?" he asked, disappointed.
"I need to get my office ready. I have something special in mind for you." And without another word, she was gone.
Tom watched her go, and marveled to discover that he was grinning from ear to ear. "Huh."
Offices of L. Gibbs, Msw, 6:55 PM
It took him almost ten minutes to find the office, even after consulting the directory int the building's lobby - but find it he did. He pulled the door open to discover a cozy reception area filled with the drifting fragrance of sandalwood. To his right sat a sofa upholstered in deep forest-green suede, and before it a cherrywood coffee table piled deep with Sports Illustrated and Scientific American back issues. To his left was an oak receptionist's desk atop which sat a sleek, compact computer and behind which sat a pretty and inquisitive-looking young woman.
"Would you be Tom Gennery?" she asked.
"Nobody's ever offered me a choice before." he quipped. Noting her impassive gaze, he said, "Sorry. Yes, that's me."
She picked up her phone, tapped a key somewhere out of sight. "Ms. Gibbs? Yes, ma'am. Yes, Mr. Gennery is here. Yes, ma'am." she hung up. "She's ready for you, sir. Follow the hallway here, second door on your right."
"Thanks." he followed the hallway back.
She watched him go; when he rounded a corner, she covered a giggle. "'Nobody ever offered me a choice.'" she repeated to herself, laughing.
Lisa heard his knock just as she got the couch where she wanted it. When her door opened, his eyes instinctively traveled her office, scanned each corner floor to ceiling, cataloguing and archiving each small detail; then on to her - her long black hair was up, a pair of stylish spectacles framed those striking amber eyes, and a white blouse and knee-length black skirt completed the image. He noted, without really thinking about it, that she was taller than she'd appeared when sitting down, about his own height, or maybe an inch or two taller. Slim, but with good muscle tone where there was skin to be seen. But his eyes didn't linger - he wasn't appreciating, just scanning for potential threats - force of habit.
"Are you worried I might have a rocket launcher up my sleeve, Marine?" she asked.
"Should I be?" he asked, turning his piercing blue eyes from the room and back on her. "What's with the furniture? More arm wrestling?" It had all been pushed to the edges of the room, leaving a fair-sized open area over which the hardwood floor had been covered in thick gym mats.
"Not exactly." she turned to her desk, retrieved a clipboard, clicked her pen to the ready. "Height?" she asked, her tone now businesslike.
"Six feet even."
"Weight?"
"Two twenty, give or take."
"When was the last time you had a physical?"
"That's a pretty unusual question for a therapist, isn't it?" Off her pointed look, he continued. "About six months ago. I'm in perfect health."
She appraised him, head to toe, then nodded and put pen and clipboard away. "Remove your shoes, please." He noticed that her own shoes were next to the door, shrugged, and placed first one shoe, then the other, next to hers.
"Okay…" she took both his hands in hers and gently led him to the center of the mats.
"What are you doing?" he asked, a bit anxious, but without resistance.
"Just relax." she commanded. She face him and kneeled partially, wrapped her arms around his legs just above his knees. "Put your arms around me."
"What?" he was confused.
"Last chance." she warned. "Put your arms around my neck and don't let go."
"Now, hold on, I - " Without further warning, her arms tightened around his thighs and he was propelled directly ceilingward. His balance held, but only briefly, before he began to tilt backward. The mat caught him with a solid fwoooomp!
"Hey!" he exclaimed.
She smirked down at him. "I told you to hold onto me. Stand up."
He stood up, all right, and immediately headed for the door. "Lady…"
She was fast - a lot faster than he expected, at least, sliding past him and putting her back to the door, swatting his hand away from the doorknob. He paused, unsure of what to do next, then reached for her, thinking to push her aside.
She thumped his chest with an extended index finger. "Don't." She wasn't kidding around. She pointed back to the center of the mat.
"But - " he stammered. "Well - I - "
"Now." she ordered.
His face flushed two shades of red… then a shade of pale. He had no idea why, but he was suddenly just the slightest bit afraid of her - and… and… he was confused. Was he liking this? Just a little bit? He took a step back from her, then another.
"Good boy." she nodded, her voice warm and approving again. "Now, then." she resumed her position in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder until she could feel that he wasn't tensing to make another run for it. "Let's try again - and this time, I trust you'll do as you're told?" She knelt, wrapped her arms around his legs again, as before. He didn't have to be prompted to clasp his hands behind her neck this time.
Again she straightened her legs, and again he was driven upward. His balance felt off again; he fought the instinct to let go of Lisa, to try to regain his balance.
