Shrink: The Unravelling of Jonothan King

By Jesse Davidson

Jonothan King has it all. Good looks, sharp intellect and the most successful practice in the city. Jonothan prides himself on his ability to help others, while personally soaring above the challenges of regular people. That is, until a number of clients begin to open cracks in his life that he never knew existed, and his perfect world begins to unravel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jesse Davidson
• Release date: Aug 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370556168

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jeremy Green is 44 Dollars late for our appointment. I am glad; I needed to update my profile anyway.

Sorry I am late pants Jeremy, I had to walk here …and I am a little out of shape.

You are not out of shape… if the shape in question is a circle

Not a problem at all Jeremy, please take a seat. How have you been going since our last session?

Probably depressed and unmotivated as usual

I’ve had a hell of a lot of trouble getting to my gigs lately he confesses, with his usual air of self-deprecation. Jeremy is a professional jazz musician who somehow manages to do quite well. He always pays cash, which I always appreciate. Our government wastes its revenue anyhow.

In stark contrast to my VIG Chesterfield sofa, Jeremy’s slobby appearance seems all the more off-putting today. I stifle a sigh, it’s too early in the day for such a view. Donning his usual stained white polo shirt, Jeremy shifts nervously, clasping his sweaty, swollen fingers before rubbing them through his unkempt beard. I fight the sudden urge to wash my hands.

As he speaks of his tragic existence, I cannot help but ponder the miracle that is Jeremy’s dentist. In contrast to his bloodshot eyes and saggy yellowing skin, and, well ... everything, Jeremy has an incredible set of pearly whites. I half listen as I consider another whitening appointment with my own dentist before discarding the idea. My teeth are already perfect and I don’t want them glowing in the dark. I lean forward slightly while nodding gently, the posture of an attentive, professional psychologist, but inwardly I grown; I have had this very conversation countless times with the man before me; once again we are treading over old roads.

My life is hard; nobody helps me, nobody cares… blah blah blah

I am here Jeremy, and I care.

For the next 68 dollars at least

Surely I cannot be the only one that cares for you, there must be other special people in your life?

My Mother he replies shortly.

Pardon me?

My mother was the best Jeremy says wistfully, glancing at the hands now folded in his lap.

Fortunately, I possess an impeccable memory and rarely need to consult my notes. Unfortunately, I’m drawing a blank when it comes to Jeremy’s mother. His abusive father we have discussed at length, for obvious reasons, but as I glance at my notebook I see ‘mother’ nowhere. I lean forward in my most encouraging manner; giving Jeremy a friendly smile. My charm enables me to excel in this profession and justifies my higher-than-average fees.

Tell me more about her I prod.

For the first time since meeting him I see a genuine smile playing on Jeremy’s lips, at the mental recollection of his mother. She was brilliant! He gushes. She was a musician too, though not professional. She taught me to play. She would sing me to sleep every night, even after dad had roughed her up. She had the voice of an angel. She would tell me that I was special, that she loved me and that no matter what I should reach for the stars.

…And instead you reached for the cookie jar.

As he lavishly praises his mother, including stories of her cooking (which remind me it’s nearly lunch), it is Jeremy’s use of the past tense that tips me off. As he stares wistfully over my head I bring his focus back to the present by asking Jeremy, what happened to your mother?

Jeremy’s gaze lowers to me and the intensity I see there is discomforting. I don’t speak. Eventually, face pale, Jeremy drops his head and lifts his hands in resignation as he chokes out the bus took her away… I quietly take a deep breath. Jeremy continues, oblivious to my hesitation. That was it… Gone! How can I believe anything she ever said to me if she was willing to do that? Maybe it was my fault… He lifts his eyes to me again, this time full of desperation, pain, and rimmed with tears as if searching for an answer. It is a look I have seen in countless clients before. It is why I can afford my life.

Jeremy is certainly not my first client with some form of abandonment issues. People use countless avenues to leave their loved ones; taxis, aeroplanes, cars, boats, trains, physical abandonment, emotional abandonment… you name it, I’ve seen it. With the major issues stemming from an abusive father, I have overlooked the important by focussing on the obvious. I underestimated his mother’s contribution to Jeremy’s depressive condition. The lack of a mother would also account for his terrible dress sense. I silently curse myself for missing it; I don’t usually forget to cover such basic information. I’m better than that.

Do you know where your mother is now? I ask.

I have a pretty good idea, I think, and I don’t think she would want to see me just yet. Jeremy’s shoulders shrug until they sit under his ears. I try not to become too distracted at the sight, key moments like this are where breakthrough begins, I need to focus.

How old were you when she left? I clarify.

Jeremy looks to the ceiling. I was 20, almost 21.

And she never taught you to look in a mirror?

I hide my surprise as I clarify, so you were an adult when your mother left, is that correct?

Jeremy winces, I suppose.

