Early Warning

Dr. Smith said, “Here is a piece of paper. I want you to write the first five words that come into your mind. I will give you thirty seconds.” Andy wrote “fallout, contamination, beautiful, screaming, maple.” The first two were obvious; the third was about Princeton; the fourth was about the boys; and the last word was about the trees she had noticed on the way into town. Dr. Smith said, “Can you make a single sentence that uses all of these words?” Andy shook her head, but Dr. Smith said, “Just try.” The sentence she came up with was “Because of the fallout and contamination, the beautiful woman was screaming underneath the golden maple tree.” As soon as she said this sentence, she could see it, a blonde in a ski outfit, standing halfway up a wooded hillside, rubbing her hands madly down her arms, over her face, and the glittering particles of plutonium and uranium, rising up and falling back, dancing around like sprays of water as she attempted to brush them off. Every time she screamed, the particles would form a little tornado around her mouth and get sucked in.

“Your automatic response, Mrs. Langdon, would seem to be awe. You speak of fearful things, but they don’t frighten you, they impress you. I would go so far as to say that they stun you, and slow your reflexes in some way. They preoccupy you, and you don’t mind that. You gain nourishment from them, even at the expense of some sort of imagined negation of the self.” Andy stared at the doctor. He sounded like an ass.

“Mrs. Langdon,” said Dr. Smith, “it may simply be that your capacity for spiritual experience hasn’t yet been realized. That what you perceive as ennui or even indifference is simply your search for meaning in a life that strikes you as false and superficial.” Andy nodded. “You may or may not ever return to this office. I don’t suggest that you do. Part of the reason that my fees are so high is that I want them to mean something to my patients — and the thing I want them to mean is sacrifice. Are these fees, should you come three or four times a week, difficult for you to meet?” Andy nodded, though they weren’t — Uncle Jens’s investments were up to several millions. Everything she had spent on Dr. Katz and Dr. Grossman had been mere fiscal effervescence. But “yes” was the right answer, of course. “What I show you, the paths down which I lead you, might well be frightening, but that is what enlightenment entails.” Andy nodded again. “No, please don’t nod or say yes right now. Go away. Think about it for a long time. Look at your children and your husband and your life, and make up your mind. The journey you will embark upon is a journey into the unknown.” Andy prevented herself from nodding again. They stood up. He walked her to her car.

—

AT EXACTLY the same time that Andy was turning from Nassau onto Witherspoon, Frank was standing on the corner of Forty-eighth and Eighth Avenue, scanning the crowd for Lydia Forêt, Joan Fontaine, the love of his life. They had chosen the Belvedere as just the sort of hotel that no one at Fremont Oil or The New York Times would ever frequent, and also a place too expensive for Lydia’s husband, Olivier Forêt, from Calais, France. Olivier managed construction sites. He found the beams and the boards, the teamsters and the plumbers, the painters and the Mohawk construction workers. Olivier did not believe in fashion; he believed in utility. When Frank expressed disbelief that a Frenchman could feel this way, Lydia said, “Not only is he not like a Parisian, he’s never once been to Paris. The French from the countryside aren’t like Parisians at all.” There she was. He saw her at least a minute and a half before she saw him, and so he had time to admire the way, as she turned her head to check the traffic, her jawline sharpened and her cheekbone accented itself. She smiled. Frank hoped it was because she was thinking of him.

Moments later, they were sitting at separate tables in the bar of the Belvedere. As soon as they had their drinks, Lydia’s gaze began to drift toward his, at first shyly, but then more boldly. Frank did the same: he pretended not to know her, then not to be interested in her, then to feel a dawning of desire. Their gazes locked; she took a deep breath and put her hand to her bust. Frank licked his lips and took another sip of his gin and tonic.