"Don't let go." she warned him. "You won't fall as long as you don't let go."
"I know, it's just... I just..." Did she tilt back, or – or forward? He felt his hands leave her neck, powerless to stop himself from trying to take control. It was just the slightest movement; it lasted only an instant. But before he could reach for her, it was too late.
Fwooomp!
She set her hands on her hips, gave him a stern look. “You,†she pointed out, “have control issues.â€
“And bad balance, apparently.†he ran a hand through his hair, staring at her desk. “Hey!â€
In his momentary lapse of attention, he hadn’t seen her kneel next to him, only felt her right arm encircle his knees while her left reached behind his back and under his own arm. Now she cradled him like a small child.
“This isn’t about your balance.†she informed him. “In fact, this isn’t about your anything. You’re not in charge here.â€
Well, this was… unacceptable. Tom Gennery was always in control – instinct, reflex, force of habit; call it what you want, but he hadn’t survived room-to-room fighting and long nights of counterinsurgency ops without it. It was just his way, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Put me down, Doctor!â€
“I don’t think so.†she coiled her arms around him a little tighter.
He struggled – gently, at first, then more frantically as he realized that there was little hope of convincing her to put him down and none at all of escaping. Meanwhile, she whispered gently for him to calm down, soothed him, rocking him gently.
Finally, he was exhausted – and still held firmly in her arms. He no longer had the energy, or the room, to struggle further.
“How the hell -- ?†he started, then took a few deep breaths. “How the hell did you get this goddamn strong?â€
She smiled. “Gymnastics, field and track in high school. Free weights in college, five days a week, and wrestling my boyfriends for about as long as... well, pretty much since the first one. You're coming back next week.†she added.
“Am I?†he asked skeptically. “Well, this has been... interesting, but -- “
“You're coming back next week, Tom, and every week after that.†she reassured him, constricting her arms around him and leaning in until their lips were nearly touching. “It's out of your hands.â€
He gulped, suddenly both intimidated and aroused. “Okay.â€
“Good!†she chirped, then quickly set him on his feet. “Now! One more time, and let's see if that famous Marine discipline counts for something!â€
Ah ha! “Is that a challenge?†he asked.
She reached out, ruffled his silvered hair. “Absolutely.†Kneeling, she wrapped her arms around his knees again, waiting until she felt his hands on her shoulders before slowly, carefully, rising.
His breath caught in his throat, his abdominals tense as he fought to remain relaxed, focused on just letting her do the work. Then she took a step forward, and he almost lost it.
“I've got you,†she reassured him. “You're fine.†She took another step forward. Then another, and he somehow managed to keep himself from stiffening up... and then discovered that this was actually... fun?
“You'll be here next week, won't you, Tom.†she coaxed.
“That's the notion.â€
“Good. I'm going to shift my arms a little higher on your legs, and I want you to lean forward across my shoulder. I'm not going to drop you. Ready?â€
“Uh...†he wasn't sure about this --
“Good!†she said, her solid right arm rising to just under his butt as her left arm controlled his descent and he leaned over her shoulder into a fireman's carry. The sound of her office door opening reminded him that her receptionist was going to see this.
“Hey, whoa!†he exclaimed. “Put me down before your -- “
“Uh uh,†he felt her shake her head, her long hair brushing against his side. “Cheyenne stayed late tonight just to see this. I can't very well cheat her out of her show.â€
“Well – but -- “
“It's out of your hands, Tom,†she reminded him. “Just relax and go with it.â€
She was right, of course. There wasn't much he could do to stop her, short of hurting her – and he certainly wasn't about to try, not least of all because he wasn't entirely sure at this point that he wouldn't come out on the losing end of it.
“Oh, isn't that cute!†Cheyenne was obviously enjoying this immensely. “Ooh, and look how red his cheeks are! Is our little Marine blushing?â€
“Oh, man...†he grumbled, and that seemed about the right time for the flashes to start going off.
Lisa turned her back – and his face – to the camera. “Smile for the camera, Tom!†she giggled.
“Yeah, okay. Looking at the camera.â€
“No, he's not!†Cheyenne tattled.
“Fine!†he rolled his eyes, then gave in and did as he was told.