So, she looked after you, despite the difficulty and danger of her own situation, until you were old enough to look after yourself?

Jeremy squirms in his seat before mumbling umm… sure.

Before he begins on a self-pity trip and I lose our momentum, I confess quite genuinely I am impressed. That’s rather selfless of her Jeremy. That is a mother you can be proud of.

I guess…

Look I cut him off, striking while the iron is hot, whether her going was right or wrong, she was right about one thing; you are capable of taking ownership of your own life, so let us start that today. In the short time we have left.

16 dollars’ worth

Let’s make a plan. I want you to write your name at the top of this piece of paper. This week, I want you to list some ways you can prove your mother right and ‘reach for the stars.’

Gag

As Jeremy nods I begin, let’s start with getting to gigs on time.

Let’s ensure the funds don’t dry up, I’m thinking holiday in the Caribbean.

After back to back clients and a session at the gym, my apartment door opens and I inhale, smiling to myself; it’s good to be me. Mid-thirties, successful career, attractive, with nothing to tie me down; the world is my oyster, which just so happens to be what I am making myself for dinner. A common mistake office workers make is thinking that they can sit on their ass all day, simply go to the gym, and then eat out without it affecting them in the long run. One way or another that lifestyle will make them pay for it, either with their health or through the nose. Fast food dinners account for the disgusting numbers of office workers with guts hanging over their belts as they wheeze their way through meetings- not that I am complaining too much, their marriage difficulties bring me business. With a financially privileged upbringing my tastebuds baulk at most fast-food, so that has never been an option for me regardless. The flipside is, eating out somewhere reasonable every night means either dining alone (which I refuse to do), or eating with company which, more often than not, ends up being work at the dinner table or paying the pricey bill for two. I have a good body and large bank account, I am disciplined enough to keep it that way, so I cook. Besides, I am a great cook.

Taking a look around at my no-expense-spared apartment, my elated mood plummets as I note that the cleaner has neglected to clean the corners of the balcony door where the salt spray has left a mist. I let out a groan, another call I’ll have to make tonight. Setting the oysters on the marble island of my kitchen and pouring myself some Muscadet, I open the balcony doors. Stepping out into the breeze, the sound of gulls, waves and an occasional horn reach me as I gaze over the trawlers moored at the docks. Nearly sunset and the end of another day. I breathe in the deep salty air, and most of my peace is restored, I love this place.

Chapter 2

As the 60’s throwback drones on I cannot help but be furious at my conversation with the cleaner last night. Cleaner, ha! The job description is in the title, and they still can’t get it right. Why should I pay so much for a service anybody can do, but doesn’t get done? I don’t make excuses for not doing my job, I just do it.

The hippy hasn’t noticed her glasses have almost slipped off her face, which is surprising considering the thickness of those rims. 12 dollars left, I had better wind this session up.

It was so great to see you today I say, without genuine enthusiasm as I show Mrs Magoo out. You are making so much progress and I will not need to see you for another month.

Let’s see who is next.

A new client, actually a couple. I enjoy the challenge of marriage counselling, it brings an entirely different mathematical equation. 20 dollars into the session and the obvious problem is revealed. Jade is one of the most instantly unlikable humans I have ever met. It is not just the manicured nails, overuse of makeup, her career as a blogger, or her ridiculous fake lips. It is everything about her. She is the epitome of obnoxious and somehow she married Alex; a handsome, gentle, kind-hearted man.

This is going to be fun.

What brings you both here today?

Jade glares at Alex with a look that says ‘you had better speak now.’

We have been fighting, a lot. Alex answers with a frown.

Hopefully it got physical

His voice is deep and calm, like a cross between Barry White and Frasier Crane. I have always admired how Northern African men carry themselves with a certain cool charisma. Actually, come to think of it, I have never men an African Man married to a Chinese Woman. There are quite a few interracial combinations I have never seen.

Alex is always day dreaming and drifting through life Jade barks, taking over the conversation despite her earlier mute threats for her husband to speak. We have been married for 7 years now, and I am always the one leading the way. He does not have any ambition. He does not bring any innovation. If it were up to Alex, we would spend the rest of our lives in the same house, with the same friends, doing nothing new and exciting. Jade waves her hands violently as she speaks, sitting so close to the edge of the chair that she is almost toppling off. Her screeching voice is unbearable.

Japanese Man, Canadian Woman?

What is it you do for a living Alex? I enquire, taking the focus off Jade

I am a surveyor sir.

Please Alex, call me John. A surveyor… that is an interesting job, my cousin is a surveyor in the mining industry. Are you also in mining?

No Sir, I mean, John. I am in the construction industry, mostly residential, and occasionally commercial. Despite his formalities, Alex is a great conversationalist and engages with the right amount of eye contact, smiles and a relaxed air.

