Chapter

 7

Hector tipped his hat as Richard left the building.  “Have a nice day, Richard.”

“Yeah, sure,” quipped Richard.  “Nothing like a sunny day to keep you awake, right?”

“Right, Richard.  It is a beautiful time of the year.  You enjoy your walk.”

Richard nodded, adjusted the brown paper bag under his arm, and strode off toward the bus stop. 

The ride downtown was pleasant enough.  The fall air brought throngs of pedestrians out, and 5th Avenue was already showing signs of Christmas just around the corner.  Several stores had the traditional, “Going out of business” signs, accompanied by the banners across the windows saying, “Holiday Bargains – shop early.”

Exiting the bus, he walked the short distance to the Greenwich Village apartment of Dr. Onowa, his highly esteemed sex therapist.  He smiled at the laborers wrapping the small trees with the winterizing of burlap and hemp.   It hadn’t been long ago that he was surrounded by trees and forest in his Indiana home and Open Faith church.  He missed the respect and adulation he had experienced.  Whenever he would allow the fond memories to eat away at him and invite depression, he would think how happy he was to be lost in New York, where one’s past was seldom questioned.  His major intruder was himself, followed by the increasingly questionable Keyhole Project.  He had but one friend he fully confided in, and she was the professional friend whose doorbell he now pressed.

“You’re right on time,” came Dr. Onowa’s voice over the intercom. 

“Never keep your fans waiting, right, Doctor?”

The buzzer sounded and Richard stepped through the heavy oak door into the town house that occupied a shady corner of 12^th Street.

Thirty minutes into the visit, Dr. Onowa, a delicate lady of mixed Asian and Spanish blood, stood before her kitchen counter, dressed in a unique elongated artist’s tunic over relaxed cotton pants and Mao collared blouse.  As she prepared the leaves for serving tea, Richard continued with his agitated defense, glancing from time to time at her three easels, each with a fine-line ink and watercolor painting.  The late afternoon light filled the large room and high ceiling with warmth as he jumped back to his repeated statement.

“How many times do I have to say it, I don’t want to look at the pictures anymore.  I don’t want to look at the video.  Don’t you understand?”

“So, don’t, Richard,” said Dr. Onowa.

Richard pulled out a roll of Life Savers and peeled the wrapper back until he found a lime flavored one.  “But, God damn it, I will, won’t I… Doctor?”

“For the last half hour, you’ve been trying to convince me you don’t want to look, but you do.”

Richard bit down on the Life Saver as Dr. Onowa walked back to the coffee table with the tea.  “You’re not eating one of those dreadful candies just before I serve the Twig Tea, are you?”

Richard grabbed a napkin and deposited the broken pieces.  “Sorry.  Habit.”

As she sat, and poured, “Yes, another habit.  You have your share, don’t you?”

“Habits.  Sure.  Everybody does.”

“Some more troublesome than others, though, yes?” she said.

“You’re being glib over…”

“Not glib, Richard.” She looked up, “Lemon?”

“No… thank you.”

Pouring her own, she said, “Glib is the wrong word.  I’m just trying to tell you that your honest needs are somewhat confused by sex and bodies, and…”  She squeezed some fresh lemon into the tea and sipped.  “Ah, that is perfect.  So… sex and bodies… that’s not unhealthy in and of itself, you know.”

Richard slumped back on the sofa.  “Now, that’s really socking it to me.  I’m a sick, lascivious, former pastor, who ran away to New York City to lose my past and fix myself, and here I am…”

“Yes,” she said with a confident smile, allowing her protected personality to seep through.  “Here you are, and you didn’t lose it.”  She lightly tapped the brown bag on the coffee table.

Richard looked away.  “Right.”

“And you think you’re some kind of monster for getting into that coed’s pants.”

“Right.  And she was a parishioner, not a coed.”

Dr. Onowa bowed her head.  “My mistake.  How old did you say she was?”

“She was twenty-one.  She told me she was twenty-one.”

“But she turned out to be younger.”

Richard sighed.  “We went over this months ago.”

“Two months ago, but you still have some problems admitting she was underage.”

“Dr. Onowa…”

“Richard?  I think you’re ready to do some battle.”