Bigby Woodward Sykes Advertising – 0830 hours, Monday morning
“So! How did your session with Lisa...†Al Bigby caught Tom's inscrutable gaze, then caught the softbound booklet Tom tossed at him. “...go? What's this?â€
“Copy for the Jevalia account. It's ready for proofing.â€
“Fantastic, Tom! I knew seeing her would -- “
“Don't you ever do anything like that again, Bigby. Not ever.â€
Bigby's face reddened with anger, “Now, look -- “
“Because iu do,†Tom Gennery continued without slowing down, “I can't be responsible for my shrink's actions, and I'm pretty sure she could kick your ass up and down the block.†Tom rose and clapped his boss on the shoulder. “I'm going for coffee. You feel like coming with?â€
Bigby stared after him, mouth agape. After a moment, he found the only word that properly captured his feelings... “Huh.â€
Sixth Street and Mill Avenue, 5:27 PM
"Checkmate." He stared, numb, at the tiny plastic chess pieces before him. Leaning forward, he rested his face in his hands, his ice-blue eyes narrowing with feigned concentration until a sigh of defeat escaped and he lowered his weathered face into the cool darkness of his palms. Pretending to anything more or less than exquisite boredom was proving to be more of a chore than Tom Gennery wanted to tackle anymore. He liked a challenge… but trying to force himself to relax wasn't his idea of a challenge. It was his idea of an exercise in timewasting - and Tom Gennery hated nothing more than to waste time, to be unproductive. Just being wasn't enough; he had to do.
Bigby Woodward Sykes Advertising, 4:26 PM - Earlier That Day
"Tom."
Bigby again. Sure. He was just here five minutes ago, and here he comes again.
Al Bigby crossed his arms, cocked his head and harrumphed in his most editorial manner. "What the hell are you still doing here? I thought we agreed that you needed to get the hell out from behind that keyboard and go clear your head?"
Tom stared at the blank page on his display, which stared back in dumb defiance. Finally, he said, "All due respect, Al? I was busy, and you agreed all by yourself."
"Hmm, well…" Bigby stared at the ceiling, then nodded. "I still agree. Get the hell out, go get some coffee. Or a beer. Hell," he reached over and tapped the power button on Tom's display, killing the blank page. "go empty a goddamn keg right in the middle of the corner Starbuck's - just don't let me see you in that chair, in this room or even in this building before Monday."
Tom sighed, drummed his fingers restlessly, then rolled his chair back.
Al caught his eyes, caught his shoulder in one sweaty, meaty paw. "I'm telling you, Tom, not as your editor but as your friend: You have got to get away from here and get your act untangled. I used to sit in that chair myself, and I know how this thing works. The more pressure comes down, the harder it gets to unclench, and the longer it goes, the worse it gets. You have to step back, son. Let me take the pressure for a few days at least. Look, I know this woman who… she's a professional."
"A shrink." Tom shook his head slowly.
"She might be just the - "
"No." Tom stood firm. "It's my problem. I can take care of it."
"I hope so." Bigby looked doubtful. "If you can't get the wires uncrossed, well…" he trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.
"'Scuse me. Hello?"
Tom jumped out of his reverie and back to the real world. A thump! and a spattering of warmth against his leg drew his eyes to his fallen coffee cup disgorging its contents onto the concrete patio floor. He withdrew his arm from where his start had sent it. "Crap." he noted, then looked up.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he thought, then dismissed the brief flash of irritation at the cliche. Her eyes were a shade of brown light enough to seem amber beneath fine, perfectly arched black brows on pale skin. Those eyes were wide with dismay above a hand that covered a gasp of surprise.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she breathed. "I didn't mean to startle you! Can I - is there anything I can do to - "
He grinned just a little. "My leg was getting cold. Something I can do for you?"
"Maybe." she returned a smile. "Can I sit down?" she extended her drink toward a clear space on the table.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you like coffee acrobatics." He cleared the chessboard away, enjoying her delighted laughter.
"So." He asked. "What can I do for you?"
She tilted her head slightly, noting his posture. "Slouch."
"Excuse me?"
She took a sip of her coffee. "I just want to see if you even can. You look like a Marine standing at attention."
"Used to be one." he pointed out.
"Well, it's like having a conversation with an electric fence. Relax."
He looked away, blowing air through his teeth. "Al Bigby." He turned back in time to see her look at her hands. "I'm going for a refill. I'm only coming back on one condition."
"Which is?" she looked at him like a little girl whose hand has been caught squarely in the cookie jar.
He retrieved his cup, stood and headed toward the door, "I don't find a couch here when I get back."
The first words from her mouth when he set his cup on the table were, "I'm sorry."
He leaned forward, pinned her eyes with his gaze. "Never," he said slowly, "be sorry."