Nobody Cares! Jade barks again, interrupting our conversation, this time hissing her insult. Does she think I cannot hear her? Perhaps hearing her own voice for so long has rendered her deaf.

Samoan Woman, French Man?

What is your blog about Jade? I query, resigned.

It is an evolving project she says enthusiastically, probably because we were finally talking about her. "It started as a blog about raw foods and whole grains, but now I am teaching people about the effect food has on moods and emotions. My movement is called mood food!" she declares with a proud pout.

Scottish Man, Sri Lankan Woman?

Although I cannot care less about Jade, or her voodoo blog, we still have 180 dollars left in the session and after allowing her to drone on a few minutes I am already running out of steam. This woman is so draining.

I reach for a sip of water and continue, this is a little unorthodox Jade, but I was hoping to have a chat to Alex privately, while you go and have a coffee downstairs. I have an account at the coffee shop; feel free to get anything you like. I show her my winning smile, although since she is oblivious to her husband’s charms, perhaps she is immune. I hope not.

Thankfully, Jade was pleased with my suggestion. I can only assume her arrogance surmised that Alex needed some one-on-one time to fully understand his failings, so she happily agreed to grace us with her absence.

Eskimo Man, Australian Woman?

Alex I turn to him, once Jade has slammed the door with more force than the hulk. I realise we have only been going for 30 minutes, but it is my professional opinion that you and Jade are severely incompatible, and that you really ought to look at getting out of this marriage.

Alex’s eyes widen and I can hear his sharp intake of air. I cannot do that Sir... John Alex replies, grinning sheepishly at his perpetual need to knight me.

Why not Alex? I momentarily lose my professional composure. She is a mess, and you are amazing. You could have any woman you wanted. Why do you subject yourself to the nastiness and venom of that self-absorbed woman? I point towards the door, which thankfully is still on its hinges after the assault.

Alex looks up with an expression I can’t quite identify, and a flash of Jeremy’s face yesterday enters my mind. For the second time in as many days I am holding my breath waiting. Holding Alex’s stare, I do not know if he wants to punch me or hug me. Maybe the look is not even about me?

He finally speaks with a voice full of conviction. When I married, I married for life. He pauses, so I remain silently waiting. I know that Jade can be a handful but that is why we are here sir. I want this marriage to work. I need this marriage to work. I will do whatever it takes to see Jade become the woman I know she is capable of becoming. Everybody has a story sir, Jade included.

It appears that Alex has not taken offense at my earlier suggestion, but I silently resolve to regain professionalism regardless. We both sit silently for several moments before I chime in. Alex, while I may not personally share your view of marriage, on a professional level I am here to my best to help. I must admit, I admire your commitment.

Though I think it is foolish

We spend several minutes chatting about Africa, marriage and life in general. Alex is not like anybody I have ever met before, and I am drawn to him like the brother I never had. Being in his company is not burdensome, unlike his witch… I mean wife.

About to ask more about Jade, I am interrupted by my mahogany door crashing open under the power of our oriental maniac. The coffee tasted like dirt she spits accusingly in my direction, as if I had poured the shot myself.

I look at the clock, time’s up. Thank you Alex and Jade for coming in today I say, ushering them toward the exit. I would like to see you weekly if possible. Please check my availability on the way out and take a copy of the fee schedule.

Iranian Man, Norwegian Woman?

Chapter 3

The high-pitched hiss reminds me that the seal on my la Marzocco will need replacing soon. I grunt, remembering the sales adviser trying to talk me out of ordering the side panels in custom olive green; clearly his dubiousness was unwarranted. Although the shot was exactly 14 grams, my double espresso was good, but not great. Thankfully the hollandaise is my best to date, which is some feat considering the underappreciated complexity of this delicious sauce. Add the fresh salmon from the dock, (caught this morning), and my Saturday is beginning perfectly with some superb eggs benedict, two double espressos, and a view most people would kill for.

Sarah is still sleeping; I’ll send her on her way when she wakes up. She is a fine friend with fine benefits. I am glad she relieved some of my tension last night because Jason is coming into town later today. Still, I have a few hours to relax before the quarterly pissing contest recommences so I decide to make a call. Mr Lopez, my barber downstairs, is available at ten so I pop down for a trim and a cut-throat shave. I do love the lighting in Mr Lopez barber shop.

You have still got it, John

Jason started going grey far before me, I muse, examining the dark colour of the full head of hair in my reflection which has recently acquired a few grey hairs. If anything though, they help me look more distinguished, it certainly hasn’t kept the women away. He claims his job as a banking consultant is to blame but I just think he has a low tolerance for negative tension. He has never been very cool under pressure. I smile, and my perfectly straight pearly whites remind me of Jeremy.

How on earth does a guy like Jeremy keep his teeth so white?

Mr Lopez finishes up, immaculately as usual. I pay him, tipping handsomely, and grab a newspaper before heading back upstairs. Although her Christian Dior scent lingers,