“You’re graduating?”
“Yes. Then it’s off to the world of independent filmmaking.”
“Will you continue making documentaries?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. I have a job offer from a studio in LA, but it’s for TV stuff, and to be honest, I’m not that keen about moving out West. I’ve got time to figure things out. I’m only twenty-four. For the time being, I’d like to hang on to some independence and creative freedom with projects of my own choosing.”
If it were anyone else, I would have said, Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to pay the bills, but I doubted that would be an issue for her.
She and Brendan finished packing up and made their way to the door.
“Thank you again,” Olivia said.
We shook hands in the hall, and I was conscious of the warmth of her hand in mine. It caused a rush of regret in me when I realized I was not free to pursue any sort of acquaintance with this woman beyond today. I was trapped by the morally wrong thing I had done when I had become involved with Melanie. Yet Olivia was looking at me with admiration, as if I were above her somehow in intelligence and life experience.
I’d never felt more like a fraud.
“Goodbye,” she said, and I closed the door behind her, returned to my desk, sank onto my chair, and stared up at the ceiling.
What was to become of me? I wondered wretchedly. Would my unethical behavior as a therapist be discovered if Melanie continued to feel unhappy or unloved? How would I even be able to prevent such an outcome, short of making constant grand gestures to prove to her that everything was as she dreamed it would be—that I would love her forever and never leave her. Her growing insecurities had become deeply troubling lately, and her behavior suggested that nothing would satisfy her outside of a marriage proposal, even if it required the engagement to be a long one to avoid any punitive action from the disciplinary boards. She only seemed happy when I was showering her with affection and desire, which had come naturally at first when everything was new and exciting, but lately I had woken up to the wrongness of what we had done, and I feared I couldn’t continue the charade of those early passions.
My phone rang just then, and my stomach dropped because I knew it would be Melanie, calling to ask why I had neglected to telephone her during my lunch hour. With a tightening knot of dread in my core, I picked up the phone and said, “Hello. Dr. Robinson speaking.”
“Hi there.”
It was a woman’s voice. But it wasn’t Melanie. It was Olivia Hamilton.
CHAPTER 15
DEAN
New York, 1986
At the sound of Olivia’s voice on the phone, a feeling of lightness practically lifted me off my chair.
“I’m sorry to bother you again,” she said, “but I forgot to get you to sign a release form.”
“A release form,” I replied. “What is that? Permission for you to use my image and voice?”
“Yes, exactly. It’s also where you sign away your right to approve or disapprove of the final project.”
“I see. And I assume I won’t be able to demand a cut of the box office proceeds later if it becomes a huge hit?”
She laughed softly and seductively into the phone, though I’m sure she hadn’t intended to sound seductive. I was just so wildly delighted to hear her voice again that it affected me that way.
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” she said. “Something to dream about, right?”
“Right,” I replied.
“So listen,” she said without missing a beat, “I can swing by on Monday during your office hours. But if you’re free right now, you could meet me in the park. I’m just heading out to walk my dog.”
“A walk?”
“Yes. You said your afternoon appointments were canceled? It’s a gorgeous day.”
There was a sudden flash of heat in my bloodstream as I was tempted to say yes. I wanted to, but it would feel like cheating. If Melanie were a fly on the wall right now, she’d hit the ceiling.
When I didn’t respond to the invitation, Olivia began to retreat. “I’m so sorry. Maybe I’m overstepping. Are you seeing someone? I didn’t see a ring on your finger, so I assumed it would be okay for me to ask.”
I admired how open and direct she was.
A reply tumbled past my lips all too quickly. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”
In my defense, it was a well-rehearsed response because my relationship with Melanie was intended to be a secret. Even she understood that.
“I can meet you right now,” I said. “Where are you?”
“At my parents’ place. It’s directly across the park from your office. How about we meet at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Seventy-Ninth. There’s a soft-serve ice cream truck there. You can’t miss it. It’s red and yellow. Let’s say twenty minutes?”
“Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I hung up the phone, tidied my desk, and locked up.
Olivia was waiting for me when I arrived at the ice cream truck on Fifth Avenue. She wore the same white shirt, jeans, and backpack that she had worn for the interview, and she was leaning against the park wall. A large black dog sat patiently on the sidewalk in front of her. Olivia’s head was turned in the other direction, her attention caught up in the chaos of an ambulance blaring its siren and trying to push its way through the traffic. She jumped when I said hello.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said.
Her face filled with pleasure at the sight of me, and she pushed away from the wall. Her dog stood as well, in tune with her change in energy, and he began to wag his tail.
“You didn’t,” she replied. “It’s just so noisy here. I was distracted. Glad you made it.”
“Me too.” We smiled warmly at each other for several seconds until it felt a bit awkward, so I looked down at her furry friend. “Who might this be?”
“Pardon my rudeness.” Olivia patted her dog on the head. “This is Ziggy. Ziggy, this is Dean.”
I knelt down and scratched behind his soft ears and under his collar. He lapped at my chin, and I laughed. “Yes, you’re adorable.”
“He likes you,” Olivia said.
“I like him too. What kind of dog is he?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“I have no idea,” she replied. “I got him from an animal shelter last year. He’s some kind of mutt, maybe a mix with a lab, I think? Whatever he is, he’s very smart.”
“I see that.” I turned toward the street. “Did you want to get an ice cream cone?”
“Absolutely. Ziggy has been staring at that truck since we got here. He’d be devastated if we didn’t.”
We moved across the wide sidewalk, and I dug into my back pocket for my wallet. “What would you like? Or should I ask what Ziggy would like?”
She smiled. “He prefers vanilla.”
I paid for the cones, and we made our way into the park toward the Ramble.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, licking my ice cream and watching Ziggy trot happily ahead of us.
“My parents do,” she replied. “I have an apartment with some friends in Greenwich Village, but they don’t allow dogs there, so Mom and Dad are looking after him until I finish out the year.”