"Well, I - " she stumbled, off-balanced by the intensity of his statement. "It's just that I guess you don't like psychotherapists."
"I'm sure they're good people. Just don't have any use for them."
"Mm." she took a sip of her coffee. "Your boss told me you were against seeing me."
"Professionally? Yeah."
"You have something else in mind." Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line… but a small, quiet smile eventually fought its way through.
He chuckled. A breeze picked up, ruffled his silvered hair, lending the mischievous cast to his blue eyes an unmistakable boyishness. Then he looked down, abruptly self-conscious.
"Gibbs." She extended her hand to him. "Lisa Gibbs."
He took a small, delicate nip at his resurrected coffee, discovered that it was still a bit too hot. "Ms. Gibbs - "
"Lisa." she scolded.
The corner of his mouth turned only briefly, but the smile didn't leave his eyes as quickly. "Lisa," he set his cup down again. "I appreciate you coming out here. But I don't need professional help."
"Well, I'm giving you a second opinion, 'Doctor'." she declared. He smiled and shook his head, but she cut him off. "Tell you what. We'll settle this fair and square." She began rolling up the sleeve of her blouse.
He held up his hands, astonished, "Hold on! Are you challenging me to a fight?"
Laughing, she rolled her eyes. "Of course not! Ladies don't challenge men to fights." Noting his confused look, she finished rolling her right sleeve, and added, "Arm wrestling."
"Arm wrestling!" he laughed. "Are you - ?" No… no, he could see she wasn't kidding, after all. He shrugged, began to roll up his own sleeve. "Okay…"
"If you win," she set her elbow on the table, "I'll tell your boss… well, whatever you'd like me to tell him, and you never have to see me again. But if I win…"
He almost laughed at the idea that a young, pretty woman shrink would beat a decorated Marine veteran-turned-advertising hack at arm-wrestling, or any other physical contest. That was, until he happened to look down at her forearm, and noticed the deep crease between her funny bone and some serious and very firm muscle. He noticed her notice his attention. He gave a little half-nod of acknowledgement.
"If I win," she continued, "you be at my office at 1900 hours. And there will be a couch at my office."
"1900, huh?" He took her hand, set his elbow. Some of the other patrons had taken notice of their little contest by now; some chuckled, others looked faintly embarrassed to be there.
"Air Force," she answered the unasked question in his expression. "Got home a year ago. Ready?" She tensed her fingers in his once, twice - and on the third squeeze, it was on.
Gennery felt her out a little, varying the pressure and watching her eyes intently to see how much he could apply without hurting her. Surprisingly, her eyes were focused on his own, but twinkling merrily back at his concentration with exactly the light-heartedness he suddenly realized he'd been trying to find for himself.
"You're going easy on me, Mr. Gennery." she chided. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." With no further warning, she broke their trembling stalemate in her favor, driving his hand back He pushed a little harder, surprised by her power - and found himself redoubling his efforts.
Their faces matched in concentration, their fingers interlocked, they had drawn all eyes on the patio to them - people were even slowly making their way out through Starbucks' doors to take in the small battle of wills.
"Damn, you're strong!" he managed, adjusting his fingers trying to find a better grip. She didn't reply, fully absorbed in the struggle. His hand sunk another half-inch… then another. He mustered as much effort as he could, managed to push back up to stalemate - almost. But not quite. And then it was downhill again; slowly, at first, then more quickly, his shaking hand descended. Then hit the table with a grunt of released tension from the two contenders.
"Damn!" It was all he could think of to express his surprise. "Damn!"
"1900 hours, Mr. Gennery." she smiled at him, shaking the cramp out of her fingers. "You will be there, won't you?"
He sighed… then smiled, shaking his head in amazement. "That was the deal."
"That's not a yes." she pointed out, re-buttoning her sleeve. She folded her arms.
He brought his eyes back to hers, gave a half-nod. "It's a yes."
"Good!" she smiled brightly. "See you at 1900." She pushed her chair back, picked up her purse and her coffee.
"You leaving now that you got what you wanted?" he asked, disappointed.
"I need to get my office ready. I have something special in mind for you." And without another word, she was gone.
Tom watched her go, and marveled to discover that he was grinning from ear to ear. "Huh."
Offices of L. Gibbs, Msw, 6:55 PM
It took him almost ten minutes to find the office, even after consulting the directory int the building's lobby - but find it he did. He pulled the door open to discover a cozy reception area filled with the drifting fragrance of sandalwood. To his right sat a sofa upholstered in deep forest-green suede, and before it a cherrywood coffee table piled deep with Sports Illustrated and Scientific American back issues. To his left was an oak receptionist's desk atop which sat a sleek, compact computer and behind which sat a pretty and inquisitive-looking young woman.
