The Venus Fix

Fifty-Five

Blythe had brought two cappuccinos and two large black-and-whites to her appointment, so we sat across from each other at my desk, drinking the coffee and munching on the sweet cookies. I knew she was ambivalent about talking to me that day. The food and coffee was a distraction.

“You didn’t want this to be a session today, did you?” I asked.

“Why would you think that?” Blythe gave me the slightly mysterious smile that was unique to her: As her lips moved up in the corners, her eyes closed for just a moment. The viewer’s attention was, again, pulled from Blythe’s eyes to her mouth.

“Is it true?”

“Maybe, but how did you…” She eyed the cookies and the drinks and thought it through. Then she smiled. She got it. “That was impressive.”

“No, it’s good training. You have it. You’ll get there.”

“I guess I’m going through a crisis of faith that I can do this job.”

“Okay. Do you know why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t suppose you’d just tell me why?”

“No, I can’t. Even if I was sure I knew, which I’m not, it won’t help unless you get there yourself. You know that, Blythe. But I’ll help you get there. What’s happened in the past few weeks that’s set you back?”

“The Web-cam girls, the ones who have been getting killed.”

I nodded. “What else?”

“There’s something else?”

“How do you feel about what’s happening to the girls?”

“There but for the grace of God…”

“Right, but you stopped doing Web cast work months before all this started. Why is this affecting you so personally now?”

She thought about it. She looked up at me. I wasn’t going to help her make the last leap. She had to do that herself. And then she did.

“The interview with Stella Dobson.”

I didn’t have to tell her she was right.

“She was someone I looked up to, Dr. Snow. She went on a hunger strike for three weeks to protest that judge in Alabama who was trying to prevent a teenager from having an abortion unless she got her parent’s permission. When everyone else stopped talking about women’s rights, she talked louder. And now even though she’ll never know my real name, and even though I’ll disguise myself, it will still be me, meeting her.” She stopped talking and looked away from me. “How do you know when you’re doing the right thing?” Blythe asked.

“With a patient?”

“No. Personally. When I’m working with a patient I have a good sense of whether her behavior is destructive or not, but I can’t turn my intuition on myself.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands under her chin, focusing her attention back on me. It was slightly affected but charming, and made me feel as if my answer mattered to her very much. It also drew attention away from her eyes and to her mouth.

“It’s hard to do. Our own neuroses and needs get in the way.”

“What kind of process can I put myself through to test my decisions and make sure I’m doing the right thing? How can I be my own therapist?”

I shook my head. If there was an easy exercise, I wouldn’t mind knowing it myself. “You can’t be. That’s why most therapists are in therapy.”

“I don’t want to be in therapy forever.”

“You won’t be. Most of us need to be in therapy at the beginning of our careers, but then, like any other patient who has gone through the process, we terminate, knowing there’s always the option of coming back when issues resurface.”

She seemed to be taking mental notes, nodding her head slightly, studying me with her inscrutable green eyes.

“I told Stella Dobson I’d do the interview, and I want to do it because I’m curious. I’m flattered. Isn’t that nuts? I’m flattered she wants to interview me about the big secret of my life. I’m excited that someone wants to know about it. But I’m embarrassed about it at the same time. I’m afraid of what she’s going to say if I’m really honest with her. I mean, what is a feminist going to think about the fact that I loved showing off?”

“What do you think she’s going to say?”

“That it was wrong of me to crave the attention. That it’s part of what’s wrong with our society. That I exacerbated the problem. Set a bad example.”

“Do you think you did?”

“I don’t know. I just loved the idea of the attention. I loved the idea of invisible hands stroking me. Of the eyes staring at my body. Taking me in.”

“Did you feel powerful?”

She nodded. “You can’t imagine how powerful you feel when you know you can move men without even being in the same room as them.”

“Go on.”

She hesitated, then took a breath. “It’s crazy when you first realize that just watching you can give them a hard-on and make them come. It made me feel so sexy-”

Another hesitation. “It’s okay. Tell me.”

“Sometimes…there were some times when the session was over and I’d shut off the Web cam and masturbate for real because I was so turned on. And the…the orgasms I had then were more intense and better than any I ever had with anyone.” She was whispering. Her flawless skin was flushed with pink. Her eyes sparkled. “And then I’d get paid for it, the check would come in the mail, and I’d feel so disgusted.”

“Why?”

“It turned it into something else.”

“Into what?”

“Into something disgusting.”

“Is that how you feel about the interview?”

“I’m worried I will. But I could use the money. Since I’ve given up webbing, I’m strapped. I’ve even asked Nina if she can give me some more patients from the clinic. In the meantime, Stella Dobson is giving me five hundred dollars for this.”

“ I’ll talk to Nina. If you’d be willing to work another day at clinic, I might be able to make that happen.”

“Yes, that would be great.”

“Will that help you decide about the interview?”

“I’ll probably still do it. I’m excited to meet her, to talk to her, to help her with her book. Although I know it’s another form of showing off. That’s one thing I need to work out. That and wondering how I’m going to feel when she pays me.” She sighed deeply and tossed her hair again. “I’ve been dreaming about being on camera again. I wake up and when I realize it was just a dream I’m so depressed. I miss how it used to make me feel.”

Her eyes filled with tears but her face didn’t crumble. She contained herself and then started to laugh. “Can you believe this? I must be the only woman in the world who gets weepy at not having to play dirty in front of a Web cam anymore. I hope I don’t do this in front of Stella Dobson next Friday.”

“Is that when the interview is?”

“Yes. Can you imagine?” She was excited again. “I’m going to meet her! A real hero.”