It came from my notebook: The Case of Audrey Escher
She said her name was Audrey Escher when she called the week before to make a consultation appointment, referred to me by my colleague Jon Mathers. He and I played still tennis on the weekends, going out for a beer or two while our wives were preoccupied with church functions or book club. The sweet-sounding, optimistic girl on the phone was not quite the same person that turned up at my office, twenty minutes early for our session.
I'd barely had time to finish the bagel Melissa had warmed up from me this morning as I walked in to find Audrey in the waiting room, the first patient of the day, even as my assistant Nancy was still transcribing notes from the answering machine and making out my schedule for the day. Wiping the last few crumbs off my pant leg, I offered Audrey a smile as I passed her on the way to my office, promising her I'd see her just as soon as I was ready. She didn't smile back.
This Audrey Escher was a petite redhead with a purple scarf wrapped around her face and neck, pulled up over her nose like a religious shroud or surgical mask. She was an ordinary enough girl to look at, sitting on my couch in her red sweater, jeans and conservative brown high heels. Pretty but a little waifish, maybe a little uncertain about being in my office, with her squared shoulders and crossed legs, like she could make herself look bigger if she tried hard enough.
Sitting across from her, I folded my hands in my lap and gave her a patient smile.
"So tell me a little bit about yourself, Audrey."
