couldn't wait to get back to her new boyfriend. She says he's an actor. He's been in two horror pictures, and half a dozen commercials.”
“At least he's working.” Virginia was glad to see her up and dressed, but the toll of the last month and Peter's perfidy was all too visible. It was the look of despair in her eyes that was so haunting. As though she no longer believed in anything or anyone and had lost hope and faith in everything she had once believed in. It was brutal.
They chatted over coffee for a while, and Virginia finally looked at her, fumbled in her bag, and pushed a piece of paper at her. It had a name and phone number on it, and an address in downtown Greenwich.
“What's that?” Paris looked startled as she read it. She didn't recognize the name. It just said Anne Smythe, with a Greenwich number.
“My shrink's phone number. I couldn't survive without her.” Paris knew that she and Jim had had their ups and downs too. He was a difficult man, had suffered from chronic depression at one time, and had improved immeasurably with medication. But the dark years he'd spent before that had been hard on Virginia and their marriage. Paris knew she saw someone but had never thought much about it, nor asked her.
“Do you think I've gone crazy?” Paris asked sadly, as she folded the piece of paper with the number and slipped it into her pocket. “Sometimes I think so.” It was almost a relief to say it out loud and admit it.
“No, I don't,” Virginia said honestly. “If I did, I'd have the guys here with butterfly nets and a straitjacket. But I think you will end up that way, if you don't get out of this house, and talk to someone about what happened. You've had a hell of a shock. What Peter did to you is about as traumatic as it gets, short of having your husband drop dead in his dinner. And that's probably a lot easier to survive than what he did. One minute you're married, think you're happy, have a husband and a life you've known and loved for twenty-four years, and the next minute he's gone, he's divorcing you, and you don't know what hit you. And to make matters worse, he's living an hour from here, and dating someone twenty years younger. If that doesn't kick your self-esteem and psyche in the ass, I don't know what will. Shit, Paris, most people would be sitting in a corner, drooling.”
“Well, I've thought of it,” she said with a grin, “but it's so messy.”
“I'd be a basket case, in your shoes,” Virginia said, with profound respect for her. Even Virginia's husband had admitted to her that he wouldn't have survived the blow, with or without medication. And her friends realized that there was always the possibility that she could get suicidal over it. With the exception of the comfort of knowing that her children were out in the world somewhere, she had very little to live for. She definitely needed someone to talk to. And Virginia thought Anne Smythe might be just the person. She was warm, down to earth, sensible, and combined just the right amount of sympathy with all-right-fine-now-what-are-we-going-to-do-about-this? She had gotten Virginia back on her feet and out of the doldrums after Jim's depression. After he was fine again, Virginia had suddenly felt depressed and without purpose. She had been so used to centering all her attention on him that when he no longer needed her as much, she started to feel useless. “She saved my ass, and several of my friends whom I referred to her. I think she's terrific.”
“I'm not so sure my ass is worth saving,” Paris said as Virginia shook her head.
“That's exactly what I mean. You think there's something wrong with you because he left you, instead of seeing that this is about him, not you. He should be feeling like hell about himself, for what he did to you, not you feeling like that because he left you.” All Virginia wished was that Paris would get angry, and even hate him, but she didn't. It was obvious to anyone who knew her
“At least he's working.” Virginia was glad to see her up and dressed, but the toll of the last month and Peter's perfidy was all too visible. It was the look of despair in her eyes that was so haunting. As though she no longer believed in anything or anyone and had lost hope and faith in everything she had once believed in. It was brutal.
They chatted over coffee for a while, and Virginia finally looked at her, fumbled in her bag, and pushed a piece of paper at her. It had a name and phone number on it, and an address in downtown Greenwich.
“What's that?” Paris looked startled as she read it. She didn't recognize the name. It just said Anne Smythe, with a Greenwich number.
“My shrink's phone number. I couldn't survive without her.” Paris knew that she and Jim had had their ups and downs too. He was a difficult man, had suffered from chronic depression at one time, and had improved immeasurably with medication. But the dark years he'd spent before that had been hard on Virginia and their marriage. Paris knew she saw someone but had never thought much about it, nor asked her.
“Do you think I've gone crazy?” Paris asked sadly, as she folded the piece of paper with the number and slipped it into her pocket. “Sometimes I think so.” It was almost a relief to say it out loud and admit it.
“No, I don't,” Virginia said honestly. “If I did, I'd have the guys here with butterfly nets and a straitjacket. But I think you will end up that way, if you don't get out of this house, and talk to someone about what happened. You've had a hell of a shock. What Peter did to you is about as traumatic as it gets, short of having your husband drop dead in his dinner. And that's probably a lot easier to survive than what he did. One minute you're married, think you're happy, have a husband and a life you've known and loved for twenty-four years, and the next minute he's gone, he's divorcing you, and you don't know what hit you. And to make matters worse, he's living an hour from here, and dating someone twenty years younger. If that doesn't kick your self-esteem and psyche in the ass, I don't know what will. Shit, Paris, most people would be sitting in a corner, drooling.”
“Well, I've thought of it,” she said with a grin, “but it's so messy.”
“I'd be a basket case, in your shoes,” Virginia said, with profound respect for her. Even Virginia's husband had admitted to her that he wouldn't have survived the blow, with or without medication. And her friends realized that there was always the possibility that she could get suicidal over it. With the exception of the comfort of knowing that her children were out in the world somewhere, she had very little to live for. She definitely needed someone to talk to. And Virginia thought Anne Smythe might be just the person. She was warm, down to earth, sensible, and combined just the right amount of sympathy with all-right-fine-now-what-are-we-going-to-do-about-this? She had gotten Virginia back on her feet and out of the doldrums after Jim's depression. After he was fine again, Virginia had suddenly felt depressed and without purpose. She had been so used to centering all her attention on him that when he no longer needed her as much, she started to feel useless. “She saved my ass, and several of my friends whom I referred to her. I think she's terrific.”
“I'm not so sure my ass is worth saving,” Paris said as Virginia shook her head.
“That's exactly what I mean. You think there's something wrong with you because he left you, instead of seeing that this is about him, not you. He should be feeling like hell about himself, for what he did to you, not you feeling like that because he left you.” All Virginia wished was that Paris would get angry, and even hate him, but she didn't. It was obvious to anyone who knew her
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