"Would you be Tom Gennery?" she asked.
"Nobody's ever offered me a choice before." he quipped. Noting her impassive gaze, he said, "Sorry. Yes, that's me."
She picked up her phone, tapped a key somewhere out of sight. "Ms. Gibbs? Yes, ma'am. Yes, Mr. Gennery is here. Yes, ma'am." she hung up. "She's ready for you, sir. Follow the hallway here, second door on your right."
"Thanks." he followed the hallway back.
She watched him go; when he rounded a corner, she covered a giggle. "'Nobody ever offered me a choice.'" she repeated to herself, laughing.
Lisa heard his knock just as she got the couch where she wanted it. When her door opened, his eyes instinctively traveled her office, scanned each corner floor to ceiling, cataloguing and archiving each small detail; then on to her - her long black hair was up, a pair of stylish spectacles framed those striking amber eyes, and a white blouse and knee-length black skirt completed the image. He noted, without really thinking about it, that she was taller than she'd appeared when sitting down, about his own height, or maybe an inch or two taller. Slim, but with good muscle tone where there was skin to be seen. But his eyes didn't linger - he wasn't appreciating, just scanning for potential threats - force of habit.
"Are you worried I might have a rocket launcher up my sleeve, Marine?" she asked.
"Should I be?" he asked, turning his piercing blue eyes from the room and back on her. "What's with the furniture? More arm wrestling?" It had all been pushed to the edges of the room, leaving a fair-sized open area over which the hardwood floor had been covered in thick gym mats.
"Not exactly." she turned to her desk, retrieved a clipboard, clicked her pen to the ready. "Height?" she asked, her tone now businesslike.
"Six feet even."
"Weight?"
"Two twenty, give or take."
"When was the last time you had a physical?"
"That's a pretty unusual question for a therapist, isn't it?" Off her pointed look, he continued. "About six months ago. I'm in perfect health."
She appraised him, head to toe, then nodded and put pen and clipboard away. "Remove your shoes, please." He noticed that her own shoes were next to the door, shrugged, and placed first one shoe, then the other, next to hers.
"Okay…" she took both his hands in hers and gently led him to the center of the mats.
"What are you doing?" he asked, a bit anxious, but without resistance.
"Just relax." she commanded. She face him and kneeled partially, wrapped her arms around his legs just above his knees. "Put your arms around me."
"What?" he was confused.
"Last chance." she warned. "Put your arms around my neck and don't let go."
"Now, hold on, I - " Without further warning, her arms tightened around his thighs and he was propelled directly ceilingward. His balance held, but only briefly, before he began to tilt backward. The mat caught him with a solid fwoooomp!
"Hey!" he exclaimed.
She smirked down at him. "I told you to hold onto me. Stand up."
He stood up, all right, and immediately headed for the door. "Lady…"
She was fast - a lot faster than he expected, at least, sliding past him and putting her back to the door, swatting his hand away from the doorknob. He paused, unsure of what to do next, then reached for her, thinking to push her aside.
She thumped his chest with an extended index finger. "Don't." She wasn't kidding around. She pointed back to the center of the mat.
"But - " he stammered. "Well - I - "
"Now." she ordered.
His face flushed two shades of red… then a shade of pale. He had no idea why, but he was suddenly just the slightest bit afraid of her - and… and… he was confused. Was he liking this? Just a little bit? He took a step back from her, then another.
"Good boy." she nodded, her voice warm and approving again. "Now, then." she resumed her position in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder until she could feel that he wasn't tensing to make another run for it. "Let's try again - and this time, I trust you'll do as you're told?" She knelt, wrapped her arms around his legs again, as before. He didn't have to be prompted to clasp his hands behind her neck this time.
Again she straightened her legs, and again he was driven upward. His balance felt off again; he fought the instinct to let go of Lisa, to try to regain his balance.
"Don't let go." she warned him. "You won't fall as long as you don't let go."
"I know, it's just... I just..." Did she tilt back, or – or forward? He felt his hands leave her neck, powerless to stop himself from trying to take control. It was just the slightest movement; it lasted only an instant. But before he could reach for her, it was too late.
Fwooomp!
She set her hands on her hips, gave him a stern look. “You,†she pointed out, “have control issues.â€
“And bad balance, apparently.†he ran a hand through his hair, staring at her desk. “Hey!â€
In his momentary lapse of attention, he hadn’t seen her kneel next to him, only felt her right arm encircle his knees while her left reached behind his back and under his own arm. Now she cradled him like a small child.
