Kal
…
“i like to be in charge,” said Ruby. “I pretend I like watching him jerk off, just so I won’t have to touch him. My commitment level’s kind of low on this one.”
Kal’s face showed no emotion. Instead he looked at the sunglasses resting on top of Ruby’s head. Kal’s office was in the interior of a downtown building and had no windows. Outside, it had been raining for days. He asked, “Is it sunny out there now, Ruby?”
His question made her laugh. She had a royal, attention-getting laugh, big enough to be heard out in Kal’s waiting room. Which was good. Ruby wanted anyone out there to know Kal and she were having a great time. Try and top that, sucker. That’s what she hoped her laugh said to any waiting client she’d subconsciously pegged as a rival for Kal’s affections. And by “anyone” she mostly meant the shiny, obvious “Lori,” seen on one occasion leaving his office and stopping to make an appointment on her way out; and, another time, waiting for Kal as Ruby left. In an effort to make him even more uniquely hers, she tried out a variety of nicknames on Kal. “Hey, Mister K,” she’d said when she arrived today, to which he just shook his head and smiled, motioning for her to come in. She was pleased to make him smile like that.
Ruby carried on with the chitchat about her new boyfriend. “I say the dirtiest things to him, Kal. To get it over with quicker.”
He nodded.
“Why are guys always so turned on by the idea of coming on your face?” she asked, pausing so he could think about that one. Ruby knew Kal was divorced and had recently started dating. He often told her personal things about himself as a way to relate to what she was going through. Because of this, he was her favorite kind of counselor. She listened carefully to his disclosures.
—
sometimes she hit it off with a new counselor and sometimes she didn’t. She usually gave it two appointments to decide, but honestly, a lot of them only deserved one chance, and even then she’d been known to cut the first hour short.
Take the counselor before Kal: Larry, with the huge wooden cross around his neck. So effing big, as if he was compensating for something. Or dragging it around doing penance. He had a serious Jesus complex, that one. She decided quickly: Jesus-counselor was not going to get the benefit of her attention—he said one thing about the “sanctity of the marriage bed” and she threw up a little bit in her mouth before she fled. After that she made sure to tell the assigning agent at the insurance company that she didn’t want “Christian” counseling, thank you very much.
—
in her experience, the people who stressed things the most or the loudest were the first ones to break their own rules. That’s why she always liked to hear one of her counselors say they would “never” date a client. When they said that she couldn’t help but think, Great. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Ruby always fell for her counselors. That was the point, really. I mean here was this person and they only had eyes and ears for you. How could you not be crazy about that? You got to be in a room alone with someone who listened hard and cared about what you were saying. Ruby was also counselor-monogamous, as far as that went. That was, if monogamy meant one at a time, one after another.
“You’re really aware of your anxiety,” Kal said during their first or second session. “You just don’t quite know how to manage it.” He was right. She hated to be alone. She sometimes felt she’d had kids to save her from being alone. But she could still be lonely.
“I’m not all parent,” she told Kal once. “I’m a person, too. I’m often selfish and greedy.” In some ways, the boys were the only thing, and in other ways she needed so much more to save her from her sadness.
Today Kal and she were four sessions in and she was trying to decide if she would renew with him. That was, if her insurance would allow it. Six was the upper limit on the first assignment, and she got six because “her stepdad died.” Which was not really true but, as far as she could tell, insurance companies had no truth-auditing process. She didn’t have a stepdad. But if she did he might have died, because he’d have been old, right? Ruby’s parents were old, because she was adopted. They were the same age as her real grandparents, and by “real” she meant “birth” grandparents. So if her mom had remarried someone who was even older than her—which he likely would be, because that’s how patriarchy works—well, then he would be so old that he might have died. In that case, it was entirely believable that Ruby could have had a stepdad who died. Really, Alice had broken up with all the losers she dated after the divorce, thank god, but still, Ruby was starting to feel a bit sad about the whole dead-stepdad thing, once she’d thought it through like that.
Her options with Kal at this point were to try to renew her insurance so she could stay connected to him, or to be brave and make a move on him soon. She just didn’t know if he was ready. And then, just as she was weighing all the options, during appointment number four, Kal said this: “Do you want to book your next appointment at my home office? I find it quieter, and it might be a nice change of scenery for our discussion.”
Aha. Up to now, they’d always met at his downtown office, where there was a chaperone. Okay, secretary. At his home office Ruby imagined there would be no one but the two of them. In his house. This was looking promising.
—
she arrived exactly fifteen minutes early—if there was some Lori before her, she wanted to see her leaving. But there was no one. She was relieved to see Kal’s house wasn’t smelly or desperate. Or, worse yet, too clean. It looked mostly ordinary. As he led her inside she pointed to a yellow sombrero hanging on the wall between the kitchen and living room.
