Trust Fund Baby ~ 16 A Satire

Chapter 16
J led the group into my office. Amber sat in the chair directly opposite me. I could see she was making progress being able to read my mind as to where I wanted her to sit. Smiled at me. I smiled back and observed her pulling her thigh length black leather skirt up another two inches.

Before I could enjoy Amber’s desire to beautify the group setting, J spoke, “Sister, pull your skirt down or I will wrap you so tight in duct tape you think you died and went to Egypt as a mummy.”

My libido was in a tennis match. When I came to work I was on J’s side of the court. When Amber sat down, I was on her side of the court. When J spoke I was back on her side of the court. My black Venus was clearing out her competition for my affection. She knew my sexual fantasies increased proportionally to the amount of skin exposed to me. I turned my attention toward J. She was standing in the doorway behind the group. She pointed the index and middle fingers at her two eyes and then twisted her hand toward me and pointed with her index finger at me. I wasn’t sure what she meant. I made an assumption she wanted me to finish group fast so we could go out to lunch.

I turned my gaze toward the group. I smiled at them. They all smiled back at me. I kept smiling at them. They kept smiling at me. I’m getting the hand of being a psychologist. It’s easy. All I have to do is smile and wait for them to smile back at me. People actually go to college to learn this stuff?

One of the three men, I don’t know who he is I have a tough time remembering names, raised his hand and waved it. I didn’t want to let any group member know I didn’t know their names. I looked at the palm of my hand where I had written the names of the group members and chose the one I thought fit him, “What is it Jill, do you have to go number one or number two?”

He said, “I’m not Jill. She is Jill.” He pointed to either Amber or the other woman. I’m not sure why I remember Amber’s name, cell phone number, and medical history, and estimated proportions.

I answered, “Are you sure she’s Jill and your not Jill? Did you know you can catch an STD if you hold it when you should go?” This is a technique I picked up at a frat party where one of the frat brother told me I could fake my way through an relationship by asking questions and not giving answers. I recall how well this worked when one girl I was dating asked me if I respected her after we had sex on our first date and I said, “Are Republicans rich and insensitive to human needs?” She smiled and threw her arms around me and said, “Marty, you are the best boyfriend I ever had.”

I said STD because it was the best I could do without any preparation. I also thought most in the group might pay attention if I was talking about a sexually transmitted disease. I said STD with a sufficient level of concern and grim look that Jill seemed to breaking out in hives. I said, “Now, Jill have you ever held it?”

“Yes. Everybody holds it once in a while, but name is not Jill. It’s …”

I cut him short because didn’t want to know his real name. I say if he talks like Jill, acts like Jill, he must be Jill. I had another reason, I had no clue what I was talking about and didn’t want any group member thinking of them got the best of me. I quickly said, “You’ve got all the symptoms. If your nauseous it means one of two things, one your pregnant. Are you pregnant Jill? Do you know who the father is? I read your file and you have a background of being very promiscuous. You probably have three or four STD’s.”

Amber, she’s the only one whose name I remember, said, “I had an STD once, but I went to a clinic and was cured. He’s not my type. I don’t want another STD. I didn’t know holding it can cause it too. You are so smart Doctor Sanderstuff.”

“I have a doctor’s degree. I’m am very smart,” I said.

“I go for really, really, really smart guys,” said Amber.

A voice from the front office sharp enough to cut through steel said, “You got two strikes girl. One more strike and you are going to need a real doctor.”

I wanted to scream out in sheer joy, she loves me. She really loves me. She’s going home with me tonight.”

“Excuse me,” said Amber giving a hint of attitude. All I wanted to say is I don’t want Jill near me if she has an STD.”

“I don’t have an STD,” said the real Jill who sat next to Amber.

“Who are you? I asked.

“I’m the real Jill. He’s an imposter,” said Jill pointing an accusing finger toward the other Jill.”

