Chapter 2: Shrunken Heads

Cool wouldn't have been the descriptor Jess would have chosen for Stacy Bromowitz. Not unless it was followed by the qualifiers calm and collected. She had dark hair and dark eyes, a lean face and an eerie, silent, unflappable demeanor. He would have guessed her age at about forty…a well-kept forty, but forty nonetheless. At a glance, Jess took her for a woman who had always wanted children, but had been too busy with her education and career to bother with a man, and so the time for children had come and gone…or so nearly so that it didn't make much difference. Like a lot of therapists, he would have guessed that she helped other people with their problems in order to convince herself that she didn't have any of her own…particularly that helping people filled up a void that she couldn't acknowledge without great pain.

His mouth twitched and he glanced at the floor, amused that he was analyzing the analyst. It was a distraction to allay his own nerves as he stood there watching her on the phone. She was already in mid-conversation when he walked in the door and a tiny, electronic bell announced his presence to her. She'd looked up, half-smiled a please be patient with me-I've gotta take this kind of smile, and gestured to the same effect…that hopefully she would just be a few moments. She spoke very little, but was actively mmm-hmmming every few seconds into the telephone.

The wants children part came more from a perusal of the office…an open space with bright, natural murals all over the walls-he had to assume this was Sasha's work; and it was very impressive. As he looked around, lips bitten to the side, taking this in, he couldn't help but wonder how she could possibly paint any more "pictures" for the office. The walls were full. He wondered if this was any reflection on Sasha's mental health, and what sort of rate-of-exchange they had going. The mural was mostly landscape, a gradually changing panorama that spanned the ocean and beaches, deserts, prairies and glens melting into pine forests and redwoods, redwoods changing to skyscrapers and then suburban sprawl. Through it all were the playful, mostly laughing figures of children, faces bright - some peeking out from behind trees, others swimming, a couple were turning cartwheels, others somersaults, jumping rope, drawing, watching animals, reading… His eyes lingered on the figure of the girl sitting on a bridge with a fishing pole and a book. His chest tightened. It was her who'd finally gotten him to come here. He'd finally taken the post-it note from the fridge with shaking hands, a pulsing headache pounding in his brain, and made himself take the phone from the wall and dial the number. He'd taken deep breaths to try to calm the shaking and the hammering of his heartbeat as he clutched the phone to his chest and closed his eyes. He couldn't focus on anything, and the breathing wasn't helping. He couldn't sleep at night, so he'd slept well into the morning, only waking with the blast of a gun ringing in his ears, tremors taking his whole body.

Looking at the serene brown haired girl, dangling her feet into the ripples of the stream, the dream flashed vividly before his eyes. He was standing in the middle of the gazebo…but it was in New York, the roar of the traffic and the billion shops. She was standing there in front of them with eyes of ice. He opened his mouth to talk to her…to explain, but he had no tongue. An old woman had cut out his tongue. Too many lies. Better that you don't speak. And, now he couldn't. His throat couldn't utter a sound. She stared at him, mouth set in a hard line, determined that he should speak first. Finally she burst forth, voice shuddering with anger, "Talk, Jess!" His eyes grew wild as his mouth gasped and struggled to try to form words. He was a goldfish. His mouth would only open and close. "Talk!" His eyes plead with her. "I said, TALK!" He looked at her helplessly. "Fine," she said with quiet, determination, opening her backpack and pulling out a revolver. He stood frozen in place by her cold, cold eyes. She shot him point-blank in the face.

He had to make the call. A woman's voice answered…pleasant voice. "Yes?"

"Um…" His tongue worked now, even if it was choking a little and swallowing back the hitching and shaking as best it could. "Is this Stacy?"

"Yes," she replied calmly, "Yes it is." No more words came for the moment. Couldn't even open his mouth. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Um…" He bit his lips together and the choking at the back of his throat was not helping matters. He tried to clear his throat, but his voice came out raspy…still sleep-ridden…among other things. "Sasha…" shallow breaths, "Sasha said I should call…uh…" He tried to breathe slower. "She s…sss…" This was really bad.

