Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

Passing the Torch

New York City

December 15, 1974

After Dena had left his office for good, Gerry O’Malley sat back down, feeling ill. Sending her to someone else was the last thing in the world he wanted. But ethically and professionally he had to do it. He had fallen hopelessly head over heels in love with Dena Nordstrom, and could not be objective if he tried. That first day when she had come into his office, her beauty had almost taken his breath away. But he had treated beautiful women before and it was not beauty alone that made him constantly want to get up and hold her. It was the Dena he saw under that gorgeous Nordstrom exterior, that vulnerable, terrified girl, the girl inside the woman he wanted to put his arms around.

Letting her walk out that door was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. He looked at his watch, and dialed.

“Liz, it’s Gerry.”

“Oh, hi, doll, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know she’ll be there on Friday. So I’ll send my notes on over, all right?”

“Good. How are you doing?”

“Other than feeling like a complete idiot, wanting to leave the profession and throw myself at her feet, I’m doing just great.”

“Poor guy.”

“Yeah, I finally found someone as sexy and beautiful as you and she turns out to be a patient. I fell in love with my therapist; why didn’t she?”

Elizabeth Diggers’s laugh was low and hearty.

“Seriously, I appreciate you seeing her on such short notice. Liz, you are the only person I would trust with her.”

“Happy to do it. And Gerry—want some highly technical professional advice?”

“Yes.”

“Go out and have a few drinks.”

“You tell an Irishman that?”

“On second thought, don’t. I’ll have the drink. And Gerry?”

“Yes?”

“You’re one of the good guys.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth.”

Dena had made an appointment with Dr. Diggers. She sounded nice, as if she might have a little more personality than O’Malley. Her office was on Eighty-ninth and Madison Avenue. The doorman who sent her up recognized Dena. Oh, great, she thought, now everyone in New York is going to know I’m seeing a shrink. And a hypno-shrink, at that. If her next test with Dr. Halling was better, she would stop going.

Dena rang the bell of the apartment and after a few minutes the door opened. A small Hispanic woman said, “Come right this way,” and led her down the center hall to Dr. Diggers’s office. The woman knocked lightly. “Dr. Diggers, your five o’clock is here.”

“Come in.”

Dena was surprised. Dr. Elizabeth Diggers was a large black woman in a wheelchair.

“Hello, Miss Nordstrom. I’m Dr. Diggers.” She smiled. “Didn’t Gerry tell you I was a big black woman in a wheelchair?”

“No.”

“I see. He tends to be short on small talk.” She pushed a plate of candy toward her.

“Yes, I know,” Dena said. “No, thank you.”

“Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you feel about my being black?”

Dena, who could lie like a dog, was caught off guard. “I’m surprised, that’s all. You didn’t sound black on the phone.” Dena realized that was the wrong thing to say but it was too late. “How do I feel about it? I couldn’t care less. I’m the one who should be worried. I’m the patient … does it bother you that I’m white? If so, tell me and I’ll be happy to leave.”

Dr. Diggers was opening the ever-present notepad and did not answer.

“Look,” Dena said, “if this is some sort of test, I don’t care what color you are but you might as well know I don’t want to be here. But I promised my doctor I would—so here I am.”

“I see.”

“I just want to start off being honest.”

“It’s a good start,” Diggers said. “And by the way, it was not a test but you passed.”

“If it did bother people that you were black, would they tell you?”

“No, not really, but I can get a pretty good idea if it is a problem by the way they answer.”

“So it is a test!”

Dr. Diggers laughed. “Yes, I guess you’re right; it is a test of sorts. Have a seat.”

“Is the candy a test, too?”

“Ah, now you’ve caught me again.”

Dena finally sat down.

“I have a few notes from Gerry but if you don’t mind, I’d like to find out some basic information. And by the way, I have seen you on television and I think you do a wonderful job.”

Dena liked that. “Oh, thank you.”

“Now, Gerry mentioned you seem to be having some biological effects from stress.”

“What?”

“Stomach problems.”

“Oh, yes. But I tried to tell him it’s from my job. But I don’t think he gets it. He doesn’t know what television is.”