I had to figure out who the real Jill was and I felt pressure to do it quickly. Why I felt pressure, I have no clue. Father once told me the rich can act without thinking because they can pay to have somebody clean up their mess. As evidence, he showed me a news clipping of a very rich hedge fund manager who was found guilty by a jury because he bilked clients of millions of dollars. The judge, who was also rich and a close friend of the hedge fund manager’s father, sentenced the very rich hedge fund manager to go to Hawaii for two weeks and reflect on why his clients lost millions of dollars. The judge said the state would pick up the expenses because it was the court’s sentence.
Believing Father’s maxim about not having to think, I said to the original Jill, “Are you sexually promiscuous.”

He said, “I haven’t had sex since they put me in prison.”

“How many in group believe that? Show of hands.” There were no hands raised. I said,

“No one believes you. If left untreated, an STD can lead to premature death.”

“What are the symptoms?” he said.

“The first is lying about whether you haven’t had sex in the last two years. And, the second, is confusion over your first name. You have both.” I saw the rest of the group shake their heads in agreement.

“Oh no. Can you tell if I need to see a doctor?” he said.

“I’m not an expert. Do you have a living will? Are you on the organ donor list?”

“I’m on the organ donor list, but I don’t have a living will.”

I noticed whoever he was, his right leg was bouncing faster than an piston in a race car engine. I wondered why he felt stressed. I offered, “A third symptom is a high level of stress. Do you feel stress?”

“Why yes? How can you tell?” He said while he scratched his belly, then one arm, then the other leaving long red streaks where his fingernails gouged his skin.

I looked at the group, “I studied under the Zen master Tu Shu.” I said. I wasn’t really sure what is a Zen. I think it may be a car or flat screen TV. I am sure it’s something made in Korea. I was staring at my two shoes when I came up with the name Tu Shu. I turned my attention to the entire group, “We’re making progress. At our last session I asked the you to think about your fantasies. Do I have any volunteers?”

Amber waved her hand back and forth and bounced a bit in her seat. I like excitement, especially when one has Amber’s attributes. I said, “Yes, Amber.”

“I have this fantasy about you and me, Double M.”

I was sure Amber was having a breakthrough. I really wanted to hear her fantasy in rich, descriptive detail.

I started to say, “We all would …” I was interrupted by J’s voice. “Girl, you are walking a fine line between walking out with the rest of the group and being carried out early by the paramedics.”

I felt like I was picking petals off a daisy, “she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me.” It’s the only answer.

“Maybe we’ll talk about something other than our fantasies.” I pointed to a group member, “You. Muffin top. You’re morbidly overweight and unattractive. Actually, I find you repulsive. Would you like to talk about it?”

“My name is Tito Perez and I’m going to report you.”

“To who? Your cellmate.” The rest of the group joined me in my laughter. Mother always said, laughter is the best medicine for the working class. The upper class can afford the high priced prescriptions.

“Dr. Sanderstuff, I’m Jill, not him. That’s The Sage. He’s a total loser and I don’t want to catch an STD from him.” said the white woman with lips thick from collagen injections.

“What’s your point? Do you have a point? Where did you get the botox injections? You should sue.”

The door opened, J stepped in. I’d not seen this look on her face. Something upset her. I know this because I am a sensitive male. After group is over, I’ll suggest lunch and drinks to discuss her problems. I decide I am really, very, very good. I can understand why she has fallen so hard for me.
J spoke, “Group’s over.”

“I didn’t have a chance to speak,” said Prince Flame.

“You want my size eight shoe where you don’t want it because the only way you’ll extract it is to go to a proctologist?”

Prince and the others filed out past J. She gave them just enough room to pass by. I could tell she wanted to be alone with me. My heart raced. I’m thinking she was going to ask me if she could move in with me. I like this idea.

J moved her head enough to see The Sage walk through the door and close it after he left. Then she took three steps toward me. It’s all I needed to know my sweet milk chocolate woman was going to open my heart and pour herself in.

“We need to talk,” said J in a voice the bad cop on a cop show might use.

“We do?”


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