the bat. None of the obvious insecurities upfront. And she looked familiar. Very familiar. He hated that about Los Angeles. If someone looked familiar, one never knew if it was because they were famous to some degree, or they’d met them before, or if the person was going to be famous soon. It all translated the same way.
Much to Philip’s surprise and delight, Cassandra ordered beer. There was nothing more intriguing to him than someone unpredictable. He’d had her pegged for a rosé kind of woman. Or maybe he just had them all pegged as that.
“So, Gio, what did you do today?”
He settled back and composed his “at ease” face.
“I saw eight clients.”
“Wow, you must be exhausted!”
“Well, in the beginning it was exhausting, but by now I’m pretty used to it. Our job as therapists is to have a detached attitude towards taking on emotional conflict so that we can be as effective as we can be efficient. And after my workdays I go for a long cycle. It really helps.”
Cassandra’s face twisted up.
“Wait… so, you’re, like, a psychological cyclist… or a cycling psychologist?”
He almost snorted his drink up. “A psychological cyclist. That’s rich.”
They laughed about that for a minute. Philip couldn’t remember the last date who’d made him laugh like that.
“Damn,” he said when they’d calmed down a bit. “How am I not going to think about that on my rides now?”
Cassandra grinned and pushed her dark hair away from her eyes. “Sorry! I think in catchy song lyrics.”
“That must be annoying,” he teased. “Why do you think like that?”
“Quit analyzing me!” she said immediately. He was stunned and then felt an immediate rise of anger when she again collapsed into laughter. “Kidding! Bad joke. Oh, I didn’t think you’d take it that seriously. I’m sorry.”
“Some sour previous experiences with that accusation,” he mumbled, feeling sheepish and exposed.
“Obviously,” Cassandra said. She rested a light hand over his for a moment. He pulled away, hating that he’d lost his composure. Philip made a mental note that dating younger did not always mean he would necessarily be in control. This woman seemed to have a peculiar humor that unnerved him.
He suddenly craved a cigarette.
“I messed up,” she continued.
“It’s alright. So, let’s move on. What did you do today?”
“I’d love to tell you what I did today. I managed the rental rooms in my house – the usual, making sure the place is clean, the renters are happy, all has been communicated, etcetera. Then I went to yoga. Then I wrote a song. Then I came to meet you.”
“Sounds like a pretty good day,” Philip said, struggling for back-to-normal.
“I can’t complain,” Cassandra said. “I owe it all to my father, he left me his gorgeous house on the canals. And thanks to Rentaroom, the place funds itself as well as my bank account. It’s basically my own motel. I should start calling it ‘Cassie’s Corner’ or something.”
“You could probably think of something a little catchier than that,” Philip said, attempting playful.
She just nodded. “The name hasn’t come yet. It’s like naming a band, it’s no big deal and yet it’s somehow everything.”
“I get it,” Philip said, though he really didn’t. The only thing he’d had to name in his lifetime was his practice, which, surprise surprise, was Dr. Philip K Parker, PhD, Psychotherapist.
Cassandra Panda::
It wasn’t exactly a dud of a first date but she wasn’t sure she was that into Gio. He had a general air of mystery and misery and solemnity, which normally would be a turn-off, but he was uniquely good looking and so far had more of a sense of humor than she’d expected at first glance. It seemed as if she was lifting his spirits, but that wasn’t news. She was always the one fighting for good moods to prevail, and she was pretty tired of it, to be honest.
Where were all the lighthearted guys at?
She usually dated younger for that reason.
They went outside for a smoke. Gio stood close to Cassandra and she wondered if what she felt was sexual tension or if he was just intruding on her personal space.
“So, Gio, when’s the last time you fell in love?”
This question, like most of her conversational moves so far, seemed to throw him off. He didn’t act like he was used to being on a date with a woman with a personality. He probably only dated bobble heads. She watched him step a little further away, retreating somewhere deep in his head. Then he shook it off and went back to pretending to be nonchalant.
Cassandra thought it was pretty crazy that he seemed to have no idea how transparent he was.
“It’s been a while,” he said. “Probably close to twelve years ago. I was married, actually. I had somehow deceived myself as to her true nature. Probably because the sex was so good.” A short, forced laugh.
“Glad you’re divorced, are ya?”
“I am,” he said seriously. “Sex and contracts do not go well together.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“What about you?” he asked. “When’s the last time you fell in love?”
“Last weekend,” Cassandra answered, flicking her cigarette to the curb. “But it happens. No big deal. I seem to fall in love all the time, especially with the improbable. I’ve fallen in love probably six or seven times in the last two years.”
“That’s not love, then,” he responded quietly, taking a drag off his cigarette. “That’s temporary infatuation.”
“I disagree,” she said cheerfully. “I know you’re a well-degreed psychologist, but no offense, who are you to define what love is? I think everyone is entitled to their own version of the most singular, puzzling part of human nature, don’t you?”
“I suppose,” he said after a long moment.
“So, what’s your big technical definition?”
“I consider falling in love a feeling of infinity you find in someone.”
She couldn’t help but scoff. “What, did you read that off a tea bag tag? And besides, can you not find the feeling of infinity with a relative stranger as easily as you can with someone who you’ve known for months or years? Even more easily, arguably, because with a stranger you can color in all the details as you want them to be from a distance. Feelings are feelings, and shouldn’t be discounted by circumstance or longevity. Obviously feelings of infinity are as mysteriously fleeting as everything