“I see. And Dr. Halling is your physician?”

Dena nodded and looked across the room. It was a nice room with light beige carpeting and windows that went all the way across the front. She was glad to see a wall filled with diploma after diploma.

“How long have you had physical problems?”

“With my stomach?”

“Yes, or any other.”

“Oh, a long time. Since I was about maybe fifteen or sixteen. You’re not going to hypnotize me, are you?”

“Not today.”

“Oh, well, I’m a little nervous about it, that’s all.”

“Now, Miss Nordstrom, tell me a little bit about your history.”

“Well, I started in local television in Dallas when—”

Dr. Diggers stopped her. “No, I mean your family history.”

“What?”

“Tell me about your parents.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “My father was killed in the war … and my mother’s dead.”

“How old were you when your mother died?”

“Ah, fourteen or fifteen, I think; it’s hard to remember.”

“Hard to remember her death or how old you were?”

“Both. She was sick for a long time and I was in boarding school.”

“I see … and what was it?”

“Sacred Heart Academy; it was a Catholic boarding school.”

“No, what was her illness?”

“Oh. Tuberculosis.”

“I see.” Suddenly Dr. Diggers remembered something from Gerry’s notes. “Wasn’t somebody in your family hit by a car?”

“Yes, she was, on her way to the hospital for treatment. She got hit by a car. Actually, a car hit her bus. Anyhow, the reason I’m here is I am having terrible trouble sleeping. I wondered if maybe—”

“Do you have living relatives?”

“One or two distant relatives. On my father’s side. A distant cousin and an aunt, I think—but I don’t see them much.”

“On your mother’s side?”

Dena leaned over to look at her pad. “Are you writing this down so if I go completely insane you can call them?”

Dr. Diggers laughed. “No, just making a few notes for myself. And on your mother’s side?”

“No.”

She looked up. “No?”

“No. All dead.”

“I see.” The doctor made a note: patient agitated, kicking foot.

Later that evening, when Elizabeth Diggers had finished her dinner and had put the dishes in the sink for the housekeeper in the morning, the phone rang. She wheeled over to the wall phone. “I wondered how long it would be before you called.”

“Well, did you see my girl today?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well?”

There was a pause. “Mercy, son, you are either the bravest man I ever knew or the dumbest.”

He chuckled.

“Are you sure you want to take all that on?”

“No, but I don’t have much of a choice. I am absolutely so crazy about that woman that I can’t see straight.”

“I’ll do my best to help her, Gerry, you know that, but at this point I’m not even sure if she will come back.”

“Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?”

“Yes, she is a good-looking woman but—”

“And smart.”

“Oh, yes, and smart. Next thing you’ll be asking is what she wore.”

“What did she have on?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh, you do, too. You just enjoy torturing me. But, really, isn’t she just a classic natural beauty?”

“Yes, Gerry, she puts the moon and the stars to shame. Does this girl have any idea how you feel?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. And now is certainly not the time to tell her. She has enough problems, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely. You’ve got it bad and that ain’t good. I think you need to put some distance between you two and see how you feel down the line.”

“I can tell you right now, Elizabeth, I’m not going to change. It’s just a matter of giving her some time. So, I’ll only ask one more thing and then I promise—from now on I’m out of the picture, OK? What do you think—was I off on my evaluation?”

“Not much; I think you pretty much pegged it. Shut down. Definitely symptoms of some sort of severe rejection trauma.”

“Yeah. It could be around her mother’s death; she wouldn’t let me get near that. But it’s in your hands now.”

“Well, OK, buddy. Now that you’ve passed the torch on to me, and I do mean that in the real sense, I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks.”

“But in the meantime—it could be a long meantime—I suggest you see other people.”

“Oh, really? So, what are you doing this Saturday night?”

“What I always do, boogie till I drop.”

He laughed.

“Good night, Romeo.”

She had tried to keep it professional but after she hung up, she let her heart go out to him. She knew that being in love all by yourself was the loneliest, most painful experience known to man—or woman—and there was nothing she could do to help him.