“This isn’t about your balance.†she informed him. “In fact, this isn’t about your anything. You’re not in charge here.â€
Well, this was… unacceptable. Tom Gennery was always in control – instinct, reflex, force of habit; call it what you want, but he hadn’t survived room-to-room fighting and long nights of counterinsurgency ops without it. It was just his way, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Put me down, Doctor!â€
“I don’t think so.†she coiled her arms around him a little tighter.
He struggled – gently, at first, then more frantically as he realized that there was little hope of convincing her to put him down and none at all of escaping. Meanwhile, she whispered gently for him to calm down, soothed him, rocking him gently.
Finally, he was exhausted – and still held firmly in her arms. He no longer had the energy, or the room, to struggle further.
“How the hell -- ?†he started, then took a few deep breaths. “How the hell did you get this goddamn strong?â€
She smiled. “Gymnastics, field and track in high school. Free weights in college, five days a week, and wrestling my boyfriends for about as long as... well, pretty much since the first one. You're coming back next week.†she added.
“Am I?†he asked skeptically. “Well, this has been... interesting, but -- “
“You're coming back next week, Tom, and every week after that.†she reassured him, constricting her arms around him and leaning in until their lips were nearly touching. “It's out of your hands.â€
He gulped, suddenly both intimidated and aroused. “Okay.â€
“Good!†she chirped, then quickly set him on his feet. “Now! One more time, and let's see if that famous Marine discipline counts for something!â€
Ah ha! “Is that a challenge?†he asked.
She reached out, ruffled his silvered hair. “Absolutely.†Kneeling, she wrapped her arms around his knees again, waiting until she felt his hands on her shoulders before slowly, carefully, rising.
His breath caught in his throat, his abdominals tense as he fought to remain relaxed, focused on just letting her do the work. Then she took a step forward, and he almost lost it.
“I've got you,†she reassured him. “You're fine.†She took another step forward. Then another, and he somehow managed to keep himself from stiffening up... and then discovered that this was actually... fun?
“You'll be here next week, won't you, Tom.†she coaxed.
“That's the notion.â€
“Good. I'm going to shift my arms a little higher on your legs, and I want you to lean forward across my shoulder. I'm not going to drop you. Ready?â€
“Uh...†he wasn't sure about this --
“Good!†she said, her solid right arm rising to just under his butt as her left arm controlled his descent and he leaned over her shoulder into a fireman's carry. The sound of her office door opening reminded him that her receptionist was going to see this.
“Hey, whoa!†he exclaimed. “Put me down before your -- “
“Uh uh,†he felt her shake her head, her long hair brushing against his side. “Cheyenne stayed late tonight just to see this. I can't very well cheat her out of her show.â€
“Well – but -- “
“It's out of your hands, Tom,†she reminded him. “Just relax and go with it.â€
She was right, of course. There wasn't much he could do to stop her, short of hurting her – and he certainly wasn't about to try, not least of all because he wasn't entirely sure at this point that he wouldn't come out on the losing end of it.
“Oh, isn't that cute!†Cheyenne was obviously enjoying this immensely. “Ooh, and look how red his cheeks are! Is our little Marine blushing?â€
“Oh, man...†he grumbled, and that seemed about the right time for the flashes to start going off.
Lisa turned her back – and his face – to the camera. “Smile for the camera, Tom!†she giggled.
“Yeah, okay. Looking at the camera.â€
“No, he's not!†Cheyenne tattled.
“Fine!†he rolled his eyes, then gave in and did as he was told.
Bigby Woodward Sykes Advertising – 0830 hours, Monday morning
“So! How did your session with Lisa...†Al Bigby caught Tom's inscrutable gaze, then caught the softbound booklet Tom tossed at him. “...go? What's this?â€
“Copy for the Jevalia account. It's ready for proofing.â€
“Fantastic, Tom! I knew seeing her would -- “
“Don't you ever do anything like that again, Bigby. Not ever.â€
Bigby's face reddened with anger, “Now, look -- “
“Because iu do,†Tom Gennery continued without slowing down, “I can't be responsible for my shrink's actions, and I'm pretty sure she could kick your ass up and down the block.†Tom rose and clapped his boss on the shoulder. “I'm going for coffee. You feel like coming with?â€
Bigby stared after him, mouth agape. After a moment, he found the only word that properly captured his feelings... “Huh.â€
