Avery Lives Out Loud

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.”

Dr. Drexel Carrington ushered me into the foyer and together we continued to his library.

“Did you find the building easily?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I had suddenly caught a case of the bashfuls. The good doctor was so good looking, I couldn’t speak. For the next 20 minutes, I answered his questions with short one-word responses.

One of my favorite movies is a film called “Living Out Loud.” In it, the protagonist—a posh nurse with a fantastic apartment and killer highlights—has recently been dumped by her husband. Depressed and resigned to living the rest of her life alone, she spends her nights downing martinis at a local jazz club where, one particular evening, she has a chance encounter with a hot stranger. At that very moment, she decides that all is not lost. “Aha,” she says to herself, “This’ll be my new story. This is how I met my second husband.” I was beginning to understand the sentiment.

Dr. Carrington’s apartment was nicely appointed. From what I could see there was a formal living room, dining room, library and at least two bedrooms. I could be very at home here, I thought to myself. The walls of his library were covered in attractive light grey wallpaper. Nice. He invited me to sit on the Mid Century Modernsofa (just my style), under a contemporary print that looked more Ikea than MCA, Chicago. That’s okay, I told myself, My Lempika will be the perfect replacement.

The handsomely attired doctor sat directly across from me. I sat silently for a moment just taking him in. His perfectly coiffed hair of pepper, lightly salted. His piercing blue eyes framed by dark rimmed Versace spectacles. He was outfitted in a crisp dark purple button-down and perfectly pressed black slacks. Both looked to be made of the most luxurious fabric known to mankind.

Yes, I thought to myself, This’ll be my new story. This is how I met my second husband.

“So, Avery,” he continued. His voice was deep and soothing. “Why have you come to see me?”

Oh right. This wasn’t a blind date. I was there for therapy.