"I've had a couple of last-minute cancellations this afternoon. Would you like to come in and see me in a couple of hours?" A lightheadedness struck him, and he reached out to the handle of the refrigerator door to steady himself.

"Yes." It was the surest he'd heard a word from his own mouth in weeks, despite the swirling trepidation behind it.

She set the phone into it's cradle and he looked up suddenly at the click. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Sorry about that," she began. "Occupational hazard." He nodded with an almost-smile. "My name is Stacy Bromowitz," she said with a bright though reserved openness, extending her hand which he shook, finding it soft, though bony with a firm grip, "what's yours?"

"Jess Mariano." Her eyebrows raised a little at this.

"Any relation to Jimmy?" He could tell that the question wasn't so much to confirm the obvious, but rather to determine what sort of relation. Between the name and the face, blood relation was no question.

Jess' head dipped and he scraped his teeth along his lower lip, nodding. "His son." He could see that she tried not to let her eyebrows raise in surprise at this, but couldn't prevent the quick blinking as she took it in. She didn't compromise her professionalism, but behind the carefully monitored unchanging expression, Jess could see the concern as Sasha's friend.

"I didn't know Jimmy had any kids. Are you his only child?" She had a detached way of asking questions that would have put a less perceptive person completely at their ease. It would have been easier if Jess didn't see the casual inquiry as a subtle let the session begin.

He shrugged lightly with a casual nod. "That I know of." He watched her eyes drawing conclusions even as her features remained unmoved, as if this was all merely an exchange of pleasantries.

"So, have you come for a visit…to see your father?" she prompted, a bit more slowly than the other questions had been posed. Jess tipped a noncommittal, uninformative nod. Her expression gave away even less. "Well, it's wonderful that you can come and spend some time with him. Has it been a long time?…I mean, since you've seen him last?"

Jess' lips turned up slightly as if subtly amused. "You could say that." Jess knew that if any of this was going to benefit him, he would have to be more forthcoming at some point, but, for now, he was getting a feel for her. Besides, if she couldn't draw him out, then this whole endeavor was likely a waste of time.

"Where are you from?" Somehow this felt a little less like your usual, first acquaintance type question. Sure, it was completely normal to ask someone where they lived or where they grew up…just… She was a professional. She wasn't someone he had just met and was somehow actually talking to. She was a shrink. It was her job to pry him open like an oyster. He knew that if she got inside, she would find plenty of irritation, but no pearl. Jess could sense his mental heels digging in and his mouth tightened, the spark in his eye suddenly losing its luster.

"New York." He felt his jaws tighten. Somehow just the vocalization of the place did it…or rather, the non-vocalization of the specifics…the kinds of places he'd lived in New York, and where he'd lived since. All his muscles constricted a hair's breadth, as if on-the-ready for some threat and ready to be blamed for all his shortcomings.

"So…you live with your mother?" she inquired, her manner as if she was holding a clip-board and checking boxes yes or no. She held no clipboard. Her well manicured hands seemed perfectly capable of ease and unfettered smooth motion without any excuses…nothing to hold, no need to be folded together or loosely clasped in front or behind. Serene in a way that Jess could not understand.

"Lived," he corrected succinctly.

"You mean, you don't live there any more? Are you moving here permanently?" Stacy asked.

Jess looked off into the distance, over her shoulder, almost shaking his head, as if this were part of his reply. One shoulder raised in a portion of a shrug. "Not permanent. Haven't really settled on a destination. Haven't lived with my mom in over a year, though."

She nodded slowly, taking in the implications of his terse statements. "Where have you lived for the past year?"

He swallowed. "Mostly with my uncle in Connecticut." He could see her store the "mostly" for later.

"What made you decide to come here?" It seemed like such an innocuous question, not like something he'd been asking himself once or twice or three times in every mile, over the course of 2,994.8 miles.