“Battle?  Battle what?”

“Take a sinner’s guess.”

Richard looked at the brown bag, again. 

Dr. Onowa picked up the bag.  “This it?”

“Rhetorical.”

“Yes, but admitting the content may help us find some answers is good, yes?”  She rose with the bag and walked through a set of thirteen-foot French doors to another room, leaving the doors slightly open.  Richard surreptitiously glanced after her, and then took his gaze back to her paintings.  From inside the room, the doctor asked, “Do you prefer color or black and white?”

“What?”

“When you pick them out, which does the job better, black and white or color?”

Richard craned his neck as he heard cheesy intro music.  “What’s going on?”

She opened the French doors wide, revealing a large flat-screen TV. 

“In your profession, it might be called ‘a test of faith.’  We call it, ‘down and dirty.”’

“We?” said Richard as he turned in his seat to better see the images of city streets on the screen.

“The profession.  We see it as ‘ass on the table time.”’  She pulled the drapes as Richard popped another Life Saver. 

“We have work to do, don’t we Richard?” she said with a smile as she sat down across from him.

“We’ve never looked at movies together,” Richard said as he turned to not have his face exposed to her.  He popped yet another Life Saver.

Both looked on as the screen that showed an obvious woman of the night driving a red sports car through an iron gate leading to an imposing mansion.  The tacky cloud-like title zoomed up on the screen—HOOKER HEAVEN.

Skitter made some notes as he watched Richard’s monitor. 

Saeger smiled and went back to routinely scanning the other monitors.  “Films like that bore you, right?”

Skitter turned and smiled, then went back to his notes.  “That’s your generation stuff.”

Saeger shrugged.  “Still entertaining.”

“I’ll bet,” quipped Skitter with a wink.

“That cocky young mouth of yours… reminds me of me.  You know, I never did ask you why you opted for this job.  Harvard Doctorates in nanotechnology, computer science and you end up asking for this?”

“Well, consider it my catching-up time.”

“Meaning,” asked Saeger.

“Try satellite schooling for eight years of your teen and twenties life… tucked away on a space campus… kinda skipped my ‘youth.”’

“Ah, what a shame.  You must really get off on old Richard’s voyeurism, eh?”

Skitter glanced up at Richard’s monitor.  The blond in the opening shot was nothing but hair in the foreground; the older gentleman’s tie loosened, head reared back, mouth agape in the background, while sultry saxophone music played behind the scene.  “Yeah, sometimes,” said Skitter.  “After all, he’s there.”

“The action,” said Saeger with a smile.

“The action,” repeated Skitter.

“Think of all the credits you’re building up, though.”

Skitter laughed.  “Shiiiiiit.  Trade ‘em in tomorrow for some of that… tomorrow.”

Urian walked in. 

“Hey, Urian?  You trade ‘em in?”

Urian grabbed a bottle of water.  “Damn it’s hot out there today.  Trade in what?” 

“Your credits for some New York life,” said Saeger.

“Dreamers.  We don’t have a choice, remember?”

“Yeah, but what if we did?”

“You’re thinking ‘sky miles’ mentality,” answered Urian.  “Doesn’t exist anymore.”

Saeger looked up at the screen again.  Now the blond was taking a suds shower while the old guy stumbled around trying to get his shirt extricated from his zipper, never taking his eyes off the steamy glass enclosure.  “Yeah.  I would, you know.”

Skitter leaned back in his chair, a sarcastic grin oozing forth.  “Trade some credits for that booty, Saeger?”

Saeger leaned forward as the old guy pulled the shower door open and stepped inside, the blonde’s breasts covered in suds.  “All of them,” said Saeger with a smile.

“Come on!” said Skitter.  “You believe this shit, Urian?  Look, Saeger, praise Allah for the sleep capsule, and those virtual reality dates you have.  That blond up there?  You’d be bored out of your gourd.”

“Just for a few days.  Just to see what the real thing was like.”

“No chance.  Career ‘Keys’ are career ‘Keys.”’

Saeger dropped his chin on his arms and stared at the screen.  “Yeah, yeah. Still, sure would be interesting.”