“Nice,” she commented.
He laughed. “Mexico. Last winter. I should probably take it down.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “It’s the best.”
Hoodies on the coat pegs and sneakers near the back door provided evidence of his kids, who were older teenagers. He shared custody with his so-called ex.
Once, during appointment number three, when Ruby talked about her irrational devotion to Dana, Kal told her, “I understand how you feel. I’m still in love with my ex.”
“Are you? Would you go back with her?” she asked. This turn of events had never occurred to her before. She’d taken at face value his previous pronouncements of “ex,” whom she had started to think of by that name. Ex, in her mind, had been a final, strongly held identity. Now Ruby was all wound up like a jewelry-box ballerina. Who knew which direction she might end up facing? One minute, he said “ex” as if he meant it; the next he was pining to get her back. Ruby realized she didn’t even know Ex’s real name.
They stopped in the kitchen while he finished making two cups of tea.
“We drank a lot of tea as kids,” he said. “With loads of milk.” She identified drinking milky tea as a kid as a Métis thing. She loved that Kal was part Métis, like her. Only she didn’t grow up with her “real” family, and she never drank tea as a kid, her mother Alice being partial to instant coffee, which had a completely different vibe altogether. She watched Kal pour the hot water into the teapot and longed to know more, to connect to that part of herself she’d never had.
“I bet you were a cute kid,” she said, and filled the room with her big laugh. Kal just smiled and poured the tea.
—
they settled into his office, which was more like an overstuffed den, with couches and a big chair. She sat on the couch with its back against the wall. She noticed right away the Métis sashes draped over the end tables and along a shelf. Blown-glass ornaments lined up on the sash on the shelf; more glass works scattered on the side and coffee tables. Bowls, paperweights, ornaments—colorful blues, oranges, greens, and purples, swirls of molten glass hardened shiny and cold. On the table beside the couch sat a perfectly round glass marble, slightly smaller than a golf ball: clear glass, with a purple-and-green flower trapped inside. Ruby knew Ex was an artisan, a glassblower. These must be hers.
After some general small talk, Kal asked her an unexpected question.
“Tell me what kind of kid you were.”
“That’s a great question,” she said, a big believer in warranted compliments.
He smiled a bit despite himself. “So? What were you like?”
“I was a serious tomboy,” she confessed. “I had short hair and I dressed like a boy and ran wild. All my friends were boys, and all I wanted to do was play sports and smoke cigarettes and break shit.”
“What do you think that was about?” he asked.
“Kal. You’re too obvious,” she said. “It’s like I can read your mind.”
He blushed! She loved him even more.
She’d had this kind of question before. About the tomboy thing. She said, “You think I’ve got some repressed butch/masculine-female something or another going on, don’t you?”
Kal just looked at her the way a “good” counselor was supposed to, to encourage her to answer her own questions.
“That’s not it,” she told him. “I’ve thought about that and I really don’t think that’s it,” she said, not wanting to discount his insightful suggestion. She did, after all, sometimes present as if she was the boss of the world. “What I really think is that I saw boys getting all the good stuff and I wanted to get it too.”
“Good stuff like what?”
“Like cap guns and Hot Wheels and radio sets. Walkie-talkies. Jean jackets. All the cool stuff.”
“Penises?” he asked. Kal was full of surprises.
“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “Even penises, I guess. Only because I had no idea what my parts were all about.” A thought popped into her head. A memory. She laughed breathlessly, sitting forward on the couch. “I asked my mom—” She laughed again and started over. “When I was little, I asked my mom when it would happen that I’d grow my penis so I could pee standing up.”
He smiled too. “What did she say?”
“Sent me to my room and poured herself a drink.”
—
if kal had noticed she was always the first one to call time on their sessions, he hadn’t let on. She spent her life being told she was chosen but constantly needing people to prove it. With Kal, she didn’t want to be confronted with the fact that this was a business relationship. She didn’t want him pointing out that time was up and she had to leave. She’d rather leave of her own accord. It was like breaking up. She was always the first to call it over.
As they were wrapping up, Kal asked her to fill in a questionnaire about how useful the session was and how close she felt to resolving her issue, on a scale of one to ten. She didn’t want to make Kal feel bad by giving him a low score, so she gave it an eight, but on instant reflection knew that was too optimistic. She definitely thought they’d made some progress, though—he invited her to his house, after all.
When he turned to his filing drawer to return her file, she did something she had no idea she would do. She palmed the glass marble. As he was turning back to face her she grabbed her bag as if she was looking for something, dropping the marble into her bag at the same time. She pulled out her bus pass and gave Kal an award-winning smile.
When she left he gave her a hug at the front door. A bit paternal, but still. Physical contact. She squeezed good and tight but not sexy tight or needy tight. Just I appreciate you tight.
She decided to walk. Kal lived in the east end of the city and she was in the west. She walked down one of the city’s busiest arteries, full of bars, restaurants, tire shops, love shops, you name it. The day had warmed up and she felt light on her feet. She considered whether she should text Kal to say thanks for today’s session. She thought she probably would. She was feeling so good she decided to stop at a familiar pub. It was only 4 p.m. and the place was nearly deserted. She took a seat at the bar.
She ordered a pint of beer and enjoyed the first cold swallow, anticipating the spread of warmth that would let her shoulders relax and eventually fill her with curiosity and cuteness. She fished out her phone to text Kal now, before she had too many drinks. Two things she’d learned to be careful about. One, she always lied to her counselors about drinking—some of them had their own hang-ups about alcohol and drugs, and she didn’t want any of them confusing their issues with hers. The second thing she’d learned was don’t drunk-text, drunk-email, drunk-Facebook, and so on. Best to get any follow-up texts to Kal out of her system now, pre-drink. But before she had a chance to do that, she sensed someone occupying the barstool next to hers.
“Next one’s on me,” said a familiar voice.
She closed her eyes for just a second. “Dana. Oh my god,” she said, as if she was not at all surprised. “I was literally just talking about you.”
He looked confused.
“To my counselor,” she said.
“All good things, I’m sure,” he laughed, as if they were a couple of corny business buddies out for happy hour. As if he wasn’t really bad news. As if she wasn’t still in love with him.
“Actually, I was saying how when I first met you I wondered if your beard would give me razor burn when you went down on me. But then, after you did, I realized I shouldn’t have worried.” She laughed her spectacular laugh, so he could remember what he’d been missing.
He looked around the bar like he was anxious to see someone, anyone else. “How you been keeping?” he finally asked.
That’s it? she wondered. After everything?
She reached out and petted his face like a Chia. “Beard’s no worse for wear, so to speak. Still soft.”
“Yep,” he said, riding his barstool like it was a horse, leaning forward and really digging his elbows into the bar, as if he hoped to hurt himself. The flash of his teeth and his full bottom lip caught her eye. She thought of the groveling she’d done. Pictured herself lying down on the dirty floor so he could walk over her on his way out. Envisioned his hands gripping her wrists above her head, holding her down because she told him to. She thought about calling him dirty names the whole time he was on top of her splayed body.
When the bartender came by, Dana ordered another round. The bartender plunked a new pint in front of Ruby. Dana said, “Big head on that one.”
“I don’t mind a bit of head,” she said, taking up her line like there had never been a break between them.
“You wanna get out of this place?” he asked.
She diffused her laugh all over the bar. “It’s gonna take a lot more than two beers to get me out of here.”
—
ruby was deep into her fourth pint when Dana wandered off to the toilet. She knew other women watched him as he made his way through the bar. Part of her wished he wouldn’t come back.
She pulled her phone out of her bag to distract herself and remembered she was going to message Kal. She texted: “I felt better after talking to you today…thanks, man in the yellow hat.” She had to close one eye to get the words to work out straight.
He texted back almost right away: “No problem, I am happy to help.”
Not quite the stellar conversation she’d hoped to start. She ordered another beer.
“I know we only have one session left but maybe I can see you outside of that?” Send.
—
dana came back to his seat and occupied it in a way similar to the moon blocking the sun. His presence was heavy and full of their bodily knowledge of each other.
“I thought Crees couldn’t grow beards?” she teased Dana, examining his nearly black pelt, his low hairline and dark hair, still thick.
“What is it with you and my beard?” he asked. “Do you want it that bad? You want to feel it here.” He made a drunken grab for her crotch, more or less missed.
“There,” she said, pointing her finger, letting it graze his chest. “There it is. That’s more like the Dana I know.” She hated that she was slurring her words now. “Your beard is a Métis beard, isn’t it?” She turned back to the bar, sipped her beer. “That explains it,” she said to the bartender standing nearby, her eyes big. “The Métis needed beards to stay warm.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I forgot.” Her tone implied she was stating the obvious.
—
kal hadn’t responded to her text. She imagined him thinking his way through her question. She realized only one of them had had the benefit of alcohol to facilitate this conversation. Finally, he texted: “We can try to get more sessions approved, if that’s what you mean.”
“Not exactly,” she sent back.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” he texted, ever the professional. ...
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