High Profile

4

Dix was as shiny as he always was. His white shirt was crisp with starch. His slacks were sharply creased. His shoes were polished. His thick hands were clean. His nails were manicured. He was bald and clean shaven, and his head gleamed. The white walls of his office were bare except for a framed copy of his medical degree and one of his board certification in psychiatry. Jesse sat at one side of the desk, and Dix swiveled his chair to face him. After he swiveled, he was motionless, his hands resting interlaced on his flat stomach.

“I’m making progress on the booze,” Jesse said.

Dix waited.

“I quit for a while and it seemed to give me more control of it when I went back.”

“Enough control?” Dix said.

Jesse thought about it.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“But some,” Dix said.

“Yes.”

Dix was still.

“If I can control it,” Jesse said, “life is better with alcohol. Couple of drinks before dinner. Glass of wine with dinner. Civilized.”

“And without it?” Dix said.

“A lot of days with nothing to look forward to,” Jesse said.

“Behavior can be modified,” Dix said.

“In terms of drunks,” Jesse said, “I’m not sure that’s politically correct.”

“It’s not,” Dix said. “But it’s been my experience.”

“So I’m not fooling myself.”

“You may or may not be,” Dix said. “It’s possible that you’re not.”

“Day at a time,” Jesse said.

Dix smiled.

“Now,” Jesse said, “to my other problem.”

Dix waited.

“I’ve met a woman,” Jesse said.

Dix was still.

“Like the perfect woman,” Jesse said.

Dix nodded slightly.

“She’s good-looking, smart, very sexual. Even professionally — she’s a private detective. Used to be a cop.”

Dix nodded. It seemed to Jesse almost as if he were approving.

“She’s tough. She can shoot. She’s not afraid. And she’s a painter, too. Oils and watercolors, not houses.”

“Anyone else in her life?” Dix said.

“She’s divorced, like me, and she might still be a little hung up on her ex.”

“Gee,” Dix said.

Jesse grinned at him.

“Like me,” Jesse said.

Dix was quiet. The only window in the small room opened onto a budding tree against a blue sky. They looked almost like trompe l’oeil painting. When he was in this room with Dix, everything seemed remote to Jesse.

“Which is, of course, the problem.”

“She can’t let go of her ex-husband?” Dix said.

“I can’t let go of Jenn,” Jesse said.

“Because?”

“Two possibilities,” Jesse said. “I still love her, or I’m pathological.”

Dix smiled again without speaking.

“Or both,” Jesse said.

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” Dix said.

“But I feel like I love Sunny, too. That’s her name, Sunny Randall.”

“One can have feelings for more than one person,” Dix said.

“And how does one resolve those feelings,” Jesse said.

“If they need to be resolved,” Dix said, “one would talk to one’s shrink about them.”

“Well, something needs to be resolved,” Jesse said. “I can’t just live with both of them.”

“There may be other options,” Dix said.

“Like what?”

“We’ll have to explore that,” Dix said. “Is Jenn with anyone else at the moment.”

“Jenn is usually with someone else at the moment.”

“Are you attempting to be monogamous with Sunny?”

“We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“Is she with anyone else at the moment?” Dix said.

“I don’t think so.”

Dix was silent. Jesse was silent. The faux-looking trees stirred in the light breeze outside the window.

Then Jesse said, “Are you trying to inject a note of sweet reason into this discussion?”

“And me a licensed shrink,” Dix said. “How